More Than Words (22 page)

“Please tell him it’s not completed, and—”

He snapped the latches on his case. “I know it will be wonderful, but I promise to explain.” The scrap of paper he’d written on sat beside his case, and he slid it toward me. “Here is the address where you may send your stories.”

I thanked him and folded the paper.

“You owe me no thanks, Gretchen. Knowing someone so kind and lovely has given me renewed hope in mankind. Your talent and beauty are beacons in a drab world.”

I wasn’t certain if he meant Homestead was drab, or if he was simply using poetic words to impress me. I was thankful he didn’t wait for a response, for I didn’t know how to reply to such comments. Secretly I had enjoyed the flattering remark, something for which I should ask forgiveness but probably wouldn’t. Seldom did I hear such compliments. My father was slow with praise, and though I didn’t doubt Conrad’s affection for me, words of fondness did not come easily to his lips. I didn’t blame him. Such talk wasn’t the way of our people—especially the men.

Oma once told me that idle talk wasn’t encouraged because it could lead to gossip, and gossip could lead to misunderstanding; misunderstanding could lead to disruption, and disruption would hamper our ability to serve the Lord. After finishing the explanation, she had chuckled. “Of course, the women don’t agree with this idea. We believe our work is made lighter when we can visit with one another.” She had gently pinched my cheeks. “So let the men remain silent. The women will talk.”

Oma was correct: The women did talk. Whether in the kitchen or the garden, the women took great pleasure in visiting, but praise and admiration weren’t a part of those conversations, either—not unless you had peeled more potatoes than any other woman, or you polished the silver or scrubbed the pots and pans with greater speed than the others.

For sure it was nice to be praised for your work, but to hear Mr. Finley say that my talent and beauty were beacons in a drab world was more pleasing than being commended for picking grapes.

He reached forward and placed his fingers atop my hand. “I believe that takes care of everything you’ll need before I depart.”

I snatched my hand away and took a slight backward step.Such familiarity was unacceptable. Should someone walk into the store and observe our hands clasped together, I would be summoned to answer to the elders—a prospect that held no appeal.

I shoved the paper into my pocket and forced aside my feelings of guilt and self-recrimination.

CHAPTER 18

My hands trembled as I clawed my fingers inside the wooden cash drawer. The divided box sat before me completely empty of bills and coins. Granted, the people who lived in our community didn’t need cash to pay for their purchases, but I needed money to make change for the visitors who purchased items in our store—and I was responsible for that cash. At least when I was in charge of the counter.

Each morning my father counted the money and placed it in the proper slots of the cash drawer. Each night he removed it. Today had been no different. When we’d returned to the store after breakfast, Father had placed the money in the drawer. Now it was gone. I tried to recall who had been in the store and when I’d last reached inside the drawer to make change. The money was there when a farmer from Marengo made a cash purchase a few hours ago. Then I remembered the couple who had come in after the farmer. They’d been dressed in shabby clothes. I’d never before seen them. The wife had asked me to show her some dishes in the back of the store while her husband had remained up front. They’d departed without making a single purchase. My mind reeled. Had the man helped himself to the cash while I was showing his wife a set of china? The elders had discussed purchasing one of the new cash registers to replace our wooden cash drawer, but they’d not yet reached a decision.

Father had left only a short time ago to pick up bolts of fabric from the mills in Main Amana. I could lock the door and place the Closed sign in the front window, but that would cause a flurry of questions. And visitors would surely arrive on the next train— visitors who would need change for their purchases. My stomach churned at the thought. What could I do? The thought rolled over and over in my mind.
Conrad!
Perhaps he could help.

I hurried the short distance to the barbershop, disappointed when I caught sight of a visiting salesman sitting in the barber chair. Oma was circling the two men, her broom in continuous motion. If her actions were disturbing Conrad, he gave no indication.

My grandmother had insisted upon leaving with Conrad when he’d stopped by the store earlier. Once again, she’d confused him for my grandfather, and once again Conrad had accepted her overtures. When she’d insisted upon leaving with him, he’d quickly agreed and brushed aside my concerns. “She’ll be fine. I’ll have her straighten the shelves and sweep the floor.” To try to keep her at the store would have caused a scene and drawn my father’s attention.

Conrad glanced in my direction as I entered the shop. “You didn’t need to come and check on her so soon. She is doing fine—a big help to me, aren’t you, Sister Helga?”

Oma offered Conrad a bright smile and completely ignored me. Probably just as well. When she wasn’t in her right mind, she feared other women would try to steal “her man.”

“When you finish, I need to speak to you.”

He stopped clipping and looked over his shoulder at me. “Something is wrong?”

I nodded. “We need to talk as soon as possible. Could you come to the store? Vater is gone to Main Amana, and I had to put up the Closed sign.”

“Ja. You go back to the store. Sister Helga and I will come when we finish here.”

Oma was sweeping Conrad’s shoes when I left. The barbershop held a certain fascination for her, perhaps because my grandfather had enjoyed his visits to the barber, but there was no way to predict what would fascinate her when she wasn’t in her right mind—except that she always was happy to be with Conrad, and he never failed to extend great compassion and kindness where she was concerned.

