More Than Words (27 page)

After using the brown paper to cover the magazine, I paced the length of the store. Father had departed earlier in the morning to visit the calico factory in Main Amana. I didn’t expect he’d return until shortly before the evening meal. Waiting for him would make for a long day, and there would be no opportunity to discuss Mr. Finley and his misdeeds until after prayer service.

My stomach churned. On the one hand I longed to immediately tell my father the whole truth and clear my conscience as soon as possible. On the other hand I feared his reaction to the disgrace I’d caused him. And I had no doubt he would feel disgrace. His daughter had willingly broken the rules. Then again, Mr. Finley had duped the elders, as well. He’d convinced them that he had a genuine interest in joining the community, but his interest conveniently waned once he’d discovered my stories would supply him with all the information he needed for his magazine.

How could I have been so easily convinced of everything the man said? The answer arrived with the swiftness of a bird taking wing: Mr. Finley had tickled my ears with words I wanted to hear. Even though questions had lurked in the back of my mind, I’d pushed them aside, ignored them because I desired the praise of both Mr. Finley and his friend. I grunted at the thought. Did Mr. Finley even have a friend who had looked at my work? Probably not. His editor had likely been the friend. A magazine editor eager to sell lots of magazines. And what better way to sell his magazines than with those mean-spirited cartoons.

My back was turned toward the door when I heard footsteps behind me and swiveled around. “Conrad!” I slapped one hand to my chest. “You surprised me.”

“Ja? I hope it is a gut surprise.” A wide grin split his face.

I bobbed my head. “Of course. It is always nice to see you.”

He squinted and his forehead wrinkled into fine lines. “Your eyes do not say you are happy I am here. There is something wrong?”

Should I tell him? I weighed my decision for only a moment. I wouldn’t accomplish one thing if I had to wait until my father returned before telling someone about the package. And Conrad was the perfect person, the person I could trust, the person who cared about me.

Grasping his sleeve, I tugged him to the far side of the room. After circling around the counter, I lifted the package onto the counter. “I have something to tell you. Something that is terrible.” My lip trembled, and I bit down. I didn’t want to cry.

“What is it that’s made you so sad?” Conrad lifted his gaze from the paper-wrapped package, his eyes now dark with concern.

I lifted the contents from the paper and handed Conrad the letter. His features tightened as he read the missive. He nodded toward the magazine. “And your stories, they are in there?”

“Yes. And the cartoons are in there, as well. They’re awful,” I whispered, flipping to the center of the periodical and turning it toward him.

He thumbed through the pages, not taking time to read the story, but viewing the cartoons and the offensive captions beneath each one. “This man is even worse than I had imagined. How could he betray our people in this manner? It is gut he didn’t come back here, because I wouldn’t want to turn the other cheek to him.”

Conrad’s jaw twitched when he saw the portrayal of the barbershop. The barber had been depicted as a drunken, inept character holding a razor aloft in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. In the cartoon the customer was staring into a mirror with a look of shock and dismay because half of his head was completely bald.

“I am very sorry, Conrad. I know Vater is going to be angry and disappointed. And the elders will not look kindly upon this, either. I’m sure I’ll be sent back to children’s church when they hear the part I’ve played in all of this. I won’t be able to hold up my head.”

He remained quiet for what seemed an eternity. “I do wish you hadn’t trusted him so much, Gretchen. Still, the wrong is Mr. Finley’s, not yours. You didn’t draw those pictures or ask to have your stories published in this maga—” He stopped short and looked at me. “You didn’t ask him to publish the stories, did you?”

“Nein! He mentioned he might publish another one of my poems, but not the stories. I never thought he’d publish the stories— not without my permission. And never with those horrible pictures.” Tears threatened, and I touched the corner of my apron to my eye.

Conrad placed his arm around my shoulder. “Do not cry, Gretchen. There are worse things than a magazine story.” He gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “We know what we believe and how we live here in the colonies. It is not as though we are seeking outsiders to come here and live, so what difference if people in Chicago think we get drunk and shave our heads? Let them think what they will. We know the truth. We are gut, hardworking people who have a strong belief in God, but Mr. Finley decided to make us a laughingstock. We cannot change what he has done, but we won’t let it change who we are.”

