Judith Miller - [Daughters of Amana 01] (9 page)

Cradling a heavy crock in each arm, I dangled the lantern from two fingers. With careful steps, I crossed the dirt floor and made my way up the stairs. Today, all of the women were busy inside the kitchen. No one to observe my disobedience. I heaved a sigh and placed the two bowls on the edge of the porch before returning downstairs. After securing a crock in each arm, I continued up the stairs, settled one container on the porch beside the other two, and carried the remaining one inside.

The pots of water were beginning to simmer. “How many more?” Sister Muhlbach asked.

I’d opened my mouth to answer when a barking dog and the distinct sound of breaking pottery sent me careering toward the back door.
“No!”
My shrieking admonition did nothing to frighten the furry black-and-white dog. I waved my arms at the animal. “Get away from there!” Paying me no heed, he continued to lap the egg yolks from amidst the pile of broken shells and scattered earthenware.

The other women rushed outside, and their chorus of shouts sent the animal running toward the shed, where he stopped long enough to eye the remaining mess. But when Sister Hillmer rushed after him with a broom, he disappeared.

“How did this happen, Berta?” Thick fingers surrounded my upper arm, and I turned to face Sister Muhlbach.

My lips moved, but my mouth felt as though it had been filled with cotton batting. The dog peeked out from alongside the wood shed, and I considered breaking loose of the woman’s grasp. It would be far safer to hide with the dog than face her wrath. “I’m n-n-not sure,” I gasped.

“Why were the crocks sitting out here on the porch? And whose dog is that? The only dogs permitted in the village belong to the shepherds. That dog isn’t one of ours.”

Her words sounded more like an accusation than a question. Did she think I’d enticed the dog into the yard? Couldn’t she see my fear and concern? “I’ve never seen it before. I don’t know where it came from,” I croaked.

The answer didn’t satisfy. She pointed at the mess. Only one crock remained safe on the porch. “Why were the crocks sitting out here?” Deep lines creased her forehead, and anger flashed in her dark eyes.

My mind whirled. What to do? I looked into Sister Muhlbach’s dark eyes. “Things were busy with so many women in the kitchen, and I decided to bring the remaining crocks to the porch before I carried them inside. I thought it would cause less confusion.” Her eyebrows dipped low. She was doing her best to make sense of my explanation—at least that’s what I hoped. I relaxed when I saw a faint glint of understanding in her eyes.

“We will make do. But the next time I give you a job, don’t try to improve on my instructions. Do as I tell you.” She signaled for Johanna and one of the other sisters to gather the two remaining crocks. “Once you’ve cleaned up this mess, come inside.”

I’d set to work picking up pieces of shell and shards of crockery from the slimy mess when I glanced up to see the black-andwhite dog inching toward me. I raised my arm to wave the dog forward when fingers circled my wrist in a tight hold. “Don’t do that, Berta.”

“Rudolf! What are you doing here?”

“Delivering milk. What else?” He stomped his foot, and the dog backed up several paces. “Don’t let that dog eat the eggs, Berta. If he gets a taste for eggs, he’ll be trying to raid the chicken coops, and you’ll be blamed.” He stooped down beside me. “What happened?”

I explained the mishap while I pushed the slippery glob onto a piece of the broken crock. “Sister Muhlbach blames me, but it’s the dog that’s at fault.”

Rudolf lifted his cap and scratched his head. “If you’d followed her orders—”

“Shh.” I held my finger to my lips. “I didn’t tell her about carrying two crocks at a time. That’s just between us. She’d never let me back inside to dye eggs if she knew the full truth.”

“Either way, you were wrong. The lying just makes it worse, but I’ll keep your secret.” He leaned across and scraped the remaining mess into another shard. After dumping the mess into the trash barrel, he wiped off the knees of his pants. “Just pump a little water and scrub with a broom. Soon it will be clean as a whistle.”

I pointed toward the woodshed. “And get rid of that dog before he causes even more trouble.”

While I scrubbed away any evidence of the broken eggs, Rudolf shouldered the cans of milk and carried them to the basement. The dog remained at a distance, watching my every move until Rudolf reappeared. “I’ll put the dog on my wagon and turn him out when I get over to East. Maybe one of the shepherds can turn him into a sheep dog.”

“Oh, thank you, Rudolf. I’m grateful.” If all those women hadn’t been in the kitchen, I would have kissed him. “You are a true friend.”

With an exaggerated flourish, he doffed his cap and bent at the waist. “I’m always pleased to help you, Berta.”

“How long will the meeting last on Easter morning?”

Johanna grinned as we walked toward the kitchen on Saturday morning. “You’re as eager as the children.”

“I admit I’m looking forward to a few hours of fun tomorrow afternoon. I hope it won’t rain.” Sister Muhlbach and Sister Nusser had both predicted bad weather.

“Either way, the children will have fun. We can hide the eggs inside if it rains. One year when I was a little girl, it snowed on Easter. But it didn’t dampen our spirits. It’s the tradition that matters. We brought these customs with us when we came to this country.”

I liked both of the customs, especially the soft, sugary cookies that had been cut into the shape of rabbits, squirrels, chickens, lambs, or deer. Sister Muhlbach had given permission for each of us to sample one of the treats yesterday. Today we would color the remaining eggs with dye from the woolen mill’s dye works.

Yesterday’s eggs had been quite lovely, with the onion skins providing a rich honey color to the white shells. Sister Hillmer had shown me how to make patterns by tying string around the eggs before dropping them into the tinted water. I’d even used a wax stylus made by the beekeeper to write names on some of the eggs. Still, I was eager to see what today’s eggs would look like when they were completed.

