Somewhere to Belong

by Judith Miller

  “You need church more than most,” Sister Muhlbach had replied. And that had ended any aspiration of missing what would likely be one of those longer-than-usual meetings like the ones we’d attended in Chicago on Christmas and Easter.

  Then again, a comparison between the Chicago and Amana churches would be silly. The two were as different as a cat and a dog. There was no huge edifice or expensive pipe organ in Amana. No worshipers wearing festive hats or riding to the church in fancy carriages. No hand-carved pulpits or stained-glass windows could be found in any Amana church. In fact, until Johanna had pointed out the meetinghouse, I’d thought it just another home. Simplicity and uniformity ruled in Amana, and the meetinghouse was no exception.

  With its whitewashed walls, bare floors, and long unpainted benches, the interior of the structure was as simple as the exterior. Instead of standing behind a pulpit, the presiding elder sat at a plain wood table. The people sang hymns without organ accompaniment, their voices blending in perfect harmony. Instead of vociferous entreaties, prayers were offered silently.

  Johanna was waiting at the bottom of the steps. “I’m glad to see you’re on time.”

  “I wouldn’t want to get in trouble. Sister Muhlbach said I could help hide the eggs and cookies.”

  The early hours were hectic, but by the time we departed for church, Sister Muhlbach was pleased with our progress. “You did a good job this morning, Berta. You may help Gertrude hide the eggs while we are serving dinner.” In spite of her earlier prediction, there was no sign of rain. We would hide the eggs outdoors, and while the children hunted for them, we would hide the cookies in the kitchen and dining room.

  “The children have such fun hunting. They each have their own Easter basket, hand-woven by Brother Snyder and presented to them when they are old enough to hunt the eggs.” Johanna grinned. “I’m too old to hunt eggs, but I still have the basket Brother Snyder made for me.”

  In Chicago my Easter basket hadn’t been made by a basket weaver. In fact, I’d received a new one each year, and I had no idea where any of them were now. I was surprised when a stab of jealousy knifed through me. Why should I be envious of an Easter basket?

  Instead of listening during meeting, I pondered that question. Though I’d not come up with any answer, I had been correct in my earlier expectation of Easter morning. The church service was longer than usual, but with an afternoon of fun looming ahead, I managed to maintain proper decorum. Finally the church service ended. I came alongside Johanna and Gertrude, and the three of us hurried back to the kitchen. Sister Muhlbach and some of the other women were there when we arrived.

  The hearty smell of smoke-cured ham filled the kitchen. “Umm. It smells wonderful,” I said.

  “And now you see why we had to come early and get the hams in the oven and the potatoes peeled.” Sister Muhlbach pointed at the pegs near the door. “Get your apron on. We have only an hour before dinner must be served.”

  Sister Muhlbach called out orders, and we all jumped to do her bidding. By the time the village bell rang to signal dinner, Spätzle soup had been ladled into tureens, the ham sliced, the mashed potatoes topped with toasted bread crumbs, and the green beans seasoned with crispy bacon.

  “The meal won’t be as gut without fresh lettuce or radish salad,” Sister Nusser lamented.

  “Ach! It will be fine. No other kitchen in all the colonies is serving radish salad or fresh lettuce. Easter is early this year. No one expects lettuce; they will be happy with Quark.”

  Sister Nusser frowned. “Cottage cheese is no substitute for fresh lettuce!”

  “There is no time to argue about salads. The milk pitchers need to be put on the tables.” Sister Muhlbach thrust a pitcher at me and motioned toward the dining room.

  When everyone had taken their place in the dining room and the prayer of thanks had been recited in unison, Sister Muhlbach ordered the platters and bowls of food delivered to the tables. After directing the other women, she signaled to Gertrude and me. “You two can take the colored eggs and hide them in the back and along the sides of the house. I’ll be out to check on your progress after the serving is completed.”

  Gertrude and I agreed that she would hide her bowl of eggs along the sides of the house and I would go to the backyard. I’d hidden over half of my eggs when I found an excellent spot near the woodshed. Kneeling down on my hands and knees, I stretched forward to place an egg amidst a clump of shaded grass when something wet nudged my arm. With a yelp, I jerked around and jumped to my feet.

