A Shining Light (2 page)

Preparing for our departure didn't take as long as I'd anticipated. Probably because most of my belongings had remained in the trunks they'd been packed in when we moved to Baltimore. There had never been enough shelves or cupboards to hold all of my clothing or the household goods I'd brought with me. In this small room that we called home, there was little space for more than the three of us. To try to arrange china or knickknacks in the room would have proved disastrous, especially once Lukas had begun walking. Besides, Fred had discouraged unpacking much of anything, promising he'd find a larger place in a better part of town before long. That empty promise he'd made before Lukas was born.

With a sigh, I lowered the lid of the trunk and locked the hasp. “I'm thankful for your help, Mr. Adler.”

Louise's husband glanced at me and shook his head. “I been telling you to call me Bob ever since you moved into this place.”

I forced my lips into an apologetic smile. “I'm sorry, Bob. It doesn't come naturally to me, but that doesn't mean I haven't appreciated all your kindness through the years.”

He grinned. “Wish I could have done more for you and the boy. I'm sorry about Fred, but the Lord knows best. I probably shouldn't say this, but you may be better off without him. He sure had a mean streak running through him when he was into the drink.”

With a grunt, Mr. Adler heaved the last of my trunks from the room and headed down the stairs to a waiting wagon that would transport my son and me to the train station. I grasped Lukas by the hand and glanced around the room one final time.

A rush of unexpected emotion gripped me. Not the feeling of anticipation I'd experienced years ago when leaving the farm with Fred, but one of sorrow for the wasted years that could have been filled with happiness and joy. Sadly, my only delight had been the arrival of our son. But like me, Lukas had been unable to please Fred, so even the joy of our son had been tempered by Fred's anger and discontent.

Lukas tugged on my hand. “Come on, Mama. The wagon will leave without us.”

His childish voice tugged at my heart, and I squeezed his hand. “The driver will wait, but you're right. We must hurry or we'll miss the train.”

Louise stood near the wagon and pulled me into a tight embrace before leaning down to kiss Lukas on the forehead. She motioned to her husband, who was holding a basket in one hand. “I've packed some food for the journey. Don't argue with me—it's the least we can do for you.”

Lukas danced from foot to foot. “Is there bread and jam?”

The older woman tousled his light brown hair. “Now, what kind of friend would I be if I didn't pack you some bread and jam? You be a good boy and help your mama. You've got a long way to travel, so you'll need to behave.”

“I will.” He bobbed his head. “I'm going to a farm and see lots of animals and meet my grandpa.”

Mr. Adler hoisted the boy into the wagon and then assisted me. “Take good care and don't eat all that bread and jam before the train pulls out of the station, Lukas.”

“I won't, Mr. Adler.” The boy grinned and waved as the wagon pulled away from the ramshackle tenement houses.

If my son harbored any grief or sadness, he was keeping it well concealed. I hadn't expected him to grieve the loss of his father, for Fred had never shown the boy any love. Nothing we had done ever pleased him, and though I believed his rants were no more than an excuse to justify his departure for the bars along the wharf, Fred had always blamed everything, from our poverty-stricken existence to his drunken stupors, on everyone but himself.

“Cost ya extra to have me take the trunks into the station, missus. Up to you.” Brows arched, the driver looked at me for further direction.

“I'll need you to take them inside.”

He helped me down from the wagon but held out his hand for payment before unloading the trunks. I carefully counted out the money and waited to follow him inside, for I didn't trust him any more than he trusted me, and I could ill afford to lose my few worldly possessions.

Lukas's excitement mounted as we walked into the busy train station. “Stay by my side,” I instructed while I purchased our tickets.

The man behind the counter pointed the driver to the platform. “You can place her trunks and baggage out there on that loading area to the left of the doors.” Turning his attention back to me, he handed me our tickets. “That's your train waiting out there. You and the boy can go ahead and get on board.”

“You're certain they'll load my belongings?”

