A Hidden Truth (8 page)

Later that morning after the breakfast dishes had been washed, the pots scrubbed, and the kitchen and dining hall floors swept, Cousin Louise sat down and began to make a list for her purchases at the general store. “May I come with you to the store?”

She looked up. “If there is something you need, I will put it on the list.”

“Nothing I need, but with Christmas not far off, I thought I might see if I could find a gift for Karlina.” My father had given me a small sum of money before we'd left Cincinnati. “Pin money,” he'd called it—to be used for incidentals while we were apart. I wouldn't be able to buy anything extravagant, but I doubted I'd find anything in the general store that would match the expensive selections available at Mabley and Carew, Rollman's, or Alms and Doepke, three of the large department stores in Cincinnati where Mother and I had occasionally shopped.

“Gifts are not necessary, but if it pleases you to come with me, you may come along.” Cousin Louise folded the piece of paper and tucked it into her skirt pocket. She gestured toward the pegs on the far wall. “You will need your coat. It is much colder than it looks.”

I quickly retrieved my coat and also grabbed Cousin Louise's cloak at the same time. “And you will need this to keep you warm.” I giggled and handed her the heavy garment.

“Ja, you are right.” She stood and turned to Sister Marta. “Please make sure the coffee, bread, and jam are ready by midmorning. I hope I will be back by then, but who can say for sure.”

Except on Sundays, the workers returned to the dining hall for a light lunch that was served between breakfast and the noonday meal. The same happened between the noonday meal and supper. The practice surprised me, but Cousin Louise explained that hard work required energy, and the extra sustenance provided the workers with necessary stamina. It also created extra work in the Küche, but nobody appeared to mind—it was as customary as the other three meals served each day.

Sister Marta's brows knit together in a frown. “I take care of it every day. Why would today be any different?”

Cousin Louise patted her friend's arm. “And you do a wonderful job. I don't know what I would do without your help.”

The compliment was like a soothing balm and immediately erased the frown from Sister Marta's face. It hadn't taken long for me to see that Cousin Louise knew how to manage every woman in her kitchen. Some needed compliments, some needed to share their problems, and others enjoyed laughter. Whatever the need, Cousin Louise adapted and helped. And today I planned to seek her help. I hoped to use our time together to gain some answers about my mother.

On several occasions I'd broached the subject, but Cousin Louise's answers had always been guarded—at least they'd seemed that way to me. Each time I attempted to dig deeper into the past, she changed the subject or sent me to the other side of the kitchen to help cut noodles or peel potatoes. But on our way to and from the store, we would have uninterrupted time together, and I planned to use that time to full advantage.

We'd gone only a few steps beyond the porch when I asked my first question. I didn't want to waste precious time. “Tell me about my mother, Cousin Louise. I want to know what she was like when she lived here, and why her family left.”

Pulling her hood tight around her head, she glanced in my direction. “I know you miss your Mutter, but digging into her past will not bring her back. I am sure she told you everything she thought was important for you to know. She loved you very much.”

“How do you know that?”

She
tsk
ed and shook her head. “Because mothers love their children and because she wrote to me after you were born. She was delighted to have a daughter of her own.”

“And my father? Did she write about him, too?”

Cousin Louise hesitated. “Not so much. But you must remember that I did not know your Vater.”

She hadn't known me, either, but I didn't want to say that or it might stop her from telling me more. “What else did she tell you?”

“At first she wrote about her move to Covington, Kentucky, with your
Oma
and
Opa
, and then later about getting married and moving across the river to Zinzinatti.”

I smiled at her pronunciation. “Did she say she liked it there?”

Cousin Louise's hard-soled shoes clacked on the board sidewalk. “I don't think she ever felt as at home as she did in the colonies, but she was happy your Vater agreed to live in that place she called Over-the-Rhine. In one of her letters she said there were many German immigrants. That pleased her, I think.”

“Maybe it pleased her a little, but I don't think she was ever completely happy. There were many days when I couldn't convince her to leave the house. Most of the time, she appeared melancholy, but she wouldn't tell me why. Vater said it was because she never was very healthy, but I think she may have regretted marrying my father and having me.”

“Nein.” She stopped and turned to me. “You should never think such a thing. Your Mutter loved you, and your birth gave her great joy. I am sure you miss her very much.” She patted my arm with her gloved hand. “I can tell you that your Vater was right about your Mutter's health. She was a sickly girl and she always tired easily.” Bowing her head against the cold breeze, she strode toward the store with a determined step.

Our conversation had ended, and I didn't know any more than when we'd walked out of the Küche. How would I ever learn about my mother's past if Cousin Louise refused to talk to me?