  The black-and-white dog from yesterday had returned. He wagged his tail and nudged my hand. “Now look what you’ve done! I’ve ripped my skirt.” I lifted the hem of my calico to examine the damage.

  “Sister Berta! What is that?” Sister Muhlbach came marching toward me like a soldier on a mission.

  What a silly question. Couldn’t she see? “It’s a dog—the one from—”

  “Not the dog!” She came to a halt in front of me and tugged the fabric of my pink silk skirt between her fingers. “So you are again wearing the pink skirt!”

  My mouth turned drier than a parched desert, but Sister Muhlbach didn’t expect a response—no excuse would save me now.

  CHAPTER 7

  Johanna Ilg

  “Sister Johanna!” Taking two exaggerated steps, I hastened to the open door, where I spied Sister Muhlbach in the backyard. She waved me forward, her arm gyrating like a windmill blade. “Come here!”

  I held an empty bowl high in the air. “There are bowls that need to be filled. I’ll come out when—”

  “Now!”

  From the stern look on her face and the tone of her command, I knew she would brook no argument. I ran down the porch steps and raced across the yard, scanning the area for Berta. When I didn’t see her, I knew this had something to do with the girl, and my stomach churned at the idea.

  I sucked in a breath of air. “Where are Gertrude and Berta?”

  “Gertrude is hiding eggs.” Using her thumb as a pointer, Sister Muhlbach motioned toward the tool shed. “Berta is in there taking off that pink skirt. The one I forbade her to ever again wear in my kitchen.”

  I bowed my head, unable to bear Sister Muhlbach’s harsh look.

  “She disobeyed again?”

  “Ja, that’s for sure. I even let her hide the eggs, and still she doesn’t obey.”

  Just when I thought Berta was going to change her ways, she’d proved me wrong. When would I learn that the girl was as immature as the children in Kinderschule!

  Moments later Berta emerged from the shed, the pink fabric draped across her arm like a decoration.

  Sister Muhlbach grasped the skirt. “What has happened out here will remain between the three of us.” She thrust the skirt into my arms. “Sister Johanna, you will get rid of this.”

  Berta stared at me with pleading brown eyes, but I forced myself to turn away. Ignoring her desire to cling to the pink silk would prove difficult, especially since I yearned to visit distant cities and see such finery for myself. Yet I would never challenge Sister Muhlbach’s command. No matter how sad Berta looked, she wouldn’t convince me to disobey the order. To do so would betray my years of training and cause my parents deep pain and embarrassment.

  “Go inside and begin to wash the pots and pans, Berta. Your days are going to be filled with much scrubbing and cleaning.” After one final, pleading look, Berta shuffled back inside. “With the arrival of spring, there is more work in the garden, and Sister Nusser will be happy to have some extra help when Berta completes her kitchen duties. You’ll be expected to supervise her, Johanna.”

  I wilted at the thought.

  “Make certain you do away with that pink skirt.”

  “As soon as dinner is complete, I’ll see to it.”

  We remained in the kitchen far longer than usual. Berta was cleaning and scrubbing long after the others had departed. Sister Muhlbach had given the other kitchen workers the rest of the afternoon to enjoy with their f
amilies while Berta cleaned and I supervised. There would be little time to return home before the next service, but I couldn’t take Berta’s skirt to church. I considered digging a hole and burying it in the backyard, but knowing Berta, she’d see me and dig it up. Even though she’d apologized, I feared I couldn’t trust her.

  Spotting an empty flour sack, I folded the skirt into a tight bundle and shoved it inside. “Come along, Berta. We must leave. The bell is ringing, and I must stop at the house before church.”

  “Please, Johanna. It was my very favorite. At least let me cut the fabric and make it into a pillow to decorate my bed.”

  I clutched the bag tight against my chest. “I understand your desire, but I won’t suffer any more punishment because of this skirt. You could have made it into a pillow after the first incident, but you chose to wear it again. Now it’s too late.”

  “If that silly dog had stayed away, it wouldn’t have ripped, and Sister Muhlbach would have never found out.” We crossed the street, and our shoes clunked in rhythm on the sidewalk. “Besides, Rudolf promised he’d take the dog to the shepherds over in East Amana.”

