A Hidden Truth (3 page)

My father waited a moment. “Bad news?”

“Cousin Barbara is dead. Influenza. About two months ago.” Sadness tugged at my mother's lips.

No doubt she was also recalling the deaths of my twin brothers. Whenever someone in the villages died of pneumonia or influenza, a sad longing returned to my mother's eyes. For all of us it rekindled memories of what their lives might have been.

Mother cleared her throat and swallowed. “Barbara was never blessed with good health.”

My father reached across and patted my mother's hand. “Barbara's suffering is over and she is in a better place—she is with the Lord.”

“Ja, I know. And I will see her again one day. Still, it is hard to know she is gone from this earth.” She gathered the pages and put them in order. “Her daughter wants to come here for a visit.”

My father's jaw went slack, and he picked up the letter. “Maybe she doesn't understand German so well and confused her message to you.”

“Her German is very
gut
. There is no mistake. She says her father's work requires that they move to Texas. She wants to come here and visit with us while he goes and finds a house for them.”

Mother startled when I clapped my hands together. “That would be wonderful! How old is she? It would be like having a sister here in the house with me.”

Pans clattered in the kitchen and my mother frowned. “I am thinking she is twenty-one or twenty-two—maybe twenty-three. For sure, she is a year or two older than you.”

“Please tell her she can come, Mutter.”

My father continued to read while my mother ignored me and stared at him. When he finally finished the letter, he nodded. “You are right. Her German is gut.”

With a sigh, my mother tucked the pages into the envelope. “What do you think about her coming for a visit? What should I write and tell her?”

“Oh please, Vater. Say yes. Surely she should be able to come and meet us.”

My father folded his hands together. “To be honest, it is confusing. After all these years it is strange that her daughter would want to visit the colonies. I do not understand why she would seek you out. Barbara hadn't written for years.”

“You know it was the circumstances. . . .”

“Ja, ja. I know, but it is odd she would wish to come here rather than go with her Vater. And odd that he is willing to be separated from his daughter so soon after his wife has died.”

“Who can say why he is willing. Maybe he thinks she will bear the loss of her mother more easily.” My mother tucked the envelope back into her pocket.

“We don't need to decide right now. We will pray about it, and then you can write to her.”

His response dampened my spirits as much as stepping into the Iowa River in the middle of winter. Though I had no idea what Dovie might be like, the thought of having a girl near my own age living in our house pleased me a great deal. And learning about the outside world intrigued me, as well. Unlike those living in Main, Homestead, and South, there was no train station in East. When there was a need for the train to stop here, we would hang a red flag from the pole—and that didn't happen often. Visitors were rare in our village. We could count on seeing them at lambing season and during the annual sheep shearing. Otherwise, there was little to bring others to East.

My father stood, a signal for all of us to return to our work. Remembering my mother's mention of dusting, I looked toward the door leading outdoors. “Would you like me to go to the barn and see to fresh water for the sheep?”

When he hesitated, my mother waved. “Go on. The dusting can wait until you get back, and your father needs to rest. Just make sure the furniture is dusted before the evening meal.”

I pecked a kiss on my mother's cheek. Going to water the sheep didn't please me as much as if I'd heard my parents agree that Dovie could come for a visit, but it far surpassed dusting furniture.

Grabbing my cloak, I hurried outside before my mother could change her mind. The clouds that had earlier settled on the horizon finally moved overhead, and pellets of sleet stung my cheeks as I hurried down the street and onto the dirt path leading to the sheep barn. Most of the sheep had come inside, but a few stood beneath the protective roof along the side of the barn. A small door remained open to permit them entry when they finally decided they wanted more shelter than the roof provided. As I walked inside, several of the animals instinctively came to me.

Though I had to agree God created animals that could be considered more intelligent than sheep, I also didn't forget the Bible references to his people as sheep. I ran my fingers through the thick wool of a ewe as I continued toward the door leading to the sheep standing outside in the sleet. I called to them. Recognizing my voice, they ambled toward the door and came into the warmth. Their need to be tended and cared for wasn't much different than my own. Sometimes they strayed and needed the shepherd's crook to bring them back into the fold. Was that what Dovie hoped for? Tender care that would bring her into the fold?

I picked up a large bucket, and as I walked to the pump, I prayed my parents would agree to let Dovie come and visit us.

CHAPTER 3

The sound of my mother's footsteps echoed on the stairs leading to our upstairs parlor. Even though the time for evening prayer meeting had not yet arrived, darkness draped the evening sky. Mother opened the door and stepped inside as my father pushed up from his chair.

He greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. “I received word from the elders that they have decided upon a young man to help me with the sheep. He'll arrive in the morning.”

My mother stopped short and her smile faded. “Tomorrow? I could use more notice than one night, George.” She
tsk
ed and shook her head. “Karlina and I will need to prepare the spare bedroom when we return from prayer meeting,” she said, glancing at me.

Her features softened as my father grasped the back of the chair for support. “I am sorry for my gruff response. You need help caring for the sheep, and I've prayed the elders would send someone. Now that the Lord has answered my prayers, I am still complaining.”

My father's lips curved into his familiar smile. “I know you are tired, Louise. I will help Karlina when we return home.”

Mother shooed him with a dismissive wave. “Ach! I will not have my husband cleaning house. What would people think!”

My father chuckled. “Who cares what they think? Besides, they know only what you tell them.”

My stomach bound in knots. There would undoubtedly be many changes with the arrival of this new worker. “But what about Dovie? That was going to be her room.”

Both of my parents turned and looked at me, but it was my mother who answered. “You can share your room with her. She won't be here long, and sharing a room is not such a bad thing.”

She was likely correct on that account. My twin brothers had shared the room that would now be assigned to the new shepherd, and they had enjoyed being together. When the two of them died of pneumonia, my mother closed off the room and used it only when needed for an occasional visitor. I was twelve when the twins died, and I still missed the sound of their laughter. Because I had never fallen ill, a twist of guilt continued to nag me from time to time. I never wanted to forget my brothers, but it had become easier to ward off such thoughts in recent years.

“Your mother is right. The room is needed for the young man.”

“Ja. I understand and I will be pleased to share my room.” It had taken several days for my parents to reach their decision and write a letter inviting Dovie to visit us. Mutter had expressed more misgivings than Vater, but she had finally agreed that she could not refuse Dovie's request. I didn't want to do or say anything that would cause them to regret the invitation. Besides, Dovie wouldn't arrive until spring. There would be ample time to rearrange my room for her visit.

“Who is this new shepherd? Is he from South or West Amana?” Smaller flocks of Shropshire sheep were pastured in those other two villages, but only in East was a flock of great magnitude maintained. Our combined flocks had increased to nearly fifteen hundred sheep, but my father was the overseer of just the operation in East. As the size of our flock increased, my father's responsibilities had grown in equal measure. I couldn't deny his need for an assistant manager, though I hoped he wouldn't hand over any of my tasks to the new shepherd.

Since the death of my brothers and with my father's diminishing health, he had granted me more responsibility with the sheep. Of course, the fact that my mother didn't complain when I was away from the kitchen had proved to be important, as well.

Shrugging into his heavy jacket, my father arched a brow. “His name is Anton Becker. He is from High Amana, and he's twenty-three years old.”

“High? There are no sheep in High. Is he a shepherd?”

“I have told you what you need to know about the young man. He is the choice of the elders, and I will trust their decision.” My father opened the door. “You should do the same.”

“Ja, Vater. I will do my best.” I said the words, but during our brief walk to prayer meeting at the Wentlers' house, I wasn't so sure I'd be happy with the elders' decision, especially if this new shepherd was a farm laborer or basket weaver who had no experience with sheep. How could he possibly be considered a good choice?

While the neighbors who attended our nightly meetings offered prayers of thanks for the help that would be arriving in the morning, I questioned God's decision and adopted a wait-and-see attitude.

When Anton Becker arrived at the barn the following morning, I greeted him with as much excitement as I could muster. He glanced around the barn as though he'd arrived in a strange land. And to him, it likely was.

I took pity upon him when his weak attempt at a smile fell short. “We are pleased you were selected to come and help us, Brother Anton.” I stepped forward. “I am Karlina Richter; my father is the overseer of the sheep here in East.”

He yanked his cap from his head and a shock of dark hair fell across his forehead. “Pleased to meet you,” he murmured as he continued his examination of the enclosure. “I was told to come straight to the barn and that Brother George Richter would give me my instructions.”

“Where are your belongings? Did you take them to the house?”

“
Nein
. Brother Kortig, one of our elders from High, brought me. He said he would take my trunk to the house and then return and talk to your Vater. Is he here?”

I shook my head. “His health is not gut this morning, and he returned home for a short time. I'm sure Brother Kortig will have no trouble finding him.”

He raked his fingers through his hair. Clearly, he was uncomfortable.

“Have you worked with sheep before, Brother Anton?”

