A Simple Change

by Judith Miller

  “This isn’t something that affects the person directly, but he might be unhappy that I didn’t confide in him and seek his advice.”

  “And why is that?” My mother arched her brows. “Because his advice wouldn’t have been what you wanted to hear? Or because you had to make an immediate decision and there wasn’t an opportunity to speak with him? Or perhaps because you don’t completely trust him?”

  “Oh no.” I shook my head. “I trust him.”

  Mother tipped her head to the side and waited. “So?”

  I sighed. “Mostly because I knew his advice wouldn’t be what I wanted to hear.”

  “Ah, I see.” She lifted the china cup to her lips and took a sip of the coffee. “In that case, I am sure the young man won’t be particularly happy when he discovers your secret.” After hesitating a moment, she looked deep into my eyes. “And he will find out, Jancey, either from you or from someone else. Maybe not right away, but eventually. If you have hopes of a future with this young man, you should remember that honesty and trust are the foundations of a good relationship.”

  Her voice bore a vaguely ominous tone that caused my stomach to lurch. She was right. How would Ritt feel when he learned the many secrets I’d been keeping from him? I tried to imagine how I might feel. I wanted to believe it wouldn’t matter, that I would accept his apology and forgive him. But deep inside, I knew I would be hurt and angry. Even more, I’d wonder if I could ever trust him. I needed to prepare myself, for if I told him, he might well lose any trust he ever had in me.

  My mother touched my hand. “Tell him, Jancey. Better that it comes from you than from someone else. Ask his forgiveness and promise you’ll be forthright in the future.”

  “What if he doesn’t accept my apology? What if I’ve destroyed any hope of a future with him?”

  Giving my hand a gentle squeeze, she shook her head. “If you’re meant to have a future with this young man, he’ll forgive you. I’ll be praying that you find the right words to help him understand why you didn’t confide in him before now.” She tapped the edge of the plate. “I can’t eat any more. Tell Sister Bertha the food is very good, but my stomach doesn’t hold much these days.”

  I repacked the basket, kissed Mother’s cheek, and departed for the Küche, where I’d leave the basket before returning to work. “Thank you, Mother. I appreciate your insight.”

  “If I am any judge of character, I think Ritt will forgive you. Although he may be deeply hurt, I think he will choose forgiveness over anger. He is a fine young man with principles.”

  I stopped short. “How did you know I was talking about Ritt rather than Nathan or some other young man?”

  My mother chuckled. “I am your mother. I’ve known for some time now. I can see the love in your eyes and hear it in your voice when you speak of him.”

  I departed, still uncertain when or how I would tell Ritt. I knew Mother was correct: I needed to tell him—the sooner, the better. Perhaps there would be time after prayer service this evening.

  All afternoon, I practiced what I would say to Ritt when I finally gained an opportunity to spend time alone with him. My plan to speak to him after prayer service didn’t work as I’d hoped, for when we left the meetinghouse, Ritt and two of the other young men headed off in another direction. Unless he returned while I was giving Madelyn and her friends their lessons, there’d be no chance to talk this evening.

  I wasn’t completely attentive during the children’s lessons. Each time I heard an unfamiliar noise or the sound of voices, I hoped Ritt would appear. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. I went to bed determined to find time to speak with him tomorrow—even if I had to slip him a note.

  After tossing and turning, I finally drifted off to sleep. My dreams were fraught with visions of Thomas catching me in the woods and threatening me. While I tried to convince him I didn’t have his money, it began to spill out of my apron pockets in endless streams, piling about my feet. His eyes flashed with anger as my apron turned into a large money bag stamped with the words National Commerce Bank of Kansas City. He bound me to a tree, yanked the apron from my waist, and stuffed the piles of money inside while I struggled to get free. A bell sounded and I screamed for someone to help me, but no one could hear because the bell continued to ring and ring and ring.

  A door banged and loud voices called out. I pushed upright in bed. The bell was still ringing as I struggled to gain my bearings.

