Love Finds You in Amana Iowa (26 page)

The leaves above the pathway were tinged red and orange. The birds no longer sang out, intoxicated by summer’s bounty and joy of new life. Autumn was upon them, and a chill replaced the heat that settled in the valley over the summer months.

Amalie didn’t feel the cold, but her body was tired as she trudged down the path toward Middle Amana. Her soul felt even heavier. Sleep had fled from her during the past two weeks, daunted, it seemed, by the depths of her grief. Even when she forced her eyes to close and her breathing to slow, she couldn’t seem to escape.

The doctor’s medication helped her to finally rest, but when she woke in the morning, her senses subdued, the shock of her loss would flood over her again. It was like reliving the moment Colonel O’Neill told her Friedrich was gone, over and over again.

Her kitchen house was almost complete, but the elders insisted that she rest for several days before she began working in it. The thought of overseeing her kitchen didn’t chase away her sorrow, or even mollify it.

Amalie’s thoughts swung like a pendulum in her mind. Part of her wanted to stay in bed for days while another part of her wanted to escape back into her work. She kept wondering what happened to Friedrich in his last hours, wondering how he died, wondering if he knew how much they would miss him in Amana.

Last night, when she couldn’t sleep, she finished reading
Uncle Tom’s Cabin.
She knew the story was fiction, that Tom wasn’t any more real than Christian in
Pilgrim’s Progress.
Yet Tom and Eliza and the other characters in this novel came alive to her because of what they stood for. Tom had given up his life to protect other slaves, as Friedrich had done. In very different ways, they were standing up for God’s justice and incredible love.

The storekeeper was right, this was a book about Christ. She could see Him in these characters, just as she could see His face in the many members of His community, and she could see the many parts of God. His grace and His peace and His justice. But what she couldn’t understand, what she battled and fought within herself, was why God would ask Friedrich to fight the war…and then take the life of His servant away?

Just like God had done with Tom in Harriett Stowe’s novel.

In the story, God had allowed Simon Legree to kill Tom so the other slaves would turn to Him, so Cassy and young Emmeline would live, so Legree himself would have an opportunity to reconcile with God. But Amalie might never know if God had a purpose for taking Friedrich, or if he was a mere casualty in this cruel war that man had wrought on himself.

Smoke billowed up from Middle Amana. Like Amana, wood, brick, and stone buildings clustered together to form a small village. There was no mill in Middle Amana, nor did she see any shops, but she found the kitchen house, following her nose to the place that smelled like onions and smoked meat.

When she stepped into the kitchen, Karoline squealed and jumped up from her chair to hug her. Then she quickly pulled her closer to the stove. “Where’s your shawl, Amalie?”

She looked down, realizing for the first time that she probably should have put something over her dress to insulate the thin material. “I guess I forgot it.”

“You’ll freeze out there, wandering around like that.”

Karoline pushed Amalie toward a stool and handed her a steaming cup of black coffee though Amalie didn’t relish the scent like she once did. She didn’t seem to feel much these days, not even the heat from the coffee or the cold in the air.

The long table was filled with dumplings, and Karoline worked across the table from Amalie, simmering the dumplings in a skillet on the stove. “How is the Vinzenz family?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you know?”

“I haven’t seen them in a few days.” She’d avoided them and so many others, the pain being too great for all of them.

“I suppose you haven’t seen Matthias either.”

She shook her head.

“You should all be hurting together, Amalie. Not alone.”

She twisted the cup in her hands. “I don’t know what to say to them.”

“They probably don’t know what to say either,” Karoline replied. “But I don’t think you need to say anything at all. Just be together.”

She couldn’t imagine that Matthias wanted to see her, any more than he had before Friedrich died, but perhaps she should visit with Carl and Louise and with Hilga.

“You are like a daughter to Carl and Louise, Amalie,” Karoline said. “And I think you will always be a daughter to them, even when it’s time for you to marry another man.”

Amalie’s chin jerked up. “I’m not going to get married.”

Karoline sat back down on her chair. “Someday, Amalie, not now.”

“There is no one else for me. Not even ten years from now.”

Karoline reached for Amalie’s hands and squeezed them. “Some women are called to stay unmarried, my friend, but God has not put that call on you.”

Amalie’s stomach felt sick. They could talk about anything else, but not that. She could never imagine herself courting or marrying anyone but Friedrich.

“I don’t want to talk about marriage.”

Karoline let go of her hands, and an ornery smile crept up on her face. “There’s always Christoph Faust.”

“Karoline!”

“You could travel with him for the rest of your life, across the country and back again. And you could cook for him day and night, and for whoever he was taking west.”

A giggle escaped Amalie’s lips, and she clutched her hand over her mouth before she laughed again. She should feel guilty for laughing just weeks after she’d found out about Friedrich’s death, but the laughter felt good. She hadn’t laughed in a long time.

“You could fill one of those chuck wagons with your stove and all your supplies. Every night, you could cook under the stars and sleep under them too.” Karoline giggled now. “You and Christoph would be a happy little couple, out there under the moon.”

Amalie picked up a lump of dough from the table and threw it at Karoline. Her friend dodged it and it landed on the stove.

“I can see you now, Amalie.” She twirled around and then curtsied. “Queen of the wagon train.”

“You’re not helping,” Amalie said, but it wasn’t true. Her heart felt lighter than it had in a long time.

“A half-dozen little Fausts would be galloping around your ankles, for miles on the trail.”

“I’m not marrying Mr. Faust!”

Karoline’s eyes twinkled. “You never know what could happen.”

“Maybe you should marry him.”

“He will remember me as the woman who got injured on his watch.” Karoline’s eyes sparkled when she laughed again. “I don’t think he will ever forgive me.”

