Somewhere to Belong

by Judith Miller

  There was no need to panic. Sister Muhlbach had sent me home to change clothes. If Brother Ilg came into the house, I had an approved reason for being there. After assuring myself I’d set things aright in my parents’ room, I waited in the parlor until the street cleared and then departed.

  Shoving my hand into my apron pocket, my fingers curled around the gold coin. How lovely it would be to peruse the items in the general store and purchase something special, something Johanna might want to trade for a magazine. The thought brought me to a halt, and I turned back toward the house. If I skirted along the back of the houses, I wouldn’t be seen.

  Moving with stealth and speed, I scuttled through the yards, keeping myself hidden along the bushes and trees. Though most folks were at work, some mothers remained at home with their children until they were old enough for Kinderschule. If one of them caught sight of me, I’d surely be reported to the elders or, even worse, to Sister Muhlbach.

  The bell above the front door jingled in friendly greeting as I entered the store.

  “Guten Tag, Sister Berta.”

  Brother Kohler’s greeting was enough to set my thoughts awhirl. I hadn’t considered he might reveal I’d been here. “Guten Tag, Brother Kohler.”

  “Sister Muhlbach has given you a rest from your duties in the Küche?”

  He’d made an assumption. I didn’t agree or disagree. Instead, I let my gaze wander the store. “I was looking for a magazine or a book. Do you have anything like that?”

  His back stiffened until it was as straight as a poker. “Periodicals and magazines? Not unless you want to read one of the farm journals. Brother Ilg has copies of those you could borrow.” His frown deepened. “Why would you have need of periodicals?”

  “For my cousin’s birthday. I wanted to send her a gift.” It was, of course, a lie, but what was I to do? He shouldn’t have asked the question. Then I wouldn’t have had to lie.

  He scratched his bald head and scanned the room. “What about a sewing kit in a leather case?”

  “No. She isn’t keen on sewing.”

  He gasped as though I’d pierced his heart. “Then she should learn! Every young woman needs to know how to sew. It would be the perfect gift for her.”

  “I’m hoping to find something very unusual.”

  “Maybe your cousin would like some of this lace I just received from Chicago.”

  I shook my head. Johanna couldn’t possibly be enticed with lace. Amana women didn’t wear fancy trim on their clothes. “No,” I mumbled and continued down the aisle. Then, on one of the top shelves, I spotted what appeared to be a book. “What is that?” I pointed to the shelf.

  My shout startled Brother Kohler, and he took a backward step before he glanced upward. He shook his head. “Oh, that is a book that was forgotten by a salesman last year. I thought he would return, but—”

  “I want to buy it.”

  “It isn’t for sale, Berta. What if the man should return?”

  “You can give him the money if he returns. But if he hasn’t been back for a year, I doubt he’ll show up, don’t you?”

  His frown deepened. “It may be unsuitable for your cousin, ja?”

  “We won’t know until we look.” I wanted to grab the ladder and scale the wall myself, but I managed to maintain my decorum.

  Though he huffed and puffed, Brother Kohler climbed the ladder and retrieved the book. He glanced at the cover as he stepped off the last rung of the ladder. “It is a book of poems and sonnets. At least that’s what the cover says.” He flipped open the book and nodded his head. “Poetry. In my estimation, she’d be better off reading the book of Psalms.”

  “May I look at it?” I extended my open hand.

  His jowls sagged, and his fingers tightened around the volume. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

  Before he could further consider, I stretched forward and grasped the book from his clutches. It was in pristine condition, probably never opened by the salesman. I wondered if he’d purchased it as a gift for his wife or sweetheart. He’d probably removed it from his sales case while talking to Brother Kohler and accidentally left it behind. By now he would have purchased another gift. In my mind the matter had been resolved completely.

  I looked inside the front cover and discovered I had enough money to purchase the book. “I’ll take it.” I pulled the coin from my pocket and thrust it toward him.

