Judith Miller - [Daughters of Amana 01] (17 page)

Johanna Ilg

There was little doubt I had offended Berta with my recriminations, but I hadn’t expected the silence and isolation she’d exhibited for the remainder of the week. Never before had she held a grudge. In fact, she’d always been rather indifferent when chastised—except for her attempts to blame others.

For the past several days I’d done my best to cheer her, but her responses had been no more than one or two words. The girl’s silence had become as frustrating as her earlier penchant for chatter. I’d never been inclined to delve into the business of others, but I’d been assigned to train Berta, and it somehow seemed right to pursue the matter.

When she’d continued her unresponsive nature on our walk to work this morning, I decided that after work I would ask her to go fishing with Carl and me on Sunday. I hoped the invitation would break down the invisible barrier she’d placed between herself and the rest of the world. Even Sister Muhlbach had expressed confusion over the girl’s quiet demeanor.

The morning passed without incident, but I expected to observe a hint of excitement when Sister Muhlbach sent Berta outdoors to meet the milk wagon. But when Rudolf arrived, she remained subdued. The fact that the handsome young man couldn’t bring a glint to her eyes created even more worry.

At day’s end Berta hurried out the door and started home without me. I waved a hasty good-bye to Sister Muhlbach and trotted around the side of the house, calling to her. “Wait for me, Berta! I need to speak to you.” With a brief glance over her shoulder, she slowed her pace, but she didn’t stop.

Panting when I finally reached her side, I looped my hand into the crook of her arm. Part of me feared she might bolt, yet I knew it was a silly thought. Where would she run to? “Berta, I want to invite you to go fishing with Carl and me on Sunday. We can go as soon as we complete the noonday meal.”

Silence.

I squeezed her arm. “Berta? Would you like to go fishing with us? We can invite Rudolf to come along if you’d like.” I hoped she would hear the genuine enthusiasm in my voice, for I truly wanted her to join us.

Her gaze remained fixed on the road ahead. “No.”

I waited, certain she’d explain her refusal. But she didn’t. That was the sum total of her response.
No.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or shout. I tugged her to a halt and took a firm hold on her upper arms. “Look at me, Berta.” When she raised her chin, I said, “I want you to come with us.” I bobbed my head. “I really do want you to, Berta.”

A single tear escaped one eye and rolled down her cheek. She dabbed at it with the corner of her apron. “If you’re worried I’m angry, you can set aside your concern. This has nothing to do with you, Johanna.”

“Then will you come with us? If you say you’ll come along, I promise I won’t ply you with questions.”

“Why would you want me to? I’m nothing but a nuisance to everyone I’ve ever known. Except maybe John Underwood.”

I grinned. “And Rudolf. And your parents. And—”

Her eyes turned dark. “No. Only John. Rudolf finds me a nuisance at times. My mother prefers the children at the Kinderschule, and my father has no use for either my mother or me.”

The dramatic commentary slipped from her lips with far too much ease. “You don’t believe that, Berta. Your parents love you very much. I’m not a doctor, but it seems you’re suffering from a bout of melancholy. I’d guess you’ve been remembering springtime in Chicago and you’re missing your friends and the many festivities you enjoyed at this time of year. Come fishing with us, and we’ll make some memories of our own. What do you say?”

She shrugged one shoulder.

I couldn’t tell if it was an agreement or if she simply wanted me to remove my hold on her. I bent down until we were eye to eye. “So you’ll come?”

“Maybe.”

I released her arms and matched her stride. We were nearing home when I was struck by a fresh idea. Why hadn’t I thought of it earlier? I clasped her hand. “If you want to stop by my room before prayer service, you can look at another magazine.”

She shook her head. “I’m going to rest for a while.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. She wanted to rest rather than look at the
Godey’s
magazine. I reached to touch her forehead. “Are you ill?”

“In a way,” she murmured.

“Then we should stop by your father’s office.”

“No.” She turned to face me, her eyes as cold as a winter day. “He’s the last person I want to see.”

