A Hidden Truth (27 page)

Cousin Louise took another sip of coffee. “Nein. He wanted to leave, and this gave him the opportunity to do so. They left for Covington a few weeks later.”

“Why Covington?”

“There was a shop in Covington where your Opa secured work, but I do not know the particulars. I never heard how the arrangements were made—I doubt your Mutter ever knew, either. He had great talent, so I am sure he did not worry much about finding work.”

“What about my grandmother? Did she want to stay?”

“Oh ja. She loved it here, but she knew she had to go with her husband. She never complained.” Cousin Louise shrugged. “And your Mutter had no choice, either. Your Opa was strong-minded and determined to keep his family with him.”

Hearing all of this caused me to think of the conversation with my own father last November. Even though he hadn't wanted to be alone when he moved to Texas, he had permitted me to come to the colonies—a vast difference from the way my mother's request had been handled many years ago. His desire to see me content had been greater than his own happiness.

I waited until Cousin Louise drank the remainder of her coffee and placed the cup on the table.

“From what you've said, I can see that my Opa would never have permitted my mother to stay in East, but couldn't she have returned later and married Erich?”

“Nein. Erich married Sister Anna two years after your Mutter left. Eventually she met your Vater, and she was mostly happy with him, I think.” She reached across the table and lifted my chin with her index finger. “I know this is not the exciting story you imagined, but it is the truth, Dovie. There are no hidden secrets about other children in your Mutter's past.”

My thoughts whipped around like cream in a butter churn. I was sure Cousin Louise was telling the truth, but after piecing together my own version of my mother's past, it was difficult to push aside my disbelief.

“I thought you would be pleased to have the answers you wanted. Instead, you look disappointed.”

“What did you mean about my mother being mostly happy with my father, and why did the two of you cease writing to each other?”

“Questions, questions, and more questions. You are always wanting to hear more.” She glanced longingly toward the stairway, likely wishing to escape, but she remained. “Your Mutter was always sickly and a bit melancholy.” Her lips tilted in a slight smile. “But you already know that, ja?”

I nodded.

“After she and your Vater had been married for several years, she became very sad—after she lost the baby.”

“What baby?”

Cousin Louise momentarily closed her eyes. “A son, who died in childbirth when you were maybe two or three years old. Your Mutter was very sad but determined to have another child. When that did not happen, she decided she wanted to return to the colonies to live. She did everything she could think of to convince your Vater to move here, but he would not.”

Disbelief wrapped around me like a thick cord that threatened to cut off my breath. “My mother wanted to return?”

“Ja. It is in some of those letters I have upstairs.”

“So when my father refused to move, she finally realized she had to be happy with her life in Cincinnati?”

Cousin Louise's frown deepened. “Not so much. She wrote and told me that she planned to come here without your Vater.”

I gasped. “She was going to leave my father? Did she ever return?”

“Nein. I wrote to her and said I did not believe she should do such a thing. I told her she had made a commitment to her marriage and that unless your Vater was mistreating her, she had an obligation to work toward making her marriage stronger.”

I reeled at the shocking news. Never had my father or mother mentioned that there was unhappiness in their marriage, but the news explained much about my mother and her unwillingness to speak of her life in the colonies. No doubt it caused her heartache.

“So my mother agreed with what you wrote to her.”

“That is when she stopped writing to me, so I cannot say. I wrote to her several times after that, but she didn't respond. Finally, I wrote of my concern for her and asked that she write to let me know if she was well.”

I leaned across the table. “And did she send you a letter?”

Cousin Louise shrugged. “I would not call it a letter. She wrote one sentence on a piece of paper that said she was fine and I should not worry about her. I was sad that she was angry with me and would not write, but there was nothing I could do.” She motioned toward the stairs. “You may read the letters, if you like.”

My thoughts swirled. Did I want to read them? Already the image of my parents' marriage had changed. Would reading those letters further shatter my memories? Cousin Louise could not answer that question and neither could I. My heart squeezed. I did not want to take the risk. “All these years and I knew nothing of this.”

“God has made all of us different. Some talk about the painful problems in their life. It helps them to heal. Others do the opposite. Your Mutter was never one who talked a great deal when faced with obstacles. Even when she was forced to leave, she did not speak against her Vater or feel pity for herself. For sure, she was sad to leave Erich, but she believed God had a plan that was different from her own.” Cousin Louise smiled. “And she was right.”

Cousin Louise pushed up from the table. “Let's go and check on Karlina. If she remains the same, Cousin George and I will go to prayer meeting.”

