Love Finds You in Amana Iowa (16 page)

Several visitors passed her on the wooden sidewalk, displaying hooped dresses like the ones she’d seen on the giant doll in Lisbon, except these women were adorned with ribbons and bows, and parasols to keep the sun off their pale complexions. The bright colors of the silk and chemise seemed frivolous and worldly, compared to the dark, simple wardrobe worn by the Inspirationist women. And these visitors looked at her the same way the women had done in Lisbon, like she was an oddity in her calico dress and draping sunbonnet. They didn’t seem to realize that here in Amana, they were the oddly clothed ones.

Sophia told her that visitors came often to do business at the mills. Others came out of curiosity to see what type of people lived in a communal society. It seemed like the shopkeeper in Lisbon was right—even though they’d come all the way to Iowa to get away from the world, the world couldn’t leave them alone. It was almost as if the very fact they were seeking seclusion intrigued outsiders, making it seemingly irresistible for them to impose on her community.

Visitors didn’t understand the bond of their society or the durability of their faith. They didn’t understand that the plain clothes the Inspirationists wore only strengthened this bond. None of the men or women were above or below the other in rank or in wealth. They wore the same style of dress, ate the same food, worshiped the same way, slept in the same type of room. And in their sameness, they loved and cared for one another, not because of what they did or how they looked, but because each member was valued as a child of God.

Amalie passed by the butcher shop and the saddle shop and then she heard the steady rhythm of hammer against iron in the blacksmith shop. Ripened fruit and freshly cut grass sweetened the air, even in the village, and she drank in the aroma. Everything about the village celebrated the beauty of life, a celebration of God’s goodness.

Just weeks ago, Friedrich had been walking down this street, smelling the fruit and the grass. Even though he wasn’t here with her today, she felt the shadow of his presence in the village. He’d helped build these shops and plant the crops of rye and wheat in the fields behind them. He’d walked down this street many times before her, drinking in the sights and the blessed sounds of peace and prosperity given to them by their heavenly Father.

At the eastern edge of town the pleasant scents of fruit and bread deteriorated into more rancid smells from the barnyard. Above her, the bleating of sheep rained down from the smaller village of East Amana. The green hills were speckled with the animals, and she saw the giant barn above that housed them.

One day, after she’d recovered from her weeks of travel, she would walk to the other villages in the Kolonie and visit her school friends as well as friends of her parents and the Vinzenz family.

Or maybe she would wait until Friedrich returned and they could go together to announce their engagement. The thought of being with him, of their reunion, propelled her to walk even faster toward the mill.

At the corner of the main street was a yard with clotheslines strung on poles, a rounded brick building behind them. One of the sisters stepped out of the washhouse, her face steamed red as she shook out a towel and clipped it on one of the lines.

When the woman saw Amalie, she gave a quick nod and ducked back into the washhouse.

Amalie sighed. Pity from the tourists didn’t bother her, but there was no reason for her sisters to feel sorry for her. It was this pity from the brothers and sisters in her society that disturbed her the most. The quick, nervous glances from men and women who didn’t know what to say to her. The unspoken questions about Friedrich’s desertion and the reasons he left.

They weren’t privy to the words in his letter nor to the longings in his heart. They might think he was running away from her, but she knew the truth. There was nothing for her to be ashamed of.

As she turned the corner, steam hissed from the engine that powered the woolen mill and puffed into the sky.

In his letter, Friedrich didn’t say how long he would be in the army. General Morgan said the war would be finished soon, the Confederates victorious. Maybe Matthias would know how long Friedrich would be gone.

Outside the woolen mill’s front door were three men dressed in dark, double-breasted suits. One of them held open a newspaper, and they stood focused over something inside. Normally she wouldn’t have cared about the news outside their colony. Normally she would have ignored the men and their paper, scooting around them to get in the door.

But this morning her eyes wandered to the bold letters on the first column. The headline stopped her.

F
EDERAL
T
ROOPS
B
ATTLING
R
EBELLION IN
T
ENNESSEE

She stopped walking and stared at the words. Which Federal troops were battling in Tennessee?

One of the men looked up and noticed her. He lifted his top hat and stepped aside to give her access to the door, but even then, she didn’t move. If only she could read a few words of the paper, just to find out what had happened in Tennessee.

“If you please—” she began, and the other men looked up.

“Would you like us to move?” one of them asked slowly, like she might not understand him.

“Nein.”
She pointed at the front page. “Could you tell me what is happening in Tennessee?”

The man with the tall hat turned back to the front page and skimmed the headline before he looked at her again. “The Union is trying to force Bragg and his men out of Chattanooga.”

“Are there troops from Iowa in this battle?”

He clicked his tongue as he read through the article. “Says there are troops from Indiana, Iowa, and Ohio.”

“Are there any from Iowa County?” Her voice shook slightly with her question.

“It doesn’t say.”

“Martin Smith’s son volunteered to fight in the cavalry,” one of the men said to his colleagues. “They signed him up for three years.”

“They’re signing all of them up for three years now.”

She stepped back, feeling faint again. Surely Friedrich hadn’t signed up for three years. How could they wait for three more years to marry?

The men continued talking to each other, as if she and her calico dress had faded into the backdrop of buildings and fields.

She wanted to tell them that she was going to marry one of the Union soldiers when he returned home. That her Friedrich was willing to leave his home and his community for a call he believed came from God.

Of course, the visitors didn’t need to know this about her—or about Friedrich—but for some odd reason, she wanted them and other people to know. It wasn’t just those on the outside who were serving in this war. Friedrich was serving too.