  Outside the window, I heard people shouting. The mournful peals of the bell continued. I shoved my feet into the slippers beside my bed and opened the bedroom door in time to see my father bolt toward the parlor door.

  Still shoving one arm into a shirt sleeve, he yanked open the door with his free hand and shouted.

  “Fire!”

  Chapter 27

  My heart was gripped with terror. Shoving up on the wooden frame, I opened the parlor window. The acrid smell of smoke drifted on the nighttime breeze and carried into the room. Without thought, I shouted to a group of men running by the open window, “Where is the fire?”

  A chorus of voices split the air. “The woolen mill! Fire at the woolen mill!” Shoes pounded on the wooden walkway, and the street filled with men running pell-mell toward the mill. I lowered the window back in place and hurried to close my parents’ bedroom door. The smoke wouldn’t be good for Mother.

  Before I could close the door, my mother called to me. “I heard you shouting to someone. Did they say the fire is at the mill?”

  I glanced over my shoulder, longing to don a dress and rush after the crowd that would be gathering near the mill. “Yes, but I don’t know any more than that.”

  “From the clanging of the bell, I knew the fire was here in Middle,” Mother told me, “but if it’s at the woolen mill, that could be very bad.”

  I hadn’t learned there were different rings of the bell to denote fires in our village or other villages, but Mother appeared eager to explain. “Listen.” She touched her fingers to her ear. “You hear how the bell rings with a constant beat? That means the fire is in our village. When the fire is in another village, the bell rings very fast, then slows up, and then rings fast again—it is called the Sturm.”

  Though I’d pushed the door closed behind me, I remained in place with my hand on the metal latch, poised to flee the moment my mother finished talking.

  “When the bell is rung in the other villages, most of the men come to help, but watchmen must remain in each village to make certain there isn’t a fire in their own village while the rest of the men are off fighting a fire somewhere else. I don’t recall that two fires have ever happened at one time, but there is always that possibility. It is better to be watchful than to have a double tragedy.”

  My fingers itched to press the latch on the door handle and make my retreat. “It seems the elders have thought of everything.” I rotated my shoulders, but my mother thwarted my departure with another comment.

  “Not entirely. Your father and I are both strong believers in insurance. We always insured our home in Kansas City as well as the business, but here in the colonies, they believe that it is cheaper to rebuild than to pay for the insurance.” She sighed. “I think that is true with the occasional small house fires that begin in a chimney, but with the woolen mill, it could prove devastating if the machinery is ruined.” She pulled the quilt tighter around her, as if she thought the fabric cocoon would ward off further harm. “I do hope your father will take care. More than one man has been injured fighting fires.”

  Her declaration pummeled me like blows to the midsection. My eyes widened and I leaned against the cool wood door. What if my father or Ritt should be injured in the fire? I needed to go. “I’m going to the mill, Mother. I want to check on Father and the other men. There may be something I can do to help.”

  “I’m not sure that’s wise, Jancey. You’ll probably be in the way.”

  “Surely there will be some way I can help. If not, I’ll come back home.” There was a lou
d clunk as I pressed down on the metal latch. “I promise.”

  Before she could deter me any longer, I pulled open the door, crossed the parlor, and strode into my bedroom. Quickly donning a work dress and gathering a lightweight shawl, I hurried off. A twinge of guilt plagued me as I left Mother behind, but concern and curiosity propelled me down the street. Even at this distance, I could hear the shouts and cries of the men as they battled the blaze. The smoke turned thick as I drew closer to the mill, and my eyes began to water. While swiping the corner of my shawl across my eyes, I raced onward, spurred by the clamoring noise.

  Controlled confusion appeared to reign at the scene of the fire. Horse-drawn pumpers were situated on two sides of the mill, with the water hoses unreeled from the hose carts and stretched to the mill race. The ladder wagon was positioned not far off, and I guessed the additional equipment had come from some of the other villages. Twelve to fifteen men lined each side of the pumper, their shoulders taut and muscles bulging beneath their shirts as they heaved the pumper bar up and down to gain enough power to draw water from the mill race and project it toward the blaze. In the radiating glow of the fire, the men’s brows glistened with perspiration.

