More Than Words

by Judith Miller

  Stoop and pick, stoop and pick, ever so slowly she continued to gather flowers and walk deeper into the brush. Closer to me. I fixed my gaze on her. With her light-colored hair and fair skin, she didn’t look like a Gypsy child. I’d heard stories of how the Gypsies stole babies and young children when they passed through a town. Could this little girl be one of those stolen children? The very idea caused a scream to rise in my throat. I slapped a palm to my mouth and held back the sound, but my foot slipped and I fell backward, striking my arm on a sharp branch. An involuntary yelp escaped my lips, and the little girl turned and saw me. She ran toward me with a handful of our stick candy. Father had been correct. The Gypsies had stolen the candy. They were guilty of theft, and from all appearances they were also guilty of stealing children.

  CHAPTER 12

  A lingering dampness from the recent rains remained in the undergrowth, and the earthy smell of molding leaves and rich soil assailed me as the girl continued to come toward me without caution. A streak of pain shot through my arm, and blood oozed from the wound the branch had inflicted. I ignored the pain and beckoned to the girl. “Come closer. I’d like to meet you.”

  She pushed aside a clump of brush and continued toward me.

  I held out my hand to her. “What is your name?”

  “The white-haired woman from the store calls me Gretchen, but my name is Lalah.”

  The girl’s response startled me. “How do you know my grandmother, Lalah?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I was in town one day with one of my friends. The old woman came into the yard alongside the store and talked to us. Promise you won’t tell anyone. Loyco says we aren’t allowed to go into town without one of the men along to protect us.”

  Her comment surprised me. The Gypsy leader thought they needed protection from us, and we thought we needed protection from the Gypsies. Strange. I wanted to assure her she didn’t need to fear anyone in our village, but then I thought of Sister Marguerite. She might take a broom to the children if she saw them in her garden or henhouse.

  “I won’t tell if you will answer some questions. Would you do that, Lalah?”

  She cast a wary look at me. “Maybe. What do you want to know?” Her eyes reminded me of Stefan—dark brown with a touch of gold that shone in the sunlight. But her hair and skin, both so fair she could have passed as my sister.

  “First of all, you may be surprised to learn that my name is Gretchen. Sometimes my grandmother gets confused. When that happens, she doesn’t remember correctly.”

  Lalah’s eyes opened wide. “I know. She followed us to our camp. Loyco said she could stay with us as long as she wanted.” She stooped down beside me. “Loyco is our leader, but he’s my father, too. He says the grandmother brings good fortune, and we should always be kind to her.”

  “Does he? Well, that’s good to know, but when she wanders off, I worry about her. If she comes to your camp again, I would be grateful if you would return her to our store. How old are you, Lalah?” The girl’s small frame made me think she might be five or six, but she spoke as though much older.

  “Gypsies don’t worry about age very much, but Loyco says I’m six or seven. Alija says I’m seven. But in the mind, she says I am fifteen. She says I ask too many questions.” The girl grinned and fastened her dark eyes on me. “You thought I was younger, didn’t you?”

  “Ja, I did. I have a brother who is ten, and he is much bigger than you. Perhaps you met him when he came down here and rode Loyco’s horse. His name is Stefan.”

  “I know him. He likes to come here, but Loyco says you think we are bad people.”

  Her forthright comment caused as much discomfort as my injured arm. “I didn’t say you are bad people. I think some of your people do bad things.” I looked directly at the candy in her hand. “Like steal things that don’t belong to them.”

  “Do any of your people do bad things?”

  She was a perceptive child for seven years old, especially since she’d likely had little education. “No one is perfect. Occasionally we all do something wrong. But there are some things, like stealing, that we should never do. It isn’t right to take things that belong to someone else. Things like eggs or chickens—or candy.”

  “But if one person has more than another, it does no harm to take some of the extra. Loyco says that if we take excess from someone, we are not stealing. We are teaching them to share.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. To teach a child that stealing was a good thing angered my sensibilities, yet the fault wasn’t with the child. Loyco was to blame for misguiding her—and likely everyone else in his band of followers. Under other conditions, I would have explained the error of what Loyco had taught her, but this was not the time.

