Judith Miller - [Daughters of Amana 01] (6 page)

The joyful flutter in my chest disappeared even more quickly than it had arrived. I’d misjudged Rudolf. He was like all the rest of them. Content with the dull sameness of this place. But after hearing a few motivating details, he might be convinced there could be more excitement in his future. More beyond the perimeter of the Amana villages, more beyond the farm where he’d been mistreated, more to life than he’d even imagined.

I tugged on his sleeve. “We need to talk. You didn’t see Chicago. It’s a wonderful place. You would like it very much.”

“But here in Amana, I am content. And my Mutter would be sad if I chose to leave. I like my work. It is a gut life here. You will see.”

He’d said the proper words, the words anyone living here would expect to hear from him. But I’d detected a shadowy doubt in his eyes that made me wonder if he truly was convinced this was where he belonged. Unfortunately, there wasn’t time for further conversation. Sister Stilson waved him forward. He obediently rushed to his mother’s side, but I decided Rudolf displayed promise. With a little work, he could be convinced a better life awaited him outside the confines of Amana, Iowa. I was certain of it.

My breath caught when Johanna grasped the fabric of my calico skirt between her thumb and forefinger the following morning. She lifted the fabric only an inch from the floor before allowing it to drop back into place. “I’m pleased to see you did as you were instructed.”

I didn’t respond. I’d be accused of lying if I agreed, and if I disagreed, I’d have to remove the pink silk skirt. Instead, I offered a bright smile. “And I’m on time, as well.”

“Indeed you are. It’s heartening to know my prayers are being answered.”

I didn’t respond to that remark, either. I looped arms and leaned close, pretending we’d been dear friends for years. “I’ve studied all of the single men who dine at our Küche, and I can’t decide which one you plan to marry.” Hoping to view Johanna’s reaction, I released her arm and danced along beside her. My skirt whispered through the dew-kissed grass as we cut around the house to the rear kitchen door.

The waning moon filtered slivers of light through the budding tree branches and cast eerie designs across her pale complexion.

“You are too bold with your questions, Berta. A girl of your age shouldn’t be dwelling upon marriage.”

“I’m not thinking about my own marriage, only yours. After all, you’re getting quite old. At your age most young ladies have several suitors.”

“Quite old?”

There was no doubt I’d offended her, but at least we’d moved along to a topic other than my pink skirt. “Indeed. Most young women your age would be distraught if they didn’t have an excellent marriage prospect.”

She unlatched the kitchen door and gestured toward the lamps. “You should know that marriage is never deemed acceptable by the elders until a young woman has attained the age of twenty-one, and young men must be twenty-four. For your information, I turned twenty-one not long ago.”

I struck a match against the hearth. The glimmering flame revealed the displeasure in Johanna’s eyes, but that didn’t stop me. “Still, I would think if there is someone who interests you—”

She waved me off as she would a pesky fly. “Finish the lamps and then go fetch water while I light the fire.”

Moments later I halted my lamp-lighting duties. “I guess you’d prefer someone from another village. Most of the unmarried men in Amana are quite solemn, don’t you think? I believe a sense of humor is important in marriage.”

Johanna pointed overhead. “Keep your voice down. Sister Muhlbach will hear. Private matters are not to be discussed. I don’t want her to think I’d engage in unacceptable conversation with you. Besides, what does a girl your age know of marriage!”

“My parents are married, and I think they could use more humor in their marriage. Father used to laugh a lot but not so much anymore.” I lit the final lamp. “Why are you so worried about getting in trouble? Your father is an elder. He can simply tell them you weren’t at fault, and all will be fine. That’s what Father usually did when I got in trouble at school.”

A piece of firewood slipped from Johanna’s hand. “You were disobedient, and your father lied for you so you wouldn’t suffer consequences for your bad behavior?”

She made it sound as though Father had committed some horrid crime. “Sort of,” I mumbled.

“That won’t happen here in Amana. If you misbehave, you must tell the truth and be prepared to take your punishment.”

I picked up the bucket and stifled a giggle. What could be done to make my life any more miserable? As if she could read my mind, Johanna said, “Believe me, you don’t want to be banned from meetings.”

I stopped in my tracks and swiveled around as though spinning on ice. “
That’s
the punishment? You can’t attend prayer meeting every night?”

“Or on Sunday, either. If the infraction isn’t quite so bad, you’re relegated to children’s church. But since you’ve not yet advanced, I imagine you would be banned from all church services.”

I wasn’t certain what she meant by advancing to other services on Sunday. So far, I’d only been to the nightly prayer meeting. Even though I dared not tell Johanna, I considered the punishment more of a reward. Armed with this latest unexpected news, I unlatched the door and skipped outside to fetch water.

Sister Muhlbach arrived in the kitchen a short time later. When I readily agreed to go to the cellar and check the cans of milk for spoilage, she eyed me with suspicion. “You’ll be helping to make cottage cheese today,” she called after me. I turned and flashed a smile in her direction. Her forehead scrunched with tiny wrinkles. My cooperative behavior had obviously confused her. The thought warmed me like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold day.