I couldn’t count the number of times I’d been thankful for having him close at hand when help was needed. And fortunately the barbershop wasn’t busy all the time. The men tended to fit haircuts into their work schedules, and though most liked their hair neatly trimmed and parted in the middle or on one side, during harvest or planting, the haircuts could always wait. And while most of the men preferred their faces clean-shaven, they performed the task themselves at home each morning. Seldom did the local men have time to enjoy a shave at the barbershop. I counted it a special blessing that Conrad had periods of free time, for more and more I found myself in need of his help.

I unlocked the store, removed the Closed sign from the window, and uttered a quick prayer that no cash-paying customers would arrive. Maybe Conrad had cash in the barbershop that he could loan me until the missing money was returned. The thought provided a glimmer of hope, though I doubted he kept as much on hand as I would need.

I paced the wooden floor until he and Oma arrived a short time later. My grandmother discovered a crate of canned goods and began to stack them in the middle of the floor. I quickly explained about the empty cash drawer and asked Conrad if he’d seen the couple who had last been in the store.

“Nein. And if it is the only time they’ve been here, there’s no hope of locating them. Are you certain they are the ones who took the money?”

“I have no idea. I only know it is missing. I made change for the farmer from Oxford who was in here before them.”

“Ja, I remember the farmer. I was here when he came in, but Sister Helga and I left a short time—” He turned to look at Oma. “Do you think your grandmother took the money?”

I shook my head. “Why would she take the money?”

He shrugged. “Why would she climb the apple tree? Who can say how her mind works in recent years?” He walked to the center of the store and stooped down in front of my grandmother. “May I buy one of these cans of food, Sister Helga?”

My grandmother looked up at him, her eyes clouded but a smile on her lips. “Ja, but only one.”

He reached into his pocket and removed a folded piece of paper and handed it to my grandmother. “I will need some change.”

Conrad followed as my grandmother walked to the cash drawer. She appeared baffled when she discovered the empty slots, but moments later she grasped Conrad’s hand. “The money is over here, but don’t tell anyone.” She pulled him down the aisle, pushed aside the jars of honey, and removed an old sugar sack. After handing Conrad several coins, she returned the sack to the shelf and shoved the jars back into place. She touched her fingers to her lips. “This is our secret, Emil.”

“Ja. I won’t tell anyone.”

I couldn’t believe what he’d managed to accomplish in such a short time. And how had she remembered where she’d hidden the money? Conrad was right. Who could say how her mind worked? Conrad glanced over his shoulder, and I mouthed a thank-you. He grinned in return.

“Maybe you should rest, Sister Helga. So much sweeping at the barbershop is a tiring job. A little rest would be good, ja?”

After a few minutes Oma agreed I could take her to her room. When I returned, Conrad had returned the money to the cash drawer. “Thank you, Conrad. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“It makes me feel gut to help you, Gretchen. I hope you will always come to me when you are in need.” He squeezed my hand. “I better get back to the barbershop, but I will see you later.”

The following morning I lifted one hand to my brow and shaded my eyes against the bright August sun. Though Conrad waited for us outside the barbershop each Sunday and accompanied us to meeting, I hadn’t expected to see him today. “I am pleased to see you have made a quick recovery from your illness,” I told him. “I was worried when Vater told me you weren’t feeling well last evening.”

“It is gut to know you were worried about me.”

When he tipped his hat and smiled, I could see he wasn’t as well as I’d first thought. His complexion had a pasty hue, and his eyes appeared dull and lifeless. But it was his comment that troubled me more than his appearance. There had been an edge to his voice—almost as though he didn’t believe me.

Yet why should he question my concern for his health? I grasped Stefan’s shoulder and motioned him to walk beside Oma. Though the women and men usually walked separately to meeting, my father didn’t object when I quickened my step and moved beside Conrad. I would return to my place beside Oma before we neared the meetinghouse. For now, I wanted to question Conrad.

“You sound as though you don’t believe I was concerned.” I edged closer to his side. “Why is that?” I lifted my chin to gain a better view of his eyes as he looked down at me.

“Maybe because you appear more interested in Mr. Finley. At least that’s what I’m told.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I whispered.

His eyes reflected either disbelief or pain, maybe a mixture of both. “So it wasn’t you leaning over the counter nose-to-nose with Mr. Finley two days ago? And it wasn’t you slipping notes back and forth to him or holding his hand?”

My stomach churned. Who had been telling Conrad such things? I didn’t think there had been anyone in the store that day I’d spoken to Mr. Finley. Only once had I seen someone enter while he was there, an area farmer and his wife—not anyone who lived in Homestead. Not anyone who would have cared that I was talking to Mr. Finley. Not anyone who would have carried such information to Conrad.

Forcing my thoughts backward in time, I tried to recreate all that had happened while Mr. Finley was in the store. There had been any number of customers inside the store later in the morning, but I could not recall anyone who might have seen me speak with Mr. Finley. Someone wanted to stir up trouble, and from the look on Conrad’s face, they’d been successful. Jealousy had taken hold of him, and the only thing that would set matters aright would be a full explanation. But there wasn’t time right now.

“We should go for a walk this afternoon, and I will explain then—if you’re feeling well enough.” From his appearance, Conrad needed to be in bed, but I doubted he’d refuse my offer of an explanation.