A Hidden Truth (14 page)

She tucked her handkerchief into the pocket of her apron. Several of the other women chuckled. “Nein. The schoolteachers in our villages are men. Only when they are little and in
Kinderschule
do women care for the children—while their Mutters are working in the gardens or kitchen houses.” She held her needle in the air. “And sometimes the Omas help teach them to knit and crochet. It's gut for everyone to be busy. And the little ones like learning from the Omas.”

“Because they spoil them,” one of the women retorted.

“Nein, because they are patient when they teach,” another put in.

I leaned toward Sister Ann. “So you cared for my mother when she was a little girl? In the Kinderschule or teaching her to knit, maybe?”

“Nein. I was only telling you I could not have been her schoolteacher, and I did not work in the Kinderschule.” She gave me a pointed look. “And when your Mutter was a little girl, I was too young to be an Oma.”

Seeing the deep lines that furrowed her face and her blue-veined hands, I wasn't certain that final comment was completely correct.

She glanced up from the line of fine stitches she'd completed. “Before your Mutter worked in the Richter kitchen house, she worked in the gardens, and that is where we became acquainted. I was the
Gartebaas
.” She nodded toward Cousin Louise. “Like Sister Louise is the Küchebaas. You understand?”

I nodded. “You were in charge of one of the big gardens.”

“Ja. And your Mutter came to work for me when she was maybe fourteen.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I can't remember for sure how old she was, but it was after she finished her schooling. Then she came and worked in the garden for me.” Her brow furrowed as if she was trying to recall those long-ago days. “Sister Barbara was a gut worker. She liked to be in the garden, but later she went to work for Sister Ruth in the
Küchehaas
.” She pointed her needle toward Cousin Louise. “Sister Louise's Mutter.”

Cousin Louise chuckled. “And you never forgave her, because Barbara was such a gut worker. It still makes you unhappy to think about it.”

“Ja, well, I had no say in the matter. The gut workers get shifted around, and the lazy ones stay with me forever.”

“You are still the Gartebaas?”

She frowned and shot me a challenging look. “You think I am too old to work in the garden?”

“N-no.” I shook my head so hard I wondered if my brain might rattle.

Her eyes softened. “That is gut, because I can work longer hours than most of these younger ones.” She grinned and smoothed her palm across the pale blue fabric.

It was clear I'd struck a tender nerve with Sister Ann. I didn't want to repeat that error. “It's nice to hear my mother was a good worker. Thank you for telling me.”

“Just like these other sisters, Barbara liked the onion harvest when she was here.”

Several of the women chimed their agreement. “Onion harvest is still a fun time,” Cousin Louise said. She gave me a sidelong glance. “For two or three weeks in the summertime, almost everyone helps with the onion harvest. Wagonloads of onions are brought to the village, and we spread them out for trimming and sorting.”

While she continued to stitch, Cousin Louise explained the process. And though it didn't sound like fun to me, I could see the women's excitement swell as she told how they gathered in groups of twenty or more to complete the task. I didn't understand their enthusiasm, but if I stayed long enough, perhaps I could experience the onion harvest for myself. Then I might understand their excitement.

“For me, it is the best time of year,” Sister Ann said.

One of the other women laughed. “That is because you get to boss everyone. Not just the garden workers.”

Sister Ann readily agreed. “Ja, and I am gut at being the baas. I have the most experience, so it is a gut job for me.” She gestured toward me. “You should not just sit there. Let us see how well you can stitch.”

I had threaded my needle, but I feared I might not meet the standards of these women. When I hesitated, Cousin Louise nudged my arm. “Go on. Your stitches cannot be any worse than some we have seen in the past.”

Unlike the pieced quilts used by others, Amana quilt tops were one piece of fabric, usually a soft pastel shade. A pattern was traced onto the fabric before a layer of wool and another plain piece of fabric were stacked underneath. The three layers were then mounted onto the quilting frame and stitched together following the pattern lines. I poked my needle into the fabric, and as I made my first stitches, I could sense the women looking in my direction and examining my handiwork.

When no one shouted for me to stop, I continued sewing. For a moment I wondered if the layer of wool between the quilted fabric came from the sheep in Brother George's barn. Even though it was doubtful, I liked the idea. There were not enough sheep in the colonies to supply all of the wool needed in the woolen mill, so much of the wool was purchased from outsiders—that is what Karlina had told me.