  I glanced about, hoping to catch sight of Ritt and my father. After circling around the pump, I saw Ritt standing behind the men who were currently pumping. I gestured to him. He stepped toward me but maintained a watch of the men at the pumper.

  Smoke billowed from the mill, but I couldn’t determine how fierce the fire might be inside the building. “How bad is it?”

  He shook his head. “Things are not going so gut, but we are doing our best. I need to stay close by so I can move up when it is my turn to take over and pump.”

  As Ritt spoke, his eyes remained trained on two of the men who were changing places at the pumper. If the exchange of positions wasn’t accomplished with precision on the part of both men, torn fingers or broken arms could easily occur.

  “Any idea how it started?” I held my breath as two more men swapped places at the pumper.

  “No way to know just yet. There could have been hot ashes from a pipe or cigarette. The men know better, but sometimes they’re careless in spite of the rules.” He glanced toward the mill. “Or it could be spontaneous combustion. If nobody can find any other reason, that’s what they usually list as the cause.”

  “How does that happen?”

  After a pensive look toward the pumper, he turned back to me. “When the wool has been prepared with the necessary amount of oil for carding and heaped together in a way that won’t permit the heat to escape, the temperature builds to a smolder. Eventually the wool becomes hot enough that there is a full-blown fire.” He nodded toward the line. “I need to get back. You should keep your distance.”

  Several of the outsiders were lined up to man the pumper, but I didn’t spot either Thomas or Nathan. Maybe neither of them had ever operated a pumper. And after watching the precision needed to change places, I doubted whether the experienced men wanted any novices unless absolutely necessary. With more and more men arriving from the other villages, it looked as though there were enough skilled men to help. And men were needed to help in duties beyond the pumper.

  Ladders were hoisted but then withdrawn as the fire gained momentum. Wind and fire challenged the water spewing from the hoses as men covered with a shadow of soot hurried to and fro, fighting to control the blaze. Commands were shouted with the exacting authority of bugles directing men into battle.

  I skirted the fringes, still seeking a glimpse of my father, but when I didn’t see him, I ignored Ritt’s warning and moved closer, hoping to find him among the crowd. I hadn’t gone far when I spied Thomas. He was among a group manning a bucket brigade with leather buckets, though I doubted they were doing much good. Then again, I knew nothing of how to fight a fire. Perhaps their efforts were needed to keep the fire from spreading beyond the mill. One thing was certain: I didn’t plan to do anything to draw Thomas’s attention away from his duties. My father wasn’t among the bucket brigade, nor did I see Nathan. Perhaps they’d been assigned duties on the other side of the mill. Maintaining a distance from the fire, I trudged to the far side and finally spotted my father with a group of men. As if drawn by a magnet, he looked up and came running toward me.

  “What are you doing here, Jancey? You shouldn’t be near this fire.”

  “There are other women out here. Surely you didn’t expect me to remain at the house while the mill is burning. I couldn’t sit at home while this fire is raging.”

  He frowned and shook his head. “There’s nothing you can do. You can’t man a pump, and there’s a strong possibility you could be injured.”

  “I’m far enough from the fire that I’m not going to get hurt.”

  “Perhaps not, but you could get in the way of someone else and hinder his ability to perform his job.”

  I could see I wasn’t convincing him, and if I didn’t soon say something to change his mind, I’d have to return home whether I wanted to or not. “Have you seen Nathan? I’ve been looking for him, but he doesn’t seem to be anywhere. I found you and Ritt, but there’s no sign of Nathan.”

  “I didn’t see Nathan when I first arrived, so I asked one of the men who lives in the dormitory. He said Nathan borrowed a horse from one of the outsiders and rode over to Marengo after supper, but he still hasn’t returned.” My father glanced into the distance as though he expected to see Nathan appear through the haze of smoke. “I’m worried he may have met up with some trouble, but there’s no one able to go and check on him right now. Once the fire’s under control, I’ll talk to Brother William and see if I can borrow a horse and go look for him.”

