Somewhere to Belong Page 2

  For a time I’d thought it was because I’d never seen our previous home in Ebenezer, New York, where our people had settled and created six villages. I’d heard my parents talk about how they had moved from New York to the new settlement in Iowa, and they’d told me many stories about life in Ebenezer, but it wasn’t the same as seeing or experiencing the old community for myself.

  When I’d spoken to Mother, she’d said, “All young people go through a time when they think they’d like to see how people live outside the villages. As you grow older, such thoughts will flee from your mind.”

  I’d seen fear in Mother’s eyes. After all, such thoughts hadn’t fled from the mind of Wilhelm. He’d left the community and had no wish to return and live among us. My mother had lost one son to death and another to the outside world. I knew she didn’t want to think of losing me.

  Much to my father’s relief, we arrived for prayer service on time. The small brick building where we attended evening prayers was not far from our home. Unlike our Sunday church meetings, prayer service was held in small meetinghouses in each neighborhood. I sat down on one of the hard wooden benches beside my mother, and soon more women joined us.

  On the other side of the room, the men gathered on their benches, but before we began our prayers, my father stood. “Our new doctor and his family have arrived. I would ask that you pray that these new arrivals will easily settle into our community.”

  I noted the surprise on several faces. The women were obviously full of curiosity, but this was a time for prayer, not questions.

  The moment the final prayer had been uttered and we’d been dismissed, Sister Schmitt grasped my mother’s elbow. “So the doctor is living upstairs from you, ja?”

  Mother gathered her shawl tightly around her shoulders.

  “Ja.”

  “Seems not such a gut place for a doctor—living upstairs like that,” the old woman said.

  “The Bruderrat assigned their living space, not me. You should ask them if you question their decision, Sister Olga.”

  “Ach! I was not questioning, Sister Emilie. Just making a simple statement. No need to take offense. How many in the family? Any young people to help in the fields or the kitchens?”

  “One daughter. She has been assigned to work in the kitchen.” My mother patted my arm. “Johanna will help her learn her duties.”

  Sister Schmitt’s smile revealed several missing teeth, and she quickly covered her lips. “Then she will do fine. Johanna is a gut worker, for sure.”

  I wasn’t certain how Sister Schmitt could judge my work. Once she’d become unable to perform the heavier duties in the kitchen or garden, she’d been assigned to the woolen mill, where she tied threads as they were wound onto the large reels. The old woman’s transfer had occurred before I began working in the kitchen, but my mother had worked with her in the garden. A few years ago she’d insisted upon helping cut the cabbages for sauerkraut, but it had taken only one day before she’d decided that a return to thread tying was in order.

  I was thankful when my father motioned for us to join him. I didn’t want to answer any questions about Berta. I feared I’d say more than my parents considered appropriate. Although he appeared calm, my father walked more slowly than usual, and I wondered if he was worrying about what might greet us upon our return home. I considered asking but knew it would serve no purpose.

  Father would tell me worry was for those who didn’t trust the Lord, while believers placed their burdens at the throne of God. That’s where I placed mine. At least I tried to. But unlike my father, I hadn’t learned to leave them there. Instead, I gathered my bundle of worries back under my arm and carried them around with me. I wasn’t sure about my mother. Sometimes she appeared free from all worry. Yet other times, like when I’d spoken of my desire to see Chicago or Iowa City, I’d seen concern in her dark brown eyes.

  My father lifted his nose heavenward. “Smells like rain—the fields could use the water.” He’d been the farm Baas for our village since I was a little girl, and it seemed he could predict every change in the weather. Sometimes he could even forecast a morning fog. Most of the time he was correct, but occasionally he missed the mark. When that happened, Father would laugh and say God had to fool him once in a while to keep him humble.

  I didn’t smell rain, and I silently hoped this was one of those times when God was keeping Father humble. Not that I wanted our crops to suffer. But rain meant the garden workers would crowd into the kitchen to help once they’d cleaned their tools. And though they did their best to assist, too many hands and too many bodies in a space that was too small created more problems than help. Besides, with Berta in tow, rainy weather would make my task even more difficult.

  Father tapped my shoulder as we approached the front of our house. “Please look in on Oma Reich and see if she needs anything.”

  “Yes, Vater.” The old woman wasn’t my grandmother, but she’d requested I use the familiar endearment when she moved into the two rooms adjacent to us after the Bruderrat declared her too frail to live on her own. There were times when I wondered if those knowing men had miscalculated Oma Reich’s disability, for I’d seen her summon enough energy to put many a younger woman to shame.

  I continued down the hall to the old woman’s door. After tapping lightly, I quietly called her name.

  “Come in, Johanna. Is no need to whisper.”

  I opened the door, and Oma pointed to the pale blue plaster ceiling. “That one up there, she is screaming and yelling and stomping the feet ever since you left for prayer service. I should have gone with you.”

  “I thought you told Vater you were too weak to walk to the meetinghouse.”

  “Ja, is true I am too frail. But easier it would have been to walk a mile than to listen to such weeping and wailing.” Once again, the old woman jutted her finger toward the upper rooms. “That one up there is going to be trouble.”

