A Simple Change (11 page)

The warm, humid air wrapped around me like a damp glove as I hurried along the trail. I stopped several times to gain my bearings. The rains had washed through, leaving portions of the trail rugged and undefined. The odor of musty leaves and damp earth filled my nostrils as I pushed aside tree branches and continued onward.

My spirits soared when I finally stepped out from a cluster of overgrown bushes and caught sight of the pond. I'd made it. I looked about, uncertain where Thomas would be, but I didn't have to wait long. He was standing near the water skipping rocks across the pond. He looked up and loped toward me with long, easy strides.

I narrowed my eyes to get a better look as he approached. He didn't appear familiar. He came to a halt a short distance in front of me and swiped a hank of tawny hair off his forehead. His eyes were as blue as a summer sky, and there was no denying he'd been blessed with rugged good looks. I guessed him to be at least three inches taller than my father. He cast a large shadow, and I felt quite small and somewhat frightened in his presence.

“Mr. Kingman?”

He chuckled and cocked a brow. “Were you expectin' to find anyone else out here?”

“No.” My voice trembled.

I should have told him that someone would be joining me in a few minutes and we needed to make our discussion quick. Instead, I had just admitted I'd told no one, and I was now at his mercy. What if he decided to harm me? I should run. My brain told my feet to move, but nothing happened. I stood as still as a statue.

“You don't need to be afraid of me, Miss Jancey. I don't mean you no harm.”

“That's good to hear, Mr. Kingman.” I swallowed hard. “I need to get back home, so we need to hurry.”

“Right.” He nodded and stepped a little closer. “That picture you saw is my sister, Kathleen, when she was 'bout eight years old. She'd be 'bout fourteen now. Our parents died and I couldn't take care of her on my own so I took her to the Charity Home. I promised I'd come back and get her when I could.”

His eyes radiated emotion, and I believed he was sincere in his promise to reunite with his sister. Though I wasn't always correct in my assessment of others, he appeared to be a young man who'd suffered a great deal of sorrow in his life.

He yanked a piece of tall grass from the ground and shoved it between his teeth. “Trouble is, when I finally got back there, she was gone. Nobody in that place would help me. Fact is, they wouldn't tell me much of nothing. Said it wasn't any of my business—that I had signed my name on the papers givin' up any rights when I left her there.” He yanked the piece of grass from between his lips and tossed it to the ground. “That place needs to
change its name 'cause they sure don't show much charity. Only thing I ever got was a door slammed in my face.”

I wasn't certain anyone who worked at the home would have slammed a door in Mr. Kingman's face, but he'd made his point: He hadn't been well received. I'd worked at the orphanage long enough to know there were occasions when family members returned, but those events were rare. More often, the children never saw or heard from those who'd left them. I didn't pass judgment, for I knew the children were likely better fed and attended to at the Charity Home than with parents or siblings who were without means to care for them.

“I'm sorry for your difficulties, Mr. Kingman, but—”

“Call me Thomas. Ain't never been called Mr. Kingman, and it makes me feel downright uncomfortable.” He gestured toward a stand of trees. “Why don't we go over there instead of standing out here in the open? You can sit on my jacket so your dress don't get stained.”

“Thank you for your kind offer.” I walked alongside him, but when we reached the trees, I remained standing. “I'll just lean against this tree. I'm not tired.”

One side of his mouth curved in a perceptive grin. “Easier to run off if you stay on your feet—that the idea?”

I was surprised he'd so easily realized my motivation. I considered a denial, but he was shrewd. He'd see through any excuse I might offer. “Yes. No need to deny that I know I've placed myself in a bit of an unsafe situation, Mr. King—Thomas.”

He chuckled. “It's more than a bit unsafe, but like I said afore, I don't mean you no harm.” He dropped to the ground and looked up at me. “The only thing I want from you is some help findin' out where my sister might be. You think you can do that? Help
me find Kathleen? She's a sweet girl, Miss Jancey, and I want her back with me. I'm able to take care of her now.”

“I'm not sure what I can do. From what you've told me, she was gone from the home before I began teaching there. I do know one teacher who would have been there and might have known Kathleen. I could write and ask her if she can tell me any of the particulars concerning her whereabouts.”