“I don’t think Vater or the elders will be so generous with their reaction, but I am thankful you don’t blame me for all of what has happened.”

“We will talk to them together. I will stay by your side and speak on your behalf.”

His offer warmed my heart. “Are you certain you want to do that?”

“Ja, of course I do. I love you, Gretchen, and I always want to be the one who will help and protect you.”

Though I’d never doubted how much Conrad cared for me, his declaration of love and protection was more than I could have hoped for during such a difficult circumstance. I thought it remarkable that he was willing to stand alongside me and take up my cause—especially since he’d professed his doubts about Mr. Finley from the start.

Placing a finger beneath my chin, he tipped my head back as he bent forward. My breath caught as our lips melded together in a gentle kiss. I eased into his arms with all thoughts of Mr. Finley, the magazine, and a confrontation with the elders evaporating like an early morning fog in sunlight.

Eyes closed, I rested my head on his shoulder and relished the warmth of his embrace. I don’t know how long we’d been standing there when I was stunned by a sharp whack across my backside. I squealed and twisted around.

Oma held a broom in her hands, prepared to launch another attack. “Get away from my Emil! You can’t have him, you bad girl.” I jumped to one side, and Oma immediately stepped forward to take my place. She stroked Conrad’s arm while she glared at me. “Find your own man. Emil is mine.”

Conrad wrapped an arm around Oma’s shoulder. “Come to the other room with me, Sister Helga.” With a calm voice, he urged her along. “Let’s put the broom over here, and we’ll go into the parlor and visit.” She took a few steps but refused to release the broom.

All thoughts of the pleasurable kiss fled from my mind while Conrad continued to cajole my grandmother. They had made little progress when Mina entered the store, her basket slung over her arm and a smile on her lips. Her smile quickly vanished as she surveyed the unfolding scene.

She nodded at my grandmother. “It is gut to see you, Sister Helga. You are feeling well?”

Oma tightened her hold on Conrad’s arm. “Stay away from Emil. He is mine.” She jabbed the broom handle toward Mina and pinned her with a fierce look.

“Ja, for sure he is yours, Sister Helga. I have no interest in a man.” As if to prove her point, Mina took a sideways step away from Conrad and my grandmother. “Maybe you and Emil should go and have a cup of tea in your apartment.”

Oma tipped her head to the side and tugged on Conrad’s arm. “Ja, we will have some tea.” She pointed a crooked finger at Mina. “Without you. You can’t come with us.” She took several steps. “Come on, Emil. Time for tea.” I was certain I’d seen her wink at Conrad. I offered a silent prayer of thanks for his kindness and patience.

Mina clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Poor Sister Helga. She would be so embarrassed to know how she acts when she’s having one of her episodes. Have you watched to see what it is that seems to bring them on?”

“I can find no pattern to her behavior,” I said. “Maybe if you got your Älterschule started, that is something that could be determined.”

“You may be pleased to know that I am to have a meeting with the Grossebruderrat when they are in Homestead next week. I have already presented them with the paper you wrote, and they will speak to me after they eat the noonday meal with us.” She patted her stomach. “I am hoping that after they have read your plan and they have had a gut meal, they will be agreeable and not ask too many questions.”

News that the Grossebruderrat would be in Homestead next week came as a surprise. They’d been in Homestead two months ago. Normally they didn’t visit so often. An unscheduled visit could only mean that a decision affecting all of the colonies was going to be discussed or decided upon. “I wonder why they are returning so soon.”

“There is trouble over the fees Mr. Harper plans to charge for his studhorse this year. It seems he has written to say the price will be more than double what he charged last year—a large expense that was not planned. They are meeting in each village and then will decide what must be done. If he had told them at the first of the year, they would have arranged to save for the added cost, but he has waited until there is little opportunity to come up with the additional funds. Sister Marguerite says there is grave concern.”

“Did they say why Mr. Harper was doing this?”

“Only that he needed the money to pay extra expenses of his own. But Sister Marguerite says he’s doing it because he can, that he’s a greedy man who doesn’t care about his fellow man.”

