Love Finds You in Amana Iowa (18 page)

Henriette was right. Matthias was avoiding her.

She stepped forward and set the basket beside him. “I thought you might be hungry.”

“Danke schön,” he mumbled, a nail gripped between his lips, but he didn’t move toward the basket.

“You are working quickly.”

“I’m building it for the Vinzenz family.” He slid the nail from his lips and began pounding it into the wood. “They must have someplace to eat when they arrive.”

“Of course,” she replied. She already knew he wasn’t building it because of her. “I received a letter today from Friedrich.”

He stopped pounding. “What did he say?”

“That Iowa City has been hot this summer.”

“He’s in Iowa City?”

“He was there for a month.”

Matthias dropped his hammer to his side as the excitement glimmered in his eyes. “Then I will go to him.”

She was warmed again by the loyalty in Matthias’s heart. She wished they could both go to Camp Pope and retrieve Friedrich. “He’s already gone away.”

The light dimmed. “Where did he go?”

“He didn’t tell me.”

Matthias pounded in another nail and then turned back to her. “Is he well?”

She nodded. “He said he was continuing to pray for God’s guidance.”

She leaned down and took a bottle of beer out of the basket; the glass was still cold from the ice chest. She hadn’t walked down here for him to ignore the refreshment.

He took the drink from her and leaned back against the post. “It’s strange, isn’t it, how we can all pray to the same God but hear Him guide us in different ways?”

“Maybe He tells us different things because He has different tasks for us to do.”

He took a long swig of the beer. “Or maybe some of us aren’t listening to what He requires.”

“I don’t believe God hides information to frustrate us, Matthias. I believe He wants us to continually search for the truth.”

“So you believe Friedrich is supposed to fight?”

She shook her head. “I cannot answer for him.”

He ate a piece of the bread and hard salami. Then he set the bottle back into the basket and handed it to her. Turning, he began to pound another nail into the wood, dismissing her without even a thank-you or good-bye.

“Matthias—”

“Hmm?”

“What did Friedrich say before he left?”

“He said a lot of things.”

“I mean—”

Matthias turned toward her. “I don’t understand you, Amalie.”

She twisted the handle on the basket. She didn’t know exactly what she meant either. She only wanted to experience a bit of what Friedrich was like before he left. “I wondered if he said anything about what it would be like when he returned.”

“He wasn’t thinking about returning. He was thinking about leaving.”

She nodded. “I only wondered—”

“What?”

She shook her head. She wanted a taste of being near Friedrich, but while he and Matthias might be the best of friends, Matthias still considered her to be the enemy. “Nothing.”

“If you have something that needs to be said, Amalie, you better say it.”

“Did I do something to offend you?”

When he turned toward her, his eyes narrowed. “That’s a ridiculous question.”

“It’s just…it’s like you’ve been angry with me since I arrived, like I was the one who convinced Friedrich to leave.”

He shook his head. “Friedrich convinced himself.”

“Once we were friends, Matthias. Remember those days?”

“That was a long time ago.”

A very long time ago. “
I just want to make sure everything is good between us.”

“There is no
us,
Sister Amalie.”

She turned and rushed back outside the kitchen house.

* * * * *

The hammer missed the nail, slamming his thumb into the wood. Matthias shook his thumb in the air, welcoming the distraction of the pain, but when the throbbing subsided, his thoughts returned in earnest, tormenting him even more than the pain from his hammer.

How dare Amalie come around here, asking him questions about Friedrich? He wasn’t privy to Friedrich’s thoughts about her nor did he want to be. At one time, many years ago, the three of them might have been friends, but he was no longer part of Amalie’s life nor would he ever be except to regard her as Friedrich’s wife. Nothing more.

Lifting his hammer, he pounded the nail into the wood. If only he could pound his thoughts away along with it.

Why couldn’t Friedrich have written to him as well? Then he could just tell Amalie that he already knew where Friedrich was. He didn’t need her to act the messenger. He was grateful for the news that Friedrich was well and he thanked God for it, but he wanted Amalie to leave him alone.

If he knew Friedrich had been in Iowa City for the past month, he would have gone and tried to convince him to leave. Perhaps that was why Friedrich hadn’t written him. He didn’t want Matthias to come.

He moved the board and set down his hammer. The elders had received a letter from Ebenezer yesterday; the Vinzenz family along with two other families were supposed to leave the second week in September, and it would take them about ten days to travel by steamship and train to Amana. The kitchen house should be done by the time they arrived, perhaps even sooner. Then Amalie could move to her own kitchen and he could resume his normal life eating at Henriette’s kitchen. The food might not be as good as Amalie’s but at least he wouldn’t have to see her every day.

Now if he could figure out a way to avoid prayer services as well.

Niklas stepped up onto the kitchen house floor. “Is Sister Amalie pleased with the progress?”

“She didn’t say.” He nodded. “She just brought something for me to eat.”

“Amalie is a good woman.”

He pounded another nail into the wood, trying to ignore the man’s praise of her.

“You should have seen her on the trail. I’ve never seen a woman work harder.”

“She certainly knows how to work.”

“It was more than that, Matthias. She helped everyone she could.”

He didn’t want to hear how kind-hearted Amalie was. In his heart, she had to be conniving, vicious even, in order for him to survive.

“Karoline was injured on the trail, and Amalie took charge, nursing her until she reached a doctor.”

“Amalie can’t stop being in charge.”

Niklas moved toward him. “What do you have against Amalie?”

“I don’t have anything against her. She just hides behind her work when things go wrong.”

