A Shining Light (20 page)

“That's correct. If you don't agree with our decision, you are always free to leave. Otherwise, the living arrangements must remain as they have been since you arrived.” He waited a moment. “If you have no other questions, I'll leave you to visit with your wife.”

The elder hadn't been gone for long when Fred suddenly stretched sideways and grasped my wrist. “You told 'em you didn't want to live with me, didn't ya?”

I wrested my arm from his grip and moved my chair to the other side of the room. I should have known better than to sit so close. “No. I didn't know the doctor had agreed you could move elsewhere until Brother Bosch came to tell me of the elders' decision.”

Fury flashed in his eyes. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Whether you believe me or not makes no difference. The fact remains that we have no money and nowhere else to live. If we don't abide by their decisions, we will be without a place to lay our heads.”

Fred rubbed his jaw. “Maybe we could make do in your father's barn. I could still return to see the doctor.”

I gasped. “Winter is coming, Fred. How long do you think we could make do living in a barn? Besides, that barn does not belong to us. If you want to go and live in there, you go right ahead, but Lukas and I will remain where we are. I'm not going to let you put our son at risk—not anymore, Fred.”

“Don't you be tellin' me what you will or won't do. You got you a lot of spunk since you come here to live. You think that old man is gonna protect you for the rest of your life? One day we'll be leavin' this place, and don't you think I'm gonna forget any of this.”

The bell tolled in the distance and I stood. “I won't be back until tomorrow evening. It's potato harvest and we're short of help in the kitchen. In the meantime, I'm sure you'll maintain your good humor with Dr. Karr.”

“Sarcasm ain't becomin', Andrea.”

I turned and rubbed my wrist. “Neither is your rough treatment, Fred.”

Eventually Fred would be well. What was I going to do then to protect Lukas—and myself?

Once Greta and I had finished cleaning the kitchen on Sunday evening, Sister Erma casually mentioned that I was to work in the potato field beginning tomorrow morning. The prospect of working outdoors this week appealed to me, but a quick glance at Greta revealed her displeasure with the decision. We had been at odds since I'd quizzed her about picnicking with Dirk, and I didn't want to prolong the silence between us.

Both Dirk and Greta had every right to enjoy time together. And if I couldn't be with Dirk, Greta was a good choice for him.

I hung my dish towel to dry on a nearby rack. “If Greta would rather harvest potatoes, I'm willing to work in the kitchen, Sister Erma.”

“Nein.” She untied and removed her large apron. “The kitchen workers have always taken turns. Greta would not expect to go to the field every week.” Turning her ample body toward Greta, she smiled. “This is right, is it not, Greta?”

“Ja, Sister Erma. We have always taken turns, but Sister Andrea did not grow up in the colonies, and she does not know how we harvest.”

Sister Erma perched her hands on her hips and laughed. “She did not grow up cooking for fifty people, either, but she has learned how to do so in my Küche. Harvesting potatoes takes no special skill. Sister Andrea can pick up a row of potatoes as quickly as the next sister.”

“Ja, but if she would rather be in the Küche—”

Sister Erma waved her to silence. “Last week you had the benefit of free time each evening, and I am sure Sister Andrea would enjoy the same privilege in the coming days.”

Last week I had expected Greta to help clear dishes and clean the kitchen after supper, but Sister Erma explained that the kitchen workers who helped with harvest were released from all duties in the Küche—even helping clean the kitchen after supper.

Greta opened her mouth to protest, but Sister Erma shook her head. “It is settled. You will work in the Küche with me. Sister Andrea will go to the field and harvest potatoes.”

“And next week?” Greta's tone bore a trace of determination.

Sister Erma arched her brows. “Maybe we will draw broom straws. Or maybe I will wait and see who has maintained the best attitude while working with me in the kitchen.”

Greta clamped her lips together, yanked her apron from around her neck, and flung it on a hook near the door. “Guten Tag, Sisters.” Her shoes pounded an angry beat as she crossed the wooden porch.

Never before had I seen Greta behave in such a manner. Though I wanted to help resolve this problem, I feared any further attempts to influence Sister Erma would only make matters worse. I would wait until after prayer meeting. By then, the older woman might
be willing to discuss the problem in a little more detail. Until then, I'd go upstairs and see if Lukas needed help with any schoolwork.

