More Than Words Read online

  “I happen to have a poem that I wrote not long ago. I’d be pleased to have you read it and give me your opinion.” He opened the lid of his case and ruffled through the contents. “Ah, here it is.” He pulled a sheet of paper from his case and slid it toward me. “You may read it once I’m gone. I don’t know if I could suffer the embarrassment of watching while you read. I am, after all, an amateur.”

  I glanced down at the precise handwriting. Much bolder than my own but neat nonetheless. No doubt Mr. Finley had applied himself to his studies. No doubt he’d received an excellent education. And no doubt his writing would put my own to shame. “I’d be honored to read your poetry, Mr. Finley. I shall protect it until you return to Homestead.”

  He leaned even closer and whispered, “Perhaps once you’ve learned to trust me, you’ll permit me to read something you have written?”

  At the sound of footsteps I jerked back. Conrad stood in the doorway staring at us. His dark blue eyes flashed an undeniable warning at the salesman. “If you truly want to learn more about our society, Mr. Finley, you’ll need to seek information beyond the limits of the general store.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Conrad accompanied us home after prayer service, and when my father mentioned Mr. Finley’s name, Conrad didn’t hesitate to voice his opinion. “I don’t like that man.”

  “For any reason other than the fact that he took an interest in my daughter?” My father tamped down the tobacco he’d placed in the bowl of his pipe while Oma took up her knitting and Stefan settled on the floor beside my father’s chair.

  I dropped to the divan. “Mr. Finley didn’t take an interest in me. He expressed his interest in the society and asked me questions about our way of life. His interest seemed genuine.”

  Conrad shook his head. “I don’t trust him. He said he wanted to learn about the society, but he didn’t bother to talk to any of the men. Instead, he stood around the store talking to Gretchen.”

  “That’s not true. He talked to Vater.” I thought about the poem Mr. Finley had given me to read. The gentle words within the poem had resonated as genuine and kind. A man who could write with such beauty couldn’t be untrustworthy.

  Oma’s knitting needles clacked at a steady rhythm. “Conrad is right. A man who reads ladies’ magazines we cannot trust.”

  I jerked so quickly the cords in my neck cramped, and a sharp pain raced downward into my shoulder. “The magazines are for his business.”

  “Ja. He must see what the competition has to sell.” My father struck a match and held it to the bowl of his pipe.

  Still rubbing my neck, I said, “You see? Vater agrees with me. A gut businessman must always keep informed about his competition.”

  Conrad leaned forward and rested his arms on his thighs. “Thank you for the good advice, Gretchen. I will do my best to keep informed about my competition.”

  His eyes glimmered in the fading light, but I couldn’t be certain if they shone with anger or humor. Conrad hadn’t been acting like himself ever since he’d first met Mr. Finley. I’d never before seen him act in such an unkind manner. His compassion for others had been one of the many things that made him such a dear friend.

  My father grabbed a tight hold on Stefan’s shoulder. “Your sister tells me your math is not so gut. I think this would be a gut time for you to go through your book so you can make some improvement, ja?”

  Stefan’s dagger-filled look annoyed me. He was to blame for his bad grades and the constant visits from the schoolteacher, yet he didn’t want to spend any time studying.

  “I wish I could go to school in Iowa City,” he said.

  “And why is that?” Conrad asked.

  “Because they go to school only in the fall and winter. They get to stay home during the summertime and enjoy themselves.”

  “From what your teacher tells me, you already enjoy yourself far too much.” My brother’s attitude irritated me. I longed to return to the days when I sat in a classroom and had no other concerns. “If you would use your time to advantage, you could learn a great deal, Stefan. Brother Ulbricht says you show gut skills with the machinery. He says your math could help you work with machines in the future.”

  Stefan curled his lip. “I don’t need math to fix broken equipment. He thinks if he tells you that, you’ll make me do my homework.”

  “That is enough, young man,” Vater said. “We will go to the bedroom and work on your numbers.” Turning to me, he said, “I will leave Oma here to chaperone the two of you while I oversee Stefan’s schoolwork.”

