A Hidden Truth Read online

  When Cousin Louise returned to the kitchen a short time later, she instructed me to place the cooled cookies in large crocks. “We will need the space to begin supper preparations. The other sisters will be returning soon.”

  We had placed the last batch of cookies into a crock when Sister Bertha entered the kitchen. She glanced around the room, her attention settling on the crocks of cookies. “I would have stayed and helped with the Easter cookies, Sister Louise. Why didn’t you tell me you were going to bake today? We usually bake the Easter cookies on Good Friday. Why the change this year?” Sister Bertha frowned at me, as though my visit had given rise to the irregularity.

  Cousin Louise didn’t look up from her work. Instead, she continued to shape and align several rows of sausage patties. “This is not the first time we have baked before Good Friday. We have more children in the Küche this year, and I needed to adjust the schedule so we would have enough time to dye all of the eggs on Good Friday. There would not be time enough to do both in one day.” Cousin Louise nodded toward the sink. “But I would be happy for some help washing the dirty bowls and baking pans.”

  Sister Bertha promptly set to work scrubbing. “I hope the eggs will not be dyed when I arrive tomorrow. You know I enjoy the Easter preparations.”

  Cousin Louise stepped closer to Sister Bertha. “I will make certain there are plenty of eggs for you to dye tomorrow after first church service.”

  On Good Friday there would be three services—a fact I’d learned from Karlina. In order to give added thanks to the Lord, holidays in the colonies were celebrated with extra services. In addition, Cousin Louise had explained, Good Friday was a day of fasting, when only bread and water would be consumed. With no meals to prepare, there would be ample time for dying eggs.

  Cousin Louise wiggled her index finger for me to draw close. “I am sure you are tired after all the baking, Dovie. You do not need to help with supper, but I would be pleased if you could sort the mail.” Her shoulders slumped. “If I do not have it sorted by supper, there will be complaints.”

  No doubt she was even wearier than I. However, I could be gone from the kitchen, and she could not. “I will be happy to do so, Cousin Louise. And thank you for the opportunity to bake cookies with you.”

  The afternoon had been pleasant. On several occasions I’d considered asking a question or two, but decided it wouldn’t be fruitful. Besides, I was sure it would ruin this special time with Cousin Louise. I scattered the mail across the large oak table, and before I had a chance to place any of the envelopes in their proper cubbyholes, my gaze fell upon a letter bearing my father’s distinctive script. The sight of his familiar handwriting was enough to send my heart into a rapid thump that rang in my ears. I longed to hear from him, but with each letter I worried he would expect me to leave the colonies and join him in Texas. I tucked the letter into my pocket and finished sorting the mail.

  Once I’d completed the task, I stopped at the kitchen door. “I’m going upstairs until time for supper.”

  Cousin Louise smiled and waved me toward the stairs. I moved in a slow and methodical fashion, my fingers touching the letter inside my pocket as I ascended the steps. Inside the bedroom Karlina and I shared, I opened the envelope and removed the contents. Once again my father had enclosed extra money for my needs. I had written and told him that Cousin Louise refused his previous monetary offering and there was no need to send additional funds. Did it give him some sort of comfort to send the money? Or perhaps he felt a moral obligation? Who could say? I would again attempt to give the money to Cousin Louise. Perhaps this time she would consider giving it to the elders.

  I tucked the money into my skirt pocket and settled on the side of the bed. After scanning the first page I moved on to the second, looking for any indication that my father desired an immediate reunion. It was near the end of the second page that I stopped and reread the passage.

  I have met a lovely woman since coming to Dallas. I think you will like her very much. She is eager to meet you, but since I must continue to work long hours and you have indicated a desire to remain in Iowa a while longer, I trust you will be pleased to receive my agreement. I would, however, wish to hear from Louise and George that they are willing for you to continue as their guest.

  A lovely woman? Mother had been dead for less than a year and my father had met a lovely woman? Tears threatened and I pressed my fingertips to my mouth. I didn’t want to cry.

  What was it Mrs. Lowenstein, our landlady in Cincinnati, had told me shortly after Mother’s death? “Women grieve, but men replace. Your father will remarry quickly, so you better find a man and make a life of your own.” I had thought her foolish—and I’d said so—but it appeared Mrs. Lowenstein had been correct. Maybe if I had gone to Texas with him, this wouldn’t have happened. Father wouldn’t have been so lonely. I returned downstairs to join the others for supper. If my father decided to marry this woman, I had only myself to blame.

  Dying Easter eggs didn’t hold the same anticipation for me as it had yesterday. My father’s letter had cast a shadow over the experience. Cousin Louise stepped to my side and handed me a piece of string. “Tie it around the egg, and when you drop it into the tinted water, it will create a design.”

  Carefully, I wrapped the string in various directions before I dropped it into the water. When I lifted the egg from the onion-skin-tinted water bath, it was a lovely honey color. After the egg dried, I removed the string and viewed the unique pattern that remained on the shell. While I continued dying string eggs, Karlina used a stylus of beeswax to write names or draw designs on the eggs before dipping them into the water.

