A Hidden Truth Read online

  “I’ll have the mail sorted before time for the noonday meal, Mutter.” I donned my cape and hurried toward the door. A strong breeze captured the thick wool fabric and whipped it away from my body, the cold air biting through my plain blue flannel skirt. Gathering the edge of the cloak, I pulled it tight before I waved to Brother Herman. “Guten Morgen.” I looked toward the darkening sky as I called out my greeting. “It is getting colder, ja?”

  He bobbed his head and leaned down to take the mailbag I offered. “Ja, for sure. Tell Sister Louise she should not put the blame on me for the tardy delivery. The train was late this morning.” He grinned and handed me the burlap sack stamped with the word EAST on both sides. “Inside you should go, before you catch a cold.” He pointed toward the horizon and touched the brim of his hat. “Looks like it could snow this afternoon. Auf Wiedersehen, Sister Karlina. And don’t forget to give your Mutter my message.”

  “I’ll tell her.” Holding the bag tight in my hand, I shivered and glanced toward the sheep barns. Had Father already herded them into the barn? If not, he would likely need help. With the change of weather, his bones would be aching by the time he returned for the noonday meal. I longed to run to the barn and find out, but one look at the sack in my hand and I knew I must go inside.

  After hanging my cape on the peg near the door, I stepped into the kitchen. “Brother Herman said I should tell you the train was late, so you should not blame him.”

  “Ja, ja. Excuses, he always has for me.”

  I grinned and shook the bag. “There isn’t much today. I’ll have it sorted and in the boxes in no time.” Though my first choice was working with the sheep, I preferred sorting mail to peeling potatoes or cutting noodles. Much to my mother’s dismay, the kitchen held no interest for me.

  Moving through the envelopes with practiced ease, I sorted and slipped each piece into the appropriate box. As I neared the bottom of the pile, my gaze fell upon a cream-colored envelope addressed to my mother and written in a beautiful script. In the upper left corner was a smaller script bearing the name of the sender. Dovie Cates. I searched my mind trying to recollect if I’d ever before heard that name, but I could recall nothing. Surely I would remember such an unusual name.

  I shoved the final piece of mail into the Bechmers’ mail slot, picked up my mother’s letter, and hurried to the kitchen. Stepping close to her side, I tapped the envelope while trying to calm my curiosity. “Who is Dovie Cates?”

  My mother’s eyebrows dropped low on her forehead. She took the letter from my hand and examined the handwriting. “She’s my cousin Barbara’s daughter.” Her complexion paled and she hesitated a moment before she shoved the letter into her apron pocket. “I’ll read it later.”

  My excitement plummeted like a deflated balloon. “Later? But there’s time before the meal must be served.”

  “I think I am a better judge of how much time is needed.” She straightened her shoulders and jutted her chin. “The letter will wait. Hungry stomachs will not.”

  Though I wanted to ask if I could read the letter while she continued with her chores, I bit back the request. Seeing the determined look in her eye, I knew the roasted pork, sauerkraut, and boiled potatoes would come first.

  For all of us.

  A short time later the men, women, and children entered the dining hall. Our parlor and bedrooms were on the upper floor of the house, while the large kitchen and dining hall encompassed the lower floor. The men took their positions at tables on one side of the room, and the women and children gathered at tables along the other side. Once prayers for the meal had been offered, everyone took their seat on the wooden benches along each side of the tables. Wood scraped on wood as everyone settled. Everyone except the kitchen workers who remained busy filling pitchers and bowls until the meal had been completed. Only then would my mother and the other workers eat.

  I glanced at my father several times throughout dinner. He shifted his weight, as though sitting on the bench was causing his bones to ache. When the junior girls who were learning kitchen work began to serve our dessert of stewed apples and raisins, I managed to signal him. Once the parting prayers had been uttered and most of the others had departed, my father approached.

  “You are worried about the sheep?” A faint smile curved his lips.

  I nodded. “Did you get them to the barn, or do you need me to help you?” Since my father’s health had worsened, I’d been assisting him more and more with the sheep. And although the work wasn’t really proper for a young woman in our society, I had been around the animals since I was a young girl and had inherited my father’s love for tending sheep. A fact that hadn’t escaped my mother. I wasn’t certain if she’d turned a blind eye to my time in the barns because I was such poor help in the Küche or because of my father’s declining health. To me, the reason didn’t matter. I was simply pleased she didn’t object.

  “Ja. They are fine.” His gaze settled on the tables filled with dirty dishes. “You were hoping to get out of helping wash dishes?”

  “Nein. It’s not my week for dishwashing.” I stepped closer. “Mutter received a letter today—from Dovie Cates.” I waited, hoping he’d supply me with additional information, but he didn’t respond.

  “Was there anything else in the mail?”

  I shook my head, disappointed by his lack of interest. “Mutter said she is the daughter of her cousin Barbara.”

  “I suppose that is right. I knew Barbara had a daughter, but I didn’t remember her name. What did she say in her letter?”

  My excitement mounted. Perhaps he was more interested than I’d thought. “Mutter hasn’t opened the letter yet. She said she’d wait until after we finished the noonday meal.”