“I thank you, Miss Jancey. I'll be forever—”

I stretched out my arm to stave off his thanks. “I didn't say she'd be able to help or that she'd even be willing to answer my questions—only that I'd write a letter. You must remember that the records are not the best, and employees are not permitted to reveal information without permission from the director. However, she may have known Kathleen and possess some personal knowledge as to her whereabouts.”

He nodded. “It ain't much, but it gives me a little hope. More than I had afore.”

“You said you could support Kathleen if she came to live with you, Thomas, but you understand she can't come to Middle Amana, don't you? You'd have to give up your job at the woolen mill—unless you think she might be hired to help in the gardens or in one of the kitchens. Is that what you plan?”

“Naw.” He stood and dug the toe of his boot in the dirt. “I have me enough money saved for us to begin over. No need for the folks at the orphanage to worry about jobs or money. If you find Kathleen for me, we'll be leaving and making us a new home elsewhere.” He looked up with a quizzical look in his eyes. “How come you came here, Miss Jancey? Can't believe you'd rather live here instead of Kansas City.”

I hadn't planned to reveal much about my past to Thomas, but
it seemed rude to avoid his question. Especially after all he'd told me about himself. Without giving an extraordinary amount of detail, I explained my parents had previously lived in the colonies and, due to my mother's illness, had decided to return.

“I wanted to continue helping care for my mother. To have her so far away during her illness would have proved impossible for me.”

“The minute I read your letter, I knew you had a good heart.” He leaned one shoulder against the trunk of an elm tree. “Ain't nothin' more important than family. We gotta do everything in our power to take care of 'em. We got that in common, Miss Jancey.”

The sun had begun to lower on the horizon. I'd been there longer than planned and needed to return before Mother began to worry. “I have to go, but I'll write the letter and post it tomorrow. I can't tell how long it will take to hear back, but I'll leave a message beneath the photograph if I hear anything.”

“I thank you. And if there's anything I can ever do for you, just say the word.”

I started off, but then returned. “There is something, Thomas. I need your word that you won't tell anyone else about this meeting with me. And if you should see me somewhere in the village, you shouldn't acknowledge you know me.” I arched my brows. “Will you do that?”

He smiled and gave a nod. “Weren't no need to ask that, Miss Jancey. Ain't no one who could ever get so much as your name outta me. I know the rules about not mixing with outsiders—especially you womenfolk.”

“Thank you, Thomas.”

I hurried through the overgrown path, my heart pounding a ferocious beat. With any luck, I wouldn't be questioned about my whereabouts.

Chapter 11

Good fortune prevailed. When I arrived home from my meeting with Thomas, my mother greeted me in the parlor. I was pleased to see her up and about, for she'd been abed for the last few days. Her ever-changing health kept Brother Rudolf, as well as my father and me, on the alert, but I was most thankful whenever she had good days.

“I can see you went for a walk. Your cheeks are pink from the exercise.” She cupped my chin in her hand. “I am pleased you are exploring on your own. It is good to learn your way around the village.” She stepped toward one of the tables and picked up her Bible.

“You are going to prayer meeting?”

“Your father thinks it will tire me too much, but I have had few opportunities to attend prayer meetings, so I insisted. I will
be fine. I'm going to read until time for us to leave.” She sat down and opened her Bible. “Your father worries too much.”

I didn't contradict her, but there was much for my father to worry about. In addition to her failing health, he was attempting to juggle a new life here while still tied to our former life in Kansas City. Unlike Mother, he'd been unable to walk away from the past. Our house had sold, but he remained the sole owner of Forsythe Construction. He wasn't present to oversee the projects, but he was still responsible for construction that must meet strict standards on a timely schedule. Not an easy task when he was present, but now that he was absent, his worries had increased tenfold. I wasn't certain his concern was well founded, for he'd left the business in capable hands, but I did understand the weight of responsibility that rested upon his shoulders. Here in Middle Amana, he'd been assigned to work with a crew constructing a new barn. Nothing that required much thought or effort after all the major projects he'd overseen in Kansas City.

“I'm going to my room and write a letter.” I placed a kiss atop my mother's head.

“To Nathan?” She turned toward me.

