More Than Words (14 page)

Early that afternoon I was at the front of the store and had completed orders for some ladies from Oxford when my father came through. The shipment we had received the previous day had been a large one. There were always more visitors in the spring and summer, and the surrounding farmers looked to our store to supply all their goods. Rather than make the journey to Iowa City, they brought their business to us—and for that we were grateful.

My father glanced over his shoulder. “You have been selling a lot of candy the past week, ja?” He grinned and pointed at the glass jars and baskets that we kept on shelves near the front of the store.

“Nein. Not many children in the store recently. And not many Mutters buying treats, either.” I stretched across the counter and peered at the shelves. My jaw dropped at the sight, and I met my father’s watchful gaze. “I don’t know where it has gone, but a great deal is missing.”

My father rubbed his palm across his forehead. “I am thinking it must be the Gypsies.”

“But they haven’t been in the store, Vater. And if they are coming in here to steal, it seems strange they would take nothing but candy.”

“Is true it does not make sense, but maybe we need to check the inventory and make sure there are not other things missing.” He trotted down the aisle and lifted a tin of fruit from the shelves. “Until we count, we have no idea how much could be missing. I am expected to keep the records straight and give a correct accounting in my books.” He stared at me, his eyes wide and expectant. “We must check the stock.”

“Maybe you are right,” I said.

“Of course I am right. First I must unpack this shipment, but then we must check our stock against the inventory list.”

The mere thought of counting every item in the store left me breathless, but I could not argue with my father. I could only hope that we would arrive at some other solution before the time arrived to begin the daunting task.

I’d been back at my work for only a few minutes when I saw Mina frantically waving me to come to the front door.

After a quick glance over my shoulder, I scurried to meet her. Mina’s cheeks were the shade of ripe tomatoes, and perspiration beaded her forehead and upper lip. “What has happened?”

She held her midsection and gasped for breath. “Do you know where your grandmother is right now?” She made her way inside to the counter while I dipped her a cup of water.

“Ja. She is right over there stocking the shelves.” Relief flooded Mina’s eyes as she gulped the water. “Why did you think she wasn’t here?”

Mina lifted the corner of her apron and wiped the perspiration from her face. “I walked past the south grove taking midmorning refreshments to the garden workers. There were several Gypsy children near the path eating candy. I’m certain one little girl was wearing Oma’s cap—the one she crocheted with fine black thread and wears on Sundays. When I called to her, all of the children ran into the thicket. I was fearful your grandmother was in the woods with them. I went and looked but didn’t see her, and all of the children scattered like mice on a sinking ship. I would have remained, but three of the workers are out sick today.”

Mina’s breathing returned to a normal rate, and I handed her a damp cloth to cool her face. “I appreciate your concern for Oma, but I’m glad you didn’t use more of your precious time looking for her.”

“And I am thankful she is safe and sound.” Mina rested against the counter. “I keep saying we need to have an
Älterschule
for the old people, just like we have the
Kinderschule
for the little children. If we had the Älterschule, there would be no worry about your grandmother’s wandering off.”

For at least six months Mina had been talking of a place where the older people who developed physical and mental infirmities could come together each day and enjoy the company of one another, then return to their families in the evening. I had assisted her by writing out a plan for the Älterschule. Although she’d talked to a few of the elders about the possibility, she’d shied away from going before the Grossebruderrat with her idea. Perhaps seeing the increasing difficulty with Oma would spur her on with the idea.

“Maybe you should talk to the Grossebruderrat about the Älterschule. You know I think it is a wonderful idea.” There wasn’t time to discuss the possibility right now, but tomorrow I would again try to convince Mina to speak to the elders.

My grandmother approached, her eyes as clear as the summer sky. “You need some help at the kitchen, Mina? I am through stocking the shelves.”

“We can always use a pair of extra hands, but I don’t want to take you away if Gretchen needs you here.” Mina gave me a can-she-come-along look.

“I think it would be a nice change for Oma to help in the kitchen for a few hours,” I said. “I’ll come and fetch her when Vater comes in from the warehouse at four o’clock.”

“Then it is settled.” Mina smiled at my grandmother. “I will be glad to have your help, Sister Helga. There are lots of potatoes to pare.”

“Ach! There are always lots of potatoes that need a sharp knife.”

I leaned forward and gave Oma a fleeting hug. How I wished her mind would remain as clear as it was at this moment.

The comment about my grandmother’s cap nagged at me like a pecking hen. There were no customers in the store, and I wanted to lay the question to rest. Never before had I gone through another’s belongings, but this was different. If Oma had managed to be gone from the store for an extended period of time without my knowledge, she was even more at risk than I had imagined.

After searching every nook and cranny of Oma’s room, my worst fears were confirmed. Her hand-crocheted cap was missing.

I returned to the store and tried to quiet the worrisome thoughts tumbling through my mind. After several failed attempts to journal my concerns, I set aside my pen and took up Oma’s job of stocking shelves. I moved through the store, unable to tame my wild imagination and the frightening questions that popped into my mind at every turn. The questions turned to worry, and the worry turned to outright fear. What if Oma had been injured or lost to us forever? How would I have lived with the guilt? She’d protected me throughout my childhood, yet I didn’t seem capable of doing the same for her.

After arranging bolts of fabric for more than thirty minutes, I realized I had placed them in the wrong section and all my efforts had been an utter waste of time. If I was going to rid myself of this unrelenting fear, I couldn’t depend upon myself. “ ‘For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.’ ” Over and over I repeated the Bible verse from the book of Second Timothy. I took courage in the words and told myself I could protect Oma. I simply needed to take charge.

