A Simple Change (19 page)

The following morning, I walked to the men's quarters by myself. Nathan and the other outsiders usually departed earlier
than the rest of us. I had hoped Ritt might seek me out after breakfast so that I could tell him about going to the river with Nathan and the visit with Margaret and John, but he left with two of the other men. I worried Ritt's anger would deepen once he heard Nathan's comments regarding work at the woolen mill. I had hoped there would be an opportunity to mend any possible wounds, but it seemed that would not happen this morning.

Today would be longer than most for me. There had been no rain, so Margaret would be in the fields pulling onions with many of the other women and children. The heat had subsided a little and I wanted to think my prayers had helped. Maybe God would help with Ritt and his stubborn attitude, as well. I glanced heavenward and uttered a short petition as I strode into the dormitory.

Without Margaret to talk to, my thoughts drifted like billowing clouds carried on the hot breeze. I thought about the children back in Kansas City and wondered what they were doing on this bright summer morning, I thought about Mother's health, I thought about making a permanent home in the colonies, but mostly I thought about Nathan and Ritt. When Nathan first arrived, it seemed Ritt viewed him as a competitor for my affection. Now, however, it appeared it wasn't me at all—it was competition for the position at the woolen mill. The idea gnawed at me as I picked up the broom and swept the wooden floor. Perhaps John Olson had misunderstood Ritt's comments about me, for since Nathan's arrival, it appeared Ritt's primary concern was a promotion at the mill and any thoughts of me had vanished from his mind.

The men's quarters always needed extra cleaning on Mondays, and today was no exception. On Sundays during the summer, the men sometimes went fishing or swimming in the river, but some of them remained behind to play cards, write letters, or read a
magazine or book—and some remained behind and imbibed. From the appearance of the sleeping room, a few of them had gotten drunk last evening and then become sick during the night. The mess they'd made on the floor hadn't been properly cleaned, and the smell made me gag as I moved further into the room. I had hoped to wait until tomorrow to scrub the floors, but this wouldn't wait.

I worked my way down one side of the room, then stopped and went outside to the pump for fresh water. After placing the bucket of water on the floor, I arched backward and rubbed the center of my back. How it ached after moving only one row of beds.

Determined to complete the task before the noonday meal, I grasped the metal frame of Thomas's bed with both hands and yanked it toward the center of the room. The legs on the right side of the frame jostled, but one of the left legs wouldn't budge.

“What is wrong with this bed?” I muttered while tugging on the metal frame several more times. I released my hold on the bed and flexed my aching hands. Deep dents creased my palms. By tomorrow there'd likely be bruises. I dropped to the side of the bed, leaned forward, and rested my arms across my thighs. If anyone had told me a year ago that I would be scrubbing floors, washing dirty clothes for strangers, and moving beds, I would have laughed aloud.

After resting for several minutes, I pushed to my feet. “If I don't get busy, I'll be here when the men return from work.” I glanced around the room. “Here I am talking to myself. If the workers pass by and hear me, they'll think I'm demented.” I laughed aloud. If someone passed by, I wouldn't care what they thought; I'd beg for help.

Instead of another session pushing and pulling the bed, I
stepped around to the other end to get the trunk out of the way. Using the side of my leg, I gave the trunk a shove. Once I'd moved it a few feet, I leaned sideways and realized the problem. The leg of the bed was stuck on a piece of loose floorboard. Bending down, I locked my elbows, lifted the side of the bed frame, and gave the bed a hefty shove.

“Finally!” A whoosh of air escaped my lungs and my arms trembled from the exertion. I'd likely scratched a section of the floor, but I didn't care. I would worry about that later. Right now, I would take a moment to enjoy what I'd accomplished.

After pausing to take several breaths, I knelt beside the bed to examine the floor. If I'd ruined some of the boards, perhaps Nathan and Thomas could replace them. One look revealed some of the boards had recently been cut. It appeared as if someone had created a hiding space beneath the floorboards. Maybe Thomas had carved out the space to hide the notes I'd written to him.