The woman who had introduced herself as Sister Margaret said, “You quilt as well as your mother. We were friends many years ago when I worked in the Richter Küchehaas.”

When I asked what she recalled the most about my mother, Sister Margaret thought for a moment. “She loved spice cake, and she would always ask Sister Ruth for any leftovers to take home with her.”

The comment tugged at my heart. For as long as I could remember, my mother had baked a spice cake at least once a month. “What about the rest of you? Can you tell me any stories about my mother? Or other things she enjoyed?”

“Oh, I remember that she got in big trouble one time when we were in school,” Sister Elsa remarked. “Your Mutter loved to read, and she wanted something different than the same history book all the time. We used the history book for history, reading, and for any other class Brother Erich could think of. Your Mutter thought that if he could not find the history books, we would get some new ones.”

I was enjoying this story, for I had never thought of my mother as brave enough to do anything against the rules.

“She hid them.” Sister Elsa looked down at the quilt and pulled her threaded needle through the fabric. “Actually we both hid them, but when Brother Erich threatened to make everyone do extra schoolwork, your Mutter took the blame. She had to clean the schoolroom for an entire month, but at least Brother Erich didn't tell your Oma and Opa.” She had a faraway look in her eyes. “Ja, your Mutter loved to read. Any book she could find, she would read. Even the farm magazines. Did she keep reading books after she left East?”

“Yes. She loved books. She would read to me every night, and my father would take us to visit the big library in Cincinnati, where we would borrow books.”

“I am glad she married and was happy,” Sister Elsa said. “When she left East, I thought she would never be happy again. She was so in love. I remember how she cried and cried about leaving Brother Er—”

“Sister Martha! I brought some leftover
Kuchen
that we can enjoy later.”

“No need to shout, Louise.” Sister Fuch directed a confused look at Cousin Louise. “You handed me the cake when you arrived. I know I am to serve it to the women.”

“Is it a spice cake?” Sister Elsa smiled at me.

“Nein. It is plum cake.” Cousin Louise turned to Sister Dorothea, who was seated beside her. “You and Sister Barbara were friends, Dorothea. Tell Dovie what you remember.”

Sister Dorothea was a sprite of a woman with sparkling eyes and a quick smile. “I remember how much Sister Barbara loved to go to the river.” She motioned to Cousin Louise. “Do you recall the day we went down there and my brother almost drowned?”

Cousin Louise nodded. “He would have drowned if John Mueller hadn't pulled him out by his shirt. That gave us all a scare for sure.”

The stories continued, most of them about the antics they had all enjoyed as young people, but Cousin Louise made certain Sister Elsa didn't have another opportunity to mention my mother and the man she'd had to leave behind.

While the women talked and stitched, I listened, but my thoughts returned to the schoolteacher, Brother Erich. Had that been the man my mother loved? I thought the teacher must have been much older than my mother, but it could be possible. My own father was ten years older than my mother. Perhaps she preferred older men.

I knew Cousin Louise wouldn't answer my questions about Brother Erich, but maybe I could find someone who would.

The next morning I walked outside to meet the bread wagon, uncertain how Berndt would greet me. I waved as he drew near and was pleased to see a smile on his face.

The moment he was close enough to hear me, I called, “Good morning!”

“Guten Morgen!” He jumped down from the wagon and stepped close. “I was worried you might be sick. Something important kept you away yesterday?”

I heaved a sigh of relief. “Yes, something very important.” I quickly explained what had happened. “I'm sorry you had to stand outside in the cold weather.” I glanced toward the kitchen house, knowing that if I was outside too long, Cousin Louise would scold us. “Can you go this afternoon?”

Berndt winked, and I could feel the heat begin to rise in my cheeks. For once, I was thankful for the cold weather. He wouldn't see the effect he'd had on me.

“Ja, I can go. I will meet you by the stand of trees near the edge of town. Two o'clock?”

“Two o'clock. I promise I will be there this time.”

CHAPTER 14

February 1893
Karlina

I snuggled between the sheets and pulled the quilt tight beneath my chin.
“Psst.”
I waited only a second. “
Psst.
Are you awake, Dovie?”

The bedcovers rustled and Dovie giggled. “Yes. If I had been asleep, that hissing sound of yours would have wakened me.”

“It was not that loud.” We giggled together and a brief silence grew between us before I told her what was bothering me—why I wasn't able to sleep. “I think my Mutter knows that sometimes you have been meeting Berndt.”

