A Hidden Truth (6 page)

CHAPTER 6

Karlina

My excitement mounted as we climbed the steps to the room I would share with Dovie. She possessed an air of sophistication that I had noticed among the visitors I'd occasionally seen at the train station in Main Amana. Yet never before had I visited with anyone from the outside world. And realizing that I would have Dovie all to myself every evening filled me with more joy than I had thought possible. Though her German dialect was a little different from our own, I had no problem understanding her—and soon she would understand us with greater ease, too. For a brief time, most new arrivals to the colonies had difficulty with our mixture of dialects. Even from village to village there were slight differences in our language, for the immigrants who had established our original settlement of Ebenezer in New York had gathered from several German provinces, as well as Alsace-Lorraine and a small number from Switzerland. Our dialect had evolved and changed, becoming a mixture of those original languages.

If she remained in East long enough, Dovie's proper German might even change a bit. I didn't know her very well just yet, but I already liked her and hoped she would remain with us for quite some time. Though Mother had warned me Dovie wouldn't be here for long, I couldn't help but recollect that my mother was sometimes wrong. I hoped this would be one of those times.

While we rearranged the furniture to make room for Dovie's belongings, I answered her questions and asked some of my own. She wanted to know about life in the colonies, and I wanted to know about life outside. I was awed by her description of a forty-three-foot-high fountain in Cincinnati—a gift from the citizens of Munich—and her freedom to visit parks, museums, and libraries. I laughed when she told me about the wienerwurst man who carried a large tin full of sausages and strolled through the streets and parks each day, selling them to eager customers. And though I tried my best, I couldn't picture the churches with colored-glass windows and steeples that rose toward heaven—so unlike our own plain meetinghouses that were free of adornment. We even called them meeting halls rather than churches in order to maintain a feeling of simplicity.

Pushing my dresses closer together in the wardrobe, I made space for Dovie's gowns. I looked over my shoulder. “We have nothing like that in the colonies.”

“No churches?”

“Oh ja, we have meeting halls, but not like the ones you are talking about. Unless you knew it was our meeting hall, you wouldn't guess it is where we worship. Our meeting halls are much like our people—very plain and free from adornment.”

Dovie stared at me, her forehead wrinkled in disbelief. “I can't imagine such a church. The only ones I've ever seen have been quite beautiful. Is this because you can't afford the additional costs?”

“Nein. It is because our people believe we should keep our thoughts upon the Lord when we worship, not be distracted by beautiful decorations or adornment.”

“I suppose there is soundness to that idea, but I think it would be difficult for me to become accustomed to such a change.” She reached into her trunk and withdrew several dresses, all in dark colors. I was momentarily surprised, but then remembered that she was in mourning.

She unfolded one of the dresses and shook out the wrinkles. “With all of my dark dresses, I won't be quickly mistaken for a visitor.”

I didn't disagree, but whether she donned a dark-colored dress or one of bright red, everyone in East would know that she was an outsider, for we all knew one another.

She dug deeper inside the trunk, removed a framed picture, and held it out to me. “This is a picture of my mother and father, taken two years ago.”

I stared at the photograph of a tall man with his hand resting on the shoulder of an attractive woman who was wearing a white waist with ruffles at the neck. “You look a great deal like your Mutter.”

Dovie traced her finger around the frame. “That's what everyone says, but I think my mother was much prettier than I am.”

“Maybe, but no person can take credit for their outward appearance—that is God-given. Some of the most beautiful people I know are not lovely on the outside, but their inner beauty shines so bright that I consider them beautiful.”

“Do you really believe people look only at inward beauty?”

“Nein. But I believe the world would be a better place if we could love and accept one another. Don't you agree?”

Dovie placed the photograph on the small bedside table. “I do, but I think you would find the practice much more difficult to apply outside of the colonies.”

I shrugged. “I have never been anywhere else, but you may be right. Sometimes it's hard to love others, even here in the colonies.” She chuckled. “I try my best, but sometimes I don't do so gut.” She snapped open a sheet and tucked it around the mattress. “My patience has been sorely tried since our new shepherd recently arrived.”

Dovie caught the corner of the pale blue quilt and spread it into place. “What's wrong with the shepherd?”

“I had hoped he would come to us with experience and be gut help. Instead, he knows nothing of sheep or their care and must be taught everything.”

“At least he will learn the way your father prefers the work done. I remember my father talking about a man who came to work for his company, and this man wanted to do things the way he'd learned in his old job. Father said it was harder to change that man's old ways than to start with a new worker.”

There was certainly truth in what Dovie had said. Perhaps I shouldn't be so disappointed over Anton's lack of ability. Besides, it had permitted me more time in the barns. “Do you like animals and being outdoors?” I plopped down on the bed.

“I've never had a pet, but one of my friends had a dog that I liked very much. As for the outdoors, I enjoy growing flowers, and I always helped my mother with the small vegetable garden she planted in our backyard each year.” Dovie touched her fingers to the tiny stitches that formed a tulip pattern on the blue coverlet. “This coverlet is beautiful. The stitches so tiny and perfect. Did you make it?”

