Judith Miller - [Daughters of Amana 01] (36 page)

The following afternoon Sister Muhlbach waved for me to follow her into the dining room. “Sit down.” I settled on one of the benches and waited to hear the outcome of her meeting. “The elders have ordered that you will not attend any further meetings until your behavior improves. No evening prayer services, no Sunday morning or evening services.”

“I understand.” I failed to withhold my smile.

Sister Muhlbach grimaced. “I told the elders their punishment would please you, but they remained steadfast. Do not think that you will have nothing to do during those times when others are in meetings. You will work in the Küche, and if you fail to perform the tasks as expected, you’ll remain until they are completed—even if I am required to oversee you until after bedtime each night.” She folded her hands in her lap. “If you can’t pare the vegetables while we’re at meeting on Sunday morning, then you will do it on Saturday night. Do I speak plain enough that you understand?”

“Yes, Sister Muhlbach. I’ve understood every word.”

“Gut. Then you will begin tomorrow morning during Sunday meeting. I will have only one junior girl in the Küche to help you. We will see if you understood what I expect.”

I pushed up from the bench, pleased with the outcome of her meeting.

“One other thing, Berta. Brother Ilg has gone to the Kinder-schule to speak with your mother. The elders believe she must be made aware of your behavior as well as the punishment they’ve ordered.”

The fact that Brother Ilg would tell my mother didn’t bother me in the least. Granted, Mother would be annoyed with me— mostly because others would soon know of my misdeeds. Otherwise it wouldn’t change anything in her life. Except for a few rare occasions, she’d forgotten I existed.

The remainder of the day passed without incident, but it soon became obvious the others knew what had happened. They spoke in whispers and clucked their tongues when I passed by. However, it was my mother who surprised me that evening. She did more than cluck her tongue or whisper. In fact, I’m certain Brother and Sister Ilg could hear her downstairs.

After listening to her explain how I had embarrassed her beyond belief, she dealt a final blow. “If you get into trouble one more time before your father returns, I will take it upon myself to immediately send you to the boarding school in Iowa City. You leave me no choice, Berta. I won’t permit you to continue this unruly behavior.”

I stared at her in disbelief. “You would never do such a thing.”

“Please don’t test me, Berta. This is no idle warning.”

I turned on my heel and stalked into my bedroom. How could my mother threaten such a punishment!

For the rest of the evening I remained in my room. I heard my mother leave for evening prayer service, and I heard her return, but we didn’t speak. After I had gone to bed, I wondered where Mr. Barton would be sleeping and if he’d soon find another job. I lapsed in and out of a fitful sleep fraught with dreams of Mr. Barton without food to eat and begging Sister Muhlbach for a crust of bread.

The following morning I arose early, unwilling to subject myself to any further disturbing dreams. I pulled my calico over the pink-trimmed petticoat and departed for work while Mother prepared for church. Sister Muhlbach appeared surprised when I arrived at the kitchen a full ten minutes ahead of time. She was even more surprised when I immediately set to work. Sunday mornings we served coffee cake for breakfast, so while she measured the ingredients, I went and gathered eggs.

She thanked me but eyed me with suspicion. “Your mother spoke to you last evening?”

“She did.”

“Gut. I can see that she has influence upon you. I should have spoken to her long ago.”

I didn’t reply. My good behavior had nothing to do with my mother or her threat. I simply wanted to get as much work accomplished as possible before the others left for church. That way I could enjoy the time alone—well, almost alone. One of the junior girls would be with me, but that was almost the same as being alone. I hoped it would be Lydia. I’d visited with her on a few occasions, and I was certain she would enjoy having a bit of fun while the others were gone.

“You have questions about the preparations?”

“I should be able to do it if you write down the measurements for the
Kuchen
.” I’d read the menu: crumb soup, cooked carrots, boiled potatoes, roast beef, rhubarb kuchen, and coffee. The rhubarb cake was the only thing that worried me.

“I’ll assign Lydia. She’s a good baker.”

I tucked my lower lip between my teeth to keep from smiling. At least something had gone my way. While the others bid us good-bye, Lydia lifted a crock from the shelf and began to mix the cake ingredients. I cleaned and pared the rhubarb, then set to work on the potatoes and carrots. We visited while we worked, and although Lydia was only twelve years old, she seemed more my age. Probably because she’d been taught to work hard and assume responsibility from an early age. However, she was a curious girl and was delighted she’d been chosen to work alongside me.

Lydia pointed toward one of the large kettles. “Don’t forget we must put the broth on to heat for the soup.”

I thanked her for the reminder and, once I’d completed the task, returned to paring carrots. “Have you ever traveled outside of the villages, Lydia?”

“No, but my Mutter said that one day we will go to Iowa City.” She stared out the kitchen window for a moment. “Would you tell me about the city where you lived before moving here? What was it like?” Her voice rang with excitement. When I hesitated, she hurried to the dry sink and grasped my arm. “Please. I would like to know what it looked like, and what you did, and how it was different from Amana.”

Lydia didn’t realize how difficult it would be to explain the differences. I started by telling her about our home, the maids, the shopping and, of course, the many parties.

