More Than Words Page 9

  CHAPTER 10

  When we neared the barbershop, I thanked Conrad for his help. I didn’t miss the look of regret he and my brother exchanged. Conrad likely remembered going through similar situations when he’d been Stefan’s age. Still, it would make my job all the more difficult if Stefan thought he could make an ally of Conrad.

  I grabbed Stefan’s hand and tugged him forward. “Come along, Stefan. We need to get back home. Sister Veda agreed to help at the store while I was gone.”

  “Where is Vater?”

  I heard the tremor in my brother’s voice. There was little doubt he feared meeting with Father. “He is taking a visitor to see the villages and meet with some of the elders. A salesman who thinks he might like to join the society.”

  “Mr. Finley?”

  I arched my brows. “How do you know about Mr. Finley?”

  “Conrad.”

  “Conrad?” I could hardly believe my ears. “What did Conrad have to say about Mr. Finley?”

  Stefan hitched his right shoulder in a shrug. “He said he didn’t think Mr. Finley really wanted to come and live in Homestead.”

  “What else?”

  “He thinks Mr. Finley is sweet on you and you’re too trusting.”

  “Trusting? Is that what he said?” I yanked on Stefan’s shirtsleeve. He bobbed his head and strands of soft brown hair fell across his forehead. “Ja. He said you believe everything the salesman tells you, and you are smitten by him. I asked him what smitten means, but he told me I wouldn’t understand.”

  Stefan took a forward step, but I pulled him back. “What started this conversation? Did Conrad ask if you’d met Mr. Finley?”

  He sighed. “No. I asked Conrad if he’d ever heard of anyone named Allen Finley.”

  I stared at my brother, trying to understand. “You were in school when Mr. Finley was in the store. How did you know about him?”

  My brother cocked his head to the side. “Because it’s written in those books he gave you.”

  Heat from the sun’s rays beat down on my dark calico, and I swayed toward Stefan. Swallowing hard, I grabbed his arm, fearful I might faint. “Let’s get to some shade.” I leaned on his shoulder until we were beneath an elm tree that bordered the far end of the limestone store. “This is a little better.” I pulled my bonnet from my head and fanned it in front of my face, thankful for the artificial breeze.

  “You sick?” Stefan’s dark brown eyes reflected his confusion.

  I stared at him, unable to believe he’d openly admitted to being in my room and going through my things. “How often do you go through my belongings, Stefan?” He looked up at the low-hanging branches and shuffled his feet. I thought he probably wished he could fly up there and hide from me.

  “Not often.”

  “Not often? So you admit this isn’t the first time?”

  After some prodding he admitted that he’d checked my room last Christmas to see if his presents were hidden in my trunk or wardrobe. “I didn’t find anything.”

  “That’s because they were not in there. And if Vater had known you did such a thing, you wouldn’t get any more Christmas gifts.”

  Stefan pulled a twig from one of the branches. “But you won’t tell him, because then I might tell him about all those magazines, ja?”

  The comment was enough to make me woozy. Now Stefan was going to use the periodicals as a weapon against me. There was no denying that Mr. Finley had given the magazines to me, or that I was hiding them, or that I knew I shouldn’t be reading them, or that I didn’t want my father to know anything about them. And my brother had likely concluded all the same things. I wanted to throttle him, but right now I needed to get back to the store. I also needed to think about how to handle this entire matter.

  Holding my temper in check, I pushed away from the tree. “I’m certain Sister Veda is eager to return home and put Trudy down for her nap. We’d better go inside.” It took every ounce of composure I could muster to maintain a civil tone, especially when I noticed my brother’s smug grin.

  Veda waved when she spotted us coming down an aisle. I didn’t see Oma or Trudy until I neared the front counter. The two of them were sitting on the floor rolling a cloth ball back and forth.

  Veda wiped her hands on her apron as she approached. Her brows dipped when she noticed Stefan at my side. “No school today, Stefan?”