I shivered and shook my head. “Nein. My sewing and cooking skills are very poor. Instead, I enjoy working with the sheep and being outdoors as much as possible.” I shrugged my shoulders. “A big disappointment to my Mutter but a great help to my Vater. And right now, he is the one who needs the most help.”

A bell rang in the distance, and I jumped up from the bed. “That is the bell that lets us know we should prepare for supper. You will soon learn about the bells. They help us know when to depart for work, when to return for the noonday meal, when to go back to work, when to go to meeting—when to go everyplace we need to go.” I took her hand. “The men and women eat at separate tables, so you should sit beside me.” I noted the flicker of fear in her eyes and squeezed her hand. “You will be fine. Just do what I do.”

Dovie forced a smile, but the fear remained in her eyes.

I preceded her down the steps and into the kitchen. “Do you need our help, Mutter?”

In spite of the freezing wind that whistled through the trees, perspiration dotted my mother's forehead. She wrapped her apron around the handle of a kettle and moved it to the worktable. “Not today. Dovie is our guest. You take her to the dining room and explain our customs.”

Dovie inched forward. “I am happy to help, Cousin Louise.”

Worry creased my mother's forehead. She took pride in serving meals on time. To stop and visit or give directions to a novice in her kitchen would cause undesired delay. Reaching for a ladle, she spooned a thick stew into one of the large tureens. “Thank you, Dovie, but not this evening. Perhaps tomorrow. You go into the dining room with Karlina.”

If my mother's refusal pained Dovie, she kept it well hidden and followed me into the other room, where we stood and waited until everyone had entered. The men stood at their tables, the women and children at theirs. Prayers were offered before we took our seats.

While Sister Marta filled and carried bowls to our table, Dovie leaned close to me. “Where is the shepherd you spoke of earlier?” I placed my index finger to my lips and gave a slight shake of my head. Dovie grinned and poked my side with her elbow. “Do tell me. I want to see which one he is.”

Sister Bertha cleared her throat and sent a disapproving look in our direction. Instead of remaining silent, Dovie smiled and arched forward. “Hello. I'm Dovie Cates. My mother grew up here in East Amana. Perhaps you knew her—Barbara Cates. Her name was Lange before she married, Barbara Lange.”

Sister Bertha's frown deepened. “I understand you are a guest, but we speak only when necessary during our meals.”

Dovie's jaw snapped together, and her lips tightened until they curled inward and disappeared. I reached beneath the table and gripped Dovie's hand. She squeezed in return, and in that moment, we sealed our friendship.

For the remainder of the meal, Dovie watched the ladies at our table. If one of them took a second helping, she took a second helping; if one of them salted their food, she salted her food; if one of them held up a glass for more water, she did the same. She made certain she did nothing that would produce any cause for criticism. When we'd finished our stewed apples, we stood to be dismissed with prayer.

The moment the prayer ended, I leaned and whispered into Dovie's ear, “Anton is the tall one with the dark hair.” Just then Anton turned and saw both of us staring at him. He grinned and raised his hand in a slight wave. “Ach! He saw us looking at him.” I grabbed Dovie's hand and pulled her toward the stairs. “Quit looking at him!”

“Why? He's quite handsome and he waved at you. That means he likes you.”

“I don't want him to think we are talking about him. He waved because he saw us staring at him, and he didn't know what else to do.” I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. If Anton thought we were discussing him, he'd be sure to ask me when I met him in the barn tomorrow. And what would I say if he did?
Dovie wanted to see the shepherd who doesn't know how to handle the sheep.
Or,
Dovie thinks you are quite handsome and that you must like me since you waved at us.

“You're wrong. I could tell from the way he smiled and waved that he cares for you.”

I pinned Dovie with a stern look. “Anton is here to work with the sheep. I am not yet certain, but I believe he is here for his year of separation.” While keeping my voice low, I continued walking her toward the stairs. “I do know he is a man with a temper, and that does not make for a gut husband. Besides, in the colonies, we do not think marriage is necessary for us to enjoy an abundant life.”

Dovie stopped midstep and turned to face me. A deep V had formed between her eyes. “What does all of
that
mean?”

Reaching around Dovie, I pushed down on the heavy metal latch and opened the door to my room. After a quick glance toward the stairs, I nudged her forward. “Let's go inside.” Who could say when Anton might bound up the stairs. Over the last few days, he'd begun visiting with my father in our parlor after supper and walking with our family to prayer meeting each night. I wouldn't want him to overhear our conversation.

Once the door closed behind us, I sighed with relief. “What part do you want me to explain?”

“About separation and abundant single lives—all of it. There are lots of married people here, aren't there?”

“Ja, that is true. But we believe that if a person can remain single, it is better.”

Dovie's frown deepened. “But why? What makes it better?”

“You have more time. When you are not working, your time can be devoted to worshiping the Lord rather than caring for your family.”

“But the Bible says man needs a—”

I held up my hand. “I know what the Bible says about man needing a helpmeet. Our elders permit marriage. But to make sure the couple is sincere in their wish to wed one another, they go through a year of separation. Usually the man is sent to another village, and the couple can see each other only when time permits. Which isn't very often.”