“But what about school?”

“I attended school, but that was never my favorite thing. School is school—they’re all alike.” I stopped short at what I’d said and added, “Unless it’s boarding school. That’s when your parents send you away and you live at the school. Some of my friends went away, but I convinced my father it wouldn’t be a good fit for me.” At the thought of boarding school, I shuddered. “Boarding schools are horrid places. You never get to see your friends or family, and they are run by people who insist upon rules.”

She appeared confused. “Rules help us learn right from wrong. They aren’t a bad thing.”

I didn’t respond to that comment—better to change the subject than use our time arguing about the good and evil of rules. “You would enjoy seeing all of the shops and the variety of items to choose from. Some of the stores are so large they need five or six floors to display everything that’s available.”

“I think it would be difficult if you had so many choices. I doubt I’d ever make up my mind what I wanted.” Lydia poured the cake batter into the large metal pans and shoved them into the oven. “Now what?”

She didn’t seem to grasp what wonders could be had outside the village. Instead of my explanations enticing her, they had the opposite effect. Then I had an idea. I lifted my calico skirt several inches and watched Lydia’s eyes fill with awe.

Stepping closer, she leaned forward. “May I touch it?”

“Of course. You can even wear it for a while, but you mustn’t tell.” Reaching beneath the calico skirt, I untied my petticoat and let it slide to the floor. “Come here. You can wear it overtop your calico, and I’ll teach you some dance steps.”

A smile as bright as summer sunshine lit her face. She rubbed the silk between her fingers. “It feels as soft as a baby’s skin, doesn’t it?”

I agreed, although I had no idea how soft a baby’s skin might be—I’d never been around any babies. At least not long enough to touch or hold one. Lydia stepped into the petticoat, and I tied it around her waist while she lifted the silk to more closely examine it—at least I thought that was what she was doing until I stepped around and faced her.

“Did you sew this?” She traced her fingers along the uneven stitches.

“I was in a hurry. Besides, I don’t like to sew.”

She appeared dismayed by my confession. “You don’t? I thought all girls liked to sew. Maybe I could teach you how to make better stitches, and you can teach me how to dance.”

“Agreed,” I said. “But remember, you can’t tell anyone about our dancing or the petticoat.”

“Can I wear it each time we dance?”

“As long as no one will see.” I covered the potatoes and carrots with water and placed them on the stove, pleased that everything was in order and Lydia and I had time to enjoy ourselves. “First I’ll teach you how to hold your partner, and then we’ll attempt a waltz.”

It took longer than expected for her to learn the steps. With each movement she looked at her feet until I threatened to blindfold her. “Now I’m going to teach you how to do a sweeping turn.” We practiced several times, and when I thought she’d perfected the steps, we moved to the far end of the dining room. “We’ll dance down the center of the dining room, enter the kitchen, turn around near the stove, and dance back into the dining room. I’ll try to hum a tune to help with the rhythm.”

The sweet aroma of the rhubarb cake filled the kitchen, and Lydia scurried to the oven. “I’d better take the cakes out of the oven first.”

I was thankful she’d remembered. A burned dessert wouldn’t be appreciated. We took our places near the dining room door. At my signal we waltzed our way into the kitchen, where I took a wide sideways step. Lydia tripped and her shoe caught in the petticoat. I watched in horror as she tumbled toward the stove.

“Watch out for that pot of boiling broth,” I shouted. Her eyes opened wide and glistened with fear as she crashed into the pot. Her scream echoed in my ears as I rushed forward and yanked her toward me. The pot clattered to the brick floor, the scalding broth flying in all directions.

“My arm! I hit it on the side of the kettle. It’s burned and I think it broke when I hit the floor.”

I raced outside to the pump, wet a towel with cold water, returned inside, and placed it on her arm. “Stay here. I’ll go to the church and get help.”

I sprinted down the street, my heart racing. Perspiration beaded across my upper lip, and my breath came in short gasps. Giving no thought to what might be happening inside, I flung open the doors. “We need help in the Küche! Lydia’s injured.” Benches scraped against the wooden floors, but I didn’t wait to see who would come and lend aid. I raced back to the kitchen to comfort Lydia.

A fresh surge of shame and guilt washed over me. Once again my selfish need to misbehave had caused trouble. Tears stung my eyes, but the tears weren’t for me. Lydia would suffer pain and scars—all because I had given in to my own selfish desires. Would Lydia forgive me? Would Johanna forgive me? As I neared the kitchen door, I wondered if God could forgive me.

CHAPTER 27

Shame and guilt nipped at my heels like a dog after a bone. My foolish dancing and need to rebel had placed Lydia in grave danger. Not only had she been burned yesterday, but her arm was broken, as well. Memories of the accident, of the angry red burns and Lydia’s arm splayed in an ungainly position, flashed through my mind. No one in this village would ever forgive me, of that I was certain. My mother had ranted at me until she’d nearly lost her voice. And Sister Ilg couldn’t even look me in the eye. Not that I blamed anyone but myself. If I’d kept my promise to Johanna, this wouldn’t have happened. It would be best for everyone concerned if I left this place.