  “I didn’t steal the candy. Your grandmother gave it to us. She likes us and brings gifts, but we don’t steal from her or from your store. Loyco has told us it is not permitted.” She gave me a sidelong glance. “Maybe he wants to be your man.”

  I’d been prepared to apologize for accusing her of stealing the candy, but the remark about Loyco caused me to choke. Tears streamed down my cheeks while I continued to cough. After recovering I looked toward Lalah. “I’m sorry. I had something in my throat.”

  She nodded. “You choked on your own spit. If there’s no food in your mouth, then it’s spit that causes you to choke.” She beamed at me. “That’s what Loyco says.”

  I didn’t argue about the suitability of making comments about spit. The girl’s teachings were different from ours, and I’d already heaped unwarranted condemnation upon her. “I am sorry I accused you of stealing the candy. Please forgive me.”

  “I’m used to it. That’s what everyone thinks about us. And sometimes we do steal. Especially if we’re hungry.”

  The child’s honesty surprised me, but it was her comment about Loyco that remained at the forefront of my mind. Why would she think he wanted me as his woman? Didn’t he have a wife? “Tell me about your mother, Lalah.”

  “She’s dead. Loyco said she died when I was a baby and I shouldn’t ask about her because it makes him sad.”

  Lalah’s reply held no remorse or sadness. She’d answered with no more feeling than if she’d been reporting a recent change in the weather. “It’s hard without a mother, isn’t it? My mother died, too,” I told her, “and I miss her very much. Maybe some of the other women could tell you about her so that you feel closer to her.”

  As the girl swung around, her shaggy hair brushed across her neckline. “I already asked, and nobody remembers her. Alija told me I shouldn’t try to remember her because it would cause me to have bad dreams. So I try to forget her because I don’t like bad dreams.”

  I clenched my hands into fists. I’d like to tell Alija exactly what I thought of filling a child’s head with such frightening thoughts. I didn’t doubt for a moment that Lalah trusted the old woman. Alija was enough to strike fear in the heart of anyone. When she’d grabbed my hand in the store and spoken of my future, her words had caused me great distress. I didn’t believe Alija was concerned over bad dreams. With each of the girl’s revelations, I became more convinced that Lalah wasn’t Loyco’s child.

  She stooped down and plucked a flower from the ground and motioned for me to lean forward. After pushing aside my bonnet, she tucked the flower behind my ear. “There! That looks pretty. Your people are very plain. Gypsies like bright colors, not the browns and blues that all of your people wear.”

  “Yes, I have noticed that your people are very fond of colorful clothes.” I hesitated a moment, then asked, “Have you seen a black crocheted cap? My grandmother lost hers, and I can’t find it among her belongings. Maybe she left it in your camp?”

  Lalah reached into her skirt pocket. “This one?”

  Holding Oma’s head covering by the strings, she waved the cap in front of me. “Yes, that’s it.”

  “I didn’t steal it. If I was going to steal a hat, I would choose one with flowers and ribbons.” She frowne
d and shoved the hat into my hand. “Your grandmother put it on my head and told me I must wear it. She said it was a blackbird, but I didn’t argue with her.”

  “That was very kind, Lalah. Thank you for keeping her cap.”

  At the sound of children’s voices, Lalah glanced over her shoulder toward the camp. “You better go before someone else sees you. If the grandmother comes again, I’ll bring her home to you.”

  I touched her cheek. “Thank you, Lalah.”

  After we’d parted ways, I thought of many questions I should have asked her. I silently chastised myself for such shortsightedness. I would make a list so the next time I saw Lalah, I’d be better prepared.

  Mina was pleased to see me arrive more than a half hour early, but Oma didn’t appear quite so happy. She was sitting on the back porch with several other sisters, shelling peas and chatting.

  “We have much work to finish, Gretchen. Come back later,” she said when I stepped onto the porch.