When we arrived at the top of the stairs, Cousin Louise turned toward her bedroom. “I must see to something and then I'll be in. You go on and look in on Karlina.”

For a moment I stood in the doorway and gazed at Karlina's motionless form lying on the bed. What had I done? Fear and regret assailed me. This was my doing. I should be the one suffering, not Karlina. I pulled a chair close to her bedside and felt her forehead. She wasn't as warm now—a good sign. I was leaning close to whisper her name when Cousin Louise entered the room.

She held the packet of envelopes in her hand. I recognized them as the ones I'd seen in her bedroom. “These are all of your Mutter's letters. Take them and read them if you wish. If it will help you through your grief, then you may read them.”

She handed me the letters and then moved to the other side of the bed. With a deft hand, she examined Karlina and gave a nod. “She is doing a little better. Call for me if there is a change for the worse.” She pointed to the bottle on the table. “One teaspoon in an hour. Wake her if you must. She needs the medicine.” She hesitated at the door. “I will send a note to Dr. Zimmer and explain that Karlina has had contact with someone who may have had influenza. He should know. And don't forget the medicine.”

“I'll be sure she takes it,” I murmured.

After Cousin Louise left the room, I stared at the stack of letters. Once again the string had been carefully tied around them, but they no longer beckoned to me. I was sure Cousin Louise had spoken the truth. What would be gained by reading the letters? But one thing I knew for certain—if ever I had children of my own, I would not withhold my past from them. That way, once I departed this world, there would be no unanswered questions about my life.

Rather than open the letters, I bowed my head and prayed. I asked forgiveness for all of my misdeeds since coming to the colonies, but mostly I asked God to heal Karlina. I don't know how long I had been praying when I heard the bedsheets rustle.

“Water? Could I have a drink, please?” Karlina's voice was a croaking whisper. She attempted to smile, but the effort proved too great.

I was so eager to meet her request that I hit the pitcher handle. Had I not moved with lightning speed, the pitcher would have toppled and spilled water all over her. Once I regained control, I poured a little water in the glass, lifted her with one arm, and held the glass to her lips while she sipped.

“Thank you.” Her eyes fluttered, but she forced them open. “What happened to me?”

I quickly recounted how I had found her lying in the barn. “Berndt carried you back home, and Dr. Zimmer has been here to examine you.” I glanced at the clock and lifted the spoon from the wooden table. “It is time for you to take some more medicine.”

“Does he think it is influenza?”

“No, but he did not know we had been around the Sedlacek family.”

I held the spoon to her lips. She opened her mouth, swallowed, and wrinkled her nose. “Tastes bad.”

I smiled and nodded. “After Dr. Zimmer left, I told your mother everything. She knows we went to Jakub's house and that the family was ill. She sent word to the doctor so he would know.”

Karlina's eyelids drooped and soon she returned to a deep sleep. I heard the opening and closing of doors and the shuffle of feet as Cousin Louise and Cousin George walked downstairs.

“
Psst.
Dovie!” I turned to see Anton standing in the doorway. “What has happened to Karlina?” Fear clouded his eyes. “Brother George was at the barn when I brought the sheep back from the pasture. He said Karlina was very ill.”

I nodded. Brother George had stood in the same doorway a short time ago. Cousin Louise, worried her ailing husband might contract the illness himself, asked that he not come near Karlina. Though he had expressed displeasure, he had abided by her request.

Anton attempted to edge around me. I held up my hand. “You know the rules, Anton. You cannot come into Karlina's bedroom.”

His face remained awash with concern. “But what can I do to help her?”

“Pray, Anton. She is doing some better, but prayer is what is needed the most.”

CHAPTER 27

Other than helping downstairs in the kitchen when needed, I had remained at Karlina's bedside since she'd taken ill. The doctor continued his daily visits, and though he assured me Karlina was on the road to recovery, I still worried. I had heard those exact words about my mother during her illness, but she had taken a turn for the worse and died. The doctor couldn't be certain—and neither could I. With each passing day my fear mounted regarding Karlina's health and about my future in the community.

Dr. Zimmer had been most unhappy when he learned I hadn't immediately told him of the illness at the Sedlacek home, and I had received a stern warning from him as well as from Cousin George. In the future he expected me to send word to him rather than take such things upon myself. I doubted I would have a future in the colonies, but I didn't voice that opinion to Dr. Zimmer. And I didn't try to explain Mr. Sedlacek's attitude toward doctors, for to argue would serve no purpose.