His smile was forced. “We do this every day, ma'am. Your luggage will be with you when you arrive in Iowa.” He signaled for the next person in line to step forward.

Marengo, Iowa

Every bone in my body ached when the conductor stepped down the aisle and called out, “Marengo! Next stop, Marengo.” The train ride had been long and tiresome, and I would be thankful when the final leg of our trip would come to an end.

I roused Lukas. “Time to wake up. We're pulling into the train station.”

Lukas rubbed his eyes. “We have to get on another train?”

I smiled and shook my head. “No more trains, but we'll need to take a wagon ride to the farm.”

The answer pleased the boy, and he sat up to peer out the window. “Do you think Grandpa will like me?”

“He will love you very much. You just wait and see. He'll show you how to milk the cows and feed the chickens. You'll learn all sorts of new things. There will be trees to climb and fish in the pond waiting for you to catch.”

He bounced on the hard seat. “And you can cook them for our supper.”

“Indeed I will, but first we need to take that wagon ride.” Still hissing and belching, the train lurched to a stop. I escorted Lukas off the train, took him by the hand, and led him inside the station.

A paunchy old gentleman stood behind the ticket window. “How can I help ya, ma'am?”

I explained my need for a wagon, and he pointed to a lanky
man leaning against a railing outside the station. “That fellow out there is who you need to speak with.”

After a quick thank-you, I crossed the short distance to the door and stepped outside. While keeping an arm around Lukas's shoulder, I made arrangements with the driver, and although I had hoped I might see someone I knew, I immediately realized the improbability of such an idea. I'd never known many folks in Marengo. My parents had purchased most of their supplies at the general store in High Amana. If a trip to Marengo was necessary, my father or one of the hired hands had made the journey.

Once the driver loaded our belongings, he helped Lukas and me into the wagon. Then he circled around the horses and gave each one a gentle pat on the rump.

We hadn't gone far when he looked at me. “You said you wanted to go to the Neumann farm. That right?”

I nodded.

“Guess you best give me directions on how to get there.”

His statement caught me by surprise. It seemed a man offering wagon services at the train station should know his way around these parts. When I questioned him, he shrugged his broad shoulders and grinned. “Man's gotta make a living, and Clint—he's the ticket agent you met back there—he told me there's always folks needin' a ride somewhere. So far, it's worked out pretty good.”

I arched a brow. “But what if one of your passengers didn't know how to direct you? Then what would you do?”

He chuckled and rubbed his jaw. “Then I guess I'd go back to the train station and ask Clint, but so far I haven't had to do that. Jest my good luck that most folks know how to get where they wanna go. And I'm beginning to learn my way around.” He slapped the reins and the horses picked up their pace. “So does this farm we're going to belong to you and your husband?”

“No, it belongs to my father.”

“I see. Well, to tell ya the truth, when I first saw ya, I thought maybe you was one of them Amana folks, what with your dark clothes and all. I went over to one of them villages looking for work when I first came to town, but they wasn't hiring. Told me to come back during harvest in late summer and they might have work for me. All the women was dressed in dark colors.”

Lukas pointed to a herd of cows grazing in a distant pasture. “Are those some of my grandpa's cows?”

“No. We have a ways to go before we'll get to Grandpa's farm. Why don't you rest your head on my shoulder and try to sleep.”

“There's too much to see, Mama. I don't want to sleep.”

As I looked out over the rolling hills and vast farmlands that spread around us like a patchwork quilt, I tried to imagine seeing this countryside for the first time. Little wonder Lukas found the unfolding scene fascinating. For all of his young life, his view had been restricted to tenement housing and an occasional walk to the wharf, where he'd wave good-bye to his father when his vessel would set sail. A while later, weariness won out and he finally nestled against me and fell asleep.

Leaning forward, I squinted and pointed in the distance. “Turn to the left at the fork in the road. It won't be much farther once we turn.”