  My father’s interest in my brother’s math came as a complete surprise. Since my mother’s death, he’d shown little interest in the boy’s schoolwork. Perhaps Brother Otto had spoken to the elders. The harried man had made visit upon visit to the general store. Yet each time the schoolteacher appeared at our door, my father sent the complaining man to talk to me—as though I were Stefan’s parent.

  I didn’t complain to my father—only Sister Mina heard my complaints. And occasionally Conrad. But he usually sided with Stefan. “Boyish behavior.” That was Conrad’s answer to everything concerning my brother. Well, I disagreed. Stefan would soon be a young man, and it was time for him to grow up, whether he liked it or not. When our mother died, I’d had no choice but to grow up. He’d had far more time to adjust. And that’s exactly what I’d written in my journal the other day.

  Setting pen to paper and letting my feelings spill out in my journal helped with most everything. I only wished writing about my problems would make them disappear. How wonderful that would be. And how wonderful if it would make my anger disappear. Though the writing helped, sometimes the anger still rose to the surface. Much like my father’s tobacco, it had to be tamped down, forced into the tiny spot deep inside that I reserved for it. I suppose that’s the one thing Stefan and I shared: the forced change our mother’s death had inflicted upon us. And if I was honest with myself, it had forced terrible change upon Father and Oma, as well. Father had physically and emotionally retreated from Stefan and me, while more and more often Oma retreated into her make-believe world.

  “I think your grandmother has fallen asleep.” I glanced up to see Conrad smiling at Oma. The yarn remained wrapped around her fingers, but the sweater she’d been knitting had settled in her lap. “It was never my intention to make you angry with my comments about the salesman, Gretchen. But I did not like the way he was acting when he was around you.” He tapped his fingers on his cheek. “Touching your face with a towel and leaning across the store counter talking to you in such a familiar manner. Such behavior isn’t gut.”

  “You judge him harshly. He doesn’t understand our ways. Until he learns, you can’t expect him to react to situations the same way you would.” I motioned for him to move to the chair beside me so our conversation wouldn’t awaken Oma.

  “And you are too trusting. I am a man, and I could see his intentions were not honorable. His interest was in you, not our society.”

  When I tried to offer an objection, he held up his hand.

  “Tell me, how many questions did he ask you about our community?”

  I hesitated, trying to remember my conversations with Mr. Finley. I wanted to defend him, but the memory of his hand on my journal kept flitting to the forefront of my mind. “He asked about reading periodicals, and Oma told him we read the Bible. He said he thought that was a gut thing. And … and … he didn’t have any objection to attending prayer service each night.”

  “That doesn’t seem like much for the amount of time he spent with you.” Conrad reached for my hand and covered it with his own. “We have been friends since we were children, Gretchen. You know how much I care for you—my feelings run much deeper than friendship. I don’t think this Mr. Finley will ever want to live by our rules. And I don’t want him to hurt you—or me.”

  “And you know how much I care for you, as well. Mr. Finley will not hurt either of us. His interest is in living here—not in me.”

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bsp; Conrad leaned over and brushed a fleeting kiss on my cheek.

  “The last I knew, kissing was against the rules,” I whispered.

  Conrad grinned. “But my intentions are honorable.”

  With a loud cough and a snort, Oma’s eyelids opened, and her gaze settled on the clock. “Time it is for bed. Go home, Conrad.”

  He laughed and shook his head. “I think it is still a little early, but I will not argue with you, Sister Helga.”

  Oma dropped her knitting into the basket beside her. “Gut, because you would not win. See Conrad to the door and then go to bed, Gretchen.”

  One minute she was the adult in charge of everyone and the next she was a toddler getting into trouble. It was difficult to know which Oma would appear. While she waited in her rocker, I bid Conrad good-night and then returned to kiss Oma on the cheek. “Rest well, Oma. I love you.”

