More Than Words

by Judith Miller

  I didn’t respond, for I thought she was behaving in a childish manner, too. “If you’d like, I’ll take these to the front so I can measure and cut them for you.”

  The woman instructed me to cut ten yards of fabric, but before I could move, she grasped my arm. “Could you hide the bolt of fabric under your skirt so my friend won’t see it when you return to the counter?”

  My jaw dropped a notch. “No. I don’t think that will be possible.” I hesitated a moment. “Do you still want the fabric?”

  She huffed a discouraged sigh. “Yes, of course I want the fabric and the trim. I suppose I can step in front of her and block her view. Let me get into position.”

  After receiving the woman’s signal, I carried the bolt of fabric and trim to the counter, all the while wondering how she had expected me to walk with a bolt of fabric beneath my skirt. I dropped the fabric onto the counter.

  I’d measured out the fabric when my father entered through the back door and approached the counter. “Mr. Finley is going to help me unload the wagon, and then we will be leaving so he can visit the other villages. I am depending on you to look after things, Gretchen.”

  I kept my gaze fastened on the fabric. “I have a few errands I need to complete. When do you plan to return?”

  “Hard to tell. I think we will eat the noonday meal in Middle Amana or maybe Main. It will depend upon how many questions Mr. Finley has and what he wants to see. He will meet with the Bruderrat here in Homestead this evening after prayer service. If you must be away from the store, ask Sister Veda to come for a short time and take your place. Your Oma can watch after her baby while Sister Veda assists customers.”

  “Thank you, Vater. I will check with her.” I didn’t mention I needed someone to watch after Oma as much as I needed someone to help in the store.

  While I cut the fabric and trim for the other customers, I thought about Mr. Finley’s offer to have a poet read my work. At first I told myself that having a poet read my poems wouldn’t change my desire to write. Whether he thought the poems good or bad shouldn’t matter in the least. Still, to have someone with knowledge affirm my ability would be a pleasing thing. Vanity. The word crept into my thoughts like an unannounced intruder, and I shoved it aside. Perhaps this poet could write down ways in which I could improve my poetry. The thought excited me. Maybe I would send a poem with Mr. Finley. Maybe.

  CHAPTER 9

  Oma had been quiet for most of the day, and I prayed she’d remain on good behavior. When my mother was alive, we’d seldom needed help in the store, but now Sister Veda occasionally stepped in when needed. During my mother’s illness, she’d been assigned to lend a hand when asked. She’d excelled in her ability to work with customers, and she’d quickly learned our system. For residents of the society, she’d write the information on a paper so I could enter and balance their individual ledger sheets later. For other customers she maintained a list of what was purchased and the cost so I could balance the cash box and keep a record of the inventory. After my mother’s death, Veda returned to her work in the Küche, but two years ago, she’d given birth to a daughter.

  Like all mothers in our villages, Veda had been permitted to remain at home with the baby until she turned three years old. But Veda still took pleasure in helping at the store whenever we needed her. I checked on Oma to make certain she remained asleep, placed a sign in the window, closed the door to the store, and hurried to the home of Veda and her husband. When she appeared at the door, I explained my need for her to watch the store for a short time.

  Her little girl grinned at me but clung to her mother’s skirts. “I am glad you have come and asked. I’m eager to see a few new faces. I will be there in fifteen minutes. I need just a little time to gather the things I will need for Trudy.”

  After stooping down to give Trudy a peck on the cheek and a quick hug, I raced toward the barbershop. I skidded to a halt when Brother Bertram stepped across the threshold. “You are in one big hurry, Sister Gretchen. Is not gut to run on a hot day.” He patted his cheeks. “Your face is all red from the heat.”

  “Thank you for your concern, Brother Bertram. I will heed your advice.” I circled around him and stepped inside. “Conrad, can you go with me to search for Stefan in fifteen minutes? Sister Veda is coming to watch the store.”

  “Ja. As soon as I sweep up the floor, I will come. Does your Vater know of this?”

  I’d already turned to leave. “He is the one who told me to have Sister Veda come and watch after the store.”