“
Nein
, but this was the elders' decision.”

“Ja. So my Vater told me.”

He leaned his tall frame against one of the support beams, careful to avoid contact with any of the sheep. “What else did he tell you?”

“Only your name and that you live in High.”

“
Lived
in High. For now I live in East.” The wariness in his eyes diminished. “So that is all you know about me?”

“Was there something more my Vater should have told me?”

“Nein.” He pushed away from the beam and straightened his shoulders. “I think I should go up to the house and meet your Vater. Brother Kortig would not like it if he knew I was alone with a girl in the barn.” He turned up his collar and donned his cap. “Probably your Vater would not like it so much, either.”

I grinned. “You will like my Vater. He is a kind man and a gut teacher.” When he continued toward the door without a response, I followed him for a few steps. “You should take the path up to the road and turn left. Ours is the kitchen house on the corner.”

He strode out of the barn and followed the path without a backward glance. Shivering, I hurried after him and closed the door. It was good my father was a patient man, for Anton Becker would need much instruction.

And the instructions could begin with how to close the barn door.

While I entered the amounts of feed usage into the record book, my thoughts remained on Anton and why he had been the elders' choice. They hadn't based their decision upon his ability. And what had he meant when he'd said,
“For now I live in East”
? Was he planning to be here for only a short time? It made no sense to teach him how to work with the sheep if he would be leaving in the near future. Without warning, the answer came to me.
He's in East for his year of separation
. The reason was as clear as an Iowa sky on a starry night. The elders had chosen Anton because he had recently become engaged to a girl in High. He would spend his year of separation in East and then return to High and marry the girl.

There could be no other reasonable answer. And yet the thought annoyed me. Not because I cared if Anton Becker married—though I pitied the girl who would marry a man who did not know how to close a door behind him. Instead, I was irritated because we would spend the next year teaching him to care for sheep and then he would depart as quickly as he'd arrived. Strictly speaking, he'd be of little use at all during his time in East. Didn't the elders realize my father needed someone who would learn to love shepherding, someone who had a desire to spend their life caring for sheep, and someone who enjoyed the peacefulness of a rolling pasture on a spring day?

Someone like me.

Except the “someone” had to be a man.

I had finished my entries when the barn door opened and a gust of cold wind rushed in ahead of my father and Anton. If my father had misgivings about the elders' decision, they remained well hidden. “Anton tells me the two of you have met.” My father didn't wait for an answer. “Brother Kortig has departed for High, so I thought it would be gut to bring Anton down to the barn and tell him a little about our sheep and what will be expected of him each day.” He turned his attention to the young man. “My daughter knows as much about these sheep as I do, and they respond to her more quickly than anyone else. There's much you can learn from her.”

I wanted to tell Anton his first lesson would be about closing doors, but I didn't want to cause him embarrassment on his first day in our village. “I am here much of the time, so if you have questions, you can always ask me.”

My father pulled his coat tight around his neck. “The most important thing you must learn is this: No flock will be quiet and pleasant without the frequent attention of a kind, quiet shepherd. They are, by nature, easily handled by a shepherd who will give them gut care, and the only way you will learn proper management is to handle the stock. In other words, the best way to learn is by doing.”

I wasn't certain if Anton was bored or frightened, but his interest appeared to be elsewhere as my father continued to explain what would be expected of him. When my father hesitated for a moment, Anton interrupted. “I probably won't remember everything you're telling me, so why don't I begin learning by doing. Didn't you say that was the best way to learn?”

I didn't miss the twinkle in my father's eye as he pointed to the floor. “Since you're in a hurry to begin, you can start with mucking out the barn. We also have several sheds that provide shelter for the animals. Once you've finished in here, you can work on those. I'm going to return to the house, but Karlina can point them out to you once you've finished in here.”

Once my father departed, Anton picked up a shovel. “I am thinking I should not have been in such a hurry.”

“Ja. Sometimes it pays to remain silent and listen. But with your early start, you will have plenty of time to finish before the evening meal.” I tried to withhold a chuckle, but to no avail. Anton's knuckles turned white as he grasped the shovel, and the flash of anger in his eyes both surprised and frightened me. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have laughed.”

He didn't accept my apology. He didn't say a word. Instead, he clamped his jaw so tight that the tendons in his neck stood out like garter snakes. I set to work scooping the corn and oats in equal measure. I thought it easier to prepare the mixture in advance, and had planned to explain the process to Anton. But after observing him for a few moments I decided to wait for a time when he was in better humor.