  “Ja, but I am not going until later.”

  Before she could question him any further, I said, “I hope there were no problems here at the store.”

  “Nein. Only one customer while you were gone—a farmer from over near Iowa City and his two boys. Everything is written down for you.”

  “Thank you. Help yourself to something you would like as payment for your time here. Or I can add to your credit if there’s nothing you need.”

  “Ach! You owe me nothing. It is my pleasure to help out once in a while. You know I enjoy working here.” She tapped a finger to the side of her head. “Your grandmother is having some trouble again, but she and Trudy have had great fun playing ball. They stacked the tins of crackers and cookies for a while, but Trudy soon became restless.” She glanced toward the south wall of shelves. “I hope I have them back in proper order for you.”

  “I’m sure they are perfect.”

  Sister Veda stooped down and gently touched Oma’s arm. “I must take Trudy home for a nap, Sister Helga. Will that be all right with you?” Oma looked up, her eyes clouded with confusion, and grabbed the ball tight to her chest. Sister Veda scooped Trudy into her arms. “We’re not going to take the ball, Sister Helga. You keep it here, ja?”

  As Oma nodded, wispy strands of white hair floated around her head like the soft white tufts from cottonwood trees. “Mine.” I leaned forward and helped Oma to her feet. She continued to clutch the ball until Veda and Trudy were gone.

  “Look after the store, Stefan. I’m going to take Oma into her room and see if she’ll rest for a while.”

  Any other day, Stefan would have argued, but today he quickly agreed, a sure sign he knew he was on thin ice. Not only with me but also with Father. Yet I worried about his threat. What if he told about the magazines? Guilt stabbed me like a sharp knife. Why was it so easy to see Stefan’s faults and overlook my own? I expected him to give up going to the Gypsy camp, but I didn’t want to give up my magazines. But what Stefan does is dangerous. Reading holds no peril. The words seemed to justify my actions.

  Once Oma had settled in her rocker with her knitting basket, I reentered the store. “I think you should return to school, Stefan. The longer you are away, the more lessons you’ll miss. If Brother Ulbricht has any questions about your punishment, you should tell him Vater has not returned from Homestead.” Stefan’s eyes pooled with tears and I touched his arm. “I think you should tell Vater about all of this, Stefan. It is better if it comes from you rather than from me or Brother Ulbricht, don’t you think?”

  “It would be best if no one told him. If I promise to never—”

  “Stefan! You made that promise before, remember? The matter is out of my hands. Now Brother Ulbricht is involved. If you and I don’t tell Vater, you can be sure there will be another visit from your teacher, and it will go even worse for you.”

  “Ja. I know you are right, but I don’t think what I did was so terrible. We shouldn’t have to go to school the whole year. I think we should have time away from school in the summer. And Gypsies don’t ever worry about school. They learn from one another. I think that would be even better.”

  “When you are an elder and help to make rules for the village, then you can suggest such a change. Until then, you must go to school.” I brushed the dust from his shirt and pushed his unruly hair into place. “And when you become a man, I doubt you will think the rules should be changed. Just wait and see.” Gently I turned him toward the front of the store and walked beside him to the door. “Go on, now. And make certain you go to the school and nowhere else.”

  Late in the afternoon w
hile I was finishing the ledgers, my father strode through the door. I stretched to look over his shoulder. “Mr. Finley is not with me,” he said. “He went back to the hotel and said he’d join me at supper.” My father tipped his head to the side. “Has Stefan completed his chores?”

  “Ja. He swept the floors, and now he is running an errand for Conrad.” My father started toward the back of the store, but I signaled for him to stop. “Wait. I have something I must tell you.”

  He scanned the store. “The Gypsies have been here stealing from us?”

  “No. They haven’t returned.” Before I could say anything more, he interrupted.

  “Your grandmother is causing more trouble? Because if she is, we must talk.”