“Gretchen! I will be back here working.”

My father’s voice startled me. I glanced at the clock, pleased to see he’d returned from the warehouse much earlier than expected. If I left now, I could retrace Mina’s steps and possibly discover if Oma had visited the Gypsy children. If she’d been there, I could secure her cap and even discover the truth of how they’d gotten their candy. One more look at the clock convinced me there would be ample time before I was expected at the kitchen. “Oma is at the Küche with Mina. I’m going to join them, and then I’ll walk Oma back home. Will you listen for the bell?”

“Ja. Go on. I can look after things here. No need to return until after dinner. Mina can use the help.”

His response surprised me, but I didn’t argue. The extra time would be a help. I grabbed my bonnet and hurried from the store without telling Father I was going in search of Gypsy children before I went to the Küche.

I cut between the buildings, and once I was out of sight, I hiked my skirt and ran. Mina would question me if I was late arriving at the Küche, and I didn’t want to undergo one of her lengthy inquiries.

Once I neared the thicket, I slowed my pace, but the children were nowhere in sight. Though I knew I should turn around, I continued until I neared the camp. With careful steps I worked my way among the trees and overgrowth. At the sound of voices I crouched low and took a position where I could see the camp yet maintain a good view of the surrounding area, as well. There was little activity, and I wondered if the Gypsies slept until late in the day. Father said they stayed up until the wee hours of the morning and then lay abed all day. Perhaps he was right.

With renewed courage I worked my way through the underbrush and inched closer to the camp. I stopped at the sound of a young girl’s laughter. I strained to the side, and that’s when I saw her. A little girl of five or six with unkempt hair was singing and picking wild flowers. I held my breath and prayed she would come in my direction.

Stoop and pick, stoop and pick, ever so slowly she continued to gather flowers and walk deeper into the brush. Closer to me. I fixed my gaze on her. With her light-colored hair and fair skin, she didn’t look like a Gypsy child. I’d heard stories of how the Gypsies stole babies and young children when they passed through a town. Could this little girl be one of those stolen children? The very idea caused a scream to rise in my throat. I slapped a palm to my mouth and held back the sound, but my foot slipped and I fell backward, striking my arm on a sharp branch. An involuntary yelp escaped my lips, and the little girl turned and saw me. She ran toward me with a handful of our stick candy. Father had been correct. The Gypsies had stolen the candy. They were guilty of theft, and from all appearances they were also guilty of stealing children.

CHAPTER 12

A lingering dampness from the recent rains remained in the undergrowth, and the earthy smell of molding leaves and rich soil assailed me as the girl continued to come toward me without caution. A streak of pain shot through my arm, and blood oozed from the wound the branch had inflicted. I ignored the pain and beckoned to the girl. “Come closer. I’d like to meet you.”

She pushed aside a clump of brush and continued toward me.

I held out my hand to her. “What is your name?”

“The white-haired woman from the store calls me Gretchen, but my name is Lalah.”

The girl’s response startled me. “How do you know my grandmother, Lalah?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I was in town one day with one of my friends. The old woman came into the yard alongside the store and talked to us. Promise you won’t tell anyone. Loyco says we aren’t allowed to go into town without one of the men along to protect us.”

Her comment surprised me. The Gypsy leader thought they needed protection from us, and we thought we needed protection from the Gypsies. Strange. I wanted to assure her she didn’t need to fear anyone in our village, but then I thought of Sister Marguerite. She might take a broom to the children if she saw them in her garden or henhouse.

“I won’t tell if you will answer some questions. Would you do that, Lalah?”

She cast a wary look at me. “Maybe. What do you want to know?” Her eyes reminded me of Stefan—dark brown with a touch of gold that shone in the sunlight. But her hair and skin, both so fair she could have passed as my sister.

“First of all, you may be surprised to learn that my name is Gretchen. Sometimes my grandmother gets confused. When that happens, she doesn’t remember correctly.”

Lalah’s eyes opened wide. “I know. She followed us to our camp. Loyco said she could stay with us as long as she wanted.” She stooped down beside me. “Loyco is our leader, but he’s my father, too. He says the grandmother brings good fortune, and we should always be kind to her.”

“Does he? Well, that’s good to know, but when she wanders off, I worry about her. If she comes to your camp again, I would be grateful if you would return her to our store. How old are you, Lalah?” The girl’s small frame made me think she might be five or six, but she spoke as though much older.

“Gypsies don’t worry about age very much, but Loyco says I’m six or seven. Alija says I’m seven. But in the mind, she says I am fifteen. She says I ask too many questions.” The girl grinned and fastened her dark eyes on me. “You thought I was younger, didn’t you?”

“Ja, I did. I have a brother who is ten, and he is much bigger than you. Perhaps you met him when he came down here and rode Loyco’s horse. His name is Stefan.”

“I know him. He likes to come here, but Loyco says you think we are bad people.”

Her forthright comment caused as much discomfort as my injured arm. “I didn’t say you are bad people. I think some of your people do bad things.” I looked directly at the candy in her hand. “Like steal things that don’t belong to them.”

“Do any of your people do bad things?”

She was a perceptive child for seven years old, especially since she’d likely had little education. “No one is perfect. Occasionally we all do something wrong. But there are some things, like stealing, that we should never do. It isn’t right to take things that belong to someone else. Things like eggs or chickens—or candy.”

“But if one person has more than another, it does no harm to take some of the extra. Loyco says that if we take excess from someone, we are not stealing. We are teaching them to share.”