Once I entered the cellar, my jubilant thoughts evaporated as quickly as they’d arrived. The dank, dark rooms were enough to set my teeth on edge. In my haste to comply with Sister Muhlbach’s request, I’d forgotten the lantern. I stood at the bottom of the wooden steps and hoped my eyes would adjust to the darkness. Unfortunately, the milk was stored far across the room, away from any sliver of light. If I circled behind the steps, I could possibly edge my way along the wall and get to the large water-filled concrete vat that held the milk cans. I stood there and imagined spiders and bugs lurking among the jars of canned fruits and vegetables or a mouse hidden behind a barrel or basket. I should go upstairs, retrieve a lantern, and return to check the milk. That was the easiest solution. But I remained a little longer, unwilling to go upstairs and admit my forgetfulness to Sister Muhlbach.

“Berta! Are you still down there?”

“Coming.” I hastened up the steps and shaded my eyes from the bright sun that had begun its ascent into a clear blue sky.

Johanna grabbed my hand and pulled me along. “Sister Muhlbach thought you’d gone to sleep down there.”

“Who could sleep in such a place? I’m sure it’s full of all kinds of creatures.”

“A few spiders and maybe a snake or two—or perhaps a weasel.” With lightning speed, she snatched my arm in a quick pinch.

Heart pounding, I jumped backwards. Johanna’s laughter rang in my ears, and anger swelled in my chest. “That wasn’t funny! You frightened me.”

“I’m sorry, but I thought you were the girl who loved to play pranks and have fun.”

Sister Muhlbach waved us inside. “Come along. There’s breakfast to cook. What about the milk? Sweet or sour?” Her eyebrows arched high on her forehead.

“Sweet.”

She stared at my empty hands. “You did not bring any upstairs for breakfast?”

“You didn’t tell me. I didn’t think I was supposed—”

“Ach! That’s the problem. You didn’t think. Now go fetch a can of milk and fill the pitchers. I’ll slice the bread for you.”

This time I grabbed the lantern before I hurried out the back door and down the cellar stairs. What did she mean that she’d slice the bread for me? If I was supposed to slice the bread, why had she sent me to the cellar? No doubt I’d be assigned to dishwashing again this evening. I lifted one of the cans from beneath the heavy rugs used to help keep the milk cold and hiked back up the steps.

The bell had sounded, and soon the tables would be filled with hungry men, women, and children. Sister Muhlbach pointed to the empty pitchers. After filling them, I placed one on each of the tables and returned to the kitchen for further instruction.

Hands on hips, Sister Muhlbach watched my every move. Just looking at her tart expression was enough to make me squint my eyes and purse my lips. “Each table needs bread and syrup. Then come back for the oatmeal.”

I dutifully placed platters laden with bread, pitchers of syrup, and tureens of oatmeal first on the men’s tables, then on the women’s tables, and then on the table occupied by the older children. I’d deposited the last of the oatmeal and had nearly made it back to the kitchen when one of the elders motioned to me.

“Please tell Sister Muhlbach I wish to speak with her immediately— and please remove the pitchers of milk from the tables on your way to the kitchen.”

His request could mean only one thing—the milk was sour.

Perspiration dampened my palms, and I swiped them down the front of my apron. Spilling sour milk on the elders certainly wouldn’t help my plight. When I stopped at the women’s table, I could see the concern in my mother’s eyes. “Spoiled milk,” I whispered in her ear as I lifted the pitcher. “I’ll be in trouble for sure.”

Mother’s chest deflated like a balloon losing air. “You must learn to behave, Berta. I don’t want any trouble. Do you understand?”

She hissed the words through clenched teeth.

I reared back. Her words felt like a slap. Why did she want to stay in this awful place? What had happened to the mother I’d known in Chicago? The one who attended luncheons and balls? The one who enjoyed seeing the latest fashions when they arrived from Europe? The one who loved purchasing and wearing those fashionable gowns? Within hours of arriving in Iowa, she’d transformed into an unfashionable matron content to care for other women’s children and eat in a dining hall isolated from her own husband and daughter.

Pitchers in hand, I hastened to the kitchen and delivered the message to Sister Muhlbach. I didn’t have to tell her the milk was sour. I carried the evidence with me.

CHAPTER 5

Johanna Ilg

There was no controlling Berta. She had an excuse for everything. Yet over the past days her carefree spirit had warmed my heart in an inexplicable way I’d seldom experienced. I’d lain awake for several nights, contemplating exactly why I frequently came to her defense, for she certainly didn’t deserve my help. She’d learned little from the incident with the spoiled milk. Even two days of churning butter and making cottage cheese hadn’t deterred her from sneaking off to hide behind the shed and take a nap.

Something deep inside compelled me to protect her, yet I couldn’t decide what it was. We were in the washhouse helping with the family laundry, and each time our mothers carried a basket of wet clothes to the lines, Berta would tell me something more about Chicago and her life before arriving in Iowa. It was then, when I’d least expected it, I received my answer. Berta represented a link to my brother Wilhelm, in Chicago. When I listened to her talk about the city and the many places she’d been, I imagined Wilhelm doing those very same things. Not shopping for pretty dresses or attending teas, but I could picture him dining at a fine hotel, attending an outdoor concert in the park, or strolling along the shores of Lake Michigan. How wondrous his life must be—and how different from what he’d left behind here.

It took little to prompt my thoughts toward the many places I longed to visit before I died. No doubt my mother would be overwrought if she knew how often my thoughts lingered on the outside world. Not long ago I’d gathered courage and told her of my desire to visit Wilhelm in Chicago. Her complexion had turned pale, and she’d dropped to her chair in a near faint. “Your Vater and I will never consider such a thing. There is nothing gut for you in the outside world,” she’d said. But she hadn’t changed my mind.