Since the incident with Fred, I had deviated from my usual visiting schedule. While I hadn't discouraged Lukas's visits with his father, my visits had been less frequent. Lukas's desire to spend time with Fred remained firm, and when he returned home after his visits, he was quick to share stories of their time together. With Fred's increasing stamina, they'd been taking more walks, with Lukas acting as his father's guide through the village and surrounding area. Feeling he was both needed and appreciated by Fred had produced a steady increase in Lukas's self-confidence. While I was thrilled to see the changes taking place, I prayed Fred would do nothing to destroy the boy's trust.

I climbed the stairs to the second floor, weary from a long day in the kitchen. The moment I appeared in the doorway of the upstairs parlor, Lukas jumped up from an overstuffed rocking chair. “Are we going to see Papa now?” His face creased with undeniable excitement as he hop-skipped toward me.

“I thought we might work on your reading or arithmetic lessons before prayer meeting.” I sat down, but when he didn't move from the doorway, I patted the cushion of the divan.

He glanced toward the hall. “I finished my schoolwork, and Papa will be waiting for us. He asked me why you haven't been coming as often.” His eyes shone with concern.

“I told your father I had to work extra hours because of the potato harvest.” I leaned back and closed my eyes.

“But you could come with me now. You're done working, aren't you?” Even his pleading tone wasn't enough to convince me.

“I am, but I'm very tired and want to sit here until time for prayer meeting. I promise we'll go and visit your father tomorrow evening.”

A wave of guilt assaulted me. Not because I felt it necessary to meet Fred's expectations, but because I had disappointed my son. While I didn't want to misjudge Fred or cause Lukas to mistrust his father, I worried about the future. I longed to discuss Fred's behavior toward me with Brother Bosch or Dr. Karr, but they'd seen nothing except positive change. Would they think I possessed an unforgiving heart and refused to see the improvements Fred had made?

If I could talk to Dirk, I was sure he would understand and perhaps offer sound advice, but I couldn't go to him. To discuss my marital problems with an unmarried man, especially with a man who still held my heart, would be particularly inappropriate. And if Greta found out, it would escalate the problems between us. No, I couldn't talk to Dirk.

Thankfully, Lukas returned to the rocking chair without further argument. After only a few moments, I closed my eyes and recalled how peaceful and worry-free life had been before Fred appeared.

Early Monday morning, I stood on the wooden sidewalk in front of the Küche and waited for the wagon. Only the future would tell if my talk with Sister Erma last evening would produce the desired effect. After prayer meeting, I had explained and taken responsibility for the breach between Greta and me. Sister Erma had observed the change in our friendship and was wise enough to know it centered around Dirk, but she listened as though she'd seen or heard nothing. Once finished with my story, I asked her to assign Greta to the potato field next week, which would be the final week of the harvest.

She patted my hand and nodded, but there had been no firm agreement on her part. Instead, she said, “We will see. I am pleased
to hear you speak of your responsibility for what happened. Still, Greta has some part in this, too. And neither of you have conducted yourselves in a way that would be pleasing to God.”

I agreed with her assessment but hoped that my offer to forgo the opportunity to harvest next week proved my commitment to ease the mounting differences between us.

Dust curled from beneath the wagon as the horses plodded down the hard-packed dirt street. The driver had already made most of his stops, and the women waved and called out greetings as they approached. With the driver's assistance, I climbed aboard and joined the other women. Laughter and chattering abounded on the ride, and I soon joined into the easy conversation.

Sister Dorothea, one of the sisters I'd met at meeting, sat beside me in the wagon. She was a pleasant rosy-cheeked woman who immediately made me feel welcome. “This is your first potato harvest, ja?”

I nodded. I'd grown up on the adjoining farm, but my duties had consisted of preparing meals for farm workers rather than helping in the fields. The Amana women helped only with potato and onion harvests, but beyond helping in the garden, my knowledge of harvesting was nonexistent.

“Helping with harvest is gut fun, but it can be hard work, too.” She pressed her palm to her lower back. “Too much bending hurts the back.” She pointed her index finger in my direction. “Here is good tip for you. If your back begins to hurt, sit down in the dirt between turns of the plow. You should have time to rest a little unless there are lots of potatoes.”

The women sitting close by agreed with the advice. “Is gut to have time to sit, but is also gut to have lots of potatoes so our stomachs are full,” Sister Margaret said.

The chatter continued until one of the women began to sing.
Soon the others joined her and clapped their hands. The song was unfamiliar to me, but I clapped along and hummed the tune while taking pleasure in the simple performance.

