More Than Words

by Judith Miller

  She tossed and turned, and when sleep didn’t come, her questions began. Why did Oma’s fingers have big knots; why did all the women dress the same; why did the men go into a different door and sit at separate tables? Would I come to visit her in Springfield, and would I like to ride a carousel at the park with her? One after another I answered the questions as best I could, but each question gave rise to another. Finally I touched my finger to her lips. “No more questions, Cecile. If you ask anything else, I am not going to answer. Close your eyes and go to sleep.”

  The girl was a restless sleeper. If she didn’t moan and groan, she flailed and kicked. The little sleep I got was fraught with dreams of someone hitting me. Before I donned my dress the next morning, I examined my arms and legs for signs of black-and-blue marks. I wasn’t surprised to find a few spots that were beginning to take on a bluish tinge.

  Everyone, even the old men, beamed at Cecile as we made our way to the Küche for breakfast the following morning. To them, the girl was evidence of God’s mercy—a child safely returned to the loving arms of her mother and father. And Cecile basked in the attention.

  Once breakfast was over and we’d returned to the store, I sent Cecile to the parlor with Oma. “My grandmother will tell you stories while I work.”

  “Ja. I can tell you about how we came from the old country to Buffalo, up in New York. You know about New York?” Cecile shook her head, and Oma extended her gnarly hand. “Come with me to the parlor, and I will tell you.” She grinned down at the girl. “But first we must have some lemon drops before we can have a story.”

  Her words were a reminder of my childhood. How often had she said the very same thing to me before she would sit me down and tell me a story? She had been a wonderful grandmother— still was, for that matter. If only she didn’t suffer from these bouts of forgetfulness. I watched her remove a clean handkerchief from her pocket and pour several of the candies from the jar. Picking up the corners of the hankie, she pulled them together and twirled the fabric until the lemon drops were secured inside. The two of them trotted off to the parlor while I replaced the lid on the candy jar, then leaned down to the lower shelf and lifted the inventory ledger to the top of the counter.

  The bills of lading had been stacking up for the past week. While Father didn’t mind making entries on the ledgers of the residents when they purchased an item, he was not so good with the rest of the paper work. I ruffled through the stack and placed them in piles according to date before I started the process of matching the bills of lading with the invoices. Then I fastened them together with a straight pin. Each one would be properly itemized under the name of the respective business.

  My father strode to the front of the store to move a crate of canning jars to shelves near the back. “Complete the sales ledger so I can report to the elders what products are in most demand.” He called out the instruction while he hoisted the crate onto his shoulder.

  I didn’t argue, but there were few changes between the products we offered and what the outside world wanted to purchase. The woolens and calicos always topped the list, but depending on the season of the year, our onions, onion seed, and sauerkraut remained in high demand. And today there were several large shipments going out.

  I was in the middle of entering the purchases to Rosenblume and Company when a thought struck me. I would be unable to take the Loftons to the Gypsy camp if Father needed me to work the store, for he no longer trusted Oma to take my place.

  I had promised Loyco I would take the couple to the camp, and if they wanted to leave on the afternoon train, there would be little time. I hiked myself forward and leaned across the counter until I could see down the aisle. “Vater? Can you hear me?”

  His head and shoulders emerged from behind one of the tall cabinets in the rear of the store. “Ja, I can hear you. What is it you are wanting?”

  “Since the Loftons are coming, could I have Veda come and work in the store after the train arrives?”

  The question brought him into sight, and the slow, heavy thud of his shoes made me fear his answer. He stopped in front of the counter and settled his thick forearms on the counter. “Why should Veda need to come and work? Can’t the girl’s parents come on over here to the store and wait in the parlor like they did the last time they were here?” He shifted his shoulders and nodded toward the parlor door. “They can visit with the girl in there and then go eat with us at the Küche. Poking your nose in their business is not gut.”

  I folded my arms across my waist. “I’m not going to poke my nose in their business, but I think they will want to go thank Loyco for bringing their daughter back to them. Given Mrs. Lofton’s fear of Gypsies, I thought it would be better if I went with them.”