CHAPTER 8

Karlina

Over the past weeks, Anton had settled into our home, but I still hadn't detected any signs that he enjoyed working with the sheep. I considered the sheep to be an extension of our family, but Anton viewed them merely as work. I thought it a privilege to care for them, but he viewed it a punishment. He'd never said these things to me, but when I was in his presence, I sensed he'd developed little, if any, fondness for shepherding.

Both my father and I had been patient in our teaching—my father more so than I, for I couldn't understand anyone who didn't enjoy caring for animals. But Anton avoided the sheep whenever possible. At least that was how it seemed to me. He grumbled when required to go to the pasture and watch over the sheep. He much preferred the idea of keeping them in the barn all winter. Except when the ground turned exceedingly wet or during winter snows, my father pastured the sheep. Years of shepherding had convinced him that fresh-air foraging provided the best care for the animals. Closed inside the barns, they developed more sickness. Fresh air, fresh water, proper food, and a loving shepherd—those were the things necessary for raising good sheep, at least that was my father's belief. Right now the sheep might be receiving fresh air, water, and good food, but I didn't believe they were being tended by a loving shepherd.

I'd done my best to offer kindness and gentle instruction, but Anton was different from the other men in our village. Instead of being cheerful and pleasant, most of the time he appeared quiet and withdrawn or angry and sullen. Only when he spoke to me about his inventions did I see a glimmer in his eyes and hear excitement in his voice.

Even on Sundays the animals needed care, which was another matter that annoyed Anton. When we'd returned from meeting a few minutes ago, he'd started toward the stairs, and my father called to him.

“Ja?”

“Are you forgetting the sheep?”

His features tightened into a frown. “I would like to, but it seems there is always someone to remind me.”

I was surprised when my father chuckled. “All of us need reminders, Anton. I'm here to remind you when you forget the sheep just as my aching body reminds me that I must slow down. Our hungry friends who come to this dining hall every day are a reminder that meals must be prepared. And the ringing bell in the tower keeps all of us on schedule. You see? We all must pay heed and be thankful for the reminders in our life.”

Anton didn't appear convinced. He trod to the kitchen, the soles of his shoes slapping the wooden floor with an angry beat.

Drawing close to my father, I sat down next to him. “I can go and take care of the sheep, Vater. You know I do not mind. And Anton does not want to go.”

“All the more reason he should do it. One day he will learn to serve with a cheerful heart. Until then, he will make himself miserable.”

“And the sheep, Vater. They sense his anger and frustration when he is around them. Have you not noticed that they are not as calm as they used to be?”

“I was a shepherd before you were born, child. I understand that the sheep do better with a shepherd who tends them with a pleasant spirit. Let me worry about Anton. You should know that I won't let any harm come to the sheep.” He pushed up from his chair and slowly straightened his body. “If it will ease your worrying, you can go down to the barn and check on the sheep, but wait a few more minutes. Give Anton time to complete his work before you go down there. I am going upstairs for a rest.”

My eyes remained fastened upon my father as he hobbled across the room. His once-broad shoulders now hunched forward, and his long-legged stride had been replaced by a limping gait. He didn't need to speak of his pain—the changes in his carriage and posture spoke for him.

I'd been watching the clock with great intensity when the kitchen door opened and someone entered. Thinking it was Anton, I jumped up and hurried toward him. My heart thudded an angry beat as I mentally prepared what I would say to him. He couldn't have possibly completed his tasks so quickly.

I charged toward the kitchen but stopped short as I crossed the threshold. “Brother Berndt!” It was all I could manage at the moment. Once my racing heart had recovered, I attempted a smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought you and Dovie might want to go over to the pond for some ice skating this afternoon. I can build a fire, but we don't have to stay too long if you're afraid of getting cold.”

“Me? Cold? I stay out with the sheep half of the winter. Remember?”

“Ja, but Dovie might not be so used to the cold weather.”

Dovie hadn't mentioned ice skating, and I didn't even know she'd met Berndt. She hadn't mentioned him, but then it dawned on me. She'd likely met him when he delivered the bread each morning. Still, it seemed odd he would suddenly appear and ask to go skating. He'd never before invited me, so Dovie had seemingly captured his interest. Still, without knowing how she might feel, I didn't want to agree.

“What brings you here, Brother Berndt?” I hadn't heard my mother's footsteps and startled when she spoke. “You have begun to deliver bread on Sundays?” Her eyebrows arched as she awaited his answer.

“I was thinking it would be a gut afternoon for ice skating. I thought Karlina and Dovie might want to join me.” He touched his hand to the metal skates slung over his shoulder.

My mother removed a coffee cup from the shelf. “I think Dovie is resting. She took charge of the Küche for me while we were at meeting this morning. She can go if you go, also, Karlina. You can ask her if she wants to go with you, but I will be surprised if she has ice skates.” My mother lifted the coffeepot from the back of the stove and filled her cup as I turned and hurried upstairs.

