A Simple Change (9 page)

“It's true that the girls would likely feel uncomfortable with you present. The weather is warm. If you don't want to sit downstairs, maybe you could spend the evenings on the porch or in the yard.” I was suddenly struck with a solution. “Better yet, you may have the parlor, and I'll take the girls outdoors for their lessons. Unless it's raining, of course.” Now that they were halfway through June, the long, hot days of summer would become more oppressive. Even late into the evening, the upstairs rooms remained muggy and airless.

Ritt shook his head. “I would not expect you to go outside in the rain.” He grinned at me and my heart did a strange flip that surprised me. “And the backyard is big enough that the girls should not mind if I sometimes come down and sit under one of the apple trees—in case I should need some fresh air.”

Madelyn crossed her arms over her chest and pushed her lips into a pout. “You don't care about fresh air, Ritt. You just want to be near Jancey.”

I snapped around and looked at Madelyn. Mischief danced in her bright blue eyes. She'd understood all along. It was only I who had been blind to his intentions. I cleared my throat. “This is Ritt's home, too, Madelyn. I am sure he will do his best to keep his distance when the other girls are here.” I pinned him with an unwavering stare. “Won't you, Brother Ritt.”

“Yes, Sister Jancey.” His reply was in the same singsong voice used by children answering a schoolteacher, and I couldn't suppress a slight smile.

I pointed to the sheet of spelling words. “Now that we have that matter settled, you need to study your spelling words, Madelyn.”

A light mist was falling as I hurried into the men's quarters after breakfast and greeted Margaret. Almost a week had passed, and Ritt and I were supposed to picnic near the river on Saturday. Ever since he'd extended the invitation, I'd been excited at the possibility of meeting some other people my own age. If the rain continued, I worried there would be no picnic.

Margaret stood in the sitting room, holding a broom in one hand. “You want to work in the parlor or the sleeping quarters? I already started in here.”

We'd come to an agreement that we would switch back and forth with the cleaning duties, but whenever it was Margaret's day to change the sheets, she did her best to switch with me.

“It's your day to do the sleeping quarters, Margaret. You've changed the sheets only one time since I began working with you. Each time it's your turn, you find some reason to have me do it.”

Truth be told, I didn't particularly mind changing the sheets, but it was the principle of the thing. If there was one thing I believed in, it was being fair. I'd consistently taught that to the children at the orphanage, and I tried always to be fair in my own dealings. Margaret had obviously come to believe I had no idea what she'd been doing—that thought annoyed me more than changing the dirty sheets.

Margaret thrust the broom toward me. “I didn't know you were keeping a log. There have been days when your mother was sick and I had to clean both the rooms.”

My feelings of fairness subsided and shame washed over me.
She was right—there had been times when Margaret had been required to clean more than her share. “Never mind, Margaret. I'll take care of the beds.” A clap of thunder sounded overhead and I glanced toward the ceiling. “I do hope this rain doesn't continue.”

Margaret bobbed her head. “If it does, we'll have to dry the sheets inside tomorrow.”

I stopped and stared at her. “You're right. I had forgotten about the wash.”

“Then why were you worried about the rain?”

“I guess I was just hoping it won't rain Saturday—because of the picnic. Are you going?”

Margaret grasped the broom in both hands and swept across the wooden floor. “I might if the right man should ask me.” She kept her eyes fixed on the dirt she'd swept into a small pile on the floor.

“Who's the right man? Do you have someone special?” My father had explained the rules regarding engagement and the year of separation. It was why he and my mother had left the colonies—they hadn't wanted to wait to marry. If Margaret had a special beau, I was sure they weren't yet engaged. Besides, she'd never before mentioned any interest in a man.

Her lips curved in a faint smile. “He works at the woolen mill. Now can you guess?”

I shook my head. How could she expect me to know?

“Brother Ritter, that's who.”

I swallowed hard. “Brother Ritt is the man you want to ask you to the picnic?” My heard pounded and my palms turned damp.

“Ja. He is gut looking, don't you think? And very nice, too.”

“He is,” I croaked. “Has he invited you to attend other events with him?”

Her eyes clouded. “Nein, but I wave to him whenever I see him
coming from the mill. Sometimes he waves in return. I am hoping he thinks I'm not too plain and will ask me.” She shrugged. “If he does not, then I will stay home, which will please my Mutter. She wants me to help with the mending.”

Swinging around, I waved toward the other room. “I'd better get busy and change the beds or we'll never get done on time.” I hurried from the room before she could ask who had invited me to the picnic.

Yanking sheets as I proceeded down the first row of beds, I came to a dead stop when I reached the third bed from the end of the row. Still holding an armful of dirty sheets, I dropped to the side of the bed and stared at a tattered picture lying atop an old trunk stationed beside the bed. My fingers trembled as I picked up the blurred and faded photograph of a young girl. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. There was no mistake. The little girl with long blond braids was standing in front of the Kansas City Charity Home.

Chapter 9

I don't know how long I'd been sitting on the side of the bed staring at the unframed photograph. Had it been there all along and I hadn't noticed, or had a new worker arrived?