A mixture of excitement and dread knotted in my stomach. My parents had been opposed to Fred's decision to leave Iowa, and my father had tried his best to convince him we should remain on the farm. He'd likely be quick to point out the folly of Fred's choice. There hadn't been many letters back and forth, but I hoped my appearance with Lukas would heal any scars in our damaged relationship.

We'd traveled for less than an hour when I straightened my
shoulders and peered to the left. “There! That's the farm up ahead.” I leaned forward to gain a better view. Confusion took hold and I raised my hand to block the sun from my eyes. Why couldn't I see the house? Had we taken a wrong turn? Surely I hadn't been gone so long that I'd forgotten my way home.

As the wagon drew near, I let out a gasp and clutched a hand to my chest. In the distance, my gaze settled on what had once been my family's home. Now only ashes and a sandstone foundation remained.

A perplexed look shadowed the driver's face. “You sure this is the right place, ma'am?”

An unexpected tightness squeezed my throat and stifled my response. I could manage no more than a faint nod.

He shifted on the wagon seat and faced me. “You want me to put the baggage in that barn over there? Looks like it might be the best place, since . . .” His voice faded on the breeze. He held tight to the reins with one hand and gestured toward the remnants of the house with the other.

Hoping to rid myself of the lump that had lodged in my throat, I massaged my neck for a moment. “The barn will be fine, thank you.” Had that croaking response come from my lips? I needed to regain my composure, or Lukas would become frightened.

The driver slapped the reins against the horses' backsides, and they slowly trod across the rough, overgrown quarter mile
that lay between the house and barn. I'd never seen the place in such a state of disrepair and wondered how long it had been since the fire.

Had my father simply given up and moved into town? Surely not. He'd never been a quitter. This farm had always been his life. Yet he was nowhere in sight, and it didn't appear that any of his fields had been plowed for spring planting. Perhaps it had been too cold and he was waiting for the arrival of warmer weather before turning the ground.

I shifted toward the wagon driver. “Have you heard anyone speak of Johann Neumann or a fire? Someone in Marengo must have mentioned something about this. I realize we're out a good distance from Marengo, but I know word travels in these parts.”

“I ain't heard nothing that I can recollect, but since I don't know folks around here, the news kind of goes in one ear and out the other.” He pointed to one of his oversized ears and grinned.

In one respect, I understood his response. Much of the gossip that had swirled throughout the tenement building hadn't meant anything to me. Other than Louise and her husband, the occupants had been only a blur of faces. When groups of residents would gather in the stairwells to gossip, I would hear smatterings of their conversations, but I couldn't recall any of it—nor did I want to.

Yet a farmhouse burning to the ground was something entirely different, wasn't it? Would I have forgotten such a piece of disastrous news even if I hadn't known the people or the place where it occurred? I closed my eyes and searched for my own answer. Probably so. In truth, I'd likely heard even worse things, although I couldn't bring one to mind.

“Where's Grandpa?” Lukas's eyes were wide with anticipation as the driver brought the horses to a halt near the barn door.

I didn't fail to notice one of the doors stood partially open. “I'm not sure. Maybe he's inside the barn.”

Lukas clambered down from the wagon as the driver assisted me to the ground. “I'll go look for him.” Without a backward glance, the boy ran pell-mell through the knee-high weeds and disappeared behind the barn door.

The driver strode to the rear of the wagon. “You sure you want to stay here, ma'am? I can take you back to Marengo—no extra charge.”

“Thank you, but we'll stay. I'm sure we'll be fine.” Although my voice bore a confident tone, I wasn't at all sure we'd be fine. In fact, I wasn't sure what we would do if my father didn't soon make an appearance.

I hurried after Lukas to ensure he hadn't met with any unexpected calamity inside the barn, as well as to locate a proper space for our belongings. My father had always been known to keep his barn and outbuildings in good repair, but since he'd made no effort to rebuild the house, I wondered if by now there might be leaks or other damage to the remaining structures.

After stepping inside the barn, I waited for my eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness. A stream of sunlight flowed through the open door but illuminated only a short distance beyond my feet. “Lukas! Where are you?”