  He stared at the coin. “How do you happen to have money, Berta?”

  I swallowed hard. Yet another problematic question. “It was a gift from a relative.” Another lie. If Brother Kohler didn’t quit asking me questions, I was going to burn in hell. I should have realized he would be suspicious when I produced money to pay for the purchase. Only visitors paid with cash. Nobody who lived in Amana used money—our purchases were listed as credits by our names and deducted from the yearly stipend allotted to each family.

  Brother Kohler pressed his thick thumb across the coin, and I wondered if he was going to clamp it between his teeth to determine if it was genuine. He was watching me from beneath hooded eyes, assessing my every move. I steadied myself and forced myself to look confident. At least I hoped that was how I appeared.

  “I cannot give you any funds in return, but I can add the difference to your family’s account in the ledger. This would suit you?”

  “No, that isn’t necessary. To have a nice gift to give to my cousin is all I wanted.”

  “Then I will wrap it up and send it to her.” He rested his beefy palms on the counter. “That’s the least I could do, ja?”

  “Oh, I’d much rather give it to her in person. I’m going to wait until we go back to Chicago or until she comes here for a visit.” His brows furrowed, and I was certain I detected a hint of disbelief in his eyes. “But if my father thinks I should mail it, I’ll bring it back to the store and have you take care of it for me. Thank you for the kind offer.”

  I made a slight curtsy, which appeared to further confuse him. Book in hand, I attempted to make my escape. I’d nearly made it to the door when his shout echoed in my ears.

  “Wait! Come back, Berta.”

  I stopped in my tracks and made a slow pirouette. “Yes?” I clenched my fingers around the thick book cover as fear took up residence in the pit of my stomach.

  He tapped the wooden cubbyholes where mail was distributed to the town’s residents. “I have a letter for your Vater. You can take it to him, ja?”

  I exhaled a puff of air, and relief flooded over me. I hastened back to the counter, retrieved the letter, and hurried out of the store. I was on my way to the Küche when I realized I couldn’t take the book with me. I’d have to return home. I’d better have a good story ready for Sister Muhlbach, for she would surely question how long I’d been gone.

  I retraced my steps along the rear of the neighbors’ houses until I reached home. Once inside, I scuttled up the stairs to my room. Panting for breath, I lifted the lid to the small leather trunk at the foot of my bed and buried the book beneath the clothing stored inside. I decided to prop Father’s letter on the small table in the parlor and examined the handwriting on the envelope as I carried it into the other room. I’d never before seen the delicate script. There was no name to indicate who it was from, only a street address in Chicago—one I didn’t recognize. I traced my fingernail over the beautifully shaped lines that formed my father’s name. Nobody but family knew we’d moved to Amana—that’s what Mother had told me the week after we’d arrived. Had father told someone else of our whereabouts?

  Curiosity plagued me. I didn’t have time to weigh my decision right now, but the letter was too enticing to leave behind. I tucked the envelope into my skirt pocket. After I returned to work, I’d have time to think about what I should do.

  CHAPTER 12

  The smell of sausage wafted through the air and greeted me as I rounded the corner of the Küche. One whiff and my mouth watered. But at the sight of a glowering Sister Muhlbach standing on the back porc
h, my mouth turned as dry as parched dirt. There would be no slipping into the kitchen unobserved.

  She examined everything from my shoes to the top of my head. “Did you have to sew a new skirt?”

  The question unnerved me. “N-n-n-no.” I pressed my hand down the front of the calico. Of all the things she could have asked, I hadn’t expected such a silly inquiry. “You’ve seen this skirt before.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Ja, but you were gone so long I thought you decided to make a new frock.”

  I’d missed her earlier sarcasm, but now it came through loud and clear. Why hadn’t she simply asked what had taken so long? When I opened my mouth to respond, she wagged her finger in front of my nose and pointed at the kitchen door.

  “You can explain later. Right now, there is work piling up because of your selfish behavior.”