  He grinned. “And you are hoping that I will hurry her along with reading the letter. I am right?”

  Seldom could I hide such feelings from my father. In my younger years he said he knew me better than I knew myself—and he probably still did. “You are right.” I grasped his arm and he flinched. “I’m sorry, Vater. Your bones are aching more than usual today?”

  “Ja. But don’t say anything to your Mutter. She will only worry. Come. Let’s see what we can find out about this letter from your Mutter’s relatives.”

  I followed behind. Better to let him take the lead. My Mutter would be quicker to answer Vater’s questions than my own. He stood in the kitchen doorway and waited until Mother finished talking to the other women. “You have a few minutes for me, Louise?”

  Mother turned and her eyes softened when she looked at my father. “I knew when you walked in the door that you would need some medicine.” She reached into her skirt pocket and withdrew a packet of powders Dr. Zimmer, the physician in Main Amana, had prescribed. “Sit down at the table and I’ll bring you water.”

  He didn’t argue. My father may have been interested in the contents of Dovie Cates’s letter, but right now his pain exceeded his curiosity. Moments later I was sitting beside him when my mother returned with the water. She arched her brows. “If your Vater doesn’t need your help, you can go upstairs and dust the furniture.”

  My father dumped the packet of powder into the glass, stirred, and swallowed the mixture in one gulp. He swiped the back of his hand across his lips. “We thought you would want to share your letter with us.” He glanced at me. “Isn’t that right, Karlina?”

  “Ja. I told Vater about your letter from Cousin Barbara’s daughter.”

  My mother slapped the pocket of her apron, and the envelope crackled against her palm. “Ach. I already forgot about the letter, but that one—she is always putting her nose into the business of others.” My mother tapped her nose and looked at me. I thought she might refuse to open the letter now, but she winked and withdrew the letter from her pocket. “Let’s see what Dovie has to say.” Sliding the tip of her finger beneath the seal, she opened the envelope and withdrew several sheets of stationery that matched the creamy envelope.

  My mother unfolded the pages, her
eyes rapidly moving back and forth as she read the first page. Father sat quietly while I fidgeted, hoping she would soon say something. When she placed the first page face down on the table and continued to the second page without a word, I could stand it no longer. “She has pretty handwriting, ja?”

  A silent nod was my mother’s only response. My father patted my hand. “Patience is a virtue, child. Your mother will talk to us once she has finished reading.”

  I did my best to heed my father’s words, but I now wished I’d taken a seat alongside my mother, where I might have been able to read over her shoulder. Instead, I intently watched her features change as she read. On the first page she had appeared sad, but now her face reflected surprise, and as she finished, I saw worry in her eyes.

  My father waited a moment. “Bad news?”

  “Cousin Barbara is dead. Influenza. About two months ago.” Sadness tugged at my mother’s lips.

  No doubt she was also recalling the deaths of my twin brothers. Whenever someone in the villages died of pneumonia or influenza, a sad longing returned to my mother’s eyes. For all of us it rekindled memories of what their lives might have been.

  Mother cleared her throat and swallowed. “Barbara was never blessed with good health.”

  My father reached across and patted my mother’s hand. “Barbara’s suffering is over and she is in a better place—she is with the Lord.”

  “Ja, I know. And I will see her again one day. Still, it is hard to know she is gone from this earth.” She gathered the pages and put them in order. “Her daughter wants to come here for a visit.”

  My father’s jaw went slack, and he picked up the letter. “Maybe she doesn’t understand German so well and confused her message to you.”

  “Her German is very gut. There is no mistake. She says her father’s work requires that they move to Texas. She wants to come here and visit with us while he goes and finds a house for them.”

  Mother startled when I clapped my hands together. “That would be wonderful! How old is she? It would be like having a sister here in the house with me.”

  Pans clattered in the kitchen and my mother frowned. “I am thinking she is twenty-one or twenty-two—maybe twenty-three. For sure, she is a year or two older than you.”

  “Please tell her she can come, Mutter.”

  My father continued to read while my mother ignored me and stared at him. When he finally finished the letter, he nodded. “You are right. Her German is gut.”

  With a sigh, my mother tucked the pages into the envelope. “What do you think about her coming for a visit? What should I write and tell her?”

  “Oh please, Vater. Say yes. Surely she should be able to come and meet us.”

  My father folded his hands together. “To be honest, it is confusing. After all these years it is strange that her daughter would want to visit the colonies. I do not understand why she would seek you out. Barbara hadn’t written for years.”

  “You know it was the circumstances. . . .”

  “Ja, ja. I know, but it is odd she would wish to come here rather than go with her Vater. And odd that he is willing to be separated from his daughter so soon after his wife has died.”

  “Who can say why he is willing. Maybe he thinks she will bear the loss of her mother more easily.” My mother tucked the envelope back into her pocket.

  “We don’t need to decide right now. We will pray about it, and then you can write to her.”