I didn’t understand, but it was obvious she wouldn’t welcome any questions. At least not now. Eventually I would uncover the cause of this mysterious change. I opened the front door, and Berta climbed the stairs, each movement slow and plodding. She had turned into an old woman before my eyes. Had Berta’s mother noticed this difference in her daughter, or was she as detached as Berta alleged?

Pushing down on the latch, I entered the parlor and greeted my mother with a kiss on the cheek. “I’m surprised to see you at home before me.”

She pressed her palm against her lower back. “And glad I am to be here. Each year I forget about the aching muscles I suffer when we transfer plants from the hotbeds. Sister Rosina sent me home to rest.”

“I’m astounded she was so compassionate.” Neither Sister Muhlbach nor Sister Nusser was known to possess a sympathetic disposition.

“I told her if I remained at work and strained my back overmuch, I might miss several days work instead of an hour or two. She sent me home and said she’d see me in the morning.”

I bent forward and removed the mending from her hands. “Then you should go in and rest before prayer meeting. It would be better for your back.”

“If you will come and visit with me,” she said. “Otherwise, I will fall asleep, and then I will be wide awake all night long.”

Sewing basket in hand, I followed her into the room and settled into a chair beside my parents’ bed. Holding the fabric taut, I drew the needle through the material and formed tiny stitches as I worked to repair the frayed seam. “Have you visited with Berta’s mother recently?”

“Only a little. Why do you ask?”

“I think Berta misses having her mother’s attention. She says Sister Schumacher is at the Kinderschule a great deal.”

My mother pursed her lips. “She told me she likes to be around the little children. After Berta was born, they hoped for a son, but it didn’t happen. I think that’s why she enjoys the little children so much.”

“But Berta needs her, too. She’s been sad these last few days, and she won’t tell me what’s bothering her. I thought maybe Sister Schumacher might have said something.”

“No. She hasn’t mentioned Berta at all.” My mother shifted her head on the pillow. “I am pleased you and Carl are going fishing on Sunday. He is a fine young man.”

A glint shone in her eyes. Perhaps Berta had been telling the truth. “Aren’t all of the men in our village fine men?”

“Ja, that is true. But Carl is special. Your Vater says he is a good worker and eager to please.” Her eyelids fluttered. “And nice to look at, as well, ja?”

“Mutter!” My cheeks felt as though they’d been touched by a hot poker. “I cannot believe you said such a thing.”

“Come now, Johanna. I am not blind, and neither are you.” She lifted her head from the pillow. “He would make a fine husband for you.”

My mother had now erased all doubt. Berta had spoken the truth. She and Father had been discussing marriage. My marriage. To Carl Froehlich. To tell her that Carl’s glance made my heart race and his touch caused my hands to tremble would only reinforce her determination. Why this sudden plan that I should wed? I could understand my father wanting Carl’s help in the barns. I could even understand his desire to embrace Carl as a son. He missed Wilhelm. Of that there was no doubt. But why would my mother support this idea of marriage? There had to be something more involved. Although the elders usually approved marriages, Amana parents didn’t encourage or arrange them. At least that’s what I’d been taught since I was a little girl.

While I had a modicum of courage, I asked the questions searing my mind. “Why are you suddenly pushing me toward marriage? Is it because Vater hopes to replace Wilhelm and make Carl his son, or is it because you know I want to go to Chicago and visit Wilhelm?”

Once again I saw the glimmer of fear that shone in her eyes whenever I mentioned Chicago. She clutched her handkerchief tight in her fist. “No person ever replaces another. Nobody will ever replace Pieter or Wilhelm. And Vater and I have told you over and over there is nothing gut for you in Chicago.” She placed her palm across her forehead.

No doubt my questions had caused her a headache to go along with her backache. I patted her hand, but I didn’t want her to think I’d given up on a visit with Wilhelm. “I thought we would hear from Wilhelm now that spring has arrived. Each day I hope there will be a letter from him saying he will arrive for a visit.”

The fear returned and shadowed my mother’s dark eyes. Her brows dipped low as she studied me for a brief moment. “Did your Vater mention a visit from Wilhelm?”

