A Simple Change (5 page)

Matthew shoved his hand into the air, and I nodded at him. “I think she should do whatever she wants.”

“That sounds like something a boy would say,” Caroline declared. “If she believes God wants her to go with her family, she should go. If not, she should stay behind and live at a boardinghouse, where she'll meet a single man, fall in love, and get married.”

I chuckled at Caroline's far-reaching solution.

Nettie poked Caroline in the arm. “I don't want her to get married. I want her to keep teaching the children forever, so they won't miss her.”

“Forever?” Matthew chortled. “The children will grow up and
leave the school, so why should she stay forever, Nettie? That's not a good ending to the story.” He turned toward me. “How are you going to end the story, Miss Rhoder?”

My stomach clenched in a tight knot and I forced a smile. “This story isn't really make-believe. You see, it's about me and my parents.”

“Oh no!” Nettie squealed. “You're not going to leave us, are you?” Tears glistened in her brown eyes. “Is Mr. Ludwig going to be our teacher?”

“I'm not certain who will be your new teacher, but I'm sure it will be someone you'll like even more than me—at least that is my hope. Until a new teacher begins, you'll probably go into Miss Manchester's class.”

A rumble of moans and gasps circulated around me. I knew the children would be unhappy joining the older children in Miss Manchester's class, but I believed it to be the only solution. Although he'd done nothing to find a substitute, Mr. Ludwig wouldn't step in to fill my position. He'd consider it beneath his position as the school director. Even though Miss Manchester was strict, she did exhibit occasional affection toward her students. Neither of them would be a good fit for this class, but the children would adapt to Miss Manchester with greater ease.

Bertie's lower lip quivered and she stood. “Will you ever come back to see us, Miss Rhoder?”

Making false promises wouldn't be fair, yet I couldn't leave these children without hope. Their eyes were filled with anticipation as they awaited my answer. I sent a silent prayer heavenward that my words would be filled with truth and hope.

“We never know what each day will bring, but if there is any way possible, I will return to visit you.” I held up a finger when the children started to cheer. “You must remember that I don't
know when that might be. It could be only a month or so after I depart, or it could be a very long time. While I'm away, it would make me very happy to know that you are all doing your very best in your studies.”

Caroline pulled Bertie onto her lap. “Maybe you could write us a letter once in a while and tell us about Iowa and your new students.”

“You won't like them more than us, will you?” A tear rolled down Bertie's plump cheek.

“I don't know how often, but I promise I'll write to you as time permits.” I held my arms open to Bertie and she raced forward. She crawled onto my lap and I rested my chin on her head. “You need not worry about other students just yet, Bertie. I won't be a schoolteacher in Iowa.”

After dealing with the children's questions and tears earlier in the day, I hoped my talk with Nathan would go well.

Standing in the doorway, he removed my note from his pocket. “I hope this invitation to come to the house this evening is good news.”

I sighed and ushered him inside.

“From that sigh, I'm surmising you have nothing pleasant to report.”

“Did I sigh?” I did my best to sound cheerful. “Would you care for something to drink? A cup of tea or coffee?”

His frown returned. “You've obviously forgotten I don't drink tea.”

“Of course you don't. I know better.” I nodded toward the parlor. “Would you prefer to sit in the parlor or on the porch? It's a lovely evening.”

“The parlor is fine. We're already indoors and I'm curious about why you sent for me.” He tapped his finger on the note I'd sent earlier in the day. “Your father has heard from the elders, hasn't he?”

I sat down on one of the chairs and Nathan sat opposite me. “Yes. He received a letter yesterday. They've agreed to our return.”

His eyebrows dropped low. “This may be a return for your parents, but it isn't a return for you, Jancey. You've never even seen that place.” He leaned forward and rested his arms across his thighs. “I hope you're going to tell me that you've decided to remain in Kansas City.”

There was a pleading tone in his voice—one I'd never before heard. This wasn't going to be easy. “I can't, Nathan. For now, I must go with my parents.”