  Sister Bertha had taken charge of the dyes from the woolen factory. Pots of water had been set to boil, while glue from the woodshop was mixed with dye in a smaller pan. The smaller pan was balanced on the large pot of boiling water and had to be stirred until it bubbled. “It will thicken as it cools,” Sister Bertha said with an air of authority. She had commandeered several of the other women and set them to stirring the various pots of red, blue, and green dye.

  When the pans of dye had cooled, Cousin Louise picked up an egg and motioned for me to join her. Carefully, she rolled the egg in the jelled substance and lifted it for me to see. The color held fast and the egg turned a brilliant red.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “It is the use of our dyes and the way we mix it with the glue. The combination makes the colors more vivid than any other Easter eggs you will ever see.” She smiled. “You try.” She handed me an egg, but I shook my head. “What is the matter with you? Yesterday you were in gut spirits and excited about the egg dying, but today you seem like a different girl. Something has happened that I do not know about?”

  I told Cousin Louise about the letter from my father, but I didn’t mention the lovely lady he’d met—only that he was busy working. “He asked if you would write and tell him whether it would be an imposition to have me remain a while longer.”

  “And you are worried that I will tell him you must leave?” She patted my shoulder. “We told him you were welcome to stay with us until he was settled. That has not changed.” She rolled another egg in the blue dye. “I will write him this evening. Now that we have settled your worries, I want you to enjoy dying eggs, ja?”

  I picked up an egg and rolled it in my hand. “I’ll do my best, Cousin Louise.”

  When I didn’t smile, she pressed closer. “This is a time of year when we reflect on the sacrifice of our Lord—His death on the cross to give us the gift of eternal life.” She hesitated a moment. “This time of year brings sadness as well as joy. We are sad the Lord was required to suffer for us, yet joyful He rose from the dead, and we will be with Him in heaven one day. I am sure your Mutter taught you all of these things.” I didn’t miss the question in her voice.

  I nodded my head. “Yes. We went to church. Not every day like here, but we went on Sundays. I have learned about Jesus.”

  The corners of her mouth li
fted in a broad smile. “That is gut. Since you are going to remain in the colonies a while longer, I could ask your Vater if he would like you to attend services with us. I think George could persuade the elders it would be wise. Would be gut for your heart. Would you like that?”

  I nodded. “I came here to learn about my mother’s past, and I think taking part in church services will help me learn more about her.”

  Cousin Louise’s smile faded a little. I didn’t think my answer was exactly what she’d expected—or wanted.

  CHAPTER 19

  April 1893

  Karlina

  After the first set of triplets arrived, lambing season began in earnest. Several ewes gave birth to twins the following week, and then another set of triplets was born. In addition, there were numerous single births and all were healthy. We didn’t normally have this many multiple births so early in the season, and I wondered if it was a sign there would be even more arriving later. I hoped not, for single lambs had a much greater chance of survival.

  My father looked up as I entered the barn. “Another set of twins early this morning,” he told me. “We are having quite a year.” He pointed to a distant stall and grinned. “They are over there.”

  I hurried to take a peek at the newborn lambs. The lambs and their mother appeared healthy and content. “They look gut. No problems with the birth?”

  “Nein. The mother needed no assistance.” He shook his head. “It will not be the same with this one.” I walked across the barn to where my father had positioned himself beside a laboring ewe. “Anton! You need to come over here and help so you will know how to do this in the future.”

  “I am working with the feeding machine.”

  My father had been pleased with Anton’s invention to feed lambs that couldn’t be nursed by their mothers. The machine had already been put to good use this spring, and after a bit of encouragement, the lambs had taken to suckling from the device. But now it seemed Anton wanted to work only with feeding the lambs in order to perfect his invention. And while I thought his idea praiseworthy, there was much more for him to learn and other tasks that needed his attention. And his response to my father had been both disrespectful and disobedient.

  “Leave the feeding machine and come here. Now!” My father craned his neck to see if Anton was on his way.

  I wanted Anton to hurry up before my father lost patience. My father was not a man who shouted angry words of frustration, but when pushed to his limit, he would mete out punishment appropriate to the misdeed. I feared he would assign Anton tasks that would keep him away from his inventions if he did not heed my father’s direction.

  Only a few moments passed before Anton strode toward us. “I was helping that small lamb that was born yesterday. It is having some trouble learning to use the feeding station.” He rounded the end of the stall. “With two sets of triplets, it has been a big help.”

  My father waved him forward. “It has helped, but there is more to learn than feeding the lambs, Anton. Right now, this ewe is having some trouble and may need help. I want you to watch so that you can assist in the future.” The ewe was lying on her side with her head turned in the air. “She’s been straining for over an hour, and I’m going to check her to find out the problem. Come over here and kneel down beside me.”

  My father covered his right hand and forearm with a thick coating of lard, spoke softly to the ewe, and then inserted his hand into the ewe’s birth canal. “The lamb’s legs are back rather than in the forward position. When this happens, you must cup the lamb’s hooves in your palm and bring them forward. If the lamb is small, it can be pulled with one leg back. If it is normal size, both legs need to be forward.”