Though I had heard nothing further, I knew our visit to the Sedlacek farm would be reviewed by the elders. While caring for Karlina, I'd had ample opportunity to consider my actions and the influence I'd wielded upon her. Without my insistence, she would never have gone to the farm. Instead of lying in bed, she would be caring for the sheep and enjoying the arrival of spring. Thoughts of going before the elders to explain my actions caused a chill to course through my body. I could not expect them to grant me permission to remain in the colonies. They did not need the disruptions of an outsider—especially someone who willingly swayed one of their own to break rules.

As the days passed, my prayers became more earnest. I prayed for Karlina and I prayed for myself. Gradually she remained awake for longer periods. Her coughing and occasional nighttime moans decreased. During her waking hours we talked, and though she tired easily, her color returned. While she ate her meals, I regaled her with stories of life in Cincinnati, and I took heart in her progress.

Finally the doctor declared her well enough to be up and about for short periods of time. I decided it was our prayers that contributed to Karlina's progress, as well as her determination to be at the barn by the time the shearing began.

If any punishment had been decided upon by the elders, we hadn't been told, but both of us understood there would be consequences for our behavior. Yesterday I had asked Cousin George about the matter and was surprised when he said the problem had been turned over to the Grossebruderrat. He explained that the
Bruderrat
, the group of men consisting of the trustees and elders in East, was divided on their decision. The members of the Grossebruderrat consisted of men from each village, with the number of representatives being determined by population. Since East was the smallest of the colonies, Cousin George was the only member of the Grossebruderrat from our village. He patted my arm in a fatherly gesture. “I know the waiting is hard, but we meet only once a month.”

In truth, I was pleased about that bit of news, for it would give me a little more time in East before the elders decided my future. And I feared the decision would not go in my favor, since even the elders in East could not agree about my punishment. There were those who thought I should leave and others who disagreed. It was when I heard of their inability to reach a decision that I had packed most of my belongings into my large trunk. I didn't shed any tears when I folded and carefully packed most of my belongings, but I knew that would not be the case if I waited until I received the final decision.

I continued to pray the Grossebruderrat would not force me to leave. I wanted to decide for myself where I would live. But that wasn't the way of things in the colonies: The decision would not be mine. I rejoiced for at least this bit of extra time, for I wanted to be the one who explained my actions to Berndt.

Cousin Louise never divulged how she knew I'd been meeting Berndt, but this morning she pulled me aside and gave me permission to meet him later today. Along with the permission, she gave me instructions. “You should get no ideas about a future in the colonies and make no promises to Berndt. It is not fair when you do not know what the elders will decide. In addition, you have not yet shown that you are able to follow the rules of the community.”

I wanted to argue that many had difficulty following all of the rules, but to disparage another member of the community would not win favor. Besides, I didn't want to say anything that could be considered a condemnation of Karlina. I walked into the small room where we sorted the mail and emptied the contents onto the table. I had promised Cousin Louise I would complete the task before I went to meet Berndt.

I had almost finished sorting when my gaze fell upon my father's familiar script. It had been some time since he had written. I couldn't condemn him. My letters had been less frequent, too, but I was eager to see what news had prompted his letter. I slid my finger beneath the seal, although before I had finished opening the envelope, I stopped. Had Cousin Louise written to my father and told him of my misdeed? I attempted to calculate the number of days. If she had immediately written to him and he had wasted no time in responding, there likely would have been time for the exchange of letters, but I shook off the idea. Cousin Louise had been far too busy to write to my father. At least I hoped that would prove to be the case.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, my attention moved from my father's letter to the remaining mail. I quickly sorted and placed the envelopes in their proper slots. “The mail is sorted, Dovie?” Cousin Louise peeked around the doorjamb.

“Yes, I just finished.” I picked up the letter from my father. “I received a letter from my father.”

“That is gut. It has been a while since he has written, ja?”

I nodded. “Neither of us has been writing as often over the past two months.”

“You will need to tell me what he has to say about his life in Texas. I hope he is finding some happiness. I am sure it is hard for him. Moving to a new city while he is still grieving your Mutter and not having you there, either—I am sure he is lonely.”

I didn't comment, for I wasn't sure if my father and the lovely lady he'd mentioned in his earlier letter had continued to see each other. Cousin Louise removed the mail from her family's box and trundled off toward the other room.

With a thrust of my index finger, I finished opening the envelope and, leaning against the sorting table, scanned the pages. There it was—a reference to the lovely woman he had met. I slowed to a word-by-word examination of the contents.

In my last letter, I mentioned a lady I had met. Her name is Ardella Mitchell. I think you would like her. We have been seeing each other and have much in common.

