Judith Miller - [Daughters of Amana 01] (35 page)

My sewing had gone quite well last evening. In fact, I had finished it by bedtime. Granted, my stitches were far from perfect. Where most women would have used five or six stitches, I used only one. But the appearance didn’t matter all that much. The pink silk was a memory of my past life, a time when my mother and father enjoyed my company and doted upon me. After tying it around my waist this morning, I stood before the mirror and stared at my lopsided handiwork. I traced my fingers along the soft fabric and longed to feel my father’s or my mother’s arms around me. Johanna said God loved me, but I couldn’t feel His embrace, either.

It seemed an eternity since we’d come to Amana—an eternity since I’d worn my lovely pink silk. I fastened my dark calico skirt atop the petticoat and turned to make certain none of the pink fabric could be seen. Assured the silk was well hidden, I departed for the Küche. Since arranging for the meeting with the elders, Sister Muhlbach said nothing when I was late or if I didn’t complete my assigned tasks. However, I was certain she was keeping a mental record of all my wrongdoings. A list she would gladly present to the elders. A list of which I was secretly ashamed, though I’d never admit such a thing to her—she wouldn’t believe me anyway. Besides, my behavior didn’t reflect the remorse and guilt that had become more frequent since I’d made my promise to Johanna.

Today she and Sister Dickel would go to the general store to choose the provisions for next week’s meals. The fact that she would be gone for a good long time pleased me. No doubt she’d leave a list of tasks for me to complete in her absence. And no doubt I’d ignore them. The weather was far too nice to remain indoors.

We had completed washing the breakfast dishes and the young girls were sweeping the dining room floor when Sister Muhlbach signaled us to gather in the kitchen. The young helpers hastened to do her bidding, while I followed at a much slower pace. “I will be gone most of the morning, and I expect the noonday preparations to be completed when I return. I am depending upon you.” She hesitated and glanced at Sister Dickel. “Perhaps I should leave you here and take Berta with me.”

Disappointment clouded Sister Dickel’s eyes, and her lips drooped into a frown. I was just as unhappy with the suggested change of plan. Shopping with Sister Muhlbach didn’t rank high on my list of fun ways to spend a morning.

“But it’s my turn to go,” Sister Dickel said.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t change the schedule. I worry too much.” Sister Muhlbach looked at me as she spoke.

She obviously hoped I would give her some sign that I’d be on my best behavior during her absence, but I didn’t bite. After gathering their shopping baskets, the two of them departed. I briefly considered leading the junior girls in a rebellion but doubted I could convince them. Besides, they’d be afraid to truly enjoy the experience. Instead, I wandered outside. It wasn’t long before I spotted the handyman near the toolshed.

“What are you doing, Mr. Barton?” I strolled across the cushion of soft grass and stopped beside him.

He lifted a saw in the air. “Cleaning the tools. Looks like the fella who worked here before me didn’t think it was important.”

“When did it become important to you? From what I’ve seen, you wouldn’t win any prizes for hard work.”

He glanced up at me as he rubbed an oiled cloth along the metal blade. “You’re sure a feisty gal. None of the other women say a word to me, but you’re always ready to say whatever comes to mind.”

“I haven’t lived here as long as they have. And just so you know, I still haven’t completely forgiven you for not siding with me against Sister Muhlbach.”

Even though the brim of his floppy hat shaded his face, he squinted against the shard of sun that reflected off the saw blade. “I already explained why I couldn’t come to your defense. Doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re a fine young lady.” He grinned. “How come you’re not inside helping fix the noon meal?”

“Sister Muhlbach and Sister Dickel went to the general store, and I intend to enjoy this fine morning.”

He examined the saw and gave a nod. “Well, I’ve about finished up in here. How you planning to enjoy your morning?”

I hadn’t given the matter much thought, but when I spied a long-handled mallet in the shed, I smiled. “How about some croquet?”

He shook his head. “Don’t know what that is.”

“I’ve only seen it played a few times, but we can make up our own rules.” After I explained the game and what was needed, Mr. Barton twisted some pieces of wire to make wickets. “We’ll have to share the mallet. It may be a bit short for you, but it will be a little long for me, so that should make us equal.”