  Anton looked back and forth between my father and the wide-eyed ewe. “But what if you cannot bring both legs forward?” I didn’t miss the tremor in his voice, nor did my father.

  “First, you remain calm so that the animal does not sense any fear. Then you slip a soft rope onto the legs, like this.” My father picked up a piece of soft rope that he had fitted with loops at both ends and slipped them onto the lamb’s front legs. “It’s necessary to push the head back far enough so that the legs can be drawn forward.” My father performed the task with such quickness and ease that he’d completed the task as he finished the explanation. He removed the loops from the lamb’s legs and stood up.

  Anton appeared relieved that he hadn’t been required to help. “I don’t know if I could do that, Brother George.”

  “You will be amazed at the things you can do. When you feel unprepared for a task, you should repeat the Bible verse in Philippians that says, ‘I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.’”

  Anton nodded, but I didn’t think he appeared convinced. “That is a gut verse, Brother George, but if I must help one of these ewes give birth, I would like to have you, as well as the Lord, by my side.”

  My father chuckled. “You will receive more training before you are left alone to help any ewes in distress. But I cannot be with you all the time, so instead of worrying with your inventions during the lambing season, you need to use your time to learn more about the sheep and their care. That way you will gain the needed confidence.”

  When Anton looked toward the feeding station at the other side of the barn, I wondered if he’d truly heard my father’s admonition. “So we are done here?”

  “We need to make certain the mother claims her newborn and that the lamb nurses. If she hasn’t nursed within a half hour, we’ll give them some encouragement and put them in one of the closed stalls so they can bond. For now, we’ll keep our distance and watch them. You can do that while I go and wash up.”

  Anton remained near the stall, but the ewe and her newborn lamb didn’t hold his attention. Instead, he peered longingly toward the feeding machine. I closed the distance between us. “You would be wise to keep your focus over here,” I whispered. “My father is a kind man, but he expects you to follow his orders. I’ll go over and see if the feeding machine is working properly.”

  “Thank you, Karlina.”

  I glanced over my shoulder and sighed when I saw him watching me. I motioned for him to turn back to the ewe and then continued across the barn. I was surprised by Anton’s concern over the invention. It had been working quite well, and there was no need for him to hover over the lambs while they nursed.

  I smiled at the two lambs suckling at the machine. They had quickly accepted nursing from the bucket of goats’ milk that was attached to tubes and nipples. Both of the lambs were thriving, but they had been the strongest from each set of triplets. Instead of removing the smallest lamb from the ewe, my father would take the strongest. “The little ones need their mother’s milk the most,” he had told me when I questioned the practice. “The larger ones will survive if we hand-feed them with goats’ milk.”

  Because my father was careful with breeding and the amount of food the ewes received, we didn’t have as many triplets as some sheep farms, but we seldom lost any of the triplets. When I was young, I had hoped every ewe would have triplets. But after learning of the difficulties for both the lambs and the ewe, I changed my mind.

  I loved lambing season. The new life among the sheep matched the arrival of spring and the time of rebirth throughout all of nature. This was the time of year when joy bubbled inside me like a rippling stream. Along with their mothers, the firstborn lambs were already frolicking in the pasture near the barn. Soon we would take them to more distant pastures, but for now they remained under close supervision, where predators could more easily be kept at bay.

  The lambs had completed their feeding, and I was preparing to take them outside when I heard a woman’s voice drift from the other side of the barn. Squinting my eyes, I strained to gain a better view. The woman was talking to Anton. I saw him shake his head. She grasped his arm, tipped her head back, and giggled. Who was this woman, and why didn’t Anton move away from her? Though her appearance was that of an Amana woman, her forward behav
ior caused me to think otherwise. A flame ignited deep inside me as she continued her possessive hold on his arm.

  Keeping to the shadows, I tiptoed across the hay-strewn floor until I was close enough to hear. Then I positioned myself behind one of the thick support beams. Eavesdropping wasn’t proper, but hanging on to a man’s arm was inappropriate. Besides, I simply could not stop myself. When the woman glanced over her shoulder, I captured a glimpse of her profile. She looked to be close to my own age and quite pretty. Jealousy now fanned the flame that had ignited in my heart.

  Anton had professed he cared for me, so why did he continue to talk to this young woman? I peeked around the edge of the beam. She smiled up at him, and my stomach clenched. “I know you still care for me, but you need not worry. I won’t tell my brother—or anyone else.” She released his arm and brushed his cheek with her fingers. “Not until you’re ready.”

  I gasped. As I turned away, my arm struck a pitchfork and it crashed to the floor. Both Anton and his friend pivoted toward me. I wanted to flee from their presence, but my feet remained planted like a couple of deep-rooted trees.

  Anton extended his hand toward me. “Karlina! Come and meet Violet.”

  My gaze shifted from his face to hers. Her lips curved in a frozen smile as she took a step toward me. “Guten Tag, Karlina. I am Violet Nagel—from High. I am a dear friend of Anton’s.” She had once again wrapped her fingers around his arm.

  “Ja, so I can see.”

  Anton pulled free of her grasp and walked toward me. “Violet and I grew up together. Her family lived down the street from mine. She has a brother, Frank. He is my age.”