I should have scrubbed the floor and moved the bed back into place, but my curiosity prevailed. I was determined to discover whether anything was hidden under the boards. Unfortunately, the loose piece of wood had dropped into place when I moved the bed, and now it fit snug against the other boards. Using the tips of my fingers, I attempted to lift one of the boards, but as I tried to force the board loose, a splinter lodged deep beneath one of my fingernails. If this continued, I'd end up with nothing but pricked fingers and bruised hands.

There had to be something I could use. I pushed to my feet and looked around the room. When I spied a pocketknife lying on the windowsill near Nathan's bed, my heart pounded so hard I thought it would leap into my throat. Grabbing the knife, I returned to my kneeling position near Thomas's bed and set to work. Using
my thumbnail, I pulled out the short blade and pressed it into the crevice. Once the knife created enough leverage, the board began to lift and I reached for the rough edge, but the blade slipped and the board dropped back into place. I continued my efforts, but with each failed attempt, my frustration mounted.

I sat back on my heels and stared at the floor. One more try and then I had to get back to work. If I couldn't remove the boards today, I'd find a tool of some sort and try again tomorrow. After promising myself this would be my final attempt, I shoved the blade into place. This time I was careful to maintain the pressure of the knife against the board. As it inched up, I reached with my other hand and dug the tips of my fingers into the jagged edge and pulled. My stomach tightened into a knot as I lifted the second piece of wood and then the third.

Scooting forward, I peered into the dark hole below. I could barely see what looked like some sort of fabric. I reached out but then retracted my hand as I recalled the traps that Mr. Ludwig used to set to catch rats at the orphanage. What if there was some sort of trap down there? A rat trap could break fingers, and how would I ever explain such a thing? It would be impossible to deny that I'd been snooping where I didn't belong.

Even so, I'd come too far. I had to know. My hand trembled as I reached into the opening. Using the tips of my fingers, I tugged on a corner of the coarse cloth that lay wedged near the back of the space—likely fabric used to protect whatever had been hidden. My determination swelled, and I thrust both hands into the opening and grabbed hold. I wiggled and manipulated the fabric in all directions until it finally gave way. A yelp escaped my lips as I lifted a dirty canvas bag onto the floor beside me.

Eager to read the markings, I retrieved a handkerchief from
my pocket and swiped at the dirt. Though the letters were faded and difficult to read, I gasped and dropped the bag to the floor. Stamped across the canvas in faded black letters were the words
National Commerce Bank of Kansas City.

My heart pounded an erratic beat.

I should put the bag back where I'd found it. I shouldn't look inside.

But I couldn't stop myself.

Chapter 19

The room swirled around me, and I collapsed against the side of the bed. I forced myself to breathe. Never in my life had I seen so much money. I didn't want to believe what lay before me, and I didn't know what to do next.

Inhaling a deep breath, I steadied myself. Thomas said he'd been saving his wages so he could provide a home for Kathleen. Could all of this belong to him? It appeared to be far too much money for one young man to accumulate. Maybe all of the men kept their savings in the bag together, but that made no sense. If they'd all placed their money in the bag, there would be no reason to hide it, for other than Sister Margaret and me, no one else ever came into the dormitory.

Maybe Thomas had come into a large sum of money before he came to Iowa. Or perhaps he'd worked someplace that paid
exceedingly high wages, or maybe he'd been rewarded for some meritorious act. But with all this money, why hadn't he gone in search of his sister? Why had he come to the colonies instead? He could have hired a detective to help him find Kathleen. I'd heard my father speak of the Pinkerton Detective Agency, which would assist in locating missing persons.

Tracing my fingers over the imprinted letters, I attempted to think of some reasonable explanation for all this money, yet I could think of none. My father conducted the company's as well as his personal banking at the National Commerce Bank, and I'd seen him carry a similar, but much smaller, bag whenever he went to the bank. Yet that didn't explain why this large money-filled bag had been hidden beneath the floorboards of the men's dormitory in Middle Amana.