I startled when Margaret called to me. “You are not feeling gut, Jancey?”

With a quick turn, I waved her forward. “I am fine. It's this picture . . .”

Margaret approached and leaned over my shoulder. “Ja. What about it? A little girl standing in front of a building somewhere.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not a very gut photograph, all fuzzy and discolored. I hope they didn't pay much money for it.” She pointed across the room. “Some of the other men have better photographs than this one.”

“Who sleeps in this bed?” I asked, patting the mattress. “Do you know?”

“Nein. I don't know the names of any of these men. I know only that the one who sleeps in that bed has the initials TK stitched in his clothes. We are not supposed to mingle with the outsiders. You know this, ja?”

I bobbed my head. Because I'd been the one who washed the sheets and towels while Margaret washed the men's clothing, I hadn't realized the men had markings in their clothes. Now that I knew, it made sense. I'd given no thought as to how the men identified their clothing once it had been washed and placed in stacks on the table in the sitting room.

“You are going to finish with the beds?”

Jumping to my feet, I laid the photograph back in place. “Yes, of course.”

There was no need to confide in Margaret. My interest in the owner of the photograph hadn't piqued her curiosity in the least. She wanted only to see that the beds were stripped and remade, preferably without her help.

The rain continued to fall throughout the rest of the morning, and while thunder rumbled overhead, I tried to remember if I'd ever before seen anything lying on the trunk near the end of the row—or if I'd even noticed the trunk. I couldn't be certain. Surely that trunk had been there. How could I have missed it? While teaching at the orphanage, I'd been attentive to every aspect of the schoolroom, but my attention to detail had disappeared as I'd adapted to the cleaning routine here in the men's quarters. There had been no reason to be alert to my surroundings—or so I'd thought.

I waited until last to make the bed near the end of the row. After carefully tucking the sheets and placing a folded woolen blanket at the foot of the bed, I once again stared at the picture. Hoping
to discover some detail that might reflect when the picture had been taken, I focused first upon the girl's appearance and then the building itself but found nothing.

The fact that I didn't recognize the girl didn't mean she wasn't still at the school, for she was older than the children in our section of the orphanage. And though I'd met many of the older children, I couldn't place this girl.

Perhaps she'd already come and gone by the time I began teaching, but the older children were seldom placed. Especially the girls. Some of the older boys would be adopted by families in the West with an eye toward help on their farms, but the girls were viewed as more of a liability than an asset by most. As potential families passed through the orphanage, I'd hear them comment that it didn't pay to take a girl. Their comments were always the same:
“As soon as you get a girl trained to be decent help, she runs off and gets married.”

“Didn't you hear the bell? Time to go or the noonday meal will be over before either of us puts our feet under a dining table.” Margaret stood at the door with two umbrellas in her hand. “You can use this one. It's an extra that's kept here, so be sure you bring it back with you.” She thrust a dusty umbrella in my direction. “I brought my own with me this morning. I hope that one doesn't leak. No telling the last time anyone used it.”

With the rain descending in cascading sheets, I was thankful for any sort of protection. I peered out the window. Water stood in deep puddles and with no wooden walkway outside, our shoes would likely sink into mud up to our ankles.

I backed away from the window. “I don't think I'll go. I'm not particularly hungry. I can stay here and mop and finish dusting the furniture.”

“What if Sister Hanna isn't able to take food to your Mutter? Did you think about that?”

With this downpour, Sister Hanna might expect me to offer. She would likely prefer to stay at the Küche. Before we hurried off in opposite directions, I gave her arm a slight squeeze. “Try to stay dry, and I'll do the same.”

The corners of her lips tipped in a feeble smile as thunder clapped overhead. “Danke.”

My shoes were soon wet and covered in mud. I had hoped there would be an opportunity to speak to Ritt and discover if he knew any of the outsiders who worked at the mill. But with the ongoing downpour, none of the men or women would remain outside to visit before the meal commenced.

Rather than take my seat at the table, I waited to catch sight of Sister Hanna. She smiled as she rounded the kitchen doorway and drew near. “If this rain keeps up, we will all need webbed feet to get around.” Her gaze settled on my shoes. “Your shoes are soaked through. I have a pair of dry stockings in my mending bag you can borrow. Put them on when you get back to the men's quarters so you do not get sick.”

“What about you? Are you going to remain at the Küche?”

Sister Hanna shook her head. “Nein. I will be going home until time to help with the evening meal. I will see to your Mutter's care.” She motioned to the other room. “I have boots and an umbrella to protect me. Is gut we made lots of soup today. Even when it isn't cold outside, wet clothing causes chills.” She motioned for me to follow her. “Come and get the stockings. Then I must ladle the soup. Brother Herman will soon begin the noonday prayer.”

With the stockings tucked beside me, I finished the pea soup and then spooned a sizable helping of the radish salad and fried
potatoes onto my plate. I helped myself to a small portion of pork loin and passed the platter to Sister Hulda. Hogs were raised in the colonies, so pork was frequent fare at our dining tables. And though I usually took a large portion, I wasn't particularly hungry today.