  He rubbed his jaw and looked into my eyes. “If this was your plan, why did you wait until now to speak to me? Do you think this store and my permission are not important when you make these plans?”

  “No,” I whispered. “But I do think it’s very important that they thank Loyco and that Mrs. Lofton sees that she need not fear all Gypsies.”

  He paused, obviously weighing his decision. A few moments later, he nodded. “Ja. Is true the girl’s parents should go and thank the Gypsy.” He tapped the open ledger. “Go ask Sister Veda to come over, and come right back so you can finish the accounts before you leave.”

  I leaned across the counter and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Vater.”

  “Ja, ja. Go on, now.” Though he tried to hide it with his brusque words, I could see the pleasure in his eyes. “And don’t forget to come straight back here. No time for visiting with Sister Veda.”

  I removed my apron and waved it overhead before lobbing it onto the hook. “Ja, Vater. I will hurry.”

  With Trudy hoisted on one hip, Veda entered the store as the first shrill whistle announced a train approaching in the distance. My heart skipped a beat. What if the Loftons weren’t on the train? What if Cecile didn’t recognize them? What if they didn’t want to go to the Gypsy camp? Questions swirled around my head like bees seeking nectar.

  Veda touched her thumb to the spot between my eyebrows. “You need to smile. That frown is not becoming.”

  I forced my lips upward and extended my arms toward Trudy. “Would you like to see Oma and Cecile?”

  The little girl had no idea what I was asking her, but she bobbed her head. Veda immediately set to work straightening stock while I carried Trudy into the parlor. She bounced in my arm and leaned toward my grandmother.

  “Oma,” she cried. I bent forward and shifted her onto my grandmother’s lap. Oma nuzzled the child’s neck, and Trudy tipped her head to the side and giggled.

  “Mo,” Trudy said while pointing to her neck. Once again Oma nuzzled the little girl, and Trudy squealed in delight.

  Three short blasts of the train whistle announced that the train would be arriving within minutes. Cecile looked at me, then glanced out the window.

  “Why don’t you put your knitting in the basket, and we’ll go to the train station to meet your parents.” I silently prayed they would be on the train. “The train should be pulling into the station about the time we get there.”

  The girl tucked the yarn and needles into the basket beside Oma’s rocker and bid my grandmother and Trudy good-bye. After calling to Veda that we were leaving, I reached for Cecile’s hand. She swiped it down the front of her dress before taking hold. She was obviously as nervous as I was.

  We didn’t say a word until the giant engine rumbled into the station and belched a cloud of dark smoke. Then her lower lip quivered, and she said, “What if they didn’t come?”

  I gave her my most reassuring smile. “Then you will stay with us until they do.” I touched a finger to her lips. “You need not worry.”

  We continued to the platform and waited near the doorway leading into the station. One traveler after another descended the steps. Cecile tugged on my hand, and I looked down. “What if I don’t know them?”

  I stooped do
wn beside her. “It has only been one year, Cecile. You have changed much more than your parents have. Besides, I know what they look like, so you don’t need to worry about that.” I lifted her chin. “Isn’t that gut? There’s nothing to worry about.” I stood and turned a watchful eye toward the disembarking passengers. And then I saw them. Mrs. Lofton was wearing a large straw hat with a wide navy blue band and red trim. Behind her, Mr. Lofton, in a fine suit, carried his hat in one hand while he assisted his wife with the other. I held my breath and waited, eager to see if Cecile would make a move.

  Suddenly she squeezed my hand and tugged me forward. “It’s them! There they are!” I released her hand and watched her run down the platform into their waiting arms. People stopped and stared for a moment before continuing into the station. I waited at a distance, with tears rolling unchecked down my cheeks as I witnessed their sweet reunion.

  I was wiping away my tears when Mr. Lofton finally looked up and scanned the platform. I waved and walked toward them. “She looks perfect, ja?” They both agreed. “I know you won’t be in Homestead long, but I told Loyco, the Gypsy who rescued Cecile, that you would want to go to the camp and thank him.” I hesitated only a moment. “He said he would welcome your visit.”