It was obvious the women in the kitchen had been discussing Mr. Harper’s demands at length, but I hadn’t heard a word from my father. Of course, he was always slow to pass on news. I’d come to rely upon Mina or one of the other kitchen workers to learn of the latest happenings. Now with such a difficult problem facing the elders, I wondered if Mina should wait to speak to the Grossebruderrat about her idea. If their thoughts were on Mr. Harper and the needed funds, they might immediately reject her suggestion. But since she’d already given them the plan I’d written for the Älterschule, it was too late to alter the meeting.

Mina glanced toward the door leading to our apartment. “Maybe you should go with me. If they have questions, you’d be better able to answer and could use Oma and your family as an example.”

My stomach lurched at the idea. Using Oma as an example would be the same as telling my father that she needed added care. If the elders didn’t approve the Älterschule, he might force the idea of Mount Pleasant. But I didn’t want to refuse Mina. She might change her mind if I didn’t agree. And to think only of my own circumstance was unfair. There were others in the colonies who would benefit from Mina’s idea. I took her hand. “You are my dearest friend. How can I refuse to help? If you need me, I will be at your side.”

My father returned a full hour before time for the supper bell—an unanticipated surprise. Though I’d received Conrad’s support, I doubted the outcome would be as agreeable with my father. He remained silent far too long after I’d completed my confession, and he continued to mask his emotions as he read the letter from Mr. Finley. Finally he looked at me. “If you have this magazine, I would like to read what you have written.”

Perspiration dampened my palms as I extended the open magazine to him. He grunted a thank-you before ambling to a stool near the back of the store. I doubted he’d thank me once he finished looking at the periodical. A part of me wanted to view his reaction, but the other part wanted to hide behind the shelves piled high with supplies. I wasn’t ashamed of what I’d written, but even the thought of those awful drawings still caused me to shiver.

My fingers trembled when I heard the thud of my father’s boots on the wooden floor a short time later. He dropped the magazine on the counter and slid it toward me. “I will say that I am very disappointed that you did not see fit to follow the rules, Gretchen. They are in place for a reason.” He tapped the front of the magazine. “None of this would have happened if you had simply followed the rules.” There was sadness in his eyes.

“I am truly sorry, Vater.”

He bobbed his head. “Ja, I know. And I am sorry you don’t have your Mutter’s guidance to help you when you make decisions. She would have given you gut counsel.”

“I know,” I whispered.

He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. “What you said about our people was gut. You tell about us in a fine way that is true. If he hadn’t let them put those drawings with your writing, I think the elders would overlook what has been printed.” He hitched one shoulder. “For sure, they would have said to never again do such a thing without permission—and so would I.” Instead of the anger and disdain I’d expected, I heard sadness in his voice. “But the pictures change everything.”

“Ja, I know, Vater. I only wish I could take it back.”

“But you cannot. Mr. Finley fooled us all. Even the elders liked him.” My father pointed to the magazine. “Once outsiders have seen this, our people need to be prepared. We will be treated with scorn. Those drawings, they will speak louder than the words you have written.”

“The magazine has already been sold to many people. We’ve now had some visitors who have commented on our wine drinking. When they made their remarks, I didn’t understand. Now that I’ve seen this magazine, I know they had seen the pictures.”

“You will need to come with me and meet with the Grossebruderrat next week when they are here. I will meet with the Bruderrat later this week. No need for you to come to that meeting. They will want the Grossebruderrat to decide, but first I must speak to them as a courtesy.”

“Thank you for understanding, Vater. I will willingly take whatever punishment is given without complaint.”

Later during evening meeting, I silently prayed. I had accepted Jesus as my Savior many years ago. I understood that His death on the cross provided atonement for my sins, and God would grant forgiveness when I repented of those sins. But this time it seemed too easy. This time my guilt pierced too deep.

When we returned home, I retreated to my room and prepared for bed. How foolish I had been to trust Mr. Finley. He hadn’t cared for our people or our way of life. He’d only cared about making a name for himself with his editor. But hadn’t I been as guilty as Mr. Finley? I’d been seeking recognition—not of this sort, of course, not where it got me in trouble. Was Mr. Finley’s desire to impress his employer so different from what my own had been?