I hoped Dovie wouldn't want to go—at least not now. I needed to check on the sheep, and I knew my mother wouldn't give permission for Dovie to go alone with Berndt. When I opened the door to the bedroom, Dovie startled. She was sitting at the small desk and quickly placed her arm over something. I didn't know if she was writing a letter, but I was surprised she would hide it from me. It appeared she had more secrets than just Berndt. The thought troubled me, but I forced a smile.

“Berndt, the young man who delivers the bread each morning, is downstairs.” I knew the explanation wasn't necessary, but if she wanted to pretend, I could do the same. “He asked if you would like to go ice skating. He included me in the invitation, but only to be polite—and to gain Mother's approval.”

“Oh yes! I was going to tell you that he'd mentioned going this afternoon, but then I forgot. In truth, I didn't expect him to appear.” She fidgeted in her chair. “Besides, I didn't bring ice skates.”

My curiosity continued to build as she scooted to one side as if to keep secret whatever she'd been doing. What was she concealing? “Mutter says you can go if I go along, but first I need to check the sheep. Who knows? Maybe Anton would like to join us.”

She grinned and pointed her finger in my direction. “I knew you cared for him.”

“I don't care for him any more than any other man in the community. He is my brother in the Lord, nothing more.”

“And maybe one day your husband, too! Who can say?”

I sighed and shook my head. “I only suggested asking Anton because I thought it would be rude to exclude him.”

Anton wasn't the type of man I would ever want for a husband. I had promised to pray for him and had kept my promise. Since then, I hadn't observed much change in him. In fact, I hadn't observed anything that made me think he even wanted to change. Who would want a husband like Anton Becker? Certainly not me.

Dovie giggled. “I'm not so sure I believe you.”

“Do you want to go to the pond or not? I can probably borrow ice skates from one of the girls who live nearby.”

Dovie glanced toward the desk. “That seems like a lot of trouble. Maybe Berndt should come back in an hour—after you and Anton finish tending to the sheep.”

Perhaps I'd misjudged and she hadn't expected Berndt. Either that, or she feared I'd see whatever she was hiding. I backed toward the door. “I'll go down and tell him. And you can go on with whatever you're concealing on the desk.” I walked out before she could reply. I didn't want to cause an argument, but I couldn't resist letting her know she hadn't been as sly as she'd thought.

When I entered the kitchen, Berndt stretched to look behind me. Once he realized I'd returned alone, his smile disappeared. “Dovie doesn't want to go skating?”

“She'd like to go, but it would be better if we could meet you after I tend to the sheep. You go ahead and we'll meet you at the pond when I've finished.”

He shrugged and nodded. I didn't miss the disappointment in his eyes. “Tell her I will have a warm fire ready by the time you get there.”

On my way to the barn, I decided I would invite Anton to join us for ice skating. Working with the sheep could be a lonely task, and since coming to our village, he'd had few opportunities to form friendships with any of the young men. An afternoon of skating and an opportunity to visit with Berndt might improve his attitude. The idea pleased me and I quickened my step, but my excitement plummeted when I entered the barn.

One look and I knew Anton had accomplished little, if anything. From the odor and appearance, it was obvious he hadn't mucked the barn. And he'd closed the sheep doors and all of the vents. He'd been told that sheep need good ventilation, even in cold weather. I surmised from the bleating that the sheep weren't any happier than I. What had he been doing for the last hour, and why was the barn closed up tighter than a drum?

“Anton! Are you in here?” In the dim light, I saw his hat slowly rise above one of the wood partitions used during lambing season. When he didn't say anything, I ran the length of the barn. A knot of fear formed deep in the pit of my stomach. Had one of the sheep knocked him over and injured him? Had he been lying out here with a broken bone, or was he bleeding? In those brief moments, I envisioned all sorts of tragic farm accidents that could have rendered him helpless. Panting when I arrived at the stall, I leaned forward to catch my breath. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

He appeared bewildered by my concern. “All is well.”

His calm reply surprised me. How could nothing be wrong? The barn was closed and none of his work had been completed. He shuffled one foot, and I saw the corner of a tablet of paper that he'd been trying to push under the straw. I stepped around him, leaned down, and picked up the pad of paper, and handed it to him.

“You've been sitting back here drawing while the sheep are wandering in this foul barn? And why is everything closed? They should be outdoors. My Vater and I have told you that the sheep doors and the vents should be open if they are inside. They become too warm without fresh air.”

“And then they become sick. I know. You repeat your orders every day. I am tired of hearing the same things over and over.” He kicked the bottom slat of the enclosure. “It is too cold in here with the doors open.”