“Does that mean you're going only for a short time and then you'll return?”

A dull ache spread across the base of my skull, and I massaged my neck. “I'm going to repeat what I told the schoolchildren earlier today. I don't know what the future holds in store for me. There may come a day when I return, but I don't know if or when that will be.”

“And you expect me to wait indefinitely?” He pressed his lips together and waited.

“No. I could never ask that of anyone. We have no formal commitment to each other.”

“We would if you'd agree to marry me. You know how much I care for you. We could have a good life here in Kansas City, and I think your parents would approve. I'm sure they believe you deserve a life of your own.” His anger vanished and he pinned me with a soulful gaze. “I'm asking you to stay here and marry me.”

I didn't know which was more difficult to bear: his anger or his beseeching proposal. “Marriage is for a lifetime, Nathan. This period of separation could prove beneficial for both of us. If we are truly meant to be together, our feelings for each other will withstand the time we are apart. There's a saying that absence makes the heart grow fonder.” I hoped my response would ease the pain I'd caused him.

“I'm already sure of my love for you, and I don't believe that saying. We haven't seen each other for three weeks. During that time, you've become even more distant.”

He'd been the one who'd decided to stay away, but reminding him wouldn't help matters. “I'm sorry if I appear aloof. That isn't my intention. It has been a long and tiring day. The children were troubled to learn of my plans, and you are equally worried. My head aches, and there is nothing I can say that will make you or the children feel better about my plans.”

“So there is no hope you'll change your mind?” When I shook my head, he jumped to his feet. “Then I suppose I should leave so you can take some headache powder and rest.”

I didn't object to his departure. Truth be told, I was thankful he'd decided further argument wouldn't help his cause. When we approached the front door, I touched his sleeve. “Thank you for your kindness and understanding, Nathan.”

His lips curved in a wry smile. “If you think I understand, you're clearly mistaken.” He opened the door and glanced over his shoulder. “Should you have a change of heart, you know how to reach me.”

I stood watching until he was out of sight and then closed the door on the life I'd known and loved for all of my twenty-two years.

Chapter 5

May 1881
Middle Amana, Iowa

My plan had been to glean further information about Amana during our train travels. Instead, I spent the hours caring for Mother. We'd been on the train only a short time when she became weak and needed to rest. Fortunately the doctor had given my father medication to use if she experienced difficulty during the journey. Although the medicine wouldn't do anything to cure her, at least it could relieve some of her discomfort and permit periods of fitful sleep. She ate only what I forced upon her, and when we finally arrived in the colonies, she appeared weak and pale.

Always a man who attended to details, my father had planned every aspect of our journey as carefully as any business transaction for his company. He had notified the elders of the date and time of our arrival in early May, and Brother Herman, one of the
elders from Middle Amana, met our train. He was a kind man with sparkling blue eyes and a quick smile, and he welcomed us as though we were family. In some ways, I suppose he viewed us as such. Father had explained to me that everyone living in the colonies was considered equal—all brothers and sisters in Christ. And since I had no brothers or sisters, I found the idea appealing. Still, I wondered whether a village of strangers would ever become like true relatives to me.

My father had encouraged me to keep an open mind, and I agreed to do my best. With Mother ill, and I unsure of how I should behave in this new world, having brothers and sisters would be a good thing, even if I didn't know their names. But making the transition from English to German would take some doing. I hadn't understood my parents' determination to have me learn to read, write, and speak German when I was a child, but now I was pleased they'd insisted. While many of my friends elected to study French, I'd continued my German studies throughout my years in school, but I'd used it little since beginning my position at the orphanage. I would need my parents' help, for the dialect spoken here was different from the formal speech I'd learned in school. I leaned close and expressed my concern to Mother.

“In no time, you will have the language mastered.” She spoke in German rather than English and I arched my brows. “Best to begin right now. We will speak no more English.”

Brother Herman helped Father load our trunks into the wagon. “There is nothing more? You brought no furniture? I was told you were bringing your own furniture.”

“The rest of our belongings will arrive on the train tomorrow.”

