Judith Miller - [Daughters of Amana 01] (2 page)

My father’s brow creased. I was certain he was expecting Berta’s father to reprimand her for such rude behavior. Instead, Dr. Schumacher held a finger to his lips. “We will discuss this once we are settled in our rooms, Berta.”

“First, you must tell me we aren’t going to stay here more than one night,” Berta said before tightening her lips into a pout.

The doctor stood. “If you could show us to our rooms where we can have a private family discussion, I would be most grateful.”

My mother signaled me. “Johanna will be pleased to show you to the rooms. We must depart for evening prayer service soon. You are welcome to join us.”

“Not this evening,” Mrs. Schumacher said. “Another time.”

As I led the Schumachers upstairs, I couldn’t help but compare Mrs. Schumacher’s gown to the blue, black, or gray calicos that were woven in the Amana mills and worn by the women of our colonies. No one longed to wear the bright calicos woven for those living outside the colonies—at least no one ever spoke of such a desire. We didn’t object to the sameness of our plain waists or the wide-banded full skirts. Even our shawls, aprons, and caps were worn without thought to their sameness. Would Mrs. Schumacher, in her pale green silk dress, adapt to our ways with more enthusiasm than her daughter?

I pushed down the metal latch and opened the door leading into the rooms that would be the Schumachers’ living quarters— for how long was anyone’s guess. If Berta had her way, they would be gone before sunrise. “The rooms are sparsely furnished, but I’m sure when you add some of your own belongings, they will seem more like home.”

“This will never be my home!” Berta flung herself onto the overstuffed forest green divan with a theatrical flair that defied protestation.

I motioned toward the bedrooms. “Your sleeping rooms are to the rear.” I backed toward the door, certain my work here was done.

Mrs. Schumacher motioned that I should remain. “The kitchen?”

Dr. Schumacher grasped his wife’s elbow. “Don’t you recall that I explained we will be eating our meals in a communal kitchen? There will be no need for you to cook or wash dishes. Isn’t that grand?”

“Given that I’ve done very little cooking in my life, I suppose it is grand. Especially for you and Berta.” Mrs. Schumacher rubbed the back of her neck.

Berta arched forward and glared at her father. “Why are you even discussing where we will eat? I am
not
living here!”

I took another backward step. “I must go downstairs. I don’t want to be late for prayer service. We won’t be gone long. The meeting is short—usually no more than twenty minutes or half an hour each evening.” Reaching behind my back, I unlatched the door.

“You have prayer services
every
night?” Mrs. Schumacher took a step toward me.

I turned toward the doctor. “Did the
Bruderrat
not explain our ways before you arrived?” Surely, the council of elders who guided our village would have told them what to expect in their new life among us.

“Yes, of course. I received information from the
Grossebruderrat
, as well,” Dr. Schumacher replied.

I tried to hide my confusion, but I didn’t understand. If he’d been informed about life in the Amana Colonies, why did his wife and daughter appear so angry and bewildered?

Seeming to sense my confusion, Dr. Schumacher said, “There are many details I haven’t shared with my wife, as of yet. I didn’t want to burden her unduly.”

Mrs. Schumacher crooked her finger and beckoned me forward. “Why don’t you explain, Johanna? I’m certain you can more easily clarify these terms and rules. Exactly what are the Bruderrat and Grossebruderrat?”

“Each village has a Bruderrat, which is composed of a group of local elders and a trustee.” I glanced at the doctor. He offered a feeble smile and slight nod.

“Do go on, Johanna,” Mrs. Schumacher said.

“The members of the Bruderrat meet and appoint the foremen for our industries and discuss crop planting schedules, construction projects, work assignments, and such. In spiritual matters, the head elder has the final word, but in matters related to work duties, the trustee has the final say.”

Mrs. Schumacher nodded. “And the Grossebruderrat? What is that?”

“They are the trustees who oversee matters that affect all of the colonies.”

“Like what?” She leaned forward in her chair.