  Smiling at my grandmother, Mina squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry, Sister Helga. I’m not going to let her take you back home yet. Instead, I’m going to take Gretchen inside and put her to work.

  “Ja. That’s gut. You put her to work, Mina.”

  While Oma continued shelling peas, I followed Mina inside. I’d barely cleared the threshold when Mina turned on her heel to face me. “I’m surprised to see you here. I can always use help, but if you had extra time, why didn’t you stay at the store and write in your journal?”

  “I tried, but my thoughts were jumbled. That doesn’t make for good writing. And then Vater came back to the store much earlier than I expected. It has been a long time since I have been able to enjoy some time in the Küche.”

  “And your Vater agreed?”

  “Ja. He said it would be gut for me to have time to visit with you and the other women.”

  Mina arched her brows. “I am glad to hear this. It sounds as though your Vater is beginning to return to the man he was before your Mutter’s death.” She held her thumb and index finger a few inches apart. “At least for some of the time. I will keep praying that his heart continues to heal.”

  I reached for her hand and gave a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, Mina. You are a gut friend.”

  What I said was true. Mina was dear to my heart, and she cared deeply about all of us, especially me. For a moment I considered tossing caution to the wind and telling Mina what I’d done. She’d surely chastise me, for Mina believed in following the rules. All of them. She never veered to the right or the left but remained on a straight and steadfast course.

  Whether I’d met with success or not wouldn’t be of importance to Mina. The fact that I’d broken the rules and gone to the Gypsy camp would be the issue that would cause Mina to deliver a sound rebuke. With the Küche full of women and Oma sitting on the porch with the paring knife sisters, I knew it would be foolish to confess my wrongdoing. At least for now.

  I glanced around the Küche, enjoying the sights and smells. “I do miss being in the Küche with you, Mina.” Though the words were true, I hoped the comment would be enough to stop any further scolding.

  “Ja. Well, I am thankful for your help, and Oma’s, as well.” Mina offered a fleeting smile before she pointed to three large containers of potatoes that had been peeled by the paring knife sisters. “You can grate the potatoes for the patties.”

  It was not my favorite job, but my mouth watered at the thought of fried potato patties with warm applesauce. I picked up the grater and set to work. “It’s pleasant to be around the other women and hear their chatter.”

  Mina nodded. “Ja, until Sister Marguerite scolds them for not working fast enough. And if it’s the talking you miss, don’t forget that you’ll get to help us when the onions are ready to be harvested.”

  I wrinkled my nose. Onions and onion seed were grown in all of the villages as a cash crop, and come mid-July, when the onions were ready for harvest, nearly everyone was expected to help. To avoid the heat, we would be in the fields before dawn. Only the older schoolchildren, who were released from their studies during this time, looked forward to harvesting the two thousand pounds of onions.

  “I hope you will ask for my help in the Küche. I would rather prepare meals than go out and fill burlap bags with onions.” I leaned close and squeezed her arm. “Besides, it would give us time to visit alone.”

  Mina’s lips curved in a broad smile as she lifted a large iron griddle onto the stove. “What about all the chatter? You don’t miss it so much when it comes to harvesting the onions?”

  I giggled and shook my head.

  “I’ll see if I can convince Sister Marguerite, but when it’s time to plant or harvest the onions or the grapes, you know how it is—the farm Baas and Gartebaas would have us serve bread and cheese if it meant we could send more workers to the field.”

  “Ja, I know, but I have confidence you can convince Sister Marguerite.” I peeked out to the front porch to make certain Oma was still shelling peas.

  “So your grandmother has made friends with this Gypsy girl, ja?”

  Mina’s question caught me off guard. I thought she’d forgotten about my visit to the Gypsy camp.

  I nodded my head. “Her name is Lalah. I don’t think she’s one of them. I think maybe they stole her. I’ve heard stories about Gypsies stealing babies when they pass through a town.”