  His response dampened my spirits as much as stepping into the Iowa River in the middle of winter. Though I had no idea what Dovie might be like, the thought of having a girl near my own age living in our house pleased me a great deal. And learning about the outside world intrigued me, as well. Unlike those living in Main, Homestead, and South, there was no train station in East. When there was a need for the train to stop here, we would hang a red flag from the pole—and that didn’t happen often. Visitors were rare in our village. We could count on seeing them at lambing season and during the annual sheep shearing. Otherwise, there was little to bring others to East.

  My father stood, a signal for all of us to return to our work. Remembering my mother’s mention of dusting, I looked toward the door leading outdoors. “Would you like me to go to the barn and see to fresh water for the sheep?”

  When he hesitated, my mother waved. “Go on. The dusting can wait until you get back, and your father needs to rest. Just make sure the furniture is dusted before the evening meal.”

  I pecked a kiss on my mother’s cheek. Going to water the sheep didn’t please me as much as if I’d heard my parents agree that Dovie could come for a visit, but it far surpassed dusting furniture.

  Grabbing my cloak, I hurried outside before my mother could change her mind. The clouds that had earlier settled on the horizon finally moved overhead, and pellets of sleet stung my cheeks as I hurried down the street and onto the dirt path leading to the sheep barn. Most of the sheep had come inside, but a few stood beneath the protective roof along the side of the barn. A small door remained open to permit them entry when they finally decided they wanted more shelter than the roof provided. As I walked inside, several of the animals instinctively came to me.

  Though I had to agree God created animals that could be considered more intelligent than sheep, I also didn’t forget the Bible references to his people as sheep. I ran my fingers through the thick wool of a ewe as I continued toward the door leading to the sheep standing outside in the sleet. I called to them. Recognizing my voice, they ambled toward the door and came into the warmth. Their need to be tended and cared for wasn’t much different than my own. Sometimes they strayed and needed the shepherd’s crook to bring them back into the fold. Was that what Dovie hoped for? Tender care that would bring her into the fold?

  I picked up a large bucket, and as I walked to the pump, I prayed my parents would agree to let Dovie come and visit us.

  CHAPTER 3

  The sound of my mother’s footsteps echoed on the stairs leading to our upstairs parlor. Even though the time for evening prayer meeting had not yet arrived, darkness draped the evening sky. Mother opened the door and stepped inside as my father pushed up from his chair.

  He greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. “I received word from the elders that they have decided upon a young man to help me with the sheep. He’ll arrive in the morning.”

  My mother stopped short and her smile faded. “Tomorrow? I could use more notice than one night, George.” She tsked and shook her head. “Karlina and I will need to prepare the spare bedroom when we return from prayer meeting,” she said, glancing at me.

  Her features softened as my father grasped the back of the chair for support. “I am sorry for my gruff response. You need help caring for the sheep, and I’ve prayed the elders would send someone. Now that the Lord has answered my prayers, I am still complaining.”

  My father’s lips curved into his familiar smile. “I know you are tired, Louise. I will help Karlina when we return home.”

  Mother shooed him with a dismissive wave. “Ach! I will not have my husband cleaning house. What would people think!”

  My father chuckled. “Who cares what they think? Besides, they know only what you tell them.”

  My stomach bound in knots. There would undoubtedly be many changes with the arrival of this new worker. “But what about Dovie? That was going to be her room.”

  Both of my parents turned and looked at me, but it was my mother who answered. “You can share your room with her. She won’t be here long, and sharing a room is not such a bad thing.”

  She was likely correct on that account. My twin brothers had shared the room that would now be assigned to the new shepherd, and they had enjoyed being together. When the two of them died of pneumonia, my mother closed off the room and used it only when needed for an occasional visitor. I was twelve when the twins died, and I still missed the sound of their laughter. Because I had never fallen ill, a twist of guilt continued to nag me from time to time. I never w
anted to forget my brothers, but it had become easier to ward off such thoughts in recent years.

  “Your mother is right. The room is needed for the young man.”

  “Ja. I understand and I will be pleased to share my room.” It had taken several days for my parents to reach their decision and write a letter inviting Dovie to visit us. Mutter had expressed more misgivings than Vater, but she had finally agreed that she could not refuse Dovie’s request. I didn’t want to do or say anything that would cause them to regret the invitation. Besides, Dovie wouldn’t arrive until spring. There would be ample time to rearrange my room for her visit.

  “Who is this new shepherd? Is he from South or West Amana?” Smaller flocks of Shropshire sheep were pastured in those other two villages, but only in East was a flock of great magnitude maintained. Our combined flocks had increased to nearly fifteen hundred sheep, but my father was the overseer of just the operation in East. As the size of our flock increased, my father’s responsibilities had grown in equal measure. I couldn’t deny his need for an assistant manager, though I hoped he wouldn’t hand over any of my tasks to the new shepherd.

  Since the death of my brothers and with my father’s diminishing health, he had granted me more responsibility with the sheep. Of course, the fact that my mother didn’t complain when I was away from the kitchen had proved to be important, as well.

  Shrugging into his heavy jacket, my father arched a brow. “His name is Anton Becker. He is from High Amana, and he’s twenty-three years old.”

  “High? There are no sheep in High. Is he a shepherd?”