“When we build factories, they decide which village it should be built in and when the construction should begin. When the millrace was dug, they decided the place and how we would complete the work. They also settle disputes that are appealed from the Bruderrat. The Grossebruderrat meets once a month, taking turns among the different colonies.”

Mrs. Schumacher glanced at her husband, then back at me. “Thank you for taking time to explain, Johanna.”

I bobbed my head, mumbled a hasty good-evening, and hurried down the stairs, glad to be away from the anger and confusion that swirled within the upper rooms.

“
Ach!
I thought you were never going to return. What took you so long?” Before I could reply, Mother handed me my woolen shawl and propelled me toward the front door. “We must be on our way. Put your wrap around your shoulders. It may be March, but the air is still cool in the evenings.”

“Ja,”
my father agreed, leading the way.

I took the shawl without argument. Although I’d turned twenty-one last month, my parents sometimes treated me as though I were still a child. A fact I sometimes disliked but at other times found endearing. Tonight I disliked the admonition and decided some of Berta’s hostile attitude must have rubbed off on me.

“The doctor and his family appear to know little about our ways.” Though I walked beside my mother, I spoke loudly enough to ensure Father could hear me. Since he was a member of the council of elders, I knew he would have been involved in the decision to grant the Schumachers permission to move into our village. I hoped he would shed some light on the odd situation.

“Dr. Schumacher understands our ways as well as any new arrival to the colonies. Eventually his family will do well.”

“I am surprised the family wasn’t sent to live in Middle Amana with their relatives,” my mother said. “It would have made things less painful for Berta, don’t you think?”

My father shrugged. “We already have Dr. Zedler in Middle. There’s no need for two doctors in one village. Dr. –Schumacher knew they would be living in Main Amana rather than in Middle. Brother Gustav, Dr. Schumacher’s second cousin, vouched for them so that they would be easily accepted into the colonies, but I doubt living in the same village with him would make this change easier for Berta.”

I silently agreed. Berta Schumacher wasn’t going to adapt easily to our ways—relatives or not. To make matters worse, I had been assigned to assist Berta through the transition into our village. She would be working in the kitchen with me. Although the
Küchebaas
was in charge, I would be expected to teach Berta. Just as the young girls who finished school and then transferred into our many kitchens and gardens throughout the villages, Berta would need to be trained.

“What if she resists her training,
Vater
? What am I to do?”

“Pray for guidance, child, and I will do the same. The girl needs a good influence in her life, and you are the perfect choice.”

Perfect choice?
If Father knew some of my private thoughts and feelings, I doubted he would think me a suitable choice for the task at hand. Truth be told, I worried Berta would sway me more than I would influence her. Though I loved life in Amana, those feelings didn’t stop me from desiring a peek at what lay beyond the confines of the twenty-six-thousand acres owned by our people. I didn’t want to move away permanently, not like my brother Wilhelm, who had left our village to make Chicago his home. But there were places outside the seven villages I longed to see, and Wilhelm hadn’t proved a valuable source of information because he seldom returned home to visit.

Through the years, I’d daily traversed the wooden sidewalks of Amana. I’d been in most of the communal residences, attended the Amana school, and knew most of the families in our colony by name—not all five hundred residents, but at least their family names.

Granted, I didn’t know as many people in the other six villages that formed our colony, but still I cared deeply about their welfare and safety. No matter if they lived in East or Middle or High Amana. What difference if I lived in Main and they called South or West or Homestead their village. A common cord of love and belief in our Lord united us. The few miles between each of our villages hadn’t unraveled our group while we lived in New York, and it had continued to hold fast in Iowa. So why did I want to know about other places?

For a time I’d thought it was because I’d never seen our previous home in Ebenezer, New York, where our people had settled and created six villages. I’d heard my parents talk about how they had moved from New York to the new settlement in Iowa, and they’d told me many stories about life in Ebenezer, but it wasn’t the same as seeing or experiencing the old community for myself.

When I’d spoken to Mother, she’d said, “All young people go through a time when they think they’d like to see how people live outside the villages. As you grow older, such thoughts will flee from your mind.”