In the shadows I could see Dovie's form as she pushed to a sitting position and rested her back on the headboard. “Why? What has she said? Tell me.”

“She asked if I knew what you've been doing in the afternoons.”

“And what did you tell her?”

I could hear the growing panic in Dovie's voice. “I—”

“You didn't tell her I've been with Berndt, did you? Because I don't spend every afternoon with him.”

“No, I didn't say you were with him.” Shifting to my side, I bent my elbow and rested my head in my hand. “I told her I was in the sheep barn in the afternoons and I could not say with certainty where you went after you finished your work in the Küche.”

Dovie sighed. “Thank you, Karlina.”

“You do not need to thank me. I did not lie. I have not seen you and Berndt together.” The defensive words rushed from my lips, as though I felt I had to prove I'd been truthful. “I know only the few things you have told me, but I never
saw
you with him.”

“Did she ask anything more?”

“She said she was going to talk to my Vater and see if I could go with you some afternoons when it is not so busy. She is worried about you, Dovie. She believes you are worrying too much about the past instead of planning your future.”

“I don't want her to worry about me. The only thing I have wanted is to learn about my mother's past. And now that I'm here, I still can't get the answers I want.”

“Did Berndt gain any information about Brother Erich, the schoolteacher?”

Two weeks had passed before Dovie told me about Sister Elsa's comment at the quilting bee. Instead of asking me or my Mutter, she had asked Berndt about Brother Erich. He'd never heard of the man but said he would see what he could discover.

“Yes, but I don't think he was the cause of my mother's unhappiness. From what Berndt told me, Brother Erich was round as a toad with bulging eyes, and he died before my mother left East Amana.”

I was glad Dovie had asked Berndt to conduct the investigation, for if I'd ever heard of Brother Erich, I couldn't remember. And Dovie likely believed my Mutter wouldn't give a direct answer about the schoolteacher. And I agreed.

“Is that all?” I wasn't sure what else Berndt could have discovered, but I wanted all the details.

“What else could there be? Sister Elsa wouldn't have been making a reference to Brother Erich if he was already dead when my mother and her family left the colonies. Other than asking Sister Elsa, I don't know how I can find out.” Dovie was silent for a moment. “Maybe that's what I should do.”

The muscles in my neck stiffened. “What?”

“Go and talk to Sister Elsa. Do you think she would tell your Mutter? Maybe we could come up with some reason for me to go and speak to her about something else, and then I could ask her. What do you think? Help me plan some reason to approach her.”

Dovie's excitement bubbled across the short distance between our beds, but my chest tightened. If I became involved in some scheme to obtain information from Sister Elsa, my Mutter would be most unhappy with me. And I knew she would eventually discover any part I played in Dovie's plan.

“I don't think that is such a gut idea. All of the sisters talk among themselves, and Sister Elsa would surely tell my Mutter you'd been asking questions.”

“But what harm would it do? I don't understand why everything must be such a secret.”

“I am not so sure there are secrets. I think it is only that my Mutter wants you to quit dwelling on the past. Why does it matter if your Mutter was sad when she left the colonies? She made a happy life in Cincinnati, ja?”

“That's just it, Karlina. I'm not sure my mother was ever completely happy.”

“But you cannot change that, so what gut does it do to keep on with this digging into her early years?” My stomach tightened into a knot. “Dovie, why can't you just enjoy being here with us?”

“I do, but I . . .”

Her voice quivered, and I sat up in bed. “Are you crying? Please don't cry.”

She sniffled. “I don't believe my mother was ever truly happy. I know she loved me. But I think if she had been given the choice between living here or with my father and me, she would have chosen life in Amana.” Her voice cracked as she uttered the final words.

“You torture yourself with these thoughts. Let me speak to my Mutter and see if she will reveal anything. But please don't speak to Sister Elsa. She is a sweet lady, and I do not want trouble to brew between her and my Mutter.”

My offer satisfied her, and I thought she'd drifted off to sleep.

Suddenly she spoke. “What about you and Anton? I know he cares for you. I see the way he watches when you are in the same room with him.”

“You see things that are not there, Dovie, but we have become gut friends. Since the trouble with Berndt, I have seen great changes in him. Not once have I seen him lose his temper. He is more patient, and the sheep will even follow him out to the pasture now without problem.”