  Mina touched her finger to her nose. “You need to keep your nose out of their business, Gretchen. If you get involved with them, you’ll be asking for more trouble than you can handle. And you need to keep your grandmother away from them, too.”

  Mina’s words stung. Though I admired my friend’s ability to speak her mind, today I would have preferred to have her support rather than her admonition. “And that’s why you need to speak to the elders about the Älterschule.” I did my best to look after my grandmother. Surely Mina realized I couldn’t work in the store and keep Oma within my sight every minute of the day. “I used much of my free time to write out your plan in great detail, yet you still haven’t asked to speak to the elders.”

  “Ja, ja. I need to do that, but when is there time for me to meet with them? It would be different if I had a husband to go with me.”

  Her comment surprised me. Since when had Mina needed a man to do her talking? Perhaps she wasn’t as independent as I thought. “You could ask Conrad. He would go with you.”

  “Ach! Then they would think I am a woman with no courage, that I have so little confidence about an Älterschule that I must have a man with me.”

  I sighed. There was no answer that would please Mina, at least none that I could give her. Instead, I would pray she’d gain the necessary courage before Oma ended up in Mount Pleasant. No need trying to explain what Lalah had told me about Oma bringing good fortune to the Gypsy camp. Mina would think I’d become senile and needed a guardian even more than my grandmother.

  Mina tapped my shoulder. “What happened to the salesman? I thought he was going to move here, but Conrad said he went back to Chicago.”

  “You and Conrad were discussing Mr. Finley?” A hint of anger rose in my chest.

  Mina spooned a dollop of lard onto the griddle. “You need to shape those potatoes into patties so I can begin frying.” Using her apron, she grabbed the griddle by one edge and tipped it to spread the melting fat.

  I dipped my hands into the bowl and squeezed the shredded potatoes into firm cakes. “Are you going to answer my question?”

  One by one Mina dropped the potato cakes into the sizzling fat. “Ja. I talked to Conrad about Mr. Finley. No need to get so upset. I just asked if he’d decided to live here, and Conrad said he went back to Chicago.” She stepped closer. “You need to work faster.”

  “But he’s coming back. Did Conrad tell you that?” I pointed for her to take the potato cakes from the tray.

  “Nein.” She returned to the griddle and carefully dropped more potato cakes into the melted grease. “I am guessing that Conrad is pra
ying that will not happen. From the look on your face, maybe I should join him in that prayer. I hope you are not thinking you care for the salesman in a romantic way. I told you already that I think he is trouble.” Using a long-handled turner, Mina checked the potatoes. She shook her head and dropped the potato cake back in place. “They haven’t browned enough. So why do you think this Mr. Finley is so special?”

  I’d never said he was special. Mina was putting words in my mouth. Now that I knew she and Conrad had been discussing the salesman, I didn’t want to tell her I had written a poem to send to him or that I’d been working on a story about life in the Küche for his review. But I didn’t see anything wrong with having a professional writer look at my work. Mina would say that to seek the praise of another person was vain. Maybe it was, but I wanted to know if Mr. Finley was correct about my ability. After all, if I had talent, it was a gift from God that should be used to glorify Him. And what better way than to write beautiful poetry and stories that would tell others of Amana and its people? Of course, I was certain Mina wouldn’t agree.

  Mina flipped the potato cakes and gave an approving grunt. “You going to answer my question about the salesman?”

  “I’m interested only because he’s someone new, but I don’t have a romantic interest in him. Besides, you know Vater would never approve of such a thing.”

  Mina scooped the potato cakes that were done onto the turner and then slid them onto a white oval platter. “Maybe, but it’s not your Vater I’m thinking about. You would break Conrad’s heart. You know he hopes to marry you one day.”

  “Ja, we have talked about marriage, but we have not yet asked the elders for approval.”

  “Hold the platter while I lift the ones from the back of the griddle.” She handed me the plate and leaned across the stove. When she finished, she looked me in the eyes. “Conrad is sure. And I think you were sure until Mr. Finley showed up with all his fancy talk and magazines that set your head to spinning.”