A Shining Light

by Judith Miller

  He’d stated his love to me before rushing into the barn, but his life had been in danger back then. Since that time, we’d been together a great deal, and though I believed he cared for me, he hadn’t again professed his love. Perhaps because he thought it improper to speak of love or marriage when I’d been a widow for less than a year. Yet how could that be? He’d been affectionate before Fred’s return and I’d been a widow for only a short time—at least I’d thought I was a widow back then. Had he experienced a change of heart since Fred’s death? I wasn’t sure, and it would be improper to ask. Besides, I didn’t have the courage. I might receive an answer that would break my heart.

  He continued to stare at me as we walked toward the Küche, still waiting to hear why I was angry. But how could I say all these things to him?

  “The money complicates things for me.”

  “Ach! Now I understand. Having the money gives you the ability to leave the colonies and make a new life. Without the money, you did not have to make a decision about your future. The decision was made for you because of circumstances. Am I right?”

  “Yes, you’re right.” He knew me so well. My brief answer had said it all. He understood my dilemma.

  “But this is not a reason to be angry with Lukas. You are angry because you are faced with a difficult decision.” A stiff breeze tugged at his coat, and he pulled the collar high around his neck. “If you would like to talk about the future, I would be pleased to come over to the Küche after prayer meeting and we can visit.”

  His offer soothed my anger and I nodded. “I would like that very much.”

  He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets as we stopped outside the kitchen house. “Then we will talk.” He hesitated a moment. “But remember, Andrea, the answer you seek should come from God. We will visit this evening, but you should pray and seek God’s guidance. I will do the same.”

  Dirk’s final comment that he would also seek God’s guidance caused me to wonder even more if he’d set aside any ideas of a future with me. Had he received some sort of revelation from God, or had the elders advised him against marriage to me? Could he alter his feelings so quickly?

  Myriad ideas hopscotched through my mind during meal preparations, and as we cleaned the kitchen, I continued to wander about, lost in my own thoughts. Sister Erma expressed frustration when she was required to repeat her questions several times. Even though I apologized, I immediately returned to my private thoughts of Dirk and wondering if we would have a future as a family.

  During the evening prayer meeting, my supplications weren’t for others in need. Instead, I begged God to reveal what He would have me do about my future and to give me a sign whether He wanted me to remain in the colonies or leave. Heaviness settled on my heart when I thought of leaving, but I needed something more tangible—especially if Dirk had changed his mind about me. Was he the only reason I wanted to remain in the village, or was it truly because this was the place where I wanted to make a new life with my son? And would Dirk ever consider leaving the colonies?

  I had my doubts about that, but I asked God to give both of us clear answers about the future and whether we were meant to be together or apart. Adding those last two words had been difficult, but if I was going to ask God to reveal His will to me, I had to be prepared to accept His answer.

  After meeting, Dirk and I returned to the Küche. Once Sister Erma and Lukas had gone upstairs, we settled in the kitchen. He leaned across the worktable, and my heart fluttered with more vigor than the bubbling kettle of water atop the stove.

  His lips curved in a gentle smile. “I have been praying a great deal since we parted earlier today. I want you to know that my feelings for you have never changed—even when Fred arrived, my love for you remained steadfast. But because I believed there would never be an opportunity for us to be husband and wife, I did try to extinguish all feelings for you.”

  I swallowed hard. “And were you successful?”

  “Nein. I think you know I was not. I considered asking the elders to send me to another village because seeing you was too difficult.”

  “Did they turn down your request, or did you change your mind about asking them?”

  “I never asked. Not being able to see Lukas was the deciding reason. Even though he had been spending more time with Fred, I wanted to be here to support him. He is a fine boy, but I recognized his need for the encouragement of a man.”

  I poured coffee into two cups and handed one to Dirk. He stared into the brown liquid for a moment. “My father died when I was very young. As a boy, I felt the same longing for approval that I recognized in Lukas.”

  His words warmed my heart, but he’d still spoken only about our past—not our future. I lifted my cup and took a sip of coffee. “And what about our future, Dirk?”

  He placed his spoon on the saucer and looked into my eyes. “Our future will depend upon what you decide—where God leads you. As long as you remain in the village, it is my hope that I may continue to see you and Lukas. But until you have made a final decision, our future remains unsettled.”

  “You told me before that you wouldn’t leave the colonies. Do you still feel the same?”

  Dirk rubbed his jaw. “I feared you would ask me that question again. I would never let you support me with your money. And though my skills would permit me to earn a living, I believe my skill as a tinsmith belongs to the colonies. It is here that I received my training, and it is here that I should use those abilities.” He leaned forward and grasped my hand. “This is the place where my faith was born, and as much as I love you, I cannot leave.”

  I nodded. “You’ve given me the answer I expected.”

  “Please do not make your decision because of anything I have said, Andrea. This decision must be between you and God.”

  I looked down at the metal box in my hands. After all we’d gone through, did this box hold God’s answer?

  Chapter 29

  “Sister Erma has agreed to bake the wedding cake.” Greta clapped her hands together like a schoolgirl.