One of Niklas’s eyebrows slid up. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

He hammered another nail. “If you’re referring to me, I’m not hiding behind my work.”

“Why don’t you stop for a break to at least go to the dining room?” Niklas asked.

“I’ll stop and eat when the Vinzenz family arrives.”

Niklas picked up his hammer and met Matthias’s eye again. “Once you marry Hilga?”

Matthias felt like every muscle in his body froze. He should have quick answers to the questions about marriage. After all, everyone in the colony assumed he and Hilga would marry this fall. But he didn’t have an answer for himself or for anyone else. He hoped that when he saw Hilga, he would know what to do.

“My business is my business, Niklas.”

The younger man nodded and turned away.

Matthias wanted to bang his head against the post beside him. How could he possibly marry Hilga when he couldn’t stop thinking about Amalie? And how could he make himself stop thinking about his best friend’s future wife?

“At least Friedrich will be getting married,” Niklas said.

Matthias eyed the hammer in his hand and was tempted to pound his thumb again.

If death my portion be,
Then death is gain to me.
Sigismund Weingartner

Wind whipped over the river as Friedrich knelt to lap water into his mouth. The dozen or so men alongside him panted like a pack of dogs at the end of a hunt, except they were the ones being hunted.

Once he quenched his thirst, Friedrich leaned back against the muddy bank and folded his arms over his chest to try to stop his arms from shaking. Back in the fields of Amana, he’d imagined himself a heroic soldier with a pressed uniform and gallant horse, fighting for honor and justice, but now his new uniform was torn and stained, and he couldn’t stop trembling.

The heroism he so desired had been shattered by the horrors of war and his company’s flight across the hills and trees last night when the entire regiment retreated en masse—if you could call it a retreat. The company from Iowa had scattered like grain in the face of the Rebels, taking cover in the brush and branches.

Before they’d come south, their captain proclaimed this fight was a sure win for the Union. He’d been terribly mistaken. Friedrich and the others tossed off their bedrolls as they ran away yesterday, and they slept hidden in the darkness and drizzle, the cold temperatures chilling their bones.

When the sun broke this morning, they continued their run north, hoping to find Rosecrans’s camp at the base of Lookout Mountain so they could reunite with the Army of the Cumberland.

Leaning over again, Friedrich rinsed his face and hands in the river water, and then he took a lump of hardtack from his haversack and dipped the hard bread into the water to try and soften it before he climbed back under the shade of an oak tree. Even as the water and food refreshed him, images of war flooded his mind.

The black cloud of gunpowder over the valley. The carnage. Troops dodging the shells and cannonballs as they fled for their lives. He’d never smelled anything like it either—the potent mixture of sulfur and death that still permeated his nose.

And it was only a skirmish with the enemy. The major battles were still to come.

He closed his eyes and tried to pretend he was back in the peaceful Amana Colonies, far away from the border of Georgia and Tennessee, but he couldn’t seem to rid himself of the blackness that pressed against his soul. The doubts.

He wanted to do what was right—fight for the freedom of the slaves—but nothing seemed right on the battlefield. In the haze of noise and gunshots and gunpowder, he’d lost sight of Jonah Henson and he’d lost sight of Earl Smith and the man who’d hurt his eye. He prayed the ambulance wagon had found the injured men and taken them to camp.

In the eyes of the Union, he knew he was doing right, but one day, he would have to stand before God and answer to Him alone. He prayed he had made the right decision.

The wind started to turn warm as he swiped his fingers through his wet hair and rested his head against the knobby trunk. His brethren back in Amana would never recognize him with his scruffy beard and overgrown hair and hands that had killed another with a single shot of his gun.

Back in the cove, the life of one Union soldier had been rescued, but the other soldier had slipped into eternity. He would never forget the horror in the Confederate soldier’s eyes when the bullet blazed through his chest. His piercing scream. In an instant, the man had left his body behind.

What else had the man left behind?

A wife?
Friedrich banged his head back against the bark.

Or children.

What if the dead man did have children? How would they survive without him? With a pull of his trigger, Friedrich had stolen their father away from them.

At that moment, it didn’t matter that the Confederate soldier was prepared to take another life. His stomach rolled as he begged God for forgiveness for killing the man.

What did his
Opa
do when he fought against Napoleon? Did he stay focused on the battle or did his mind wander as well?

Friedrich took his Gospel of John, a gift from his father who’d received it from his father. Otto Vinzenz. He turned to the eleventh chapter to read Jesus’s words.

I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.

He prayed quietly that the man in the gray uniform believed in Christ. Perhaps one day they would be reunited in heaven and he would beg the man’s forgiveness in person.

And then he prayed for the men he’d helped up to the wall.

Looking around the motley group of troops on the riverbank, he didn’t know if they could fight again. Their lips were stained black from the powder cartridges they ripped apart with their teeth, and their stomachs were craving something more filling than hardtack. Their captain was dead, their company scattered across the mountain in Georgia. None of them knew how to make contact with the rest of their regiment.

In Amana, each day was filled with order and protocol. Rules and consequences. Right and wrong. The army had ordered his days like the Kolonie, with strict times for meals and marching and bed, but yesterday’s fight had been messy in so many ways. They’d been told how to fight, but no one had told them what to do if they lost a skirmish.

Closing his eyes, Friedrich rested, and his mind wandered back to Amana. To Amalie.

He needed to tell her again how much he loved her. That one day he would return to her.

Sitting beside a nearby tree, a young soldier named Benjamin took a traveler’s inkwell from his bag. Friedrich watched him enviously as he opened the red leather cover and began to carefully pen a letter on a scrap of paper.