  “Gut. Is better he knows what we are doing so there is no trouble later.”

  I stopped short. “He only knows I’ll be gone from the store for an errand. He doesn’t know about Brother Otto’s visit.”

  “Why did you not tell him? He should know Stefan is missing.”

  My breath caught in my throat. “Missing? But you said we’d find him at the Gypsy camp.”

  “Ja, I did. I did. But it’s not for certain, and if we do not find him …” His voice trailed off on the breeze.

  I shuddered at the thought but heightened my resolve. “Then we will find him wherever he is. Come to the store as soon as you finish.” I didn’t give Conrad further opportunity to tell me what I should have told my father. I already had enough guilt about the secrets I’d been hiding—both Stefan’s and my own. If my father knew I’d been concealing the fact that Stefan had already ventured into the Gypsy camp, or if he learned of the books and magazines hidden in my trunk, he would be sorely disappointed. I forced such thoughts from my mind. Right now, I needed to return to the store.

  The Closed sign had been removed from the window, and the front door of the store was open wide. I could feel a tremor rising in my throat. I swiped my sweaty palms down the front of my skirt before I walked inside. Oma was standing behind the counter with a pen and paper in her hand. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, who farmed property adjacent to our landholding, had stacked a pile of supplies on the front counter. I hurried to Oma’s side. I met her gaze and could see her eyes were clear—a good sign.

  “Let me help you figure the total, Oma.” I reached for the pen and paper, but she yanked the pen away and glared at me.

  “I have the amount totaled right here.” She tapped the pen beside the figure. I leaned sideways to gain a better view and began to recalculate the numbers, but Oma pushed the paper out of my sight. “Do you think I cannot add numbers?” Her blue eyes flashed with anger.

  “It’s always gut to have a second look, don’t you think? This is a large order, Oma.”

  Mrs. Wilson shook her head. “We don’t need you to total our order again, Gretchen. We trust your grandmother’s figures.” She nudged her husband’s arm. “Give her the money, Herman.” Mr. Wilson dug into the pocket of his overalls and withdrew a handful of cash. He peeled off several bills and handed them to Oma and waited while she made change.

  She gave me a sideways glance, her lips fixed in a tight frown. As my father would say, she seemed to be in her right mind. He referred to Oma’s bouts as being in her right mind or her wrong mind. To make the situation worse, when Oma was in her right mind, she didn’t realize she sometimes was in her wrong mind and became angry when anyone questioned her judgment or ability. For me, it was becoming more and more difficult to walk that very fine line. I didn’t want Oma angry, but I didn’t want to entrust her with matters of importance, for she slipped between her right and wrong mind as quickly as I slipped in and out the front door.

  She counted out the change and placed it in Mr. Wilson’s hand before she turned toward me. “Did I do that to suit you, Gretchen?”

  “Ja, of course. You did it just fine.” I gave her a fleeting embrace, pasted on a smile, and stepped around the counter. “Let me help you carry some of these items to your wagon.” Helping Mr. and Mrs. Wilson would be preferable to a tongue-lashing from Oma—and I was certain she was prepared to do that very thing the minute we were alone.

  Mrs. Wilson and I handed the purchases to Mr
. Wilson, who stationed himself in the bed of the wagon and carefully arranged the goods for the journey home. When we had finished, he held one hand to his lower back and straightened with a groan. “That should do it. Now if I can make it home before this pain in my back gets any worse.” He motioned to his wife. “Come along, my dear. We have cows that’ll soon need tending to.”

  Mrs. Wilson patted my arm as she scuttled past me and walked to the front of the wagon. “Thanks for your help, Gretchen. You have a fine day. Tell your grandmother to take care, too.”

  “I will tell her, Mrs. Wilson. And thank you for your business.”

  Mr. Wilson flicked the reins, and I returned Mrs. Wilson’s wave as the wagon rolled down the street. Clouds of dust billowed from beneath the four wheels, evidence we hadn’t had rain for far too many days.

  When I turned to go back inside, I spotted Sister Veda hiking down the street with Trudy on her hip and a basket slung over her arm. I hurried in her direction and held out my arms to the child. “Let me carry Trudy.”