“Over here, Mama. I don't see no animals. Where are they?”

“Maybe out in the pasture. I really don't know.” I walked toward the sound of his voice. When I drew near, he turned. “What do you think of this barn, Lukas? Is it as big as you imagined?”

He spread his arms wide and turned in a circle. “It's as big as a ship, isn't it? I wonder what's up there,” he said, pointing to the hayloft.

I chuckled at his enthusiasm. “From what I see so far, probably
not much of anything. Right now, we need to find a good place for our trunks.” Grasping his hand, I strode to the far side of the barn. “Come along and help me.”

He skipped beside me, straw flying beneath his feet while dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight that beamed through every crevice. I located a spot along the west wall, not too far from the door. A place that appeared dry, but since I had no idea how long it had been since the last rain, my assumption might be very wrong. I could only hope for the best.

“You want 'em over there?” The driver's voice and his footfalls echoed in the cavernous barn.

Wheeling around on my heel, I stepped toward him and pointed to the wall. “I think that will be a good spot.”

He settled the trunk on the floor before returning for the next one. Lukas trotted along behind him. “I can carry my mama's small cases.”

The driver waved him forward. “You sure can, and I'd be pleased for your help.”

Lukas's shoulders squared, and his lips curved in a winning smile. I followed behind. Once outside the barn, I tugged the brim of my bonnet forward to block the sun from my eyes and glanced toward the remains of the house.

Had my father gone to High Amana for supplies, or had he left the farm for good? I needed to develop some sort of plan, but I'd wait until tomorrow before making any final decisions.

The thought was enough to remind me of the basket of food I'd continued to replenish since leaving Baltimore. I cupped my hands to my lips. “Be sure you bring the food basket, Lukas!”

When he waved his hat in the air, I knew he'd heard, and I turned to once again to survey the surrounding acreage.

My stomach tightened, yet I fought back the rising fear. This
was my family's homestead. Until tomorrow, I would believe my papa would appear. After that, I didn't know what I'd do, but for tonight we'd sleep in the barn and pretend all was well.

“You certain you want to stay?” the driver asked for the third time since he'd begun unloading the trunks. “I'm not sure 'bout leaving you and the boy out here alone.”

I thanked him for his help, and after assuring him we would be fine, Lukas and I stood side by side and watched the driver and his wagon disappear out of sight.

“What do we do now, Mama?” I heard the tremble in his voice. The driver's concern had been enough to signal all was not well, and Lukas hadn't missed the warning.

“I think we'll have us a picnic right out here in the sunshine, and then we'll pull some of the quilts from our trunk and make a cozy spot to sleep.” I squeezed his shoulders. “We're going to have a grand adventure tonight.”

“But what if Grandpa doesn't come home?”

“We'll ask God to direct us, Lukas. Everything will be fine. Just you wait and see.”

Morning arrived with no sign of my father throughout the night or this morning. With no indication of him or of any animals on the property, I became certain he'd decided to leave the farm. Maybe for only a short time until he could make plans to rebuild. Perhaps he'd made arrangements with the farmers in West Amana to care for the stock during his absence. He could trust them to treat the animals well. But until his return, I would need to purchase a few provisions, and my funds were meager.

While Lukas slept, I lifted the bar from across the barn doors
and stepped outside. “At least the weather is warm,” I murmured, thankful we hadn't arrived in the dead of winter.

“
Guten Morgen
! Willkommen!
”

I startled and turned in the direction of the shouted greeting. A broad-shouldered man who appeared to be near my father's age strode toward me. He waved his wide-brimmed straw hat overhead and offered a friendly smile as he approached. Along with the fact that he'd spoken in German, his wide suspenders, dark trousers, and jacket gave proof he was a member of the Amana Colonies. I guessed he'd come from West Amana, since a portion of land owned and farmed by the Amana colonists who lived in West abutted my father's acreage.

Using the familiar German I'd learned during my childhood years, I walked toward him and returned his greeting.

