A Hidden Truth Page 5

  I stared at the photograph of a tall man with his hand resting on the shoulder of an attractive woman who was wearing a white waist with ruffles at the neck. “You look a great deal like your Mutter.”

  Dovie traced her finger around the frame. “That’s what everyone says, but I think my mother was much prettier than I am.”

  “Maybe, but no person can take credit for their outward appearance—that is God-given. Some of the most beautiful people I know are not lovely on the outside, but their inner beauty shines so bright that I consider them beautiful.”

  “Do you really believe people look only at inward beauty?”

  “Nein. But I believe the world would be a better place if we could love and accept one another. Don’t you agree?”

  Dovie placed the photograph on the small bedside table. “I do, but I think you would find the practice much more difficult to apply outside of the colonies.”

  I shrugged. “I have never been anywhere else, but you may be right. Sometimes it’s hard to love others, even here in the colonies.” She chuckled. “I try my best, but sometimes I don’t do so gut.” She snapped open a sheet and tucked it around the mattress. “My patience has been sorely tried since our new shepherd recently arrived.”

  Dovie caught the corner of the pale blue quilt and spread it into place. “What’s wrong with the shepherd?”

  “I had hoped he would come to us with experience and be gut help. Instead, he knows nothing of sheep or their care and must be taught everything.”

  “At least he will learn the way your father prefers the work done. I remember my father talking about a man who came to work for his company, and this man wanted to do things the way he’d learned in his old job. Father said it was harder to change that man’s old ways than to start with a new worker.”

  There was certainly truth in what Dovie had said. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so disappointed over Anton’s lack of ability. Besides, it had permitted me more time in the barns. “Do you like animals and being outdoors?” I plopped down on the bed.

  “I’ve never had a pet, but one of my friends had a dog that I liked very much. As for the outdoors, I enjoy growing flowers, and I always helped my mother with the small vegetable garden she planted in our backyard each year.” Dovie touched her fingers to the tiny stitches that formed a tulip pattern on the blue coverlet. “This coverlet is beautiful. The stitches so tiny and perfect. Did you make it?”

  I shivered and shook my head. “Nein. My sewing and cooking skills are very poor. Instead, I enjoy working with the sheep and being outdoors as much as possible.” I shrugged my shoulders. “A big disappointment to my Mutter but a great help to my Vater. And right now, he is the one who needs the most help.”

  A bell rang in the distance, and I jumped up from the bed. “That is the bell that lets us know we should prepare for supper. You will soon learn about the bells. They help us know when to depart for work, when to return for the noonday meal, when to go back to work, when to go to meeting—when to go everyplace we need to go.” I took her hand. “The men and women eat at separate tables, so you should sit beside me.” I noted the flicker of fear in her eyes and squeezed her hand. “You will be fine. Just do what I do.”

  Dovie forced a smile, but the fear remained in her eyes.

  I preceded her down the steps and into the kitchen. “Do you need our help, Mutter?”

  In spite of the freezing wind that whistled through the trees, perspiration dotted my mother’s forehead. She wrapped her apron around the handle of a kettle and moved it to the worktable. “Not today. Dovie is our guest. You take her to the dining room and explain our customs.”

  Dovie inched forward. “I am happy to help, Cousin Louise.”

  Worry creased my mother’s forehead. She took pride in serving meals on time. To stop and visit or give directions to a novice in her kitchen would cause undesired delay. Reaching for a ladle, she spooned a thick stew into one of the large tureens. “Thank you, Dovie, but not this evening. Perhaps tomorrow. You go into the dining room with Karlina.”

  If my mother’s refusal pained Dovie, she kept it well hidden and followed me into the other room, where we stood and waited until everyone had entered. The men stood at their tables, the women and children at theirs. Prayers were offered before we took our seats.

  While Sister Marta filled and carried bowls to our table, Dovie leaned close to me. “Where is the shepherd you spoke of earlier?” I placed my index finger to my lips and gave a slight shake of my head. Dovie grinned and poked my side with her elbow. “Do tell me. I want to see which one he is.”