A pang of guilt assailed me. Perhaps I should be writing to him rather than Lilly. “No. To Lilly Manchester at the orphanage. I want to inquire about one of the children.” I rested my hand on her shoulder.

“You should write to Nathan. Your father had a letter from him yesterday. He asked if you hadn't been feeling well since he hadn't heard from you for a while.”

I clenched my jaw, annoyed that Nathan would make such an inquiry of anyone other than me. I'd written him last, and if he wanted correspondence to continue, he should write to me
rather than pass messages through letters to my father. “Father said nothing to me, but I'll write Nathan if I have enough time before we leave.”

She reached up and squeezed my hand. “I don't think you'll decide to remain in the colonies, so if you care for him, you should be careful not to lose him, dear.”

“If he is so easily dissuaded, then I doubt his love runs deep enough to survive a lifelong marriage. Don't you agree?”

I didn't wait for a reply. Right now, I didn't want to participate in a lengthy discussion about Nathan. Truth be told, my feelings for him remained jumbled—one moment I missed him and the next his behavior annoyed me. Trying to explain such mixed emotions to Mother would take far too long. Even if I tried, I doubted anything I said would make sense. Besides, I wanted to use this bit of time to pen a letter to Lilly Manchester and ask what she might know about Kathleen Kingman. I'd write to Nathan when I was less displeased with him.

Hearing the village bell ring a short time later, I set aside my pen and ink, folded the letter to Lilly, and slipped it into an envelope. I would mail it tomorrow. I hoped Lilly would be willing to check into the whereabouts of Kathleen. If she didn't know the girl, I had my doubts she'd make further inquiry, and I knew she wouldn't peek into the records on her own. Miss Manchester wasn't a rule breaker, and she certainly wouldn't risk losing her position at the orphanage after all these years. Unlike me, she had no other means of support and needed the income her work at the Charity Home provided.

I bowed my head and offered a prayer for God to intervene and help me discover Kathleen's whereabouts. “If it be your will,” I added.

Before arriving at Middle Amana, most of my praying had been done in church, but I'd attempted to grow closer to God while living here. I'd been praying more often, but when answers didn't come quickly—and usually they didn't—I continued to seek my own solutions. In one of the prayer meetings last week, Brother William, one of the elders, said we needed to be patient and wait upon God, but some things needed immediate answers. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do in such circumstances and I didn't ask. I might not like Brother William's answer. Though I admired the strong beliefs of the Inspirationists and prayed I would attain their ability to trust God in all things, I hadn't yet arrived at such a point. It seemed with each step forward, a backward step soon followed.

As I walked out of my room, I noted Father standing near the parlor door, obviously eager to depart for prayer meeting. “Your mother tells me you have been busy writing letters. Did you have time to finish them?”

“Only one. I'll write to Nathan when we return.”

My father's inquiry surprised me, for he'd remained somewhat neutral about my relationship with Nathan. In my heart, I knew both of my parents desired my happiness, yet they both seemed certain that I would leave the colonies at some point in the future. Perhaps because that is what they'd chosen to do when they were my age and in love. But I wasn't in love with Nathan. I cared about him, but for those feelings to blossom into anything beyond caring, I would need to spend more time with him. Perhaps in time that missing spark would ignite. But given our separation, that was not going to happen—at least not anytime soon.

Along with the Hetrigs and a few other families, we attended prayer meeting at the home of Brother William. Small groups
gathered for prayer at different places throughout the village, and generally the meeting lasted for less than half an hour. Following prayers, the presiding elder would make announcements regarding proper organization of work for the following day and communicate any other news the elders wanted passed on to the members.

Although this evening's meeting lasted only a short time, it had taken a toll on Mother. She'd attempted to do too much and would now pay the price.

“You see?” My father supported her arm. “I told you that you were pushing yourself too hard. You walked to the Küche, ate supper, and then walked home. The distance to Brother William's was even farther than the Küche, and you didn't have enough rest before attempting a second outing.” He sighed and looked at me as we arrived home. “Help your mother prepare for bed. She needs to rest.”

When Mother didn't argue, I knew she was every bit as weary as Father suspected, and I hoped this wouldn't cause the setback he predicted. I helped her out of her dark calico and into a nightgown before assisting her to bed.