Once the wagon rumbled to the edge of the field and the horses came to a halt, the driver set the brake and the women clambered down without assistance. Sister Dorothea motioned for me to follow her. “Come with me. We gather over here and the farm Baas assigns our rows.” She pointed to an area at one corner of the vast field, where a large man wearing a floppy felt hat stood waiting. “Stay beside me and we will be assigned to work alongside each other. Then, if you need help, I'll be nearby.”

I was grateful for her kindness but hoped I would be able to keep up without any help. Though it was prideful on my part, I wanted to prove myself as capable as the other women. The farm Baas motioned to the four sisters standing at the front of the group. “You four take the first four rows at the far end.”

They scurried off, and he assigned the next four sisters to the rows adjoining the ones he'd just assigned. And so it went until all of the rows had been assigned. As Sister Dorothea had predicted, I was assigned to work a row beside her. The plow hadn't yet turned our row, and we knelt down at the end of the field while we waited.

“I expected to see Sister Greta waiting for the wagon. Did she work in the field last week?”

“She did, and you?” I wondered if any of the women were assigned to work two weeks in a row. Perhaps Sister Dorothea and Greta had discussed the possibility that they might work together this week.

“Nein, but I worked alongside Greta during onion harvest last year, and I enjoyed her company.” Seeming to realize she might have hurt my feelings, she patted my arm. “But I am pleased to work with you, as well.”

I offered my thanks and agreed with her assessment of Sister Greta. My words appeared to ease her earlier sense of embarrassment, and she soon told me about her work in Sister Fredericka's Küche. A short time later, the horses snorted and trotted toward us, pulling the wooden plow and unearthing the potatoes in our rows. As soon as we had filled our large woven baskets, Dorothea and I helped each other carry and dump them into one of the nearby wagons.

Our first rows had been particularly full, and by the time midmorning arrived, I needed to lift my apron often to wipe perspiration from my forehead. Row by row, our group progressed through the field, and I was thankful the crop had been less abundant on the later passes of the plow. We finished our next row and I sat down, not caring that the damp dirt would likely stain my dress.

Several of the younger women began tossing clumps of dirt, and soon a contest began to see who could throw the greatest distance. “Do you want to join them?” Sister Dorothea gestured toward the group.

I laughed and shook my head. “I would much rather rest.”

“I am sure Sister Greta would be out there throwing dirt if she were here. She enjoys a gut time.” When I didn't immediately respond, she took a drink of water from one of the nearby jars we had brought with us. “I am told by a couple of sisters that Greta hopes to marry Brother Dirk. Is this true?”

My stomach clenched. Greta and Dirk were already talking of marriage? I wanted to avoid Sister Dorothea's question, but she was looking at me with such intensity, I felt obligated to respond. “I am not sure. She has not confided in me.”

Her eyebrows pulled together. “Since you work together, I am surprised you would not be aware of such plans. Perhaps there is
no truth to what I've heard—or maybe I misunderstood. Let me ask Sister Hulda.”

She shifted to her knees in an effort to stand, but I reached out and stilled her. “Greta and I haven't had much time alone over the past weeks, so what you have heard could very well be true. There's no need to ask Sister Hulda.”

Confusion clouded her gray eyes, but she returned to a sitting position. “But Sister Hulda's the one who told me. If I misunderstood . . .”

I didn't give her an opportunity to complete her argument. “Rather than ask any of the other sisters, wouldn't it be best to ask Sister Greta? Then you can be sure you've received the proper answer.” My insides churned. If word got back to Greta that several of the sisters had been discussing her relationship with Dirk, she'd likely think I'd been involved. Such talk would create greater difficulty between us.

“I suppose that would be best.” Even though she agreed, Sister Dorothea didn't appear particularly pleased by my suggestion.

For the remainder of the day, we continued our work and I had to agree that, although my back ached a bit, working outdoors among the other women was enjoyable. There was laughter, singing, and a great deal of chattering as we loaded the wagons with potatoes. Sister Dorothea seemed to forget our earlier discussion and chatted at length. As we rode back into the village, I was pleased that I'd have several more days to work alongside these women.

Rather than going directly into the kitchen house, I decided to check on Lukas at Dirk's shop. If Dirk didn't need him, we could walk over to see Fred. If we went now before supper, it would be a short visit and Fred wouldn't expect us to return before prayer meeting. At least that was my hope.