  I didn’t attempt to disagree. I knew Oma was right.

  CHAPTER 2

  Berta Schumacher

  Neither my tears nor my foot stomping had obtained the desired effect. My father stood firm in his decision: We would remain in Amana. I’d pushed too far, and now I would pay the price for my impudent behavior. If only I hadn’t slipped off for an evening of fun with that silly John Underwood. Father thought I’d run away to wed the foolish fellow, when all we’d done was set off for a bit of merriment playing pranks on several of our friends. Granted, we’d been out until near morning, but nothing horrible had occurred. At least not between John and me. Even though I’d told the truth, my parents didn’t believe me. They remained certain I had a romantic interest in John Underwood. How they could believe such nonsense was beyond me. Who would want to tie herself to a man at the age of seventeen?

  Yet because they wouldn’t believe me, this place was to be our new home. I directed a beseeching look toward my mother. “Surely you don’t agree that we should live here, Mother.” I grasped her hand. “I apologize for my dreadful behavior and promise I’ll never again disobey.”

  My mother’s shoulders sagged, and for a moment I thought I’d won her to my side. But before she could speak, my father intervened. “How many times have we heard that same promise, Berta?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know, but I truly mean it this time. If you’ll just agree that we can leave, I’ll never again cause you problems.”

  Father wagged his head. “It will not work this time. Your promise falls empty on my ears. I love you too much to permit you to continue down this path you’ve chosen.”

  “But I haven’t chosen a path, Father. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Our evening was simply an adventure. I don’t care a whit about John Underwood. He’s simply a young man who loves life and enjoys having a good time. Girls should be permitted the pleasure of an occasional adventure, shouldn’t they?”

  “Sneaking out of your room, destroying other people’s property, and imbibing alcohol may be an adventure, b
ut those activities aren’t what I consider loving life and having a good time. That is not how respectable young ladies behave. You’ve left us no choice.”

  “So your solution is to banish the entire family to a confinement worse than boarding school?” I didn’t argue that I hadn’t destroyed property, at least nothing that couldn’t be easily repaired. And I’d tried only a sip of alcohol. John and one of his friends had been the ones who’d downed several bottles of the nasty-tasting brew.

  “This isn’t confinement. This is our new home. If you’ll simply give it a chance, I believe we’ll all be very happy. I’ll have more time to devote to you and your mother, and we can all devote more time and energy to the Lord.”

  I stared in disbelief. I’d never before heard my father express any eagerness to spend more time with the family or with God. “But we could do those things at our home in Chicago. Why do we need to be in this place?”

  He sighed. “Because this is the place your mother and I have decided is best for all of us. Isn’t that right, Helen?”

  My mother’s nod didn’t bear much enthusiasm, but from the set of my father’s jaw, I knew I was losing ground.

  “You will be working in the kitchen house with Johanna. She will assist in your training. I would like your word that you will do your best to perform the tasks as you are instructed.”

  My father’s request required an immediate answer. If I was to ever gain his agreement to leave this place, I must show him I could change. “You have my word, Father.”

  He stood and opened his arms to me. “Thank you, Berta.”

  As he surrounded me with a warm embrace, I peered across his shoulder and viewed the same multicolored rug I’d seen on the floors downstairs, wondering if I could keep my word. How could a person ever enjoy life in a place where there was nothing but sameness, hard work, and church services to fill each day? If it weren’t for those occasional letters from Father’s second cousin, Heinrich, Father would never have known of the Amana Colonies. How I wished Heinrich still lived in Germany!

  When we’d first arrived that afternoon, I’d thought the village somewhat quaint. The balding man who managed the general store had pointed out the lovely calicos and woolens. When my mother stopped to admire the fabrics, he’d been quick to mention that the fabrics had been designed and created at the Amana mills.

  Strolling down the aisles, I’d been impressed when the man had followed along and told my mother that folks in Amana produced almost everything they needed to survive. Of course, that was before I knew I’d be living here. Now, even the wondrous smells from the bakery didn’t hold enough power to sway me.

  Did these people not long to be different, long for pleasure and excitement? Perhaps no one had ever shown them how to include adventure in their lives. That thought gave me a glimmer of hope. These people could teach me how to pare potatoes, but I could teach them how to have a good time!

  “I heard the Ilg family return from prayer service.” My mother’s voice broke into my thoughts. “Why don’t you go downstairs and ask Johanna what time you must meet her in the morning.”

  I hadn’t anticipated beginning work tomorrow. In fact, I thought I’d have a few days for exploration before I began my assigned duties, but I didn’t press the issue. When I easily agreed, my mother stared at me, her disbelief obvious.

  “Would you like me to go with you, Berta?”

  Reaching forward, I pressed down on the iron door latch. “I can go by myself. Unless you’re going to be working in the kitchen, too?” No one had mentioned what kind of work my mother would contribute to the community, but on the train ride from Chicago, Father had told me that every able-bodied person over the age of fourteen was assigned to a job in their village. Strange how long ago that train ride now seemed.

