More Than Words (37 page)

Though it had been only this morning, it seemed as though days had passed since Conrad promised we would talk. There had been much to tend to since Cecile’s arrival, and I’d had little time to myself. Returning home after prayer service, I was pleased to hear Oma offer Cecile a knitting lesson. Although Stefan professed a distinct dislike for knitting, I grinned when he offered to help Cecile with her lesson.

Conrad escorted me through the store and out the back door. “I believe Stefan has taken a real liking to Cecile.”

“He usually doesn’t have much interest in girls, but I think because Loyco rescued Cecile, he’s making a special effort.” I glanced back toward the house. “And she is a very sweet little girl. I’ve enjoyed spending time with her.”

“And maybe one day you would like a daughter of your own?” Conrad held my hand as I sat down beneath the apple tree.

I could feel the heat work its way up the back of my neck. “Maybe someday. But someone I know must first get permission to marry before there can be any talk of a child.”

He sat down beside me and grinned. “Are you speaking about me?”

I tapped his arm. “Ja, I am talking about you. Have you lost your courage? You say you want to marry me, but do I see you marching off to ask the elders if they will give us approval to marry? No, I do not.”

There was a scent of autumn in the early evening breeze. Once the sun fully settled beyond the horizon, the temperature quickly cooled. Conrad scooted closer and put his arm around my shoulder.

“Conrad! Someone could see us.”

“Who can see us back here? You think Sister Martha is peeking out her window? She can’t see through the hedgerow.”

“You can’t be certain,” I said, but I didn’t push his arm away. I liked the warmth and protection of his closeness.

“You want me to go and see if she’s cut away some branches to give her a better view of your backyard?”

“No, I do not want you going near her house!” I pictured what a scene that would be: Conrad poking through the bushes and coming nose-to-nose with Sister Martha. The woman would be scared out of her wits. But the next day, she’d be busy telling everyone within earshot that Conrad and I had been without a chaperone in our backyard.

“So what is this news you wanted to tell me that’s so important?”

He tightened his hold on my shoulder as if gathering his courage. “I went before the members of the Grossebruderrat and asked permission to marry you.”

“What?” In one quick motion, I shifted to my hip so I could face him. His features were shadowed by the waning light. “Without telling me you were going?”

“What do you mean without telling you? We agreed I would go and ask permission, did we not?”

“Ja, but I thought you would tell me on the day you planned to go, so I could … could …”

“So you could what? Worry? That’s exactly what I didn’t want. Better to tell you after than to have you worry.”

The kerosene lamps flickered inside the house and cast dancing shards of light into the yard. “No, not worry. So I could pray that they would grant permission.” I snuggled closer and looked into his eyes. “Don’t keep me waiting any longer. What did they say?”

“They gave their permission, but we must wait the customary year before we can wed.”

My palms turned damp, and my stomach tensed as I recalled working in the Küche with Sister Wilda. The Grossebruderrat sent her intended husband, Milton, to High Amana during their year of engagement. She’d been able to see him only on Sunday afternoons. On Saturday there would be great excitement as Wilda anticipated Herman’s Sunday visit, but on Monday there would be even greater sadness. On Tuesday she would begin to count the days until she’d see him again.

I forced the question from my lips. “Did they say if you must move from Homestead?”

“I will remain here unless they find someone who can take my place. The other barbers are married, and the Grossebruderrat don’t want to move any of their families. That is gut for us.”

“But if the others are married, who else would there be?” The knot in my stomach remained. I wanted to hear there was no possibility he would leave before next September.

He shrugged. “It could happen. A barber could join the community, or one of the young men in training might become skilled enough to take over for me. I don’t think either of those things will happen, but the elders wanted me to understand all of the possibilities.” He tipped my chin. “We will be fine. Even if I must leave for a few months, we can survive.” Leaning down, he captured my lips in a lingering kiss. Butterflies replaced the knot in my stomach, and I melted against his chest, enjoying the feel of his lips upon my own. I lifted my hand to his cheek and stroked the soft stubble along his jaw, hoping my touch would keep him close. Ever so slowly he lifted his mouth from mine. “I love you, dear Gretchen. I have loved you since I was a little boy. This is the happiest day of my life.” Once again, his lips covered my own in a sweet, tender kiss.

His words tugged at my heart. To think that one year from now we would be man and wife. When we finally parted, the moonlight splayed across his face, and I could see the warmth in his eyes. “I will always love you, Conrad. I could never hope for a man to be more loving and compassionate. You are truly God’s gift to me.”

With a gentle hand, he stroked small circles on my back with his palm and rested his cheek against the top of my head. “So next September, we will plan to be married, ja?”

“Unless you think you might prefer a wedding nearer to the end of the year, maybe December?” His head jerked up, and he ceased stroking my back. I looked up and giggled when I saw the frown on his face. “I was only teasing, Conrad. I don’t want to wait any longer than September, either.”

“That’s gut, because if you wanted to wait, we would have our first lovers’ quarrel.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Lovers’ quarrel? I don’t think I’d like to have one of those.”

The back door swung open, and the kerosene lamp outlined Stefan’s figure as he stood in the doorway. “Are you two ever going to come back inside? It’s really dark out there.”

Conrad chuckled. “Don’t worry about us, Stefan. We are fine, but if I have any problem, I’ll give a holler, and you come running.”

Stefan hesitated. “You want me to ask Vater if you should come in, Gretchen?”

“That little nuisance,” I whispered. I cupped a hand to my mouth. “I am fine, Stefan. Vater knows where I am, and if he wants me to come inside, I’m sure he’ll come and tell me himself.” If Sister Martha didn’t know we were out in the backyard before, she was sure to know by now.