  Selfish? I wasn’t selfish. A remembrance of my visit to the general store niggled at my conscience. Maybe I was a little selfish, but there were enough women in the kitchen to complete the work without me. Since my first day Sister Muhlbach had acted as though my presence was more hindrance than help. Strange that my brief absence should create such havoc.

  In five elongated steps Johanna crossed the kitchen, her lips tightened into a pinched frown. “Where have you been, Berta?” Johanna’s question harbored no sarcasm. Instead, it bore accusation and anger. “Your selfish actions have set us behind in our preparations.”

  Selfish? There was that word again. Had she and Sister Muhlbach been discussing me? “I’m sorry, but it took longer than—”

  She waved me to silence. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. I wouldn’t believe you anyway. Get busy with the potatoes. They need to be peeled and shredded.”

  In a valiant effort to locate the shredder from among the variety of gadgets and tools that hung on the racks, I scanned the hanging metal equipment. There might be a shortage of workers in the kitchen, but there was no lack of tools. Since my arrival, Johanna had attempted to teach me the name and proper usage of each item, but the lessons held little interest. The only part I’d enjoyed had been a trip to the tinsmith’s shop to deliver several items that had required repair. I’d been amazed at the items the man created, but I still didn’t know the difference between a cheese mold and a pudding mold or a cheese grater and a potato shredder.

  I’d almost gathered my courage to ask which one of the graters I should use when Johanna reached overhead and yanked the utensil off the hook. She held it in front of my nose. “Potato grater.” She thrust it toward my hand. “Don’t cut your finger. Sister Muhlbach might take pleasure in seeing you bleed a little.” She swiveled on the heel of her well-worn shoe.

  “And you?” I asked.

  Her features softened. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself, Berta, but I do want you to act like a responsible young woman. We’ll talk later. After the work is completed.”

  Like it or not, I was in trouble. Even Johanna was unhappy with me. Maybe I should present her with the book of poetry when we get home from work. I wouldn’t even try to bribe her for the magazines—unless I change my mind by the time we get home. After tying the apron around my waist, I set to work peeling the potatoes. One look at the tub of vegetables and my shoulders sagged. Why hadn’t someone else started this job an hour ago? I couldn’t possibly finish in time, but I dared not complain. It seemed the others were hard at work, though a quick head count revealed several of the ladies were missing.

  A short time later Johanna dragged a chair beside the table and picked up a potato. “You’re going to have to work faster.”

  “I’m working as quickly as I can. Where are the sisters? Can’t they help?”

  “Sister Dickel is ill, and Sister Bader was called to the school. Her son fell from one of the trees, and the teacher feared the boy broke his arm. They took him to your father for treatment.”

  Both of the women had been in the kitchen earlier. No wonder Sister Muhlbach was in a sour mood. “Maybe Sister Muhlbach should have been peeling potatoes instead of standing on the porch watching for me,” I whispered.

  Johanna clucked her tongue. “And maybe you should have been back here in fifteen minutes instead of an hour.” She lowered her head and leaned close. “I know how long it takes to get to our house, and so does Sister Muhlbach. Fifteen minutes would have been ample time to go home and change your skirt.”

  I pointed the tip of the paring knife at my shoes. “I had to clean my shoes, too.”

  “Then twenty minutes. That doesn’t account for the rest of the time. Did you take a nap?” Johanna leaned back in the chair and pierced me with a fierce glare. “You went to visit Rudolf, didn’t you?”

  Finally an accusation I could deny—and I wouldn’t be telling a lie. “No! How could you think such a thing?”

  She arched her brows. “Then where were you?”

  Should I tell her the truth? If she promised not to tell anyone, it would be the best possible solution. “Promise you won’t tell?”

  After a moment of hesitation, she agreed. While we continued to peel and grate the potatoes, I explained what I’d done. “If only you’d agreed to let me see your other magazines, I wouldn’t have gone running off to the general store to purchase you a gift.”