“You have wooden balls for us to use in this game?”

I paced back and forth as I attempted to come up with a solution. “I know! I’ll bring some of the onions from the cellar. We can use those.”

Before Mr. Barton could express an opinion, I raced back across the yard and down the cellar steps. I stopped on the bottom step to give my eyes time to adjust to the darkness before working my way through the dank room. My previous trips to the cellar proved helpful, and I soon located a basket of onions. Mr. Barton was poking the pieces of wire into the grass when I returned.

“Those look like they’re in the right place?”

I hitched my shoulders. “I don’t really recall. It doesn’t matter. We can make up the rules as we go along. That’s more fun anyway.”

He tipped his hat back on his head. “Kind of the way you’re going through life, right? Just making up your own rules as you go along?”

I plopped the basket of onions beside one of the wire wickets. “Exactly. I think fun is what’s most important. ‘A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones.’ In case you didn’t know, that’s from the Bible.”

Mr. Barton leaned down and retrieved one of the onions. “Is it now? I’d never guess you’d be one to quote the Word of God, Berta.”

“I only have a few passages committed to memory.” No need to have him thinking I was a Bible scholar.

“And from the sound of it, the verses you’ve memorized are ones that best fit your idea of how you want to behave.”

His comment annoyed me. Probably because I’d been plagued by moments of remorse and guilt of late. “You want to give this a try or not?”

“Just makin’ an observation. No need to get surly.” He nodded toward the mallet. “You go first so I can see how it’s done.”

Only the top of the onion peeked out from the grass, but I aligned myself and gave it a whack. The onion didn’t move far, but my effort destroyed a small clump of grass. “Maybe a potato would work better.”

He took the mallet. “I don’t think a potato is gonna work any better than an onion. Here, let me give it a try.” His swing produced no better effort than my own.

“The onion is too small and the mallet is too big. What about a head of cabbage?”

Mr. Barton shook his head. “They won’t fit through those wires.”

“We don’t need to use the wickets. We can lean a board against the shed and aim the head of cabbage at it. Whoever comes closest will win. What do you say?”

“I’ll get these wires out of the yard and see if I can find something we can use for a target.” He pointed to the basket of onions. “Might as well take that basket of onions with you to the cellar.”

I grabbed the basket handles and returned to the cellar. Each year most of the cabbage was made into sauerkraut, but I knew Sister Muhlbach kept some in reserve. I just couldn’t remember where I’d seen it. After several minutes of searching and feeling inside the baskets, I discovered cabbage. With a grunt, I lifted the heavy basket, waddled toward the steps, and called to Mr. Barton.

When he poked his head above the door opening, I motioned him forward. “You need to carry this—it’s too heavy.”

In no time he’d retrieved the basket and carried it to a grassy spot a distance from the shed. “What do you think? Is that going to work for our target?”

“Looks good to me,” I said, positioning a head of cabbage on the ground. “Hope this doesn’t break the mallet.”

“I don’t think you’re quite that strong.”

I took the remark as a challenge and thumped the head of cabbage with a mighty wallop that landed it just short of the target. Mr. Barton reached for the mallet, but I pulled away, grabbed another cabbage from the basket, and placed it in position. “I get two hits and then you get two.”

“Right. I forgot you make up the rules as we go along.” He held up his hand. “If you miss this time, does it go up to three times before I take a swing?”

The man could certainly be aggravating with his offhand remarks. “No, it won’t be increased. We each get two swings before we hand over the mallet.” I settled into position, swung, and kept my focus on the flying cabbage. “Good one!” I jumped up and down, delighted that I’d met with success.

“It only grazed the side of the board. I don’t think it should count as a direct hit.”

“You’re jealous because you didn’t think I’d succeed.” I pointed to the mallet. “Go ahead. Let me see you do any better.”

Snatching a cabbage from the basket, he dropped it to the ground.

“Wait! You have to move farther back. My arms are shorter than yours.” I extended my arm to prove I was right.

Using the toe of his boot, he moved the cabbage to the spot I picked. “You sure this is where you want me?”

I nodded.

“You’re not gonna change your mind once I have the mallet in the air, are ya?”