  Mrs. Lofton visibly paled at the suggestion. “We have very little time, and I don’t think Cecile would—”

  The girl shook her head. “I would like to tell them goodbye, Mama. Loyco was very nice to me, and so was Lalah. She’s Loyco’s little girl.”

  Mrs. Lofton spun toward her husband with a please-save-me-from-this look in her eyes. He squared his shoulders and met his wife’s silent plea with a determined smile. “I think that is the least we can do. He has given us a gift more valuable than gold.”

  Mrs. Lofton wilted. I hoped she wouldn’t faint once we got to the Gypsy camp, and I hoped Loyco would keep Alija out of sight. One mention of a hex would frighten the daylights out of Mrs. Lofton.

  We headed off for the camp before Mrs. Lofton could change her mind. When we neared the edge of the woods, I could see the fear in her eyes, but I did my best to keep the conversation lighthearted. I told her Oma had been teaching Cecile how to knit and suggested they could continue the lessons on the train ride home.

  Smoke drifted from the campsite, and the sounds of children playing and women talking drifted through the woods. “Are we almost there?” Mrs. Lofton’s voice quivered.

  I nodded my head but continued moving. If I stopped, I feared she would turn the other way and never return. “Not much farther.” I heard a branch crack and then another.

  “Welcome!” Loyco’s voice boomed. Arms folded across his chest, the Gypsy leader stepped from behind a tree and stopped only inches from me. Mrs. Lofton gasped. Mr. Lofton murmured for her to remain calm, and Cecile lunged forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. He stroked the girl’s hair and surveyed our small group. “So! You have managed to keep your word, Gretchen. I am surprised.” He dropped down on his haunches and smiled at Cecile. He pointed to her dark blue calico and neatly arranged hair. “I see Gretchen has you dressed like her people.”

  Cecile nodded. “Is Lalah here?”

  He chuckled. “Yes. You can go and see her. She’s near the wagon.”

  I was thankful Mrs. Lofton’s strangled denial wasn’t heard by either Loyco or Cecile. The child rushed into the clearing with childish abandon while I made the introductions. Loyco offered one of his deep bows and waved us forward. “Please come into our camp, so we can talk.”

  He pointed toward the logs that circled the fire. Mrs. Lofton directed an anxious look at me. I dropped to one of the logs and motioned for her to sit. For a moment I thought I might have to pull her down beside me, but Mr. Lofton removed a handkerchief from his pocket, placed it on the log, and nudged his wife.

  “There you are, my dear. Do sit.” He pressed her shoulder with one hand while guiding her downward with the other. With a plop she landed beside me on the makeshift seat. Mr. Lofton settled on the other side of her. “We wanted to extend our deep appreciation to you, Mr. uh … Loyco. You don’t know how much it means to me, to us, to have our daughter back. It has been a horrible year. My wife has suffered terribly, and Miss Kohler has told us of your unselfish act.”

  “Who?” Loyco frowned, and Mr. Lofton leaned forward and pointed at me. “Oh, you mean Gretchen. Yes, she is good with the talking. She nags like a wife.” He leaned back and guffawed. Mr. Lofton followed suit with an uncomfortable chuckle of his own.

  “I am glad we could meet you in person, because I want to give you this.” Mr. Lofton withdrew a thick envelope from his jacket and extended it to Loyco.

  Loyco didn’t move. With a suspicious eye, he fastened his eyes on the packet, but still he didn’t reach for it. “What have you brought to me?”

  Mr. Lofton’s arm sagged, but he continued to offer the envelope. “It is money. The reward we offered for Cecile’s return.”

  Loyco arched back as if Mr. Lofton had fired a shot at him. “I didn’t do this for your money. Because I am Gypsy, you think that’s what I want? Your money?” Fire shone in his dark eyes, and he glared at me. “Did you tell them to pay me for finding the girl?”