“How can I help you?” He glanced toward the farm. “Your horses and wagon are in our barn?”

I frowned at his question. “
Your
barn? This land belongs to my father, Johann Neumannn. I am Andrea Neumannn Wilson, his daughter.” I gestured toward the barn. “My son, Lukas, is inside. We have returned home from Baltimore. My father didn't write and tell me about the fire.” I let my gaze settle on the sandstone foundation that had once supported our frame house.

“
Ja
, the fire, it was very bad.” His voice was as solemn as his dark brown eyes. “I am sorry you must come home to find such sadness.”

“Danke.”
Not wanting to reveal the tears beginning to form in my eyes, I looked away. “My father? I arrived yesterday but haven't seen him. Did he decide to leave the farm? Do you know?”

“First you should let me introduce myself. I am Brother Heinrich Bosch. I live in West Amana. Some of our men were plowing yesterday and said they saw a wagon arrive on our land. I came to
see if their imaginations were working too hard.” He tapped his finger to the side of his head and smiled before glancing in the direction of the barn. “This is your son?”

I turned and gestured for Lukas to join me. His legs flew like a windmill propelling in a brisk wind. In a few brief moments, he came to a halt beside me, his breath coming in gasps. He narrowed his blue eyes and angled his head to one side. “Are you my grandpa?”

Confusion shone in Brother Bosch's eyes.

“Lukas has never met his grandfather,” I explained and then turned to Lukas and shook my head. “No, this is Brother Bosch. He lives in West Amana.” I pointed in the direction of the village.

“Does he know Grandpa?”

“I haven't yet had time to ask him. Why don't you go back into the barn and shake out the blankets for me. You can fold them and put them back in the trunk.”

Lukas inched closer to me. “But I—”

“Please do as I've asked, Lukas. I'll come in and get you in a few minutes.” I touched his shoulder and gently nudged him back in the direction of the barn.

Lukas shuffled off, but not without glancing over his shoulder several times.

“He is a fine boy.” Brother Bosch settled his straw hat atop his graying hair. “His
Vater
? He is with you?”

“
Nein
. His father is dead. He died at sea.” If the older man was surprised by my emotionless response, he gave no indication. “That's why we returned home.” I hesitated and looked into his dark brown eyes. “You said something about this being your barn. What did you mean?”

He motioned to a leafy elm not far from the barn. “Since there is no place to sit, we can at least go over and stand in the shade, ja?”

I nodded and did my best to match his long-legged stride. I was happy to accommodate his wish, but more than shade I wanted answers to my questions. We had almost arrived at the tree when I said, “You know my father?”

He nodded. “I did. He was a hard worker and a
gut
man.”

I stopped in my tracks. Brother Bosch had spoken of my father in the past tense. Either he had left the farm or he was . . . dead. Either way, I needed to know. I grasped the older man by his sleeve. “Is he alive?”

He looked down at me and shook his head. “Nein. He died in the fire.”

I gasped and clutched one arm around my waist. I thought I might be sick. With a gentle touch, Brother Bosch led me to the shade of the tree, removed his jacket, and spread it beneath the elm.

He pointed to the jacket. “You should sit. I am sorry to be the one to tell you this sad news about your Vater. Is bad enough you did not know about the fire, but . . .”

His voice trailed off while a group of baby birds in a nest chirped overhead. A fat robin circled, settled at the edge of the nest, and dropped food into the gaping beaks of her babies. A stark reminder that I would soon need to find a way to feed my son. We had little food and even less money. Although I'd attempted to devise a plan as I lay awake last night, my efforts had been unsuccessful. I couldn't farm this land by myself, but perhaps I could sell the acreage. The very idea reminded me of Brother Bosch's earlier remark regarding “his” barn.

A surge of guilt attacked. I'd learned only moments ago that my father was dead, but instead of mourning his loss, I was already making plans to sell his land. Yet what was I to do? Just as those baby birds were dependent upon their mother, Lukas depended upon me. My grief would have to wait. Right now, I needed answers.