I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. “I said I wasn’t going to change my mind. Quit holding up the game and hit the cabbage.”

“I’m not the one changing the rules,” he muttered as he took aim and swung the mallet. The cabbage careened through the air and landed against the shed with a splattering force.

“Excellent! I want to do that with mine.”

“You’re gonna have to hit it harder next time.” He positioned his second head of cabbage and once again met with the same success. Pieces of cabbage flew in all directions.

“Since I think I’m gonna win this game, I’ll let you move closer so you can have more fun.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Barton. That’s very kind.” I was elated when I met with success after another try.

I wasn’t certain how long we’d been playing our game when Sister Muhlbach and Sister Dickel returned. And I don’t know who was most surprised. I hadn’t watched the time, but I didn’t think they’d be back for at least another thirty minutes.

I could see the anger in Sister Muhlbach’s eyes as she stomped toward us. “Are those my cabbages you’ve destroyed?”

“They’re cabbages from the cellar.” I didn’t think Sister Muhlbach should consider them hers. To my way of thinking, they belonged to everyone who ate in the Küche. “You can consider the ones I’ve ruined as my portion. I won’t eat any sauerkraut, either.” I didn’t mention my offer wasn’t a great sacrifice on my part—I didn’t like either one.

She glared.

“I’m sure Mr. Barton will sacrifice his portions, as well,” I said. Maybe if we both relinquished our share it would lessen her anger.

“Mr. Barton doesn’t have a share to give.” She pointed at the street. “Gather your belongings, Mr. Barton. You won’t be needed any longer. You can go and speak to Brother Kohler at the general store. He’ll give you information so that you can collect any wages due to you.”

“Wait! You can’t do that. It isn’t his fault. It was my idea.” I grappled for something to say that would halt her decision.

Sister Muhlbach shook her head. “Mr. Barton is a grown man. He could have refused. In fact, he should have encouraged you to go back inside and perform your duties. Instead, he joined you.”

With his head bowed and chin resting on his chest, Mr. Barton headed back toward the shed. “I’d be more than willing to clean up this mess before I go if you’d like, Sister Muhlbach.”

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Barton. Berta will be in charge of cleaning the mess.” She looked directly into my eyes. “After she’s finished her other chores.”

I wanted to run after Mr. Barton and apologize, but Sister Muhlbach was holding my arm in a viselike grip. Seeing the handyman lose his job was much more painful than the tongue-lashing that followed. She escorted me into the kitchen and pointed to the baskets. “You can begin by putting the supplies away. I tell you, Berta, I am glad I will meet with the elders tomorrow. I have done my best to teach you, but I cannot. You are as changeable as the weather. One week you are willing, the next you are defiant. Let the elders decide what will come of your unruly behavior.”

For the remainder of the day I followed most of Sister Muhlbach’s orders. I was outside picking up the pieces of mangled cabbage when Rudolf arrived with his afternoon milk delivery. When he jumped off the wagon and waved, I ran to his side, eager to explain Sister Muhlbach’s unjust discharge of the handyman.

I’d completed only a few words when he stopped me. “I already know. Brother Kohler told me when I stopped at the general store.”

“Brother Kohler tells everything he knows. He’s a bigger gossip than most women,” I said.

“You’re in big trouble, Berta. I hear Sister Muhlbach is going to talk to the elders tomorrow morning.”

“I know. She decided to go to them earlier in the week, before any of this happened.” I shrugged. “Now she has more to tell them. Maybe they’ll tell Mother that we must leave.”

Rudolf hoisted one of the milk cans from the wagon. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To leave without really giving this new life a chance to work.”

“I would miss you, Rudolf, but there’s little else to hold me here. I can’t be certain my father will return. I miss Johanna, but even if she does return, she’ll have no time for me—not after she and Carl are married.”

He set the can on the porch and returned for another. “By then you’ll have made other friends, and you’ll be more accustomed to our way of life. Your parents seem content, especially your mother.”

Before I could comment, Sister Muhlbach stepped out of the kitchen door and motioned to Rudolf. “Berta doesn’t have time for visiting. Leave the milk and get along with your deliveries.”

Rudolf didn’t argue, and neither did I.