  Mother shook her head. “I won’t be working in the kitchen. The elders thought it would create too much chaos for the kitchen boss if she had two new workers at the same time. I will be helping in the nursery, caring for toddlers while their mothers work.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. My mother had been in on this arrangement long before we’d arrived. “So both you and Father concocted this idea. And I thought you enjoyed our life in Chicago. What of your friends, Mother? What about your charity work?”

  My mother pressed her fingers along the folds of her silk dress, a practice she exhibited when uncomfortable or nervous. “I did enjoy living in Chicago, but I have my reasons for wishing to live a more simple life.” She directed a wounded glance toward my father before continuing. “Living in Amana will take adjustment, but my duties here will benefit others as much as any charity work I performed in Chicago—maybe more.”

  My father patted her hand. “And you know how much your mother loves children. She requested an assignment where she could surround herself with little ones.”

  It was true that my mother loved children. She had often expressed dismay that she’d not been blessed with at least one more child. I, on the other hand, had never desired siblings. My friends all agreed that brothers and sisters were tattletales of the worst sort. “Then it seems I am the only one who needs further advice. I’ll go downstairs and speak with Sister Johanna. It seems that I have been instantly blessed with a multitude of brothers and sisters.”

  I’d reached the bottom step when Johanna exited a room farther down the entry hall. With a pretty dress and decent hairstyle, Johanna would be a beautiful woman. Perhaps I could convince her to let me fashion her ash blond hair into an attractive new style that would accent her delicate features and deep blue eyes. I hurried toward her, my excitement mounting. “You have a bedroom that opens into the hallway?” Like dandelions in spring, my mind ran wild with possible schemes. With such a bedroom, it would be possible to enter and exit the house without being noticed.

  My excitement diminished when Johanna shook her head. “No. Those are Oma Reich’s rooms. She’s a widow without family, and her health is failing. She lives in two small rooms, and we assist her as needed. Sister Stilson and her son, Rudolf, live in the other rooms upstairs.”

  I swallowed hard. “I didn’t know so many people lived here. So we will have only those three upstairs rooms?”

  Johanna nodded. Though she told me our family was fortunate to have two bedrooms with such a small family, I found her words difficult to believe.

  “Many do not receive separate bedrooms, and almost always the children must share the same room.”

  Her comment made me happy I didn’t have any siblings. My bedroom was too small for even one person. “How is that possible? Where do they store their belongings?”

  “We don’t need space for fancy dresses and hats. Our attire is simple.” Johanna glanced toward the front door. “It’s already dark outside. Were you going somewhere?”

  “No. I’ve come for some instruction about tomorrow.” Knowing she’d observed my earlier behavior, I wasn’t surprised when she exhibited a lack of enthusiasm. Nevertheless, she invited me into their rooms.

  Mrs. Ilg sat near a cast-iron stove that was a perfect match for the one in the upstairs parlor. She welcomed me, but I saw the wary look in her eyes. She probably feared I’d returned to create another scene. I did my best to set her at ease, but she appeared unable to concentrate on the handwork she held between her short, thick fingers.

  I leaned forward to better examine what she was creating. “Making socks?”

  She shook her head. “I am crocheting a new head covering for Oma Reich. In the wintertime, the children knit socks and mittens for all of us who live in Amana.” I arched my brows and the older woman continued. “During the afternoons, the younger ones learn to knit and crochet; the older children are taught a trade. Once they complete their schooling, they are prepared to serve the community with their skills.”

  “I’m not good with handwork.”

  Johanna’s mother didn’t appear surprised by my revelation.

  “They tried to teach me needlepoint at finishing school,
but I was a miserable failure. My thread was always in a knot.”

  “Perhaps with the proper attitude, you will conquer your earlier inabilities. Johanna could help you in the evenings if you’d care to learn.”

  I offered a fleeting smile. When I was younger, my mother’s knitting needles had occasionally proved to be wonderful weapons for poking a playmate, but I didn’t want to learn to tat or knit or crochet. In fact, I didn’t want to learn to use a needle of any sort— at least not for fancywork.

  “First I believe I must learn about the kitchen work. My parents said I should ask what time my work begins tomorrow morning.”

  Johanna cleared her throat. “I am cooking breakfast this week, so we must be at the kitchen by five o’clock to light the stove and make the coffee before the others arrive.”

  “Five o’clock in the morning?” My voice cracked. Did people really get up at that time of day?

  “Next week we don’t have to be there until six o’clock,” Johanna hastened to add.

  I stared at her in disbelief. “Six o’clock isn’t much better. I’m unaccustomed to rising at such an early hour. I’d like to ask those elders if I can begin later in the morning. How do I do that?”

  Johanna’s mother inhaled with a slight gasp. “You cannot do such a thing. If you don’t adhere to the proper hours, the food will not be ready to eat at the scheduled time and work cannot begin on time.”

  “Has anyone ever considered changing the schedule, Mrs. Ilg? What about beginning later in the day and working a little later into the evening? I’d guess there are many people who’d prefer to sleep longer.”

  The older woman placed her crocheting in the basket near her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “Nearly five hundred people live in this village, and you want them to change the schedule for you? I think it works better for you to change the hour you get out of bed in the morning, ja? And you may address me as Sister Ilg.”