  Once in my room, I lit the lamp and prepared for bed. Before slipping beneath the covers, I knelt beside my bed and prayed. The minute I said amen, I slid my hand beneath the mattress and withdrew the magazines. I didn’t pause to look at the latest fashions or advertisements for beauty creams or face powder. Instead, I turned to one of the stories Mr. Finley had mentioned. Sure enough, the author was listed as a Miss Emily Wilson. I settled against my pillows and began to read. The time slipped by much too quickly, and it was very late when I finally closed the magazine and turned down the wick of my kerosene lamp.

  I fell asleep with thoughts of Mr. Finley and his beautiful poem drifting through my mind.

  “Mina! How gut to see you.” I stepped forward to accept her embrace. “I’m surprised to see you so early in the day. How did you manage to prepare next week’s menu before you’ve even served the noonday meal?”

  She reached into her pocket and withdrew a piece of paper. Every week women from each of the several Küches in Homestead brought their grocery lists to the store. Filling the orders was always a task I enjoyed. I could visit with the cooks or kitchen helpers while picking items from the shelves. Besides, when Mina brought her order, it gave me the opportunity to talk about more personal things—the things shared between dear friends.

  There were times when I envied the women who worked in the communal kitchens. They had the opportunity to visit with one another while they worked. And though they sometimes bickered or didn’t agree, mostly they laughed and told stories while they cooked. Of course, there were times when it wasn’t so much fun—when they had to hurry back to the Küche to prepare holiday meals rather than spend time with family, but mostly they liked cooking. And I supposed that was true for most of us. We liked our work, but there were times when we’d rather be doing something else. Still, had I been allowed to choose where I would work, I would have chosen the Küche. Partly because I enjoyed cooking and partly because I wanted to spend more time with Mina.

  “Two of the older girls are helping us today—extra training. I put them to gut use so I could get my menu ready.” Mina grinned. “Let’s begin with the flour and sugar first.”

  I picked up a basket, handed it to Mina, and picked up another for myself. With the basket on her arm, Mina followed behind me down the aisle.

  “You get the flour, and I’ll get the sugar.” I’d lifted two bags into the large woven basket when Mina tapped me on the shoulder. “You selling used sugar nowadays? This bag, it is open.”

  I watched in horror as she reached inside the cloth bag and removed a handful of sugar containing flecks of dirt. No doubt Oma had found the bag and placed it back on the shelf. I recounted the incident with the sugar to Mina. “I am thankful it was you that discovered the sugar rather than my father.”

  “Ja, or one of the other cooks. If they would get dirt in their sugar and ruin a pudding or cake, you can be sure your father would have received a tongue-lashing.” She covered her mouth and giggled. “Especially from Sister Marguerite. She finds no humor in anything. Maybe you should empty the bag in your burning pit out back. That way your grandmother can’t put it back on the shelf and your father won’t discover what has happened.”

  While Mina continued to fill her basket with items from the shelves, I went outside and dumped the contents of the cloth bag into the brick-lined pit we used for burning trash and then returned inside.

  Walking down the aisle, I picked up a tin of cinnamon and placed it in Mina’s basket. “Now, let’s see if we can fill the rest of your order.” I scanned the list and began to place items in my basket.

  “Who was the visitor that ate the noonday meal with us yesterday?” Mina asked.

  “Mr. Allen Finley. He ate his evening meal with us, as well. Weren’t you working during supper?”

  Her lips took a downward dive. “That’s exactly why I didn’t see him. I was working. One of the kitchen girls took ill, and I was washing pots and pans while you were eating supper.”

  I immediately regretted my comment. I knew Mina wouldn’t be absent from work. “I’m sorry. I know you would never shirk your duties.” I lifted a tin of baking powder from the shelf and handed it to her. “Mr. Finley is a salesman of fine lace and trims, but he has interest in coming here to live. And he writes poetry.”

  “The man I saw was dressed in a fine suit and doesn’t look like the type who would be interested in living here. And he doesn’t look like the type who’d be writing poetry, either. I think he must be telling you a story to try to win your heart, Gretchen. You best be careful around that one.”