How much could he have in common with the woman? My father worked for the railroad and traveled a great deal. Maybe she had traveled to the places he'd visited, or perhaps she enjoyed reading. My father did enjoy discussing the many books that he read. Or maybe she held a position with the railroad, though I doubted that idea. My father was never one to think women should work outside the home. Then again, if she was a widow, maybe she'd been forced to go to work and viewed my father as an opportunity to resume her former way of life. I forced myself to stop guessing and returned to the letter.

I know you may find this news disturbing, but once the proper mourning period has ended, I plan to marry Ardella. No doubt you will think my decision rash, but I am lonely and she has been an excellent companion to me. Please do not think that my haste to remarry means that I do not miss your dear mother. It was my desire to live out the remainder of my years as her husband, but since her death I find myself in need of love and companionship. I do not think she would have wished me to remain alone. I hope you will feel the same way.

I pressed a palm to my cheek. I should be pleased to learn that my father had found someone with whom to share his life. Instead, a clawing sense of betrayal inched its way from my feet to the top of my head. How could he? So soon. In a few more days, it would be only nine months since my mother's death. Could he not have waited longer before he pledged his love to another woman? Tears threatened as I continued to read.

Ardella is eager to meet you and has expressed a deep desire to build a friendship with you. She is a fine woman, and I believe you will like her very much. She is hopeful you will come to Dallas and live with us once we are married. Ardella has a lovely home and says there is more than adequate room for you. She is eager for you to make your home with us. I know this is a great deal for you to take in, but with an open mind and loving spirit, I know the two of you will become dear friends.

So they had already formed their plans—not only to marry but also where they would live. If the elders decided to send me from the colonies, I would be making my home with my father and his new bride. I tried to envision how all of this had happened so rapidly. My father had said he would be traveling a great deal, yet he'd had time to develop a committed relationship with Ardella. Still, I had to consider my part in all of this. Had I gone to Texas, my father wouldn't have been as likely to seek the companionship of a woman. I sighed and returned to the final paragraph.

Please write soon so I must not worry for too long. It is my deep desire to gain your understanding and to know you will embrace these decisions regarding my our future. I send my love and hope to hear from you by return mail. Love, Papa

I didn't miss the fact that he had crossed out the word
my
and inserted
our
. Nor did I miss his signature. He knew that signing
Papa
would touch my heart with greater force than if he'd signed
Father
. There was little doubt he wanted my approval. He had added a hasty postscript at the end, saying Ardella would like permission to write to me.

It seemed they were going to do everything they could to gain my acceptance. I pondered the letter for a brief time and then tucked it into my pocket. If I didn't leave right now for my meeting with Berndt, I'd miss him. I stepped to the doorway of the mail room and spied Cousin Louise in the kitchen. “I'm leaving, Cousin Louise.”

She looked up from the worktable. “There was gut news from your Vater?”

“I suppose it depends upon how one interprets good news.” I forced a smile. “I'll read it to you when I return.”

“Ja, that would be nice.” If my remark about good news confused her, she gave no indication. “Remember what I have told you about your talk with Berndt.”

“I remember,” I called before rushing out the door.

My thoughts were a jumble as I went to meet Berndt. There was so much I must explain to him, yet I wasn't certain I could control my emotions. I was pleased to discover we were not brother and sister, yet trying to accept the fact that we were not related and I could indeed let myself love him as a woman loves a man felt very strange. I could only hope that once he understood why my behavior toward him had changed, he would still care for me. Of course it would matter little if the Grossebruderrat insisted I leave. I'd have no choice but to go to Texas.

As I recalled the contents of my father's letter, my heart squeezed with sorrow at the thought of his replacing my dear mother. But I hadn't walked far when I remembered what Cousin Louise had told me about my Opa and how he hadn't let my mother follow her heart and remain in the colonies. My father had wanted me to move to Texas with him, but he gave me the opportunity to follow my own path.

If I'd gone with him, perhaps he wouldn't have met Ardella. But that's not what happened. I came to the colonies, and Papa met Ardella. We both traveled our own paths. How could I fault him for wanting to fill the void in his life? I wasn't required to find joy in his choice, but I needed to show him the same respect and kindness he'd shown me.

A bird cawed overhead and I turned toward the barn. Berndt said he would be there by two o'clock. Cousin Louise had given permission, but a young man and woman visiting alone was not looked upon with favor. Originally I had suggested we meet at the pond, but Cousin Louise said we could have our choice: the back porch or the barn. I quickly chose the barn, for on days when the weather was nice, several of the older sisters would sit on the back porch to clean and pare vegetables—and talk. I didn't want them to overhear my conversation with Berndt.