  Sister Bertha cleared her throat and sent a disapproving look in our direction. Instead of remaining silent, Dovie smiled and arched forward. “Hello. I’m Dovie Cates. My mother grew up here in East Amana. Perhaps you knew her—Barbara Cates. Her name was Lange before she married, Barbara Lange.”

  Sister Bertha’s frown deepened. “I understand you are a guest, but we speak only when necessary during our meals.”

  Dovie’s jaw snapped together, and her lips tightened until they curled inward and disappeared. I reached beneath the table and gripped Dovie’s hand. She squeezed in return, and in that moment, we sealed our friendship.

  For the remainder of the meal, Dovie watched the ladies at our table. If one of them took a second helping, she took a second helping; if one of them salted their food, she salted her food; if one of them held up a glass for more water, she did the same. She made certain she did nothing that would produce any cause for criticism. When we’d finished our stewed apples, we stood to be dismissed with prayer.

  The moment the prayer ended, I leaned and whispered into Dovie’s ear, “Anton is the tall one with the dark hair.” Just then Anton turned and saw both of us staring at him. He grinned and raised his hand in a slight wave. “Ach! He saw us looking at him.” I grabbed Dovie’s hand and pulled her toward the stairs. “Quit looking at him!”

  “Why? He’s quite handsome and he waved at you. That means he likes you.”

  “I don’t want him to think we are talking about him. He waved because he saw us staring at him, and he didn’t know what else to do.” I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. If Anton thought we were discussing him, he’d be sure to ask me when I met him in the barn tomorrow. And what would I say if he did? Dovie wanted to see the shepherd who doesn’t know how to handle the sheep. Or, Dovie thinks you are quite handsome and that you must like me since you waved at us.

  “You’re wrong. I could tell from the way he smiled and waved that he cares for you.”

  I pinned Dovie with a stern look. “Anton is here to work with the sheep. I am not yet certain, but I believe he is here for his year of separation.” While keeping my voice low, I continued walking her toward the stairs. “I do know he is a man with a temper, and that does not make for a gut husband. Besides, in the colonies, we do not think marriage is necessary for us to enjoy an abundant life.”

  Dovie stopped midstep and turned to face me. A deep V had formed between her eyes. “What does all of that mean?”

  Reaching around Dovie, I pushed down on the heavy metal latch and opened the door to my room. After a quick glance toward the stairs, I nudged her forward. “Let’s go inside.” Who could say when Anton might bound up the stairs. Over the last few days, he’d begun visiting with my father in our parlor after supper and walking with our family to prayer meeting each night. I wouldn’t want him to overhear our conversation.

  Once the door closed behind us, I sighed with relief. “What part do you want me to explain?”

  “About separation and abundant single lives—all of it. There are lots of married people here, aren’t there?”

  “Ja, that is true. But we believe that if a person can remain single, it is better.”

  Dovie’s frown deepened. “But why? What makes it better?”

  “You have more time. When you are not working, your time can be devoted to worshiping the Lord rather than caring for your family.”

>   “But the Bible says man needs a—”

  I held up my hand. “I know what the Bible says about man needing a helpmeet. Our elders permit marriage. But to make sure the couple is sincere in their wish to wed one another, they go through a year of separation. Usually the man is sent to another village, and the couple can see each other only when time permits. Which isn’t very often.”

  “I find the idea of separation quite odd. We believe the courting period helps a man and woman discover whether they are suited for marriage to each other. How can that occur if they are separated?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I do not make the rules, and I cannot speak with authority on the subject of separation, but the practice seems to work here. My Mutter says it is a time of learning to trust your heart and a time of learning to trust the person you plan to marry.”

  “I suppose the idea has some merit, though I’m still not convinced.” Dovie dropped onto the edge of the bed. “And you believe Anton is betrothed to someone in another village and has come to East for his year of separation. Is that right?”