It was fear of being banned from the kitchen during egg dying that caused me to complete my morning chores without complaint. I didn’t want to risk being relegated to cleaning out the chicken coop or some other horrid task while the others enjoyed coloring eggs.

My excitement mounted when Sister Muhlbach motioned me to the stove. “You can help me prepare the dye since you’ve never done this before.”

Her willingness to include me came as a surprise, especially because I’d been responsible for the bowl of broken eggs. Pots of boiling water sat atop the stove.

“Put one color of dye in each of these smaller pots. We will mix in the glue from the woodshop, then set the smaller pan on top of the boiling water, and you must stir.”

“How will I know when it’s ready?” My stomach lurched at the thought of making a mistake on such an important task.

“Ach! You are always rushing. Before you finish one step, you must know what is next.” She placed the bowl of red dye and glue over the boiling water and handed me a long-handled spoon. “Stir until it bubbles. Then pour it into the custard bowls and let it cool and thicken.”

Her explanation evoked more questions, but I doubted Sister Muhlbach wanted to hear them at the moment. Besides, I was now stirring the blue dye with my right hand and the red with my left. Never before had I considered the difficulty of keeping both hands moving at the same time.

Soon the older children arrived to help color the eggs. The little ones would have their fun hunting for the eggs tomorrow. Sister Muhlbach pointed them to their places at the tables and gave them explicit instructions. “You color one egg at a time, and you will move from one table to the next. There is a different color at each table.” With exaggerated motions, she rolled the egg in the jellied substance and lifted it for all to see. To my amazement, the color held fast and the egg turned a brilliant red.

“You can make some, too,” Johanna said. “I’ll show you how to make a rainbow egg.”

When all the eggs had been colored, they were aligned on the table in a stunning display of bright colors. If only for this brief time, I was pleased to be in Amana.

Easter morning I fastened my pink silk before topping it with dark calico. To me, it seemed perfectly fitting to wear a bright color on this morning when Christians celebrated the risen Savior. After tucking my hair beneath my cap and grabbing my shawl from the foot of the bed, I hastened to meet Johanna. Even on Easter, we were expected to cook. Unless you were ill, there was no day of rest for the kitchen workers.

Sister Muhlbach had ordered us to be at the kitchen even earlier than usual. Today we would serve the special Easter meal. Much work must be completed before we departed for church. Yesterday I had offered to remain behind during the service, but my offer had been immediately rejected.

“You need church more than most,” Sister Muhlbach had replied. And that had ended any aspiration of missing what would likely be one of those longer-than-usual meetings like the ones we’d attended in Chicago on Christmas and Easter.

Then again, a comparison between the Chicago and Amana churches would be silly. The two were as different as a cat and a dog. There was no huge edifice or expensive pipe organ in Amana. No worshipers wearing festive hats or riding to the church in fancy carriages. No hand-carved pulpits or stained-glass windows could be found in any Amana church. In fact, until Johanna had pointed out the meetinghouse, I’d thought it just another home. Simplicity and uniformity ruled in Amana, and the meetinghouse was no exception.

With its whitewashed walls, bare floors, and long unpainted benches, the interior of the structure was as simple as the exterior. Instead of standing behind a pulpit, the presiding elder sat at a plain wood table. The people sang hymns without organ accompaniment, their voices blending in perfect harmony. Instead of vociferous entreaties, prayers were offered silently.

Johanna was waiting at the bottom of the steps. “I’m glad to see you’re on time.”

“I wouldn’t want to get in trouble. Sister Muhlbach said I could help hide the eggs and cookies.”

The early hours were hectic, but by the time we departed for church, Sister Muhlbach was pleased with our progress. “You did a good job this morning, Berta. You may help Gertrude hide the eggs while we are serving dinner.” In spite of her earlier prediction, there was no sign of rain. We would hide the eggs outdoors, and while the children hunted for them, we would hide the cookies in the kitchen and dining room.

“The children have such fun hunting. They each have their own Easter basket, hand-woven by Brother Snyder and presented to them when they are old enough to hunt the eggs.” Johanna grinned. “I’m too old to hunt eggs, but I still have the basket Brother Snyder made for me.”

In Chicago my Easter basket hadn’t been made by a basket weaver. In fact, I’d received a new one each year, and I had no idea where any of them were now. I was surprised when a stab of jealousy knifed through me. Why should I be envious of an Easter basket?

Instead of listening during meeting, I pondered that question. Though I’d not come up with any answer, I had been correct in my earlier expectation of Easter morning. The church service was longer than usual, but with an afternoon of fun looming ahead, I managed to maintain proper decorum. Finally the church service ended. I came alongside Johanna and Gertrude, and the three of us hurried back to the kitchen. Sister Muhlbach and some of the other women were there when we arrived.

The hearty smell of smoke-cured ham filled the kitchen. “Umm. It smells wonderful,” I said.

“And now you see why we had to come early and get the hams in the oven and the potatoes peeled.” Sister Muhlbach pointed at the pegs near the door. “Get your apron on. We have only an hour before dinner must be served.”

Sister Muhlbach called out orders, and we all jumped to do her bidding. By the time the village bell rang to signal dinner, Spätzle soup had been ladled into tureens, the ham sliced, the mashed potatoes topped with toasted bread crumbs, and the green beans seasoned with crispy bacon.