  My mind whirred. Had he gone to Marengo to see if there’d been a telegram regarding the bank robbery? If so, would the telegraph office be open by the time he arrived? Though it made no sense, I hoped he’d return with news that would somehow eliminate Thomas as one of the men who’d held up the bank. At the thought of Thomas, I instinctively rubbed my wrist and recalled his menacing behavior. Even if Nathan had received word that Thomas wasn’t involved, Thomas’s changeable personality frightened me. Was he a man who could be trusted to treat his sister well, or would he become a brute whenever she did something that annoyed him?

  My father’s touch jarred any further thoughts of Thomas. “If you’re going to stay here, move back with the other women and don’t come close to the fire again. Otherwise, I’m going to order you back home.”

  I opened my mouth but caught myself before I said a word. I needed to follow my father’s instruction—even if it didn’t please me. I turned and strode toward a small hillock where some of the women had gathered. In truth, the spot offered a better view of the sad circumstances unfolding below. Each time the men made progress in one area, another fire seemed to flare and require their attention. They entered and then retreated when the flames or smoke overtook them.

  With each attempted entry into the mill, worry overtook every woman in our group. The sounds of crashing timbers inside the mill caused us to gasp and cover our mouths.

  “Ach! This is such a reminder of the fire in 1874.” Sister Bertha wagged her head back and forth. “Such a tragedy.”

  “There was another fire? Here at the woolen mill?” I gasped at the revelation.

  She heaved a sigh. “Ja, only seven years ago. For sure, that fire makes this one even more difficult to accept.”

  I stared toward the fire, unable to comprehend how much pain it must cause to see the woolen mill once again destroyed. “Did they ever determine what caused that fire?”

  “I’m not sure. Probably the same as this one—something the men refer to as spontaneous combustion, but who can say? Maybe one of the men was smoking and tossed down a match.”

  “They are not allowed to smoke inside the mills anymore,” one of the younger women put in.

  “What they are allowed to do and what they actually do can be two different things. Ja?” Sister Bertha f
rowned at the woman, who quickly acquiesced, and soon our attention was drawn back to the fire.

  We watched the men retreat from the building, and then I spotted a horse and rider approaching the mill. The pall of smoke hindered my view, and I moved a little farther down the hill.

  Sister Bertha reached out and grasped my arm, stopping me. “You should stay here with us. If the men need food or coffee from the Küche, they will send someone to tell me.”

  I knew her grasp would tighten if I attempted to move, so instead I told her I was going to sit down. She nodded and released my arm as I lowered myself to the grass. Pleased that the smoke wasn’t as dense from my new vantage point, I focused on the horse and rider. Either the horse was injured or it didn’t want to get any closer to the fire—maybe both. The rider dismounted and began to run toward the mill. I narrowed my eyes. The man running toward the fire looked like . . . Yes, there was no doubt.

  Nathan!

  He’d returned and was safe. I continued to watch as he raced through the shroud of smoke. What was he doing? I jumped to my feet and moved several paces to the right, hoping to gain a better view.

  Was he? Could he be? Oh, surely not! I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  Nathan was running headlong toward the burning mill!

  Even from this distance, I knew I wasn’t mistaken. Frantic shouts rang out, but Nathan didn’t pay heed. I glanced over my shoulder. Sister Bertha and the other women were a short distance from me. Without further hesitation, I raced down the hillock, willing my feet to traverse the uneven ground through the moonlit semidarkness. What was Nathan doing? Why would he act in such a reckless manner? I needed to stop him!

  My feet pounded the hard ground. With each step a heavy thud rang in my ears. Once I’d drawn closer, I inhaled a giant gulp of air and cupped my hands to my lips. “Nathan! Stop!”

  He didn’t turn. Instead he raced headlong into the burning mill. I continued running toward the fire. Suddenly strong arms encircled me, and I was pulled against a man’s solid chest. “Jancey,” Ritt barked, “what do you think you’re doing? Even if you love Nathan, you can’t chase him into a burning building.”