  I nodded and quickly enumerated my reasons.

  “Why don’t you ask him? Or ask your father.”

  “To ask a single man such a question is not proper. And if I ask my father, he may gather the wrong idea and think it wise to keep me away from Anton. And that would mean keeping me away from the sheep. Other than helping with the animals, I have no interest in Anton Becker and who he will marry.”

  Dovie grinned and shook her head. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

  I would let Dovie think whatever she wanted. The only interest I had in the new shepherd was teaching him to properly care for our sheep.

  CHAPTER 7

  December 1892

  Dovie

  I awakened to the sound of creaking floorboards in the room next to us. Cousin Louise invariably managed to hit every one of them as she prepared to greet each new day. Karlina said there was no need for the morning bells with her mother in the house, and I tended to agree.

  Since my arrival, I hadn’t discovered much about my mother’s past, but I had learned that back in 1842, after receiving a word from the Lord, the first members of the Community of True Inspiration sailed from Europe, where they had been persecuted for their religious beliefs. I heard about the places they had lived in Europe and how they worked to establish their first villages near Buffalo, New York. I also learned that as the outside world encroached upon them, their religious leader, known as a Werkzeug, received another word from the Lord that the people should leave and settle elsewhere. In 1855 the group began a slow migration to their present location in Iowa.

  In addition to teaching me the history of the Inspirationists, Cousin Louise and the other ladies had been quick to instruct me in a variety of kitchen tasks. I’d also met Anton, the new shepherd, and even though Karlina denied any feelings of significance between the two of them, I remained convinced that I had detected more than a working friendship. Whenever I broached the subject of Anton, Karlina brushed aside my questions and talked about some problem with the sheep.

  In much the same manner, Cousin Louise brushed aside my questions about my mother and her family’s departure from the Amana Colonies. I didn’t want to annoy Cousin Louise with my persistence, but I had come here with questions, and I didn’t want to leave until I had answers. A sense of urgency nudged me, for I needed those answers before my father sent for me to join him in Texas.

  Thus far, there had been no word from him, but as the days passed, my concern mounted that he would write and expect me to join him. I continued to watch for mail from him, and I also watched for the second letter I’d written to Cousin Louise prior to our departure from Cincinnati. Thus far, it hadn’t arrived. Either my father had failed to post the letter, or it had been lost somewhere along the way. Although I didn’t want to think my father had intentionally deceived me, I now tended to believe he had never mailed the letter.

  I buttoned my dress as Karlina quietly recited her morning prayers. I’d become accustomed to hearing her pray in the morning and evening. Each evening after she finished her nighttime prayers, Karlina would explain anything I hadn’t understood during the day. On one of my first nights with her, I had questioned her practice of praying while washing and dressing in the morning and while undressing at night. She had smiled as she detailed lessons from the Kinderstimme, a book used to teach children the practice of virtue and their duty to God, to fellow members, and toward themselves. I’d listened intently to a few of the rules Karlina had memorized. Most sounded like things my mother had taught me as a child: Direct your eyes ever and only upon Jesus, your beginning, aim, and goal; do not elevate yourself because of a few good deeds, for thereby you rob God of the honor; and guard yourself against the misuse of the name of God or of Jesus; do not use either in vain or from habit. Just like Karlina, Mother had memorized, remembered, and taught them to me. Though I had been unaware until now, my mother had shared some of her life in Amana with me. I wasn’t certain why, but the realization gave me a feeling of hope.

  The two of us walked downstairs together, and Karlina donned her heavy cape while I slipped into my wool coat and buttoned it tight around my neck. Gathering the two water buckets, I followed her outdoors.

  “I’ll see you at breakfast,” she called as I walked to the water pump and she strode toward the barn with her chin tucked tight against her chest.