“He is just a boy doing what boys enjoy the most—teasing girls.” Conrad reached for my hand and lifted it to his lips. “Still, he is probably right. We should go inside. I do not want your Vater to think I am taking advantage. He may not give me permission to spend time alone with you in the future.”

He pushed to his feet and held out his hand to me. As I stood, he gently pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me. “This is what I want for the rest of my life, Gretchen. To always have you close to me.”

CHAPTER 31

Had I been alone in my bedroom, I would have penned every word that Conrad had said to me in the backyard. I would have enjoyed sitting in the lamplight, reliving each moment as I wrote about it in my journal, creating a permanent record of his love and desire to marry me. But writing anything in my journal tonight would be impossible.

The moment I’d returned inside the house, Cecile had become a shadow, unwilling to leave my side. Even Oma hadn’t been able to entice the girl back to her knitting lesson. Vater and Stefan had already retreated to their bedrooms when Oma started quizzing me about Conrad’s visit. I didn’t want to speak at length in front of Cecile, so I simply told her my life would change next September. She grinned and pulled me into a warm embrace. It was so wonderful when Oma remained clearheaded. Maybe she wouldn’t have any further spells. This is what I told myself each time she remained in her right mind for a few days. I doubted it would last, but these good times always gave me hope that she wouldn’t slip back into her secret world.

Oma gathered her yarn and stuffed it into the basket beside her chair. “Is getting late. We should go to bed, or soon the rooster will be crowing and the breakfast bell will sound.”

I kissed her cheek and bid her good-night.

I extended my hand to Cecile and pointed toward my bedroom door with the other. “My room is in here.” After helping her into the white cotton nightgown Sister Marguerite had brought to prayer service, Cecile snuggled beneath the sheet. I opened the wardrobe door and stepped behind it to gain a bit of privacy while I changed into my nightclothes.

Once I’d settled in beside the girl, she wiggled close to my side. After several minutes she whispered, “Are you going to marry Conrad?”

“Yes, Cecile. Next September—one year from now.”

She twisted around to look at me. “Can I come to your wedding?”

I didn’t explain that our wedding wouldn’t be like ones she might have attended in Springfield. It seemed unnecessary to give her such details, for I doubted she would even remember me a year from now. “If you and your parents want to attend, you would be welcome.” I left it at that. If I told her she couldn’t attend the wedding but could come to the festivities following the ceremony, she’d likely feel rejected. “You should try to go to sleep now. You want to be well rested when your parents arrive in the morning.”

She tossed and turned, and when sleep didn’t come, her questions began. Why did Oma’s fingers have big knots; why did all the women dress the same; why did the men go into a different door and sit at separate tables? Would I come to visit her in Springfield, and would I like to ride a carousel at the park with her? One after another I answered the questions as best I could, but each question gave rise to another. Finally I touched my finger to her lips. “No more questions, Cecile. If you ask anything else, I am not going to answer. Close your eyes and go to sleep.”

The girl was a restless sleeper. If she didn’t moan and groan, she flailed and kicked. The little sleep I got was fraught with dreams of someone hitting me. Before I donned my dress the next morning, I examined my arms and legs for signs of black-and-blue marks. I wasn’t surprised to find a few spots that were beginning to take on a bluish tinge.

Everyone, even the old men, beamed at Cecile as we made our way to the Küche for breakfast the following morning. To them, the girl was evidence of God’s mercy—a child safely returned to the loving arms of her mother and father. And Cecile basked in the attention.

Once breakfast was over and we’d returned to the store, I sent Cecile to the parlor with Oma. “My grandmother will tell you stories while I work.”

“Ja. I can tell you about how we came from the old country to Buffalo, up in New York. You know about New York?” Cecile shook her head, and Oma extended her gnarly hand. “Come with me to the parlor, and I will tell you.” She grinned down at the girl. “But first we must have some lemon drops before we can have a story.”

Her words were a reminder of my childhood. How often had she said the very same thing to me before she would sit me down and tell me a story? She had been a wonderful grandmother— still was, for that matter. If only she didn’t suffer from these bouts of forgetfulness. I watched her remove a clean handkerchief from her pocket and pour several of the candies from the jar. Picking up the corners of the hankie, she pulled them together and twirled the fabric until the lemon drops were secured inside. The two of them trotted off to the parlor while I replaced the lid on the candy jar, then leaned down to the lower shelf and lifted the inventory ledger to the top of the counter.

The bills of lading had been stacking up for the past week. While Father didn’t mind making entries on the ledgers of the residents when they purchased an item, he was not so good with the rest of the paper work. I ruffled through the stack and placed them in piles according to date before I started the process of matching the bills of lading with the invoices. Then I fastened them together with a straight pin. Each one would be properly itemized under the name of the respective business.

My father strode to the front of the store to move a crate of canning jars to shelves near the back. “Complete the sales ledger so I can report to the elders what products are in most demand.” He called out the instruction while he hoisted the crate onto his shoulder.

I didn’t argue, but there were few changes between the products we offered and what the outside world wanted to purchase. The woolens and calicos always topped the list, but depending on the season of the year, our onions, onion seed, and sauerkraut remained in high demand. And today there were several large shipments going out.

I was in the middle of entering the purchases to Rosenblume and Company when a thought struck me. I would be unable to take the Loftons to the Gypsy camp if Father needed me to work the store, for he no longer trusted Oma to take my place.

I had promised Loyco I would take the couple to the camp, and if they wanted to leave on the afternoon train, there would be little time. I hiked myself forward and leaned across the counter until I could see down the aisle. “Vater? Can you hear me?”