  “You sound like Conrad. Just because a man wears a nice suit doesn’t mean he can’t be trusted. I know he writes poetry because he gave me one of his poems to read. And it’s very good. The meter isn’t quite perfect, but he has talent, and he admires reading and writing.” I emptied the contents of my basket onto the counter. “Aren’t we taught that we should not judge others by their appearance, but rather by what’s in their hearts?”

  “Ja. But we must also use sound judgment. The two of you became well acquainted while he was here?”

  I touched a finger to the string of my cap. “Not well acquainted—just acquainted. Vater was away from the store when Mr. Finley arrived. He showed me his samples of lace and trims. They are all imported. Much finer than anything we currently have in the store. Vater placed a big order. Visitors will buy them for sure.”

  I had planned to mention the magazines Mr. Finley left with me, but Mina was already wary of him. Even though she didn’t object to breaking the rules occasionally, I didn’t think she’d approve.

  “Did you ask him how he’d come to know about us and why he wanted to leave his current life behind?” She added several pieces of flypaper to her basket. “Already the flies bother us in the Küche.”

  “And everywhere else,” I said. “It’s almost May. What else can we expect but flies and mosquitoes?” I handed her a bag of rice and stepped to the other side of the counter to measure out two pounds of raisins, ten pounds of coffee, and seven pounds of tea.

  “Maybe a few salesmen and some hobos.” Mina placed a packet of needles and a spool of darning cotton on the counter. “Keep those separate and deduct them from my account.”

  I opened the ledger and slipped the list between the pages. Later I would itemize the list into the ledger, tally up the charges, and make certain the total was delivered to Sister Marguerite, the Küchebaas, for her records.

  “When is this Mr. Finley returning with his pretty lace?”

  I couldn’t withhold my smile. “In a month. He’s going to stay, too. He is asking for time away from his job so he can visit with the elders and find out more about our way of life and see if he would like to become one of us.”

  Mina’s eyes turned dark. “Don’t be fooled by him, Gretchen. He may be a gut man. I cannot say for sure. But be sure you decide with your head and not your heart.”

  “There is nothing to decide, Mina. I’m not the one who will decide if he is a good candidate to move into our village.”

  Mina shook her head as she loaded the goods i
nto the baskets. She glanced over her shoulder when she neared the front door. “Just remember my warning.”

  CHAPTER 5

  “The Gypsies are here! The Gypsies are here!” My brother raced into the store the next Monday, his shoes clattering on the wooden floor like thumping drumbeats.

  I whirled around, my pulse racing. “Where?” My voice croaked like a strangled frog, proof of the anxiety my brother’s announcement unleashed. Using my fingers and thumb, I massaged my throat in an attempt to regain my voice and a measure of composure.

  Stefan leaned forward and rested his elbows on the counter while sucking in great gulps of air. His dusty brown hair, a trace darker with perspiration, clung to his forehead.

  When I again asked the question, he extended a finger in the air.

  “Wait … out … of breath.”

  I circled the counter and remained silent until Stefan’s breathing slowed to a more normal rate. “Where did you see them?”

  He placed his palm on his chest. “Me and Freddie were walking back to school from the barn. Brother Denton was teaching us about cleaning and oiling the thresher.”

  I waved for him to hurry. “I don’t need all the unimportant details. Where did you see Gypsies?”

  He shot me an annoyed look. “I’m trying to tell you. On the way back from the barn, we saw two Gypsies riding their horses in the distance. One had a big white horse. A real beauty.”

  With a sigh I brushed a lock of Stefan’s damp hair into place. “Just because you saw two riders in the distance does not mean they are camping anywhere nearby.”

  He swiped my hand away from his head. “But they are. Freddie and me went lookin’ after school. There’s a whole bunch of ’em camped south of town. We hid in the bushes, but one of the men spotted us. We couldn’t outrun him.”