  “Ja, I have agreed, but that does not mean the two of you should be standing here talking instead of peeling the potatoes. We have little time to prepare dinner and many months before your marriage to Benjamin, Sister Greta. It is a long time until next November.”

  “October! Don’t make it longer than a year, Sister Erma.” Greta chuckled and picked up a paring knife. “Ja, but gut planning means a wonderful reception, and I want the very best food at my celebration.” Reaching for a potato, she nudged my side. “Everyone wants to attend the wedding receptions at Sister Erma’s Küche. They know she serves the very best food.”

  In spite of again urging us to hurry with the noonday preparations, Sister Erma grinned at the compliment. “Years of practice make for gut food, and you should continue practicing right now, Sister Greta. One day you may have a Küche of your own to supervise, and you will want people to speak well of the food you serve.”

  At the moment, the only thing that Greta wanted to talk about was the recent approval of her marriage. Her father had finally given his blessing to the couple, and the elders had granted permission, as well. Even better, the elders decided that the year of separation had already begun when Benjamin and his family moved to Main Amana.

  I was delighted for Greta and Benjamin but longed to have that same clarity in my life. If only God would reveal what I should do. I was scheduled to meet with the elders tomorrow. While they knew the money had been found, I had not discussed any form of payment for the many services they had provided for Fred. The society deserved to be paid now that I had my father’s money. Strange how it seemed things had started to come full circle. Money the society had paid for my father’s land might one day be returned to them. Of course, that would depend upon my final decision regarding the future.

  Though I continued to pray and seek a sign from God, nothing had been forthcoming. At least nothing that I’d seen or heard. If the money would simply disappear, I
’d know it was a sign from God. For now, it remained at the bottom of the trunk in my bedroom. What I wanted wasn’t so much—God had performed much greater miracles. He had raised Lazarus from the dead and made a path through the Red Sea. Causing money to vanish wouldn’t be difficult for God.

  I’d said as much to Sister Erma, but she had tsked and shaken her head. “You should not think of God in such a way. He is not a performer who does our bidding, but a heavenly Father who knows what is best and provides what we should have at the right time. His ways are not always ours to understand.”

  I knew Sister Erma was right. I couldn’t put time constraints on God, nor could I dictate how or what He would reveal about my future. But I wanted to be sure my decision aligned with His, and I wasn’t certain how I was supposed to know.

  Dirk’s kindness and patience exceeded my expectations, and with each passing day, my love for him grew stronger. Yet I withheld a small piece of my heart, fearful I couldn’t endure the pain if the Lord should direct me to leave the colonies. Since Fred’s death, Lukas and I had continued our daily routines, and I wondered how he would react if I suggested a move.

  He’d made no further mention of the money or of being rich, nor had he talked about buying a house somewhere else. In fact, he’d not even spoken of Fred, other than asking if I thought his father had gone to heaven. I wanted to avoid responding, but he insisted upon some sort of answer, so I told him the truth. I said I didn’t know for sure. “No one can speak with certainty about whether another person will go to heaven. We may think we know, but that’s a matter between God and each of us. If a person believes what the Bible teaches and has accepted Jesus as Savior, then he will go to heaven, but I don’t know if your father ever invited Jesus into his heart.”

  The boy had slowly nodded and then walked away. My answer may not have pleased him, but he seemed to understand that I’d given him the only answer I could.

  Lukas continued to help Dirk after school and made friends with boys from school. As our time in the colonies passed, his command of German grew and so did his friendships. For that I was grateful. His life here more closely resembled the childhood I had planned for him—a time of freedom and joy where he could play with friends and eventually grow into an upstanding man. Though I had never envisioned him living in the Amana Colonies, his life here in Iowa held much more promise than it ever had in Baltimore.

  But was it enough? Was I doing my son a disservice if we remained here? Life in the outside world would provide more material possessions and possibly more pleasure. But possessions and pleasure didn’t necessarily mean happiness. And Fred’s life and death were evidence of pain and tragedy, all wrought by the love of money.

  While we continued to prepare the noon meal, my thoughts skittered about, thinking first of what I wanted—marriage and a life with Dirk—and then of what God might want. I tried to think of something I could do in the outside world that might provide a benefit to others and serve the Lord in a better way than I could by living here in the colonies. But I could think of nothing.

  I carried one of the bowls of sliced raw potatoes to a large cast-iron skillet sitting atop the stove. Bacon grease sizzled and popped in readiness for the potatoes, but before I could empty the bowl into the pan, a loud blast sounded in the distance, and the kitchen floor quaked beneath my feet.

  I quickly turned to Sister Erma. “What was that? It feels as though the ground is trembling. Is it an earthquake?” I’d heard tell of such catastrophic events but never believed I would experience one myself.

  The village bell began pealing the dreaded toll that signified a disaster, the alarm that alerted all men from the fields and other designated workplaces—a sound that none of the villagers ever wanted to hear.

  Both Greta and I followed Sister Erma as she hurried to the back porch. “Was not an earthquake. There was an explosion—did you not hear it?”

  Greta and I nodded in unison. Sister Erma stepped from the porch, cupped her hand to her forehead, and slowly surveyed the surrounding area. “Over there!” She pointed in the distance. “The flour mill has exploded! That is the noise we heard.”

