Judith Miller - [Daughters of Amana 01] (20 page)

On Tuesday, while I tipped the bowl of doughy Spätzle mixture over boiling beef stock and cut the batter into noodle-sized portions with a sharp knife, I came to a decision. I was going to follow Johanna’s lead and write a letter of my own. I didn’t know Caroline’s last name, but the return address on the envelope remained emblazoned in my mind. Though I hadn’t prayed for direction, I was certain Johanna had done so before she penned her letter. If God’s answer to her had been to write a letter, He would surely tell me the same thing. At least that’s what I told myself, because that’s what I wanted to believe.

For the remainder of the day I considered the contents of the letter. My first idea was to send a threatening missive; the second, a heartfelt plea. The third concept was more businesslike—a statement of the facts. I settled on the third idea. If the woman knew my father was without money to provide for a wonderful life, she’d surely leave him alone. If all went well, I would write the letter that evening and post it in the morning.

On the way home I stopped along the way and picked up a few small rocks and pebbles. I bundled them in a handkerchief and tucked it into my pocket. I would need the pebbles when the time was right.

When my parents decided to visit with the Ilgs after prayer service that evening, I was certain God was on my side. With a quick wave I hurried upstairs and slipped into my parents’ bedroom. My heart pounded beneath my dark calico. If I looked in a mirror, I’d likely see my bodice ripple with each resounding thud. I opened the dresser drawer and slipped my hand to the back of the drawer. Suddenly afraid the pouch wouldn’t be there, I held my breath until the familiar leather bag was in my hand. I shoved it into my skirt pocket, pushed the socks back in place, closed the drawer, and escaped the room. I rushed to my bedroom as if the devil were on my heels.

I leaned against the closed door and forced myself to breathe normally. Then I extracted the leather bag from my pocket. The lumps inside indicated my father hadn’t removed the contents, but I wanted firsthand knowledge. How I wished my bedroom door had a lock; I’d feel so much safer. I tiptoed across the room, listening for any sound in the outside hallway. I had learned long ago that you could never be too careful. Especially when any form of subterfuge was involved. All remained quiet. God truly wanted me to succeed!

After emptying the contents of the bag onto my bed, I sighed with relief. It didn’t appear that my father had removed anything. I retrieved the bundle of pebbles and stones from my dresser and unknotted the handkerchief. While uttering a fleeting prayer that my parents wouldn’t return within the next few minutes, I dumped the stones into the bag and returned the pouch to my father’s dresser drawer. The entire exchange was conducted without a snag.

My temples pounded as blood raced through my veins, but I couldn’t relax just yet. With a swoop of my hand, I gathered up the jewels and money from my bed, the remains of my father’s inheritance from my grandmother, tied them into the handkerchief, and tucked them into the bottom of my trunk for safekeeping. The deed completed, I dropped to the side of the bed. My father wasn’t going to leave this place—at least not without me.

Now I would write to Caroline.

I retrieved my small writing desk, propped it on my lap, and leaned against my pillows while I considered exactly how I should address such a woman. I didn’t know her last name, and I certainly wouldn’t greet her by her first name. I tapped my fingers on the sheet of stationery and considered a greeting of
Dear Coveting Woman
, but that wouldn’t do. After several more minutes I decided against any salutation at all—a woman such as Caroline didn’t deserve a formal greeting!

In a careful script I wrote the date at the top of the page, but formulating my thoughts took longer than I’d expected. Finally I put pen to paper.

My name is Berta Schumacher. I am the daughter of Herman and Helen Schumacher. We have never been introduced, but I know who you are. You are the woman who hopes to steal my father away from my mother and me. My reason for writing to you is simple. You should leave my father alone. He belongs with his family, not with you. Though you may think otherwise, my father no longer has any money. Nor does he have any gold or jewels. All that he inherited from his mother is now gone. I have determined you are a woman of social position. I’m sure you want to continue your life of comfort. Unless you plan to use your personal funds, my father would come to you without status or position and in need of financial support. I suggest you find a wealthy man, one without a wife!