Without asking, Sister Hulda speared a large piece of pork and dropped it onto my plate. When I shook my head, she scowled and gestured that I should eat. Though I wanted to refuse, I refrained from doing so. To cause a scene wouldn't be wise. And though I wasn't hungry enough to eat such a large portion, waste was frowned upon. I would need to clean my plate. After so much food, I'd likely be longing for a nap by two o'clock.

During the meal, I let my gaze wander toward the outsiders who sat at a separate table on the men's side of the room. Though not all of them ate in our Küche, I looked at each one to see if I could detect a resemblance to the girl in the photograph. One young man was a possibility, but he had black hair and the girl's hair had appeared lighter. Even if he was an exact look-alike, what would I do?

I couldn't walk up to an outsider, tap him on the shoulder, and say,
Excuse me, but while making your bed I saw a picture of a girl in front of the Kansas City Charity Home and wondered who she might be.
Not cleaning my plate would pale in comparison to such forward behavior.

At the completion of the after-meal prayer, I departed with the pair of dry stockings tucked beneath my cape and the umbrella overhead. The winds had died down, and though it continued to rain, I didn't have to contend with the gusting sheets that had pelted me on my way to the Küche.

Margaret was waiting inside when I returned. “I am glad to see you remembered to bring the umbrella back with you.”

I stared at her in wonderment. “It is still raining, Margaret. There is little chance I would forget the umbrella.”

She giggled as she removed her shoes. “Ja, I suppose that is right. I am going to put my shoes by the stove. They are soaked. You should do the same.” After dropping to one of the chairs, she untied her laces.

I removed both my shoes and then placed my wet stockings over one of the wooden chairs to dry. “Sister Hanna gave me a pair of dry stockings from her mending basket.”

“Did you talk to Brother Ritt at the Küche?” Propping her elbow on the table, she rested her chin in the palm of her hand.

“No.”

“I wish I lived in the same house with the Hetrigs. Maybe then Brother Ritt would notice me. I have tried my best to gain his attention, but with no success.” As though struck by a bolt of lightning, Margaret jumped to her feet. “Maybe you could help, ja?”

My stomach lurched. I knew what she was going to ask, and I hoped to curtail any further talk of Ritt or his family. “I need to get busy in the other room. I haven't even begun to dust.” I bolted toward the other room.

“Wait!” She grasped my arm. “I want to ask if you would speak to Ritt for me.”

I sighed. There would be no escape. I looked into her expectant eyes and waited.

“Would you ask Brother Ritt if he has invited anyone to the picnic? To know would make it easier for me.” She rubbed her fingers together in a nervous manner. “If he hasn't asked anyone, if you would mention my name, I would for sure be grateful to you.”

What should I say? I didn't want to hurt her by saying he'd
invited me. Yet I couldn't lie to her. If I told her the truth, would it become impossible to work side by side in the future? I'd been looking forward to the picnic, but now I hoped the rain would continue and the outing would be canceled. That would solve this dilemma—at least for the time being.

“I can see my request has caused you discomfort.” She bowed her head. “I should not have asked. To make such an inquiry of a man you barely know would be most embarrassing. Please forget that I asked you. If Brother Ritt desires my company, he knows where I live and work and he will ask me.”

I inhaled a deep breath and forced a smile, thankful Margaret had withdrawn her request. Yet while I dusted the windowsills and iron bed frames, guilt washed over me. What if the rain stopped and the picnic went on as scheduled? What if Margaret decided to attend without an escort and I appeared at the picnic on Ritt's arm? How would she feel? I attempted to place myself in her position and knew I couldn't remain silent. To prolong the matter would only make it worse.

I tucked the dustrag into my apron pocket and returned to the other room. Margaret was stooped down in front of the stove, checking her shoes. She glanced over her shoulder as I approached. “Your shoes are dry so soon?” I asked.

“Nein, but I thought I would turn them around so the heat will reach the back as well as the front. Should I turn yours?”

I nodded and sat down on one of the chairs. “We need to talk, Margaret.”

She arched her brows. “Ja? Something is wrong in the sleeping room?”

I shook my head. “Everything is fine in the other room, but I need to speak with you about Ritt.”

She beamed with anticipation and dropped into the chair opposite me. “For sure, I would like that.”

My palms turned moist and I wanted to run from the room, but I swallowed hard and forced myself to speak. “When you first mentioned Ritt and the picnic, I should have told you that he's already invited me.” Her mouth dropped open and she leaned away from me, her eyes pooling with tears. I reached toward her and when she didn't withdraw, I grasped her hands and held them within my own. “I am truly sorry, Margaret. Please know I didn't intend to hurt you. If I had known you cared for Ritt before he asked me, I would never have accepted his invitation. I don't know what I can do to help ease your pain, but I didn't want his invitation to come between us.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. She pulled one hand from my grasp and wiped the tear away. “I am grateful you told me. At least I don't have to keep hoping he's going to show up and ask me.” Her lips curved in an awkward smile. “He has every right to ask the girl of his choice, and you have every right to accept. It's not as though he's ever asked to escort me anywhere.” She inhaled a ragged breath. “I just kept hoping he might notice me.”