“That is
gut
. Will be easier to adjust to your new house with some of your own belongings.” He chuckled. “I did not mean the
house is new—just that it is new to the three of you. You will share a house with the Hetrig family. Do you know them?”

My father hiked a shoulder. “I'm not sure. The name doesn't sound familiar, but we have been away a long time, Brother Herman.”

“Share?” This was the first I'd heard of sharing a house with another family, but perhaps they would have a daughter close to my age—one who could help me learn about the village and my new life in the colonies.

My father patted my hand. “Do not worry. It will be our own apartment—we will have separate rooms.”

Before I had a chance to tell Father that the revelation had merely caught me by surprise, Brother Herman bobbed his head and smiled. “
Ja
, you will be on the first floor because it will be easier for you, Sister Almina.” The elder glanced over his shoulder at my mother. “That's what we decided.”

Some of the color had returned to Mother's cheeks, and she dipped her head in an approving nod. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Brother Herman.” She continued to rally as we traveled from the train station toward our new house. She said it was due to the fresh air and the happiness of being home again. If that was true, perhaps she'd continue to feel even better once we settled into our new lives.

I stared in wonder as the horses clopped along the dirt road, pulling us into this unique new world—at least that's what it was to me. Rows of well-kept brick and frame homes lined the streets. The wooden sidewalks were flanked by thick unpainted board fences that produced a rare uniformity and style to the village. A variety of trees shaded the yards, and just like at home, flowers had begun to poke through the soft dirt that flanked the
board walkways leading to each of the houses. Wide trellises were attached to the fronts and sides of the homes, and thick grapevines snaked their way through the wooden slats.

“You don't have enough land to plant your grapes?”

Brother Herman tipped his head back and laughed at my question. “
Ach!
I can see you know little about us. We have more than enough land for all of our crops—over twenty-six thousand acres are owned by our people. The grapevines on the houses are to help keep the houses cool during the summer and to provide extra grapes for jelly the sisters make each year. There is a large vineyard where we plant the grapes for making the wine.” His broad smile revealed a row of even white teeth. “I am thinking you will help pick the grapes this year and sort the onions. Those are fun times, for sure. We are all joyful when it is time to harvest the grapes. The little ones sometimes end up with aching bellies because they eat more than they put in their baskets. And the sisters enjoy their time together sorting the onions.”

While I'd never before helped with such tasks, I could imagine the laughter and visiting that the women and children must enjoy as they worked side by side in the fields. How my little students at the orphanage would relish such freedom. My heart squeezed at the thought. I could almost picture Matthew or towheaded Nettie plucking fruit from vines that had turned heavy with fruit. No doubt they would devour many of those grapes by the time they finished a day of picking.

I pulled my thoughts back to the present as the wagon rolled past several two-story brick homes, some larger than others, a number of thin-slatted frame homes that bore no sign of having ever been painted, and an occasional sandstone house. All appeared neat and tidy, but I'd seen few people outdoors. No women sweeping their
porches or little children playing in the spring sunshine. None of the usual city sounds that had filled my ears each day back home.

I nudged my father. “Where are all the people who live in these houses?” The tranquility of the village surprised me. I'd expected to see women bustling in and out of shops, children tugging on their mother's skirts, and men rushing to and fro from one work site or meeting to another.

Brother Herman twisted on his perch. “They are at their work, just like in the place where you lived, ja?” He waved to a young woman carrying an infant, who gestured in return. “The women with babies are at home, but most of the sisters are busy preparing meals in the kitchen houses or working in the gardens. The men are in the barns and fields, caring for animals and tilling fields to plant crops, while others are at work in the woolen mill, lumber yard, or grist mill. All must work to provide for the needs of our people.” He bobbed his head. “You will soon learn how everything is done.”

“Do the people choose what work they will perform?”

My father's eyebrows scrunched low over his eyes, a sure sign he wanted me to cease questioning Brother Herman, but I couldn't seem to help myself. I wanted to know more about this new way of life.