  Greta gasped and touched her fingers to her lips. “If Benjamin hadn’t been sent to live in Main, he would be there right now.”

  Sister Erma continued a few steps farther into the yard. “The first bell had already rung. The men should have been out of there.”

  She was right. Since it took time for the men to come from the fields and surrounding workplaces, an early bell sounded before the actual time for meals to begin, and that first bell had already sounded. If the workers had immediately left the flour mill, their injuries might not be extensive. On the other hand, if they hadn’t gotten far enough away, the blast and tremors seemed severe enough to cause injuries. No doubt the flour mill had been destroyed.

  We stood helpless as the bell continued to clang and men and horse-drawn wagons raced toward the west edge of town. I had been to the mill only once. Together with a group of others, we’d taken a picnic lunch and gathered near the small creek that meandered nearby. Dirk and the others called it the mill ditch, but I thought “mill creek” a more charming name for the shallow waterway.

  Dirk had laughed at my aversion to the name. “When the mill was constructed, it was hoped the creek would supply power, but there was never enough water,” he’d explained. “Soon, the creek became known as the mill ditch, and a steam boiler was procured and used to power the mill instead.”

  The huge wooden mill sat atop a thick limestone foundation and boasted a tall brick chimney. The building dwarfed the shallow creek that meandered below. Little wonder it hadn’t been able to provide sufficient power to operate the machinery.

  Dirk had motioned toward the rocky creek bed and flowering shrubs near the water’s edge. “Even though it runs dry much of the year, it is still a nice spot for a picnic. If you dislike that we speak of it as a ditch, then you can call it a creek or whatever name suits you. We will still know you mean the mill ditch.” His comment had made me laugh.

  A sense of foreboding hovered as I wondered how many men might be injured and what the loss would mean to the village. Farmers from surrounding areas brought their grain to be milled and paid with a portion of their flour—flour that supplemented what we used in the bakeries and in our kitchen houses.

  Sister Erma motioned us back to the kitchen. “We need to prepare food to take to the men. For sure, they are already hungry, but they need to remain at the mill to help.” Instead of frying the potatoes, we filled metal containers with loaves of rye bread, brick and hand cheese, cottage cheese, barley soup, applesauce, and bread pudding that we had already prepared for the noonday meal. While Greta and I were completing the task, Sister Erma went out to flag down one of the wagons.

  When she returned to the kitchen a short time later, her cheeks were rosy from the chill. “The wagon is waiting out there. You and Greta go and help serve. I’ll stay behind. If more food is needed, send word back with one of the young boys and I’ll prepare more.”

  The driver loaded the food into the freight wagon and then helped Greta and me on board. After only a short distance, he gestured toward the rolling terrain. “Hold on. I am going to go off the road. It is shorter this way.”

  The wagon lurched about like a ship on stormy seas, and I wondered if there would be any soup left in the large metal pot by the time we arrived. When we topped a small hillock, the remnants of the mill came into view. I gasped at the painful sight. Only the limestone foundation remained.

  The driver pulled back on the reins and called to the horses. After setting the brake, he jumped down and helped Greta and me to the ground, then removed the heavy wooden staves and dropped the sides of the wagon. “Better to stay a little distance from where they are working. There are many boards and much wreckage. You could get hurt. As they get tired, the men will take turns coming for food. When the supply runs low, send that boy there for more.” He pointed to a young boy sitt
ing nearby, transfixed by the nearby disaster. “His name is Luther. He is my son. He knows where Sister Erma’s Küche is located.”

  Greta and I set to work arranging the food in the wagon, and soon several men trudged toward us. When I saw Dirk among them, I stepped to the side of the wagon and greeted him. His clothing and hands were covered in dirt, and I didn’t miss the pain in his eyes. “How bad is it? Are there many who have been injured?”

  He shook his head and wiped his face with a handkerchief. “Never have we had such a thing happen in our village. To lose the mill is tragic, but we can be thankful there was only one death, an outsider. Dr. Karr says the injured will all recover.”

  “What happened? Does anyone know?”

  “The boiler exploded. It crashed through the roof and fell seventy-five yards from its fastenings. If most of the men had not already left for the noonday meal, they would have been scalded by the escaping steam and boiling water during the explosion.” He leaned against the wagon and inhaled a deep breath before he continued. “The remainder of the roof caved in, and there is nothing left but the foundation. Wood and bricks are scattered all over. A few men were hit by flying debris as they headed back toward the kitchen houses.”

  “Do they know what caused the explosion?”

  Dirk hiked one shoulder. “So far we have been told that the mill manager was off sick today, and one of the outsiders who claimed to have experience was running the engine. It seems the man must have lied about his abilities, because he allowed the water to become depleted in the boiler. After the rest of the men left for the noonday meal, he turned a supply of fresh water into the red-hot boiler, which caused the explosion.”

  One by one, exhausted men came to the wagon for food and water, all of them uttering their disbelief. I continued to offer food, coffee, and water as I listened to them discuss the effect this loss would have upon the village. The cost to rebuild the mill and replace the machinery would be enormous.