Maybe this money didn't belong to Thomas. The bag had been hidden under his bed and was from a Kansas City bank. And Thomas had lived in Kansas City, but that didn't mean it belonged to him. Someone else could have hidden it beneath his bed. While seeking a hiding place, maybe one of the other men discovered a loose board beneath Thomas's bed and then enlarged the space. Although unlikely, there was a remote possibility the money had been there for quite some time. Father always told me it wasn't wise to pass judgment without all of the facts.

As the noonday bell tolled in the distance, I jerked to attention. What if one of the men should return to the dormitory to pick up something on his way to the kitchen house? A shudder rocketed down the length of my body. I captured my lower lip between my teeth to stop the trembling. There wasn't time for fear. I needed to keep my wits about me.

In my haste, I dropped the bag and a quantity of bills and coins scattered across my lap and onto the floor in front of me. Among the bills, I noticed a ragged piece of folded newspaper and shoved it into my pocket. There wasn't time to look at it now, but I'd read it after lunch and return it to the hiding place later this afternoon. I thrust the bag back into the hole, pushed the floorboards in place, and heaved the bed into position. I exhaled a breath and clasped a hand to my chest.

If I ran, I might make it to the Küche before the second bell rang. There was no one in sight on the path, and I picked up my pace. It wouldn't do to enter the dining hall while Brother Herman was offering the mealtime prayer. Perspiration trickled down the sides of my face, and my hair felt damp beneath my bonnet. When the second bell tolled, I rounded the Küche and dropped into line beside one of the older sisters. I was still panting when she turned to look at me.

She gently patted my face with her palm. “Your cheeks are red as cherries. If you leave work when the first bell rings, you will not need to run.”

“You're right, Sister. I'll try to remember.”

She smiled and nodded as we began to move toward the door. My breath caught when I saw Nathan walking up the steps. He'd lived in Kansas City and he slept in the bed next to Thomas. Could Nathan somehow be the one who'd hidden the bag? But that idea made no sense. If Nathan had all that money, he would have offered to purchase my father's business. Wouldn't he?

My stomach churned like water being tossed about by a paddlewheel. I swallowed a bite of fried potatoes and instantly realized I'd made a mistake. If I ate anything more, I'd be sick for sure. My plate remained full when we stood for the after-dinner prayer.
Brother Herman had barely said amen when the old sister who'd admonished me for running now frowned and pointed to my plate.

“You could not eat because running upsets the stomach.” She patted her hand against her midsection. “This afternoon you will be hungry.” She forked the piece of ham from my plate and placed it between two thick slices of bread. “Wrap this in your napkin and take it with you.”

I folded my napkin around the sandwich and thanked her before I departed. Several of the outsiders had gathered beneath a small grove of trees a short distance from the Küche. Both Nathan and Thomas were among the group, while Ritt stood a short distance away talking to several other men. Although I didn't expect Ritt or Thomas to acknowledge me, I wasn't so sure about Nathan. Whenever Ritt was around, Nathan tended to stay as close to me as a jealous child. I headed toward the shortcut hoping for a private moment to examine the paper I'd placed in my pocket.

When I neared the end of the path, I sat down on a nearby stump and withdrew the piece of newspaper from my pocket. I gasped at the caption above the article.
Two Bank Robbers Apprehended. Third Still on the Run.
The article stated that two men who robbed the National Commerce Bank of Kansas City had been incarcerated in the Kansas City jail and were currently awaiting trial. In the next paragraph, the article advised that a third man remained at large and was believed to be in possession of a portion of the stolen money. Near the end, the journalist wrote that he'd interrogated one of the criminals, Mr. Allen Dempsey, who'd declared the stolen funds had been equally divided among the three bank robbers before they'd split up and gone off in separate directions. The article went on to say that Mr. Dempsey had been unwilling to reveal the name and possible whereabouts
of the third accomplice, but there was hope he might change his mind as the time for his trial drew near.

My heart thudded to a halt. Could Thomas somehow be involved in this robbery? If so, it made sense that he hadn't remained in Kansas to look for his sister. He'd want to hide out until he thought it would be safe to return. And what better place to hide than in the colonies? Who would think to look for him here?