I’d seen fear in Mother’s eyes. After all, such thoughts hadn’t fled from the mind of Wilhelm. He’d left the community and had no wish to return and live among us. My mother had lost one son to death and another to the outside world. I knew she didn’t want to think of losing me.

Much to my father’s relief, we arrived for prayer service on time. The small brick building where we attended evening prayers was not far from our home. Unlike our Sunday church meetings, prayer service was held in small meetinghouses in each neighborhood. I sat down on one of the hard wooden benches beside my mother, and soon more women joined us.

On the other side of the room, the men gathered on their benches, but before we began our prayers, my father stood. “Our new doctor and his family have arrived. I would ask that you pray that these new arrivals will easily settle into our community.”

I noted the surprise on several faces. The women were obviously full of curiosity, but this was a time for prayer, not questions.

The moment the final prayer had been uttered and we’d been dismissed, Sister Schmitt grasped my mother’s elbow. “So the doctor is living upstairs from you, ja?”

Mother gathered her shawl tightly around her shoulders.

“Ja.”

“Seems not such a
gut
place for a doctor—living upstairs like that,” the old woman said.

“The Bruderrat assigned their living space, not me. You should ask them if you question their decision, Sister Olga.”

“Ach! I was not questioning, Sister Emilie. Just making a simple statement. No need to take offense. How many in the family? Any young people to help in the fields or the kitchens?”

“One daughter. She has been assigned to work in the kitchen.” My mother patted my arm. “Johanna will help her learn her duties.”

Sister Schmitt’s smile revealed several missing teeth, and she quickly covered her lips. “Then she will do fine. Johanna is a gut worker, for sure.”

I wasn’t certain how Sister Schmitt could judge my work. Once she’d become unable to perform the heavier duties in the kitchen or garden, she’d been assigned to the woolen mill, where she tied threads as they were wound onto the large reels. The old woman’s transfer had occurred before I began working in the kitchen, but my mother had worked with her in the garden. A few years ago she’d insisted upon helping cut the cabbages for sauerkraut, but it had taken only one day before she’d decided that a return to thread tying was in order.

I was thankful when my father motioned for us to join him. I didn’t want to answer any questions about Berta. I feared I’d say more than my parents considered appropriate. Although he appeared calm, my father walked more slowly than usual, and I wondered if he was worrying about what might greet us upon our return home. I considered asking but knew it would serve no purpose.

Father would tell me worry was for those who didn’t trust the Lord, while believers placed their burdens at the throne of God. That’s where I placed mine. At least I tried to. But unlike my father, I hadn’t learned to leave them there. Instead, I gathered my bundle of worries back under my arm and carried them around with me. I wasn’t sure about my mother. Sometimes she appeared free from all worry. Yet other times, like when I’d spoken of my desire to see Chicago or Iowa City, I’d seen concern in her dark brown eyes.

My father lifted his nose heavenward. “Smells like rain—the fields could use the water.” He’d been the farm
Baas
for our village since I was a little girl, and it seemed he could predict every change in the weather. Sometimes he could even forecast a morning fog. Most of the time he was correct, but occasionally he missed the mark. When that happened, Father would laugh and say God had to fool him once in a while to keep him humble.

I didn’t smell rain, and I silently hoped this was one of those times when God was keeping Father humble. Not that I wanted our crops to suffer. But rain meant the garden workers would crowd into the kitchen to help once they’d cleaned their tools. And though they did their best to assist, too many hands and too many bodies in a space that was too small created more problems than help. Besides, with Berta in tow, rainy weather would make my task even more difficult.

Father tapped my shoulder as we approached the front of our house. “Please look in on
Oma
Reich and see if she needs anything.”

“Yes, Vater.” The old woman wasn’t my grandmother, but she’d requested I use the familiar endearment when she moved into the two rooms adjacent to us after the Bruderrat declared her too frail to live on her own. There were times when I wondered if those knowing men had miscalculated Oma Reich’s disability, for I’d seen her summon enough energy to put many a younger woman to shame.

I continued down the hall to the old woman’s door. After tapping lightly, I quietly called her name.