After pouring a glass of water from the bedside pitcher, I stirred a packet of granules into the water and handed it to her. “Hold your nose and drink it down.”

She smiled at the instruction, for it was the same one she'd always given to me as a child when I protested taking any medicine the doctor had ordered. She winked, clasped her nose between her thumb and forefinger, and downed the contents of the glass.

“There! Every bit gone in no time at all.” She placed the glass atop the table and exhaled a long breath as she leaned back on her pillows and closed her eyes.

I pulled the sheet to her chin and kissed her forehead. “Rest well, Mother.”

The quiet recitation of her nighttime prayers followed me to the parlor. As soon as I entered the room, my father removed his glasses and gestured for me to sit down. “I could see you were unhappy with me before we departed for prayer meeting. It was not my intention to pry, but there is something I must tell you.” He patted his jacket pocket, his brow creased with concern. “I received a letter in today's mail.” He cleared his throat. “From Mr. Millhuff, the man I appointed manager until the company is sold.”

There wasn't any need for Father to expound upon Mr. Millhuff's position at Forsythe Construction. Nathan had spoken the man's name far too many times before we left Kansas City. In truth, Nathan had been overwrought when Father announced his decision. Even though Charles Millhuff possessed more experience and had been employed by my father for many years, Nathan had expected to receive the position of acting manager. Over and over, he'd privately expressed his unhappiness to me—until I'd suggested he take his complaint to my father. To my knowledge, he'd never taken my advice. I finally deduced Nathan had expected me to plead his case. I hadn't. And Father never changed his decision. Mr. Millhuff had been appointed to the position and entrusted with running the company.

“I inquired about your letters because I will be returning to Kansas City and can personally deliver them.”

I gasped. “What? Returning to Kansas City?” I clutched my shaking hands together. “I don't understand.”

Leaning forward, he patted my arm. “No need for you to be alarmed. I should have said I would be
traveling
to Kansas City. It's my hope that I won't be there for an extended period. A problem
has come up, and both Mr. Millhuff and Mr. Hartzfeld believe my presence is needed to resolve the issue.”

My thoughts swirled like flies on a hot summer afternoon. None of this made any sense. “What kind of problem, Father?” What could be so difficult that Mr. Millhuff or Mr. Hartzfeld couldn't handle it? “It must be serious if they need your assistance.” I swallowed hard.

“I didn't mean to upset you.” He scooted closer and pulled me into a comforting embrace. After releasing his hold, he glanced toward the bedroom. “I had hoped your mother's health would remain improved during my absence, but now I worry she may need to take to her bed again. I do wish she would have stayed home this evening.”

I understood his concern for Mother, but I was anxious to hear what would cause him to leave my ailing mother and return to Kansas City. “I'll see to her care, Father, but please tell me what has happened.”

“If you promise you won't reveal any of this to your mother. I've told her I need to return in order to sign some papers in regard to the business—which is true, but there's more, and I don't want her to worry.”

“You have my word.” If he didn't soon tell me, I thought I would burst from the anticipation.

“There's been a terrible accident at one of the work sites. There's an investigation in process, and the police want to talk to me.” He rubbed his forehead. “I'm not certain what will happen, but I don't want your mother to be worried while I'm gone. Should it take longer than expected, I am depending upon you to calm her concerns.”

“I'll do my best, Father, but what can I tell her? If she believes
you're going to be gone only long enough to sign papers and you're gone for more than a day or two, she's bound to become fretful.”

“Before I depart, I'll tell her there's a possibility I may be delayed if additional negotiations are needed before we sign the papers. Hopefully, that will allay her concerns.” He exhaled a long sigh. “I dislike withholding this ugly mess from her, but I fear it could have a terrible effect upon her.”

“What did Mr. Millhuff tell you about the accident? Was there a fire? Surely he gave you some details.”

My father bowed his head. “Some sort of explosion occurred in one of the buildings the company was working on over on Sixth Street. None of our employees were present, but there were a number of people in the vicinity when it happened and some of them were injured. I'm not certain how serious the injuries were, but this gives rise to a multitude of problems.”

My heart beat with such force, I clasped my palm to my chest. “This is terrible news. No wonder you don't want Mother to know. I won't speak a word of this. Did you talk to Brother Herman? He knows you'll be leaving?”