  “Thank you.” She released the little girl into my arms and wiped the corner of her apron across her forehead. “Each day she seems to get heavier. We could sure use some rain. Terrible hot and dry for this time of year, ja?”

  “Ja. I was just thinking the same thing.” I slowed my step and touched Sister Veda’s arm. “When I returned to the store, Oma seemed to be doing fine. She may question why you have come to help.”

  A firm nod caused Sister Veda’s bonnet to slip forward, and she pushed the brim back from her face. “You should not worry. We will do just fine. She knows you are leaving?”

  “Not yet. I was helping load the Wilsons’ wagon and was going to tell her when I returned inside.”

  “You tell her, and I will take over from there. Ja?”

  I smiled and bobbed my head. When we entered the store a few moments later, I motioned to my grandmother. “Look who I saw coming down the street, Oma.”

  My grandmother glanced up from the work pants she was stacking on a shelf. “Sister Veda. It is gut to see you. And your little Trudy, she is growing as fast as the weeds in my flowers.” Oma looked at Sister Veda. “She can have a treat?”

  “Sure, sure. A treat is fine,” Veda said.

  I stood Trudy on the floor and took her hand. The two of us followed after my grandmother, who had headed toward the candy jar. “I have to leave for a short time, Oma.”

  “Ja. Go on. I can look after the store. It will be quiet. The train won’t be here for two more hours. I don’t need your help.”

  “Since it will be quiet,” Sister Veda said, “maybe Trudy and I could visit with you and have a cup of tea. I get lonesome for company staying at home all day with Trudy.”

  My grandmother’s eyes twinkled. “That would be very nice. And I think we will open one of these tins of graham wafers to have with our tea.” My grandmother waved at me as though flicking a pesky fly. “Go on, Gretchen, go on.”

  I shot a look of thanks at Sister Veda and strode toward the door. I’d go and meet Conrad at the barbershop. If I waited around, Oma might begin to question exactly where I was going. A sense of relief washed over me once I was out of the store. Sister Veda understood Oma’s problems, and for that I was thankful. I knew if Oma suddenly changed from her right mind to her wrong mind, Sister Veda could handle her.

  Conrad was placing a sign in the window when I arrived. “Stefan said the Gypsies are camped south of town. Do you think he told me the truth?”

  “Ja. They are set up in the elm grove. Lots of shade and water. They always pick a gut spot when they plan to stay for a while. It is closer if we head off this way rather than keep to the road.”

  Conrad grasped my elbow, and we trudged in silence through the uneven terrain that would lead us to the Gypsies and, I hoped, to my brother. Conrad’s legs were longer than mine, but I didn’t want to admit it was difficult to keep up. We’d gone only a short distance when my skirt caught between my legs. Had it not been for Conrad’s strong hold, I would have toppled to the ground.

  He came to a sudden halt. “You should have told me I was walking too fast. I don’t want you to fall and injure yourself. Then we would never find Stefan.” When his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, I knew his concern for my brother ran deep. Maybe he wasn’t as certain about Stefan’s whereabouts as he’d boasted.

  “I am fine, but we must hurry. If Stefan isn’t there, we will need time to look other places.” My heart pounded beneath the bodice of my dark calico, and my mouth turned dry with the fear that we might not find him.

  “He will be there, Gretchen. God is with us, and God is with Stefan. To pray would be a gut thing.”

  I hunched forward and pressed on. “There isn’t time to pray. We must keep moving.”

  “There is always time for prayer.” He touched the tip of his finger to his straw hat. “Pray in your head while we walk.”

  I did as he said, my thoughts running through my mind like a herd of galloping horses. No matter how hard I tried, I was unable to tame my thoughts any more than I could have tamed a wild horse. Please let Stefan be there, Lord. Please let him be unharmed. Please don’t let me lose my temper when I see him. Please make the Gypsies cooperate. One after another, the pleas tumbled through my mind. I could only hope God was listening and could decipher my jumbled prayer.

  “Over here,” Conrad said. He took hold of my hand and circled to the right.