I shook my head. I shouldn't jump to conclusions. Perhaps this was simply a clipping he saved because he had an interest in the case. I didn't even know how long ago this bank robbery had occurred. For all I knew, Thomas could have been a boy when it happened.

I turned over the piece of newspaper, but the only thing on the reverse side was an advertisement for St. Jacob's Oil, a potion that promised a cure for everything from rheumatism to frosty feet. I wished I had some of that concoction right now. Maybe a little St. Jacob's Oil would cure the disappointment I felt when I hadn't been able to find the date of the newspaper's publication anywhere on the clipping.

I tucked the paper into my pocket and tried to recall any talk of a bank robbery before we'd left Kansas City. Nothing came to mind, but I could have easily overlooked such an article. Father may have mentioned something, but if he had, I'd forgotten.

The bell rang and I sauntered toward the men's quarters while trying to remember if Thomas had told me when he'd first arrived in Middle Amana. I didn't want to falsely accuse him, but the possibility of Thomas Kingman being a bank robber kept filling my thoughts. A ripple of fear shot through me as I recalled meeting him alone in the woods. I closed my eyes and tried to picture him that day. He certainly hadn't acted like the sort who would
rob a bank or do harm to anyone, but looks could be deceiving, couldn't they?

I entered the dormitory and glanced around. The realization that money that might have been stolen from a bank was hidden in this room caused my palms to turn damp. The few bites of fried potatoes rumbled in my stomach, and I thought I might be sick. I needed to make a decision. Earlier I had planned to return the newspaper article to the money bag, but now I wondered if that was a good idea. If I talked to the elders, it would be helpful to have the clipping in my possession to substantiate such an unbelievable story, and I doubted Thomas would remove the bag until he decided to leave the colonies. Besides, the idea of once again removing those floorboards made me as nervous as a cat stuck in a tree.

I patted my pocket and leaned back in the chair, but moments later startled to attention. I'd made my first decision without God's direction. Would I never learn to wait upon Him? I bowed and prayed for the Lord to direct me, determined I would remain silent about my discovery until I felt the Lord prompt me to do otherwise.

When the midafternoon bell rang, I was outside scrubbing the small porch and wooden sidewalk in front of the men's quarters. This wasn't one of my favorite chores, but today I didn't mind. There was little breeze, and being outside swishing water over the sidewalk was preferable to enduring the stifling heat inside the dormitory.

“Jancey!” I turned around to see Nathan marching toward me.

He pointed to the bucket of water. “How can you belittle
yourself like this? You shouldn't be scrubbing sidewalks. I can't believe you're willing to submit yourself to this way of life.” He lifted his hand toward my face. “You're overheated and shouldn't be working in this hot sun.”

I took a backward step before he could touch my face. “There are others watching, Nathan. You can't touch me in such a manner—not in public or private. I've told you over and over that it's not permitted.”

His jaw tightened. “And I've told you that I don't like these rules. They're foolish. This is no way for people like us to live.”

I arched my brows. “People like us? What kind of people are we, Nathan? Tell me how I am different from the women who live here. For that matter, how are you different from these men? We're all alike in God's eyes—created equally.”

He thrust his chin forward. “You know what I'm saying, Jancey. We are different. You're playing word games with me. This is not the life you lived in Kansas City. You never scrubbed floors or washed sheets.” In one swift motion, he reached forward and grabbed my wrist. “Look at your hands! They were once soft to the touch. Now they're rough and discolored, and your nails are chipped and dirty.”

His harsh comments wounded me. “My hands have been in scrub water cleaning up after you and the other men who live here. This is the middle of the workday. Are your hands perfectly clean?”

My anger had risen and so had my voice. I hadn't intended to arouse attention and was surprised to see Ritt walking toward us at a brisk pace.

“Hallöchen!”
Ritt waved in our direction as he drew near. He stopped beside Nathan, but his eyes were focused on me. “There is a problem?”

Nathan glowered at him. “Why do you think there's a problem? We were trying to have a conversation until you interrupted us.”