  Now she was blaming a stray dog and Rudolf for her misdeed. “This is your fault alone, Berta. You made a choice. Now you must suffer the consequences.” She continued to beg until we neared the house, but I remained steadfast. “Remember what Sister Muhlbach told us. This is not to be discussed with anyone else.” I doubted she’d admit today’s wrongdoing to her parents, but with Berta there was no certainty.

  The house was empty when we arrived. While Berta waited in the hallway, I took the bag into my room. A corner of the pink silk poked out of the sack. For a moment I savored the softness between my fingers. Though I’d never tell Berta, I thought the color quite lovely. Pushing the thought from my mind, I tucked the bag into the small chest at the foot of my bed. I’d dispose of it later.

  The following weeks proved even more difficult. As usual, I was required to inspect all of Berta’s work as well as complete my own. In addition, Berta and I now delivered the midafternoon coffee and cake to Sister Nusser and the women who worked in our three-acre garden. Though her gardening skills were nonexistent, Berta had been instructed to offer her services to Sister Nusser each afternoon. And Sister Nusser cheerfully accepted the offer. Today she said to me, “Go back to the Küche and finish your work. I can handle Berta. I’ll have the handyman drive us back when we’re finished. And I’ll make certain she returns in time to scrub the pots.” A lighthearted chuckle escaped her lips as she wiped the dirt from her hands.

  Although Sister Nusser knew Berta was being punished, the Gartebaas didn’t know why. Her curiosity had gotten the best of her, and she’d asked me about it on two occasions. Now I wondered if she thought Berta would tell once they were alone. Sister was a hard worker, and her produce outshone every other garden in Amana, but she did like to share news—that was what she called it—sharing news. The elders called it gossip and frowned upon the practice. “Speak with as few words as possible, so your tongue doesn’t create problems.” That’s what I’d been taught as a little girl.

  I didn’t follow the rule as closely as recommended, but I did try to avoid gossip. I leaned down beside Berta, who was intent upon pulling a clump of weeds. “I’m returning to the kitchen. Sister Nusser will bring you back later. Remember, you are not to tell about your pink skirt. Sister Nusser may ask why you are being punished.”

  Berta giggled. “She already has—several times, but I haven’t told.”

  At least the girl had followed one instruction. I headed off toward the Küche, not confident I was doing the right thing. It was difficult to know if I should follow the orders from Sister Muhlbach or from Sister Nusser. Each woman reigned supreme in her own domain, but right now I straddled both of their worlds.

  Sister Muhlbach looked up when I entered the kitchen. Her eyes immediately darted to the door. “And where is Berta?”

  “Sister Nusser said she would deliver Berta in time for her to clean the kitchen.”

  The bang of Sister Muhlbach’s metal spoon atop the cookstove echoed her displeasure. “Humph. Of course she will. She’ll bring her along when she comes to eat supper. What about the dishes and pots Berta should be washing before supper ever begins? Sister Rosina doesn’t know how many utensils and dishes I need washed up while we’re preparing a meal or how much other work must be completed. Now that spring has arrived, all she thinks about is getting the garden planted.”

  “Maybe you should explain that this arrangement isn’t working.”

  Sister Muhlbach spun around from the stove and pointed the long-handled spoon in my direction. “And have Sister Sister Rosina tell everyone in the village that I’m incapable of operating my Küche because one inexperienced young girl is gone for a few hours each afternoon?” She waved the spoon back and forth in the air. “And you know that’s what she’d do. Sister Rosina’s tongue wags like a dog’s tail.” Her eyes opened wide, and she clapped her free hand across her lips.

  I hurried across the room and patted her shoulder. There was no doubt she longed to snatch back the words she’d spoken in anger and haste. “I’m sorry, Sister Muhlbach. I shouldn’t have suggested you retract your offer.”

  She smoothed the front of her apron. “Do not blame yourself. I am in charge of the words I speak, not you. I’ll need to ask the Lord’s forgiveness.” A slight blush colored her cheeks.