  Mr. Lofton yanked back the envelope. “This isn’t because you are a Gypsy. I would give this to anyone who found Cecile. We placed an ad in the newspaper after she was taken and offered this reward. I want you to have it. If you don’t want to keep it for yourself, perhaps you could use it for your daughter.” He nodded toward the two girls.

  Before Loyco could refuse, Alija darted from behind the wagon and grabbed the envelope. “If he won’t take it, I will.”

  Mrs. Lofton clasped her hand to her chest and strained backward. I feared she might roll off the log. “Please don’t faint,” I whispered. “She won’t hurt you. Take a deep breath.” Though her complexion had turned a murky gray, she remained upright. Fortunately, Loyco had been busy retrieving the envelope and shouting at Alija while Mrs. Lofton experienced her near-fainting spell. He placed the envelope on the log beside Mr. Lofton.

  “I’m glad you came here so you could see that our people are not so different from yours.” He looked at me for a moment. “We dress in different clothes, we eat different food, and my skin is a little darker than yours, but we are all just people. I helped you find your daughter. I hope you would do the same for me if someone took my child.” He pinned Mrs. Lofton with a steady look. “I know you are afraid of us, but you need to remember that because one or two Gypsies did something bad does not make us all bad.”

  Mrs. Lofton sucked in a deep breath and forced a smile. “Yes, I understand.”

  But I could see that Loyco wasn’t sure she did understand. He handed the envelope back to Mr. Lofton. “If my Lalah was taken from me, I would want help to find her. If you want to pay me for finding your daughter, do something kind for someone who needs your help. Money is easy, but to give of yourself—that is a real gift.” He grinned at Mrs. Lofton. “Maybe one day you will find someone to help—maybe even a Gypsy—and you can return the favor.”

  Mrs. Lofton’s features softened at the suggestion. I hoped his words had made some small impact upon her, but only time would tell.

  CHAPTER 32

  One Year Later

  As the final hours passed before my wedding, I picked up my journal and read through some of the entries. The past year had been one of much excitement and some disappointment. I didn’t linger long on the pages about the magazine article or the exchange with Mr. Finley, but I did take great pleasure reading the entries about the fine foals that had been born this summer and the many words of thanks I’d received for supplying the money to pay Mr. Harper.

  I read the pages about Loyco and the Gypsies. What an adventure he, Lalah, Zurca, and Alija had provided. And what a wondrous thing he’d done when he’d gone after Cecile. Mrs. Lofton continued to send me letters, along with notes and an occasional drawing from Cecile. I’d saved each one, pleased that the family remem
bered me with such fondness. We’d spent little time together, yet I felt a strong tie to them and was pleased when Mrs. Lofton wrote to say they planned to attend the wedding celebration.

  On a separate page I’d written that the Gypsies had broken camp the day after the Loftons were reunited with Cecile, and that my father and I were able to go before the Bruderrat and tell the elders that a hobo had started the sawmill fire—not the Gypsies—and that Oma was possibly involved. I had written each word in my journal, for I never wanted to forget Zurca’s kindness to Oma. How he’d saved her from the river, and how he’d saved her from Mount Pleasant, as well. I only wished Zurca knew that I’d finally done the right thing.

  There were many entries about Oma. Though I had prayed for her spells to go away, they hadn’t. Nowadays, she seldom knew me, but I was thankful for the occasional days when she was in her right mind. And I was thankful for Mina and her Älterschule. The Grossebruderrat had approved the idea, and the building had been erected and opened two months after the approval. There had been more of a demand than even Mina had anticipated, and she now had four ladies who worked with her during the daytime as well as some young girls who were in training.

  Oma still returned home to us at nighttime, but Father had figured how to fix her windows so they could open high enough to let in a breeze, but not far enough that she could crawl out during the night. He’d even placed removable bells above all of the doors. Each morning he would take them down, and each evening he’d place them back on their hooks. His plan had met with success. Even though the clanging bells had jarred me awake on numerous occasions, I was thankful for my father’s plan. Not once had Oma been able to wander off during the night.