Tipping my head, I looked up at the ceiling. What else could I say to convince this woman? In a flash it came to me.

One thing more: If my father would leave my mother and come to you, could you ever trust that he would not do the same to you? In addition, please know that your secret is not safe with me.

Berta Schumacher

I hadn’t given Caroline the courtesy of a salutation, and I wouldn’t give her the courtesy of a formal closing to the letter, either. I folded the piece of paper and tucked it into an envelope. Now I had to trust that my words would be enough to terminate her plans for a future with my father.

CHAPTER 15

Johanna Ilg

Alone in the backyard, I counted how many days had passed since I’d written to Wilhelm. Two and a half weeks. During that time, my mother had turned increasingly detached. Recent attempts at conversation had proved stilted and forced, and I worried she knew I’d written to Wilhelm. Yet how could she? I’d been clear in the letter to my brother that he wasn’t to tell our parents that I’d written. And when I’d checked to see if any mail had arrived at the general store, Brother Kohler assured me he hadn’t told anyone I’d mailed a letter. My conscience nagged like a pecking hen. Perhaps I shouldn’t have written to Wilhelm.

“Here you are,” my father called. “We wondered where you could be.”

Both of my parents rounded the side of the house and approached with determined steps. Their serious demeanor was enough to tell me something was amiss. I braced myself for accusations that I had betrayed them by writing to Wilhelm without their knowledge.

Forcing a smile, I said, “I decided to remain outdoors after I returned from the Küche. I hope I didn’t worry you.”

My father surveyed the yard. “No, but we wanted to speak with you privately. Are you alone?”

Such a silly question. He’d just scanned the entire yard. Did he think someone was hiding in the washhouse? “I’m alone.” Curiosity on the alert, I scooted out of the sun’s glare. I wanted a good view of my parents’ expressions when they spoke to me.

Hunching his shoulders, my father bent down to walk beneath the drooping clotheslines. My mother followed close on his heels, slipping beneath the sagging ropes with only a tip of her head.

I patted the grassy spot beside me, but my parents declined. Both of them stared down at me with somber faces. “We have some good news,” my father said.

Good news? He looked like he had come to tell me there’d been a death in the family. “And what is that?”

He rubbed his large callused hands together. “Carl has asked permission to court you. We told him we would be very pleased to welcome him into our family.” He cleared his throat and forced a smile. “I believe he hopes to marry you, but I don’t think he will rush you to a decision.”

“M-m-marry? M-m-me?” The sputtered words caught between my lips. “But we barely know each other. And you both know about my desire to travel, to see other places. The whole country is outside the borders of our villages. I want to see part of it before I settle here in Amana for the rest of my life. More than anything, I want to visit Wilhelm and Larissa in Chicago.”

My mother gasped, and my father’s smile disappeared. His weathered features settled into a frown. “We have all heard enough about Chicago from Wilhelm. A visit isn’t necessary to know it isn’t the place for us.”

“But that’s not the same as—”

My father lifted his hand to silence me. “Since you were a little girl, you have asked questions about other places, but that doesn’t mean we would ever give our approval. And who would you travel with, daughter? Even if we gave our permission, you couldn’t travel by yourself. It’s improper.”

“And dangerous,” my mother added. The fear in her eyes matched the warning in her tone.

“Wilhelm could accompany me to Chicago, and I would stay at his home. There would be no danger in that. It is my wish that you would give me permission to go and visit with him. Then we can speak of my future.” I clasped my hands together and squeezed until my fingers ached. “You know I will return, Mutter. I don’t want to live in the big city. I just want to go and see it for myself.”

Grief replaced the fear that had shone in my mother’s eyes only a short time ago. “Ja. That is what Wilhelm said, too. First Pieter, then Wilhelm, now you. Am I to lose all of my children?”