When Brother Herman hesitated a moment, I wondered if, like my father, he thought I'd overstepped the proper limits of good manners. “The work is assigned by the elders in the villages, but we match the ability of the worker to the job. When the children are young, they go to school. In the morning they learn from books, and in the afternoon they begin to learn a trade. If they excel at working with animals, weaving baskets, making brooms, making clocks, or tailoring, then they continue with that work when they are older. You understand?”

“What if you don't like the work you're assigned? Are you given permission to do some other job?”

“Much would depend on where workers are needed, but we try to do our best to keep everyone content with their labor. For a man to find satisfaction in his labor is a gut thing.”

I wanted to ask if I could visit the school and possibly assist the teacher, but I knew this wasn't the proper time. Even though women weren't permitted to teach, perhaps I'd be allowed to help in some way. It seemed a shame to let my education and experience go to waste. I hoped I'd have a chance to speak to one of the elders about my job assignment later in the day.

Brother Herman pushed his hat back from his forehead. “For you, we have considered your
Mutter
's illness and know you will want to help with her care.”

“Yes, that's very important to me.” His remark caused me to wonder if caring for Mother would be my only work.

“Ja, is gut to care for one another, but you will also help one of the sisters with cleaning the quarters where the outside workers are housed. It is next to the woolen mill and not so far from where you and your parents will be living. Sister Margaret needs extra help, and the elders thought work close to home would be a gut choice for you.”

I hoped Sister Margaret would also think me a good choice. I didn't have a lot of experience performing household duties, but I was pleased I wouldn't be far from home so I could frequently check on my mother. “I am pleased you were so thoughtful in your decision.” I leaned a little closer. “Who are these outside workers you mentioned, Brother Herman?”

He slapped the leather reins, and the horses immediately picked up their pace. “Some are seasonal workers who come here to help
harvest or plant. They stay only a short time and then move on. There are others who work in the woolen mill or at other more permanent jobs, and they stay with us longer. We have enough work to keep some busy throughout the year.”

His explanation surprised me. For some reason I hadn't imagined anyone living in the villages unless he had joined the community. “And they all live in the building near the woolen mill?”

He shook his head. “Not all of the outsiders, but all the men who work in the woolen mill in Middle live there.”

“With their families?”

He frowned. “
Nein
. They are all single men—no families. Would not be proper. You will see how it is. Sister Margaret will show you what is expected and answer your questions.”

I leaned back and folded my hands in my lap. I wanted to ask more questions, but Brother Herman had sent me a clear message: Any further questions should be directed to Sister Margaret.

The horses immediately obeyed when Brother Herman pulled back on the reins. The wagon came to a halt in front of a large brick house, much like many of the others we'd passed along the way. Wooden flower boxes flanking the porch appeared to be filled with fresh dirt, and an occasional daffodil added a hint of color along the walkway. I was struck by the uniform neatness—so different from the city.

“Here we are. Your new home. I think you will find your space comfortable. Once your furniture arrives, it will be just like home.”

Even though this house wasn't at all similar to our home in Kansas City, it was attractive, and the peaceful surroundings would provide a restful atmosphere for Mother. And Brother Herman was right: Once our furniture arrived and we'd arranged our belongings throughout the rooms, a sense of home would prevail.

Brother Herman waved us forward. “This way. Follow me.”

After helping Mother from the wagon, my father supported her as she climbed the two steps into the small foyer of our new home. Two choices awaited us: Walk straight ahead and up the stairway or enter a door to the left of the front entrance. Brother Herman stood beside the closed door until all three of us squeezed inside.

With a bright smile, he pushed down on the heavy metal door latch. “Welcome to your new home.”

I waited until Mother and Father entered before I stepped inside. I could feel Brother Herman's intense gaze upon me as I looked around the room. Except for a table and two chairs at the far end of the room and a multicolored woven rug that covered the majority of the pinewood floor, the room was bare. If the train didn't arrive tomorrow, we'd be living without a sofa or comfortable chairs, and I worried about Mother's comfort.