  “Oma is fine. I need to talk to you about me—something I have done.” I bowed my head and inhaled a deep breath. “I have books in my room that Mr. Finley loaned to me,” I said, exhaling the words in a giant whoosh. “I know I should not have accepted them, and I have no excuse except that I wanted to read them.” I took in another deep breath. I raised my head and was surprised to see no anger reflected in my father’s eyes.

  “What kind of books?”

  I didn’t mention the fashion magazines that Stefan had seen. Instead, I gave my father a quick description of the books Mr. Finley had given to me. “I am sorry for my deceit, Vater, and I will return the books to Mr. Finley this evening after prayer service.”

  “Nein. If they are gut books, is not such a bad thing, so long as you do not neglect your Bible reading. I see no reason to return the books until you have read them.”

  “No reason? Is it not against the rules?”

  “Ja, but even the Bruderrat agrees the rule against reading books is too strict. That rule has not been enforced with the same strictness as in the past. There are plenty in the villages who have books.” He grinned. “For sure, I think they read them. Do you think all the people who order books from the catalog are buying them for relatives who live somewhere else?”

  I shrugged, but in fact, that’s exactly what I had thought. “Thank you, Vater. I promise the books will not interfere with my work in the store or my Bible time.”

  “Gut.” He gave my shoulder an unexpected squeeze. “You work hard and deserve some time to enjoy yourself. If a book is what makes you happy, then read your books.”

  My father’s words of praise didn’t come often, so I appreciated his compliments when they finally came my way. To hear him approve my work in the store had been as surprising as his permission to continue reading Mr. Finley’s books. For the remainder of the afternoon, a smile tugged at my lips while I stocked shelves and completed the ledgers. As the time drew near for Stefan to return home, I wondered if his confession would receive the same calm acceptance. I had strong doubts.

  I heard Stefan’s shoes clattering on the walkway a moment before he poked his head around the doorjamb. “Is he here?”

  I crooked my finger, and my brother scurried toward me. “Yes. He’s putting up some hooks in the back to hang some of the leather straps and belting.” I scooted to the edge of the high stool I used at the counter. “Just so you know, I didn’t tell him anything about Brother Ulbricht’s visit or finding you at the Gypsy camp, but I did tell him about the books I have in my room.” He squeezed his lips into a tight seam. “It’s up to you what happens now, but one of us must tell him.”

  “I will.” He said and trudged to the rear of the store.

  For a short time there was no more than a quiet murmuring, but moments later my father’s voice thundered through the room. I looked up at the sound of his heavy boots clomping down the aisle. My stomach churned as he stomped toward me, his complexion a strange shade of purplish red. He was holding the top of Stefan’s ear between his thumb and finger. My brother was dancing alongside him on tiptoe, his eyes wide with fear, his lips twisted in pain.

  “Vater! You are hurting Stefan.” Never before had I questioned my father’s words or deeds, but never before had I seen him so enraged. “Please turn loose his ear.” My father dropped his hold on Stefan’s ear but immediately grabbed hold of him by the scruff of his neck. Father’s large hand encircled Stefan’s scrawny neck and held him in place like a farmer holding a chicken in readiness for the chopping block.

  “How long have you known about all of this, Gretchen?”

  “Only since Brother Otto came to the store this morning. Stefan wanted to tell you himself, so I remained silent until he could do so.”

  “You went to the Gypsy camp and brought him home?”

  “Conrad went with me. I wanted to speak to you before you left with Mr. Finley, but there wasn’t time. I knew Conrad would be willing to help.”

  “Ja, but still it was my place to go after Stefan. The Gypsies caused you trouble?”

  Stefan wrested around, his dark eyes revealing deep determination. “I told you they do not cause trouble or hurt anyone. Loyco was kind to Gretchen.”

  My father waved a dismissive gesture. “Ach! What has happened in my house when my son would rather lay about in a Gypsy camp than study his lessons? For missing school you will be punished by Brother Ulbricht with extra schoolwork. I will speak to him myself. And for going to that Gypsy camp, you will be punished with extra work here at the store. I will see to that myself. And I will walk you to your school each morning. You will once again be like the little children who can’t find their way to school on their own.”