  “Once again you are placing blame where it doesn’t belong. This is not my fault, Berta. You are an impetuous girl who is determined to always have her way. One day you are going to have to admit that your actions are solely your responsibility, not the fault of others.” Johanna reached for the grater and forced the potato along the uneven metal. “There are things I’d prefer to do, places I’d like to see, people I want to meet, but I can’t simply give in to my own selfish desires.”

  “Why not? What’s wrong with living your life in a manner that pleases you? Isn’t that why this community was formed? So the members could live in a way that pleased them? Why can’t you do the same? If you want to see what’s beyond Amana, why not do it?” I stopped peeling the potatoes and scooted to the edge of my chair. Maybe I could convince Johanna she should follow her heart instead of the rules. The idea excited me.

  She sighed and shook her head. “Even though I’ve tried to explain, you still don’t understand why we came together in this communal living situation. Though I long to visit my brother in Chicago and maybe see more of the world, I find comfort in my life here. Where else is there more opportunity to seek and find Christ through prayerful fellowship with like-minded believers? Remember, time is a gift. Wise people do not—”

  “Squander their gifts.” I’d heard that from Sister Muhlbach at least once a day since I’d arrived in her kitchen. “If time is a gift, and you want to see other places, aren’t you squandering your gift?”

  “The allotment of time on this earth is given for us to draw closer to Christ—not to fulfill our own desires.” Johanna motioned toward the knife. “Keep peeling, Berta.” She continued grating another potato. “I’m curious about this book you mentioned. I’m surprised Brother Kohler would permit such a purchase.”

  “I think he liked the idea of keeping the change from my gold coin.” The moment the words had slipped off my tongue, I wanted to take them back. But it was too late. Johanna’s eyes shone with interest.

  “I’m somewhat fearful to hear your answer, but how did you happen to have a gold coin in your possession?”

  Deciding upon my answers had become a balancing act: truth or lie. This time, truth would win. I needed to tell someone about the letter. While we continued to pare and grate, I divulged the information. Johanna appeared aghast that I would enter my parents’ room without permission, and I thought she might faint when I admitted to taking the coin from my father’s drawer. She stared at me, her mouth wide open. Had a fly been in the room, it could have taken up residence.

  “Close your mouth, Johanna,” I hissed.

  Her lips snapped shut, but her focus remained fixed upon me.

  “It isn’t like I stole the money. It belonged to
our family.”

  “It belonged to your father, and you didn’t have his permission.

  If it isn’t stealing, what do you call it?”

  At this rate I was never going to get around to telling her about the letter. “I borrowed it to purchase a gift for you. I’ll tell him I used the money to purchase a book. He won’t care in the least.” I carefully avoided any reference to when I might tell him and pressed on before she could stop me with another question or condemnation. “But here’s the important part.” I sucked in a gulp of air and explained the letter Brother Kohler had given me. “What do you think I should do?”

  Her brow crinkled and a V formed between her eyebrows. “Don’t try to shift blame by saying you stole the money to purchase a gift for me. I would never accept a gift that was purchased with stolen money, so you can keep the poetry book or return it to Brother Kohler at the store. As for the letter, it isn’t a difficult decision. You need to hand it over to your father.”

  That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. “But what if—”

  “If the contents were meant for your eyes, the letter would be addressed to you. It wasn’t.” She shoved the grater and knives into the crock of mounded potatoes. “Let’s get these drained.”

  I grasped one of the large sieves made by the village tinsmith, my wrists aching by the time we’d completely squeezed all of the liquid from the potatoes. While I beat the eggs, Johanna mixed flour, salt, baking powder, and pepper. “Eggs are ready,” I said.

  She dumped the flour mixture into the potatoes and motioned for me to add the eggs. “Go ahead and stir them. I’ll heat the skillets.” When the lard was sizzling in the skillets, she motioned for the bowl of potatoes. “Be certain to set out bowls of applesauce. Potato pancakes are not their very best without applesauce.”