A Hidden Truth (2 page)

I am a good worker and would be happy to help in any way possible during my stay. My father will soon be required to leave Cincinnati, so I would be grateful for an early reply.

Respectfully,
Dovie Cates

I folded the letter and tucked it into a matching cream-colored linen envelope. My father had been unable to recall the name of Cousin Louise's husband. So although I realized the impropriety, I addressed the letter to Mrs. Louise Richter, East Amana, Iowa, and sealed the contents safely inside.

Still holding the letter in my hand, I bowed my head. “Please grant me this one favor, Lord. You alone know how much it means to me.”

CHAPTER 2

November 1892
East Amana, Iowa
Karlina Richter

“Karlina! The mail wagon is coming. You should hurry and meet Brother Herman outside.” I was nineteen years old and had been meeting the mail wagon since my fourteenth birthday, but my mother continued to give me the same instruction each day.

Even with all of the chatter and clanging of pots and pans in our kitchen house, my mother could hear Brother Herman arrive before anyone else. I wasn't sure if it was the clopping horses' hooves on the dirt road, or if she and Brother Herman had some secret signal, but my mother always knew when his wagon was approaching.

With a sweeping gesture, she waved me toward the door. “Take the outgoing mailbag to him, and when you come in, you should begin sorting. He is late again.” My mother didn't need a clock to tell her who was early or late. She had a natural instinct for such things. As a young child, I thought she had a small watch tucked in the pocket of her apron or hidden in some other secret place. Her sense of time could prove beneficial or worrisome. Nothing pleased Mother more than people who were on time. And nothing annoyed her more than late arrivals.

As
Küchebaas
, my mother made sure three meals a day and a light lunch at midmorning and midafternoon were served to the nearly forty villagers who lived near our kitchen house. Each meal was served on time, and everyone who worked in Mother's
Küche
soon learned that an interrupted schedule was not to Sister Louise Richter's liking. There were other kitchen houses in our small village, but none that served food as good as my mother's. At least that was my strong belief.

Because the craggy hills surrounding our village had never been considered suitable for growing crops, East Amana was the smallest of the seven villages that comprised the colonies. Though some of my friends said we were the forgotten village, I disagreed and argued we were all equal. When I'd asked my father's opinion, he'd said,
“We are all equal—but some are more equal than others.”
Back then I hadn't understood. Now I had gained more insight. Still, it didn't change my love for East or for the sheep we cared for in our village.

Just as the
Grossebruderrat
, the elders charged with making decisions regarding the colonies, determined what work could best be accomplished in each village, they'd long ago decided our Küche should distribute the mail and medicine in East Amana. My mother performed those tasks in the same orderly fashion as she operated the kitchen. A large wooden structure divided into cubbyholes bore the name of each family in the village. Each day, Mother or I sorted the mail and placed it in the proper boxes for pickup. Overseeing the medicine cabinet required far less time than the mail. The medicine chest remained locked, but I knew where to find the key—just in case Mother was gone when someone needed medicine. Of course, the doctor from Main Amana could be summoned for anyone who needed care beyond the basic remedies stocked in our kitchen house.

“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.