“And he will remember me as the woman who almost drowned trying to cross the river.”

“You are blessed with tenacity, Amalie.”

“And you are blessed with a heart of joy.”

Karoline scooted around the table and hugged her. For the next hour, Amalie helped Karoline roll the dumplings to fry, and after the noon meal, Karoline made her borrow a woolen shawl for her walk back to Amana.

Amalie’s shoulders and chest were bundled tight in the heavy wool, but her steps were quicker on her journey home. There was a future ahead of her, one that most certainly didn’t involve Christoph Faust, but a future nonetheless. It was good to have a friend in Karoline, someone who knew she needed to laugh and someone who could talk about the life in front of her instead of only her present sorrow.

As she walked into her home, past the good room,, she stopped. Matthias was sitting there in a chair, next to another soldier, but this man was much younger than Colonel O’Neill. His arm hung in a sling, and his uniform was not pressed and clean like the colonel’s. This soldier looked like he had just walked away from the war.

“Amalie.” Matthias rose to his feet. “This man needs to speak with you.”

She stared at the man, not noticing when Matthias moved across the room toward her. He pulled her to the side of the doorway.

“Who is he?” she whispered.

“His name is Jonah. Jonah Henson.” He paused. “He knew Friedrich.”

She peeked around the corner and eyed the man on the sofa again as if she could tell if he was telling the truth. She didn’t know what motive he could possibly have to lie to her.

“Does he know what happened to Friedrich?”

Matthias nodded.

“Tell me—”

“He needs to tell you himself.”

Amalie lingered in the arch of the doorway, wishing she were back in Middle Amana with Karoline where the grief from Friedrich’s death seemed so far away. Then she stole into the good room, taking the chair on the other side of the sofa. Her fingers fidgeted on her lap. She thought she wanted to know what happened to Friedrich, but at this moment, her certainty was gone. She didn’t know what to say to this man, nor did she know if she could bear to listen to the truth.

The soldier took off his cap, exposing red hair that needed to be trimmed, and he drummed his cap with his good hand as if he wasn’t sure exactly what to say to her either.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said in broken German. He stole a glance up at her and then looked back down at his toes. “I was with Friedrich at Chickamauga, and I thought—I thought you might want to know how he died.”

She met his eye and then looked over at Matthias. He nodded at her.

Jonah held out an envelope to her, and she saw Friedrich’s familiar writing was scrawled across it, addressed to her. She was grateful for the chair underneath her or she might have collapsed again.

She reached for the letter and clutched it to her heart. “How did you get this?”

Jonah handed over a small leather bag with strings. “It was in his haversack.”

Opening the bag, she took out a silver tag with Friedrich’s name on it and some crackers.

Amalie looked back up at him. “Did you see him fall?”

The soldier’s long nod spoke of solemnity. Reverence.

“How—” She hesitated. “How did he die?”

“He was killed rescuing someone else.” She could hear the bitterness in the man’s voice, mixed with admiration. “A wounded Reb.”

She fell back against the hard upholstery. Her Friedrich had given his life for the enemy. He was really dead, she knew that now. What other Yankee soldier would rescue a Confederate?

Jonah leaned forward. “He was a hero.”

Her heart began to swell. She could almost see Friedrich, ignoring his own safety to save another. He probably didn’t even have time to think of the consequences. Someone needed help and he had gone to the man’s rescue.

“Did he suffer?” Her voice quaked, her fingers brushing over her hastily scrawled name on the envelope.

“I saw him get hit, but by the time I reached him, he’d already passed on.”

“And the Confederate?”

“I don’t know.” He held up the sling around his shoulder and arm. “I was shot in the battle and they sent me home when it was over.”

“Did you know Friedrich before this battle?” Matthias asked.

Jonah seemed relieved to turn from Amalie.

“We trained together at Camp Pope,” he replied. “Some of the men scoffed at Friedrich for his strange beliefs, but I can tell you that none of them are laughing anymore. Those of us who didn’t get killed in the battle will always remember him for his bravery. And for rescuing another man instead of protecting himself.”

Amalie wrapped her arms around herself, rocking gently on the seat. Instead of destroying his brother, Friedrich had saved him. “Thank you for telling us.”

Matthias stood up beside Jonah. “Friedrich always carried his grandfather’s copy of the Gospel of John with him.”

The soldier shook his head. “It wasn’t in his haversack.”

Matthias directed him to the door. “Friedrich’s parents need to hear your story.”

Amalie looked out at the fall leaves adorning the large window. None of the Inspirationists might have agreed with Friedrich’s decision to join the infantry, but they could do nothing but admire his courage as he laid down his life not only for his friends, but for his enemy as well.

I can rest in thoughts of Him,
When all courage else grows dim.
C. Titus

Jonah accepted the invitation to join Matthias and the Vinzenz family for supper. Carl led the soldier with reverence and perhaps a bit of pride into the dining room. Jonah sat between Carl and Matthias, and his eyes widened at the bounty of food on the table. He seemed to bask in it all—the food and the quietness and the fifty men and women eating together in solemn appreciation for all God had given them.

Jonah ate three bowls filled with chicken and rice soup, several pieces of bread, two servings of cottage cheese, and two slices of rhubarb pie. Matthias guessed the man would have eaten more if Brother Schaube hadn’t stood up and ended their meal with prayer.

The diners filed back out into the cool night, walking around Matthias and Jonah as they moved toward evening prayers. Jonah stuck his free hand into his pocket and looked up the street as if he didn’t know exactly where to go from here.

“Where are you from?” Matthias asked.

Jonah nodded west. “Marengo.”

“Your family must be glad you are back from the war.”