  “Would you like me to begin the dishes?” Not wanting to cause her further embarrassment, I started toward the dirty pots and pans.

  “Ja. That would be good.”

  She withdrew into silence while supper preparations got underway. As I carried the final pan of lukewarm dishwater out the back door, I glanced at the paring-knife sisters. “Sister Muhlbach said to tell you she’ll need the potatoes.”

  Shoulders wrapped in dark shawls, the threesome glanced up from the wooden trays that captured the vegetable peelings while they worked. The one closest to me shook her head. “She knows we’ll bring them in when we’ve finished our work. She worries too much. There’s plenty of time before supper.” The oldest of the three leaned forward in her chair and pointed the tip of her paring knife toward the path leading to the back porch. “If I were Sister Thekla, I’d worry about that instead of the potatoes.”

  With a small shuffle step, I turned to see what she was referring to. I couldn’t believe my eyes! The handyman lifted Berta down from a wagon and then Berta tucked her arm into the crook of the handyman’s arm. They were strolling toward the house as though their behavior were perfectly acceptable. Berta knew better! What was she thinking? My thoughts tangled in a knot of anger and confusion as I jumped off the porch.

  “What are you doing?” I grasped the sleeve of Berta’s dress and yanked her arm.

  Pointing a finger, I turned on Matthew. “I doubt you’ll have a job come morning.” His nonchalant shrug further infuriated me. He was hired help and not a member of the community, but he knew there were rules to be followed.

  “Where is Sister Nusser?”

  “She ain’t feeling so good and said she needed to rest for a while before supper. It was her that told me to escort Miss Berta back here. I s’pose she’d be the one to decide if I done somethin’ wrong.” He grinned and touched a finger to the brim of his flat cap. “Thanks for your fine company, Miss Berta.” He strode off with a jaunt to his step.

  I wanted to call after him and say he’d have to answer to more than Sister Nusser if he didn’t obey the rules, but he was out of sight before I could gather enough gumption to speak.

  “He’s nice looking, don’t you think?”

  My frustration moved from a slow simmer to a raging boil. Eyes shining with curiosity, the paring-knife sisters leaned forward to watch as I yanked Berta up the porch steps and into the kitchen. “Don’t forget the potatoes, Sisters.” I pointed at the pile of unpeeled vegetables. All three dropped back into their chairs and glared at me.

  Sister Muhlbach cr
ossed the kitchen, her heavy feet thudding across the wooden floor, and her focus square upon the two of us. “Now what has she done?”

  Before I could respond, Berta twisted from my hold and jutted her chin. “I followed Sister Nusser’s directions. She isn’t feeling well and said the handyman should escort me back to the Küche.”

  “I’m sure she didn’t say you should walk arm in arm with the hired help.”

  Sister Muhlbach gasped. “You did not do such a thing.”

  This time I didn’t give Berta a chance to respond. “Yes. She did.”

  The older woman’s complexion visibly paled, and she dropped into a nearby chair. “This is something I don’t want to believe you would do, Berta.”

  I bobbed my head. “That’s exactly what I said.” The other women cast curious stares in our direction, one or two dallying in the kitchen longer than necessary.

  “Come with me.” Sister Muhlbach stood and waved us toward the door that led to her private living quarters. Once inside, she pushed the door until the latch clicked in place. “Sit down. Both of you.” We didn’t hesitate.

  “I don’t know why this is such a concern. Matthew is very nice. We did nothing wrong. We traveled directly from the acreage, past the woolen mill, and down the main street until we turned toward the kitchen.”

  Sister Muhlbach cupped her palm to her wrinkled cheek. “You rode in the wagon with him by yourself? Did you at least ride in the back of the wagon?”

  Berta shook her head. “No. I rode beside Matthew. Riding atop the wagon was great fun, and there’s a much better view.” She smiled as though we should be pleased. “He helped me up and down, of course.”

  “Of course.” Sarcasm dripped from the older woman’s terse reply. She turned her attention to me. “There is no way to keep this from the Bruderrat.”

  I nodded. “They’ve probably already heard. But this is not your doing, Sister Muhlbach. If anyone is to blame, it is me. I shouldn’t have left her. The elders assigned me as her supervisor.”