  I couldn’t be certain if Stefan’s face was burning red with anger or embarrassment. He didn’t argue or question his punishment. He knew it would do him no good. But I wondered if any consequence would keep him away from Loyco and that white stallion in the camp of Gypsies.

  After returning from prayer services, Father and I sat in the parlor while I darned a pair of my stockings and he studied the latest catalog for new items he might want to order for the store. I was eager to hear about his time with Mr. Finley.

  “What do you think about Mr. Finley, Vater? Is he sincere in his desire to live among us?”

  After placing a finger between the pages, he glanced up. “Ja, he talks like he would be happy here. He asks lots of questions. All the time we were gone he was talking, talking, talking. My ears, they were starting to hurt by the time we got back home.”

  I giggled and drew the thread tight before once again poking the needle beneath the hole in the lisle stocking. “But it is gut he asks lots of questions before he decides, ja?”

  “Ja, but it will be a decision for the Grossebruderrat. They must be certain of his faith and his reasons for wanting to join us. There is no one to vouch for him, so they will not be so quick to embrace him into the society. Would be different if he had a relative who could speak for him.”

  I knotted and snipped my thread. “You could speak for him after you know him better.”

  “It is not the same. He can come here and say anything. I have no way to prove the right or wrong of it. He seems like a nice man. He has gut manners and asked questions about our faith and our history, but that does not mean he would be happy living here or that we would be happy to have him once he has joined us. I can look into his eyes, but I cannot see his heart.”

  After a little prodding and a lot of questions, my father told me Mr. Finley had worked as a salesman for seven years. “He says he enjoys his work, but he doesn’t like the importance the world places on possessions and making money. He says he longs for a life of simplicity.”

  “Well, I do not think of our life as being simple here in the colonies.” I didn’t know if I should be offended by such a remark or not. After all, we were a people of invention and foresight who worked hard and produced much. I did not think of our people as living simple lives.

  “We have not lived in Mr. Finley’s world, Gretchen. I am sure that the way we live appears simple to him because it is different—more stable and dependable.”

  “Maybe you are right. I don’t want to misjudge him, but I don’t want him to misjudge us, eith
er.”

  My father flipped the page of the catalog. “Do not worry about that. Before he is approved, the elders will be sure he understands all he must know about us.”

  I hoped we would know all we should know about Mr. Finley, as well. Except for detailing his love of poetry, he’d avoided most of my questions about his life or family. He was, it seemed, much better at asking questions than providing answers.

  CHAPTER 11

  The following day I was surprised to see Mr. Finley enter the store. I was certain my father said he was going to take him to Middle Amana to see the printshop and bookbindery, where the school textbooks, hymnbooks, and other religious books used by the community were printed. He removed his hat and strode toward me with purpose in his step.

  “My Vater is gone to the train depot, but he should return in a short time. You are going to Middle Amana today, ja?”

  He nodded. “That was our plan, but I received a telegraph requesting my immediate return to Chicago. My aunt Lucille is ill and in need of assistance. Uncle Frederick must leave the country on business, and there is no one else to look after her.”

  I attempted to hide my surprise. “You did not mention you have family in Chicago. They will surely miss you if you decide to move here.”

  “They can arrange for live-in help.” His offhand comment reminded me of Father when he spoke of sending Oma to Mount Pleasant.

  “But that’s not the same as family.”

  “Next best thing, I suppose. We can’t always expect to have family around to take care of us, but my uncle’s business is a concern.” His attention settled on the telephone behind me. “I need to use your telephone to call Chicago.” He dipped his hand into his pocket and removed several coins. “I’m willing to pay, of course.”

  When I shook my head, he reached into his pocket for more money. I waved aside the gesture. “You can’t reach Chicago on this phone. These telephones connect to our villages but nowhere else.”