“You haven’t lost Wilhelm. He is—”

My mother flapped her handkerchief. “Pieter didn’t choose to leave us, but Wilhelm—” She bobbed her head. “Ja. He wanted to go. And now you.”

Tears rimmed Mother’s eyes, and my father pinned me with an accusatory stare. My insides wrapped into a tight knot, but I didn’t change my mind. I wanted to see Chicago. “So this is why you have given Carl permission to court me. You fear I’ll leave here. But if I marry Carl, you will no longer have to worry. That’s it, isn’t it?”

My father leaned his back against the tree with his shoulders hunched forward like an old man. “Carl has become like a member of the family—visiting with us in the evenings after prayer meetings and on Sunday afternoons. You have gone fishing with him, and he tells us the two of you have become gut friends.” The frown deepened. “He hasn’t spoken lies to me, has he?”

Everything my father had said was true. Carl and I had gone fishing on Sundays, we’d visited in my parents’ parlor each evening after prayer meetings, we’d enjoyed Sunday afternoon walks with Rudolf and Berta, and we had formed a friendship. I enjoyed Carl’s company and found his easy laughter and gentle nature agreeable. I didn’t doubt he could be a good husband. But I wasn’t looking for a husband. And Carl had never mentioned marriage. He hadn’t even mentioned love. “We are friends, and I enjoy his company. Carl knows I want to see Chicago and maybe even New York City—I’ve told him so. And what of our church doctrine that says to remain single is best?”

My mother drew closer. “But marriage is acceptable when approved by the Bruderrat.”

My heart pounded an erratic rhythm. “Have you already spoken to the other members of the Bruderrat?”

My father shook his head. “No. Unless you are willing to accept Carl’s marriage proposal, there is no reason to speak to them yet.” His brows lifted in an expectant arch.

“We would be required to wait at least a year, and Carl would likely be sent to another village during our engagement. You would be without him to help you with the work.”

“That’s not for sure,” my father said.

Had he forgotten the procedures ordered by the Grossebruderrat once an engagement was approved? The couple was separated for a year in order to make certain they truly loved each other. He and my mother had endured such a separation. Secretly, I thought it was because the elders hoped the couple would change their minds when faced with a year of separation.

“I believe the Bruderrat would agree there are circumstances that prohibit Carl from moving to another village. The elders know that I am in dire need of his help. Rules in our community are fitted to circumstances and can be broken when there is gut reason.”

From my father’s quick response, I surmised the three of them had been planning for longer than I cared to think about. I found the fact that Carl and my parents had taken it upon themselves to plan my future quite annoying, yet I wouldn’t be disrespectful. “I wish you would have talked to me before you gave Carl your permission, but . . .” I let my comment hang in the air for a long moment. Now might be a good time for some delicate persuasion. “If I agree to the courtship, would you give permission for me to visit Wilhelm in Chicago for a week or two?”

“Children do not bargain with their parents!” My mother’s sharp words further reflected her fear.

Could I ever convince her that a visit to Chicago didn’t mean she’d lose me? “I am your daughter, but I am no longer a child. I hope you and Vater will consider my request. I don’t want to go against your wishes.” Using the trunk of the tree for support, I pushed to my feet and shook the leaves from my skirt. An argument with my mother would only make matters worse. If I remained in the yard, I might say something I would regret. “We all need time to think on this. I am going to my room.”

My parents didn’t argue. I knew they were disappointed with my reaction, but what had they expected?

When Wilhelm had written to tell them he was getting married, my mother had cried for a week. Not continuously, of course, but she’d shed enough tears to sink a small rowboat. She’d thought marriage a terrible idea. Granted, Wilhelm had married a girl from the outside—a fact that they still had not completely accepted. I had hoped my agreement to court Carl would relieve their fears and they’d agree to let me visit Chicago. After seeing Mother’s reaction, I now doubted anything would change their minds.