  “Are we sneaking up on them?” I’d intended to whisper, but my question was more of a croak.

  “No. I’m sure they already know we are—”

  Before he had finished his sentence, the sound of horses’ hooves pounded on the ground behind us. We twisted around to see Loyco charging toward us on the giant white stallion with Stefan bouncing behind him. I clasped my hand across my mouth to keep from screaming. Shirt unbuttoned and flapping in the breeze, he circled the horse around us. Reaching behind, he grabbed Stefan around the waist and lowered him to the ground.

  “You have come looking for my young friend, I see.” Loyco’s broad smile revealed a row of even white teeth made brighter by his dark complexion. “He is safe and sound. Even better, he is learning how to become an excellent horseman.”

  “He is supposed to be in school learning to read and write.” I yanked Stefan by the arm and pulled him to my side. “You promised, Stefan. Brother Ulbricht came to the store this morning worried about your illness.”

  Loyco tipped back his head and laughed. “The boy has horse sickness. He longs to ride and be free, Gretchen. That is not such a bad thing. You should try it sometime. I would be pleased to let you ride with me, and then you will know why Stefan comes to the camp each day.”

  “He will not be coming here anymore, and if he does, you are to send him home. Do not let him ride that horse again.” I stomped my foot in the grass. “Do you understand?”

  Loyco swung down from the horse and moved toward me, but Conrad stepped between us. The Gypsy looked from Conrad to me, then gestured back and forth with his index finger. “The two of you, you are husband and wife?”

  I squeezed Stefan’s shoulder to make certain he didn’t move toward Loyco. “Of course not! I am not married.”

  He eyed Conrad. “And you?”

  “I am not married, but I don’t know why that matters.”

  The Gypsy shrugged. “It matters to me.” He took a step closer. “Maybe you would like the adventurous life of a Gypsy, riding around the country enjoying your freedom. What do you think, Gretchen?”

  I gasped and stared at him, dumbfounded by his disrespectful conduct, but Conrad took a giant step and met Loyco eye to eye. “Do not ever again speak to Gretchen in this way.” Conrad’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t look away or flinch when Loyco raised his hand.

  A scream locked in my throat, but Loyco’s hand came down on Conrad’s head with a light touch and roughed Conrad’s hair. “You are in love with Gretchen, yes?”

  Conrad bobbed away from
Loyco. “That is not a question for you to ask.”

  Loyco rocked back on his heels with a hearty laugh. Lines creased his face, and he slapped Conrad’s shoulder while he hooted. “You are a brave man to defend your woman. I think you are a man worthy of Gretchen, but Gypsy men do not give up so easy. The best man will win her heart in the end.” He winked at me, and my face warmed at his ongoing show of improper conduct.

  “We have come here to find my brother, not for this silly talk.” I grasped Stefan’s arm and turned away. “Come, Stefan. You have many questions to answer.” Fearing my brother might race toward Loyco for protection, I held fast to his arm. “What were you thinking,” I hissed when we were a short distance away.

  His eyes gleamed with wonderment when he looked up at me. “Did you see the horse? Isn’t he the most beautiful animal you’ve ever seen?”

  I pinched his arm. “You must quit thinking about that silly horse. He belongs to the Gypsies. Then again, maybe they stole the horse. Who can say about such people. Theirs is not a life you should imitate, Stefan. And what about school and all the lies you’ve told?”

  The gleam in my brother’s eyes disappeared, and his hopeful smile turned to a frown as we trudged through the thick prairie grass. With each step toward home, the realization that he must face both our father and Brother Otto appeared to weigh heavy on my brother’s chest. I steeled myself against the feelings of pity rising in my heart. “I don’t know what Brother Ulbricht has in mind for your punishment, but you won’t have any free time to enjoy the outdoors once you come home from school. After you finish the schoolwork Brother Ulbricht sends home for you, I will have enough work at the store to keep you busy—sweeping floors, dusting, stocking shelves, and unpacking crates—until bedtime each evening.” Though he didn’t argue, I knew my brother would do all within his power to escape any extra chores, but this time, I could not relent. Stefan must learn to turn away from such wayward behavior.