Dovie chuckled. “If the sheep like him, then I am sure you will think he is wonderful.”

“It is true that being gut with the sheep is important to me, but I am pleased that he has gained control of his temper. And it has made him happier, too. After his fight with Berndt, we talked for a long time. He said he never wanted to hit another person, and he needed to find a way to control his anger.” Lying there in the darkness, I recalled how sad and defeated Anton had looked that day. The inability to control his temper plagued him, and he'd begged me to help him find some way to overcome his failings.

The wood slats beneath Dovie's mattress creaked. “What did you tell him?”

“That I did not think he would be successful unless he looked to God for help. I told him that I had kept my promise and had been praying for him every day, but he needed to pray for himself every day, too—to ask God to give him the strength to overcome his weaknesses.”

A narrow shaft of winter moonlight danced across Dovie's face. “Did he agree?”

“Ja. He asked me to pray with him each morning when we go down to the barn before breakfast. It is how we begin each day.” I smiled in the darkness, pleased that we'd developed this habit. I believed the practice had drawn me closer to God, too. “I also suggested that he recite a passage of Scripture if he felt his anger begin to take hold.”

“And did he also think that was a good idea?”

Dovie sounded as though she didn't believe Anton would ever consider doing such a thing. “Ja. He even asked me what I would recommend.”

“Really?”

“Ja. And I told him I thought the shepherd's psalm would have a calming effect.”

Dovie giggled. “He should have known you would suggest the twenty-third Psalm. I am glad you have been able to help him.”

“It is God who has helped him, not me.”

“Yes, but you pointed the way. My mother used to tell me that there are times in our lives when we need people to point us in the right direction. That's what you did for Anton.” She was still for a moment. “And no matter what you say, I think he is in love with you.”

I didn't respond. If I let myself think about love, it would make my friendship with Anton uncomfortable, and I didn't want that to happen.

The following morning before I'd had time to say my morning prayers, Dovie reminded me of my promise.

“I will speak to Mutter, but I want it to be at the right time. It is better that I approach her when we will have no interruptions and I don't have to hurry back to work.” I saw the look of exasperation on Dovie's face, but I didn't let it dissuade me. “I know her better than you. Please let me do this my way.”

“Just don't take too long. Each day I worry there will be a letter from my father telling me he will soon arrive to escort me to Texas.”

“Ja, I understand. I will do my very best.” When Dovie hurried out the door to meet the bread wagon, I sighed with relief.

While I finished dressing, I considered when I might find the proper time to speak with Mutter. In the kitchen she was surrounded by the other sisters, and when we were in the parlor, either my Vater or Anton was around. Maybe on the way home from prayer service this evening. There wouldn't be enough time for a full discussion on our short walk home, but if I gained Mutter's interest, she would make certain we had time by ourselves to finish the talk. With my plan decided, I made my bed and walked downstairs, feeling much relieved.

I hummed a tune as Anton and I walked to the barn. He nudged my arm and grinned. “You are happy this morning.”

“Ja. It is a gut morning. Lots of sunshine, and I get to see if you have learned to keep the records the way I taught you.”

Over the past weeks I'd been showing Anton how we entered the detailed records for each of the sheep. Records regarding their feed, illnesses, and treatments; the amount of wool each one produced at shearing time; and the number of lambs born to each of the ewes. There was more time to teach him before lambing and shearing seasons began; and though he wasn't fond of the record keeping, my Vater believed it was the duty of a good shepherd to maintain records. If Anton later went to work shepherding in another village, the knowledge would prove useful. My Vater said many farmers maintained only the production records for their sheep, but he thought that idea foolish.

Anton grunted. “My time would be of better use developing an invention than writing numbers in those ledger books.”

His comment troubled me. “If that is what you think, then I suppose you should tell it to the elders instead of me. I cannot change what work you will do.” Just when I thought he had begun to like working with the sheep, he made an occasional comment that caused me to believe otherwise.

“Do not take offense so easily. Even your Vater has said that the record keeping is tiresome. If I make any remark about disliking something in the barn, you act as though I have insulted you.” He pulled open the barn door and stepped to the side.

The musty smell of hay wafted toward me as I walked inside. “You're right, Anton. I am sorry. Even I don't always consider the record keeping a pleasant task.”

After he opened the side doors, the sheep proceeded to amble outside while Anton set to work mucking the barns. The ground was dry enough that he could take them out to the pasture once he'd finished his work inside.