A prickling sensation coursed across my shoulders. Either she’d heard from Wilhelm or she hadn’t, but from her guarded response, I now was certain my brother had written. I wanted to shout a resounding yes, but the response stuck in my throat. I couldn’t lie to my mother. “No,” I mumbled.

She covered her eyes with her forearm. “We received a letter from Wilhelm saying he would visit tomorrow.”

I dropped my mending and clapped my hands together. “Why didn’t you tell me? I must let Carl know I won’t be going fishing with him after all.”

Strands of hair fanned across the pillow as she shook her head. Slowly, she lowered her arm. “You can still go fishing. Wilhelm will not be arriving tomorrow. I wrote to him and told him he should wait awhile longer before he comes.”

“But why would you ask him to wait?” My voice bore the shrill tone that frequently emerged when I was overcome by fear or distress.

“There are some things that are private, Johanna. This is one of them.”

“Private? We are a family. When I was a little girl, you told me that families shared and always helped one another. I want to know why you would discourage a visit from Wilhelm.”

Astonishment and anger combined to pinch my mother’s features into a surprised frown. My parents were unaccustomed to confrontation, especially from me. When Wilhelm left home, he hadn’t confronted my parents. He’d simply stated his intentions, packed his bags, and departed. There had been no argument, no discussion, no pleading. Just a slamming door and then silence. That heavy silence had returned. Like a bolted door, it separated my mother and me. But I remained steadfast. I wanted an answer.

“Emilie? Johanna? Where are you?”

At the sound of my father’s voice, relief flooded my mother’s eyes. She pushed the hair from her forehead and peered toward the doorway. “We’re in the bedroom, Frank.”

My father’s hurried footsteps were muffled by the carpet, but he now stood framed in the doorway staring at my mother. “You are ill, Emilie?”

“My back is aching, as it does every spring.”

“Ach! Sister Rosina should have the younger women bending and stooping. Every year she does this, and every year you suffer.”

“Not every year, Frank. You may remember there was a time when I was young.”

My mother shifted to her hip and pointed in my direction. She attempted to hide the gesture, but I recognized the signal—an indicator to my father that trouble was brewing.

Well, if she wanted to alert my father, then I’d just as well speak up. “Mutter tells me Wilhelm wrote that he was coming for a visit. She also tells me she asked him not to come.”

My mother lifted on one elbow. “That is
not
what I said, Johanna! I said I wrote and told him to wait and come later.”

“The same thing.” I sounded more like Berta than myself.

My father shook his head. “You know it isn’t the same, Johanna. You are angry because you want to see your brother. If you want to cast blame, you should direct it at me rather than your Mutter. I am the one who thought we could better enjoy Wilhelm’s visit a little later in the season. After spring planting is completed and we aren’t so busy.”

“And weary,” my mother added.

They were telling me half-truths. Granted, we would have more time with Wilhelm after spring planting was completed, but there had been much more to their decision. Berta had seen my mother crying, and Louisa’s name had been mentioned. Strange, but at the moment I believed more of what Berta had told me than what I’d just heard from my parents.

The descending sun cast shadows across the room, and my father nodded toward the door. “We should leave for prayer meeting in a few minutes.” He leaned down to touch my mother’s arm. “Do you feel well enough to attend?”

Both his concern for my mother and the mention of prayer service combined to annoy me. His behavior didn’t fool me in the least. My father wanted to close the door to further discussion of Wilhelm’s visit.

Shifting her legs, my mother eased to a sitting position. She arched and rubbed her palm along the small of her back. “I will be fine.”

Eyebrows knit in concern, my father shook his head. “You remain here. Rest is the best thing for an aching back. Johanna and I will attend without you.”

After gathering his Bible, he motioned me to the parlor. “You can wait for Berta and her mother. I’ll go on ahead. I need to speak to one of the elders.”

I didn’t argue. My parents could avoid my questions for this evening, but eventually they would need to answer. Then again, perhaps it would be easier if I wrote a letter of my own—a letter to Wilhelm asking for the truth and asking if I could come to Chicago for a visit. Yes. That’s exactly what I would do.