  “And I will be much warmer than you on this cold morning.” My words transformed into puffs of white vapor and disappeared as quickly as ice on a summer day. If I moved quickly, I could have the buckets filled and return inside to warm my hands before the bread wagon arrived. I’d almost finished when I heard the bell in the distance, which meant Berndt Lehmann, the young man who worked at the bakery, was arriving at the Fuchs’ kitchen house.

  I topped off the final bucket, and walking carefully to avoid spillage, returned to the warmth of the kitchen. “Here you are, Cousin Louise. I know the ladies will be happy if the coffee is ready when they arrive.”

  “Ja, for sure they like that. And they work better, too.” After grinding the coffee beans, she dipped water into both of the large enamel coffee boilers while I warmed my hands near the stove.

  The moment I heard the jingle of the bread wagon outside our Küche, I turned away from the stove and hurried to the door.

  “Guten Morgen, Dovie.”

  “Good morning, Berndt.”

  When I’d first met Berndt, I’d requested he address me as Dovie. He said he would agree if I would reciprocate. I wasn’t certain Cousin Louise would approve of the familiar form of greeting we’d adopted, but I didn’t ask.

  He jumped down from the wagon and walked to the rear of the enclosed wagon. “I have your bread and the coffee cakes for Sunday breakfast.” He opened the door of the wagon. The contents had been neatly organized and the orders arranged by kitchen house.

  I watched as he moved the rectangular metal container that held the stacked coffee cakes. I extended my hand to accept the container, which had been designed and made by the village tinsmith. “The coffee cake makes everyone happy to see Sunday morning arrive.”

  “But Sunday mornings are not so happy for me.”

  I arched my brows. “And why is that? Doesn’t your father bake enough coffee cake that you may have some?”

  He laughed and pushed his hat further back on his head. A wave of sandy hair dropped across his forehead. “Oh, he makes sure there is always plenty for the Schneider Küche. But on Sundays I don’t get to make deliveries, and that means I don’t get to see you.”

  Berndt’s comment both surprised and pleased me, for meeting the bread wagon each morning had quickly become the best part of my day. In spite of the cold, undeniable warmth blossomed and spread across my cheeks. Under any other circumstance, I would have worried. But today anyone who saw me would attribute my rosy complexion to the freezing temperatures.

  “I wish I could figure out som
e way my family would be reassigned to eat in Sister Louise’s Küche.”

  “That would be very nice, but I don’t think it will happen.” Berndt’s family lived much closer to the Schneiders’ Küche, and the location of your house determined where you took your meals.

  “I’m afraid you are right, but still it would be nice if I could see you more than when I make the bread deliveries.” He reached inside the wagon and removed a large tray lined with loaves of bread. “Why don’t you take the bread. The tray isn’t as heavy as the container of coffee cakes.”

  Berndt was handing me the bread tray when the back door slammed with a loud bang. I twisted to look over my shoulder. Sister Louise stood on the porch, her hands cupped to her lips. “What is taking so long? Is Brother Berndt baking the bread in his wagon?”

  “Nein! But if it would make you happy, I will see if I can put a stove in the wagon to keep the bread warm for you, Sister Louise.” Brother Berndt’s laughter echoed in the crisp morning air as he strode to the back door, carrying the metal container in one hand while cradling extra loaves of bread in his arm.

  Sister Louise remained at the door and held it open. “You spend too much time talking, Brother Berndt. I do not think your Vater knows that you could return to the bakery a half hour earlier each morning if you didn’t waste time visiting.”

  Berndt set the container on the table while I started removing the coffee cakes. “But you are the last delivery of the day, Sister Louise. I have been up half the night baking for you, and instead of offering me a cup of coffee, you criticize me for being friendly.”

  “Ach! You are not fooling me.” Sister Louise flapped her dish towel in the air. “It is your Vater who has been baking half the night. And if it is coffee you want, you know how to help yourself.” Berndt didn’t wait for another offer. He picked up a cup and filled it to the brim while Sister Louise examined the coffee cakes.

  “The cakes look gut. Tell your Vater I send my thanks.”