The men didn’t seem to notice as she remained by the door, listening to them.

“This war was supposed to end at Bull Run.”

“No one, not even Honest Abe, can predict how long a war will last.”

“The Rebs are getting closer,” the man with the top hat said with a sigh. “There’s talk of the Confederacy fighting in Iowa one day.”

“The war will never come to Iowa.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain,” he replied. “They’ve already fought in Indiana and Ohio.”

Her stomach felt queasy. What would happen if the Rebs came here, men like General Morgan? Would they burn the beautiful buildings that the Amana men erected? It made her hope, in her own selfishness perhaps, that the Union troops stopped them long before they came to Iowa.

The door opened, and Brother Schaube greeted the men with a round of handshakes. She stepped aside as he waved them into the woolen mill. Before the door swung shut, Matthias walked outside, hauling a carved tool chest in his arms. Their eyes met, but he didn’t acknowledge her as he moved forward.

She eyed the door, thinking for a moment about Henriette’s instructions to be swift, but Matthias needed to eat as well. And she needed to ask him a few questions.

“Where are you going?” she asked as she followed him away from the mill.

He didn’t glance at her again, not even to give her the courtesy of a good morning. “To your kitchen.”

She expected to feel a rush of enthusiasm that Matthias was beginning to work on it, but any gladness had disappeared with the news of the war. Her kitchen didn’t matter much right now.

“Do you know who those men were by the door?” she asked, trailing behind him. He kept a remarkable pace, even carrying the large tool chest.

“They’re business owners from Cedar Rapids. They come each month to place orders for their shops.”

“They were reading a newspaper.” She struggled to keep up with the stride of his long legs, especially with her arms anchored by the food baskets. “There is fighting in Tennessee.”

“We are far from Tennessee,” he muttered.

“We are far, but Friedrich might be there.”

This time he stopped walking and focused hard eyes on her. “How could you possibly know that?”

“I—I don’t know. But he could be.”

“Don’t borrow trouble, Amalie,” he clipped. Like she enjoyed trouble.

She didn’t know what she’d done to make him despise her so, except to agree to marry Friedrich. He didn’t think she was good enough for Friedrich, but it wasn’t his decision to make. They needed to lay down the bitterness from the past and focus on the one person they both cared deeply about.

“They said the army was enlisting the men for three years.”

“The war will be finished long before three years.”

She set down her baskets on the path, considering his words. If the Union conquered the Rebels in Tennessee, then maybe Friedrich would be home soon. In weeks even.

“Have you received any letters from Friedrich?”

He hesitated. “Not since he left.”

“I only want to know if he is safe.”

“As long as he is fighting this war, he will not be safe.”

She looked down at her baskets. Even if Matthias was right, she didn’t want to hear his words. Friedrich was a clockmaker, not a warrior. If he were one of the men in the Tennessee battle, he wouldn’t know how to fight. Not with a gun or whatever it was they used to try to kill each other with.

“You will tell me if you hear from him?” she asked.

“Of course.”

Amalie nodded, but he had already turned, leaving without his morning snack.

She picked up her baskets and moved back toward the mill. Matthias would do good work on her kitchen, that she was certain, and he would tell her if he heard from Friedrich. Other than that, she would ignore him. Like he said, there was no reason for her to borrow trouble, and Matthias Roemig was trouble.

Though earth be rent asunder, thou’rt mine eternally;
Not fire nor sword nor thunder shall sever me from Thee.
Paul Gerhardt

The steady drumbeat compelled the soldiers forward, through the small cove. They’d crossed the Tennessee River into Georgia, and the beauty was spectacular, with knobby tree branches arched above their regiment, leaves dripping onto their path. Columbine spiked out of the rocky crevices, the red blooms bowing to the troops as they marched.

The clefts of Pigeon Mountain surrounded him, but Friedrich couldn’t enjoy the beauty. They were supposed to be chasing the Rebels, but the soldiers knew if the Confederates trapped them in this gorge, with its steep cliffs on both sides, escape would be almost impossible.

Major General Rosecrans had commanded the Federals to chase the Confederates out of Chattanooga, drive them down into Georgia. The days were hot in the south, climbing past ninety degrees and soaking their skin in sweat, but the nights were so cold that sleep eluded most of them. They hiked at least twenty miles today, over the rough terrain on the mountain with their packs.

Friedrich’s division had joined four others to march south, but they’d yet to see a Confederate soldier along their journey, crossing through Tennessee without even a skirmish. And he’d yet to look into someone’s eyes and pull the trigger.

He couldn’t see them, but the rebels were out there in the trees someplace, ready to fight for the Tennessee border.

Friedrich held his gun a little closer to him. He wanted to fight for what was right, but he still didn’t know exactly what that meant for him. Even though his sergeant hadn’t said it, Friedrich knew he would send the newest recruits into the battle before the seasoned veterans. Whoever made it out alive would have proven himself to be a decent fighter and move up in the ranks. The green fighters—and the frightened men—would be filtered out on the battlefield.

As he marched, Friedrich pressed his finger to his chest and felt the crispness of paper tucked under his coat. He didn’t believe the lock of Amalie’s hair would bring him good luck, not like the charms some of the men believed in, but having her hair close to his heart made him feel like she was close as well.

He hoped, wherever she was, that Amalie was praying for him.

The shotgun clutched in his hands, Friedrich tried to pretend he was hunting for deer as they marched along. Shooting a gun wasn’t a problem for him, but his mind still struggled about whether he could shoot another man. He didn’t know how he could win the battle in his mind at the same time he fought one with his hands.