CHAPTER 7

December 1892
Dovie

I awakened to the sound of creaking floorboards in the room next to us. Cousin Louise invariably managed to hit every one of them as she prepared to greet each new day. Karlina said there was no need for the morning bells with her mother in the house, and I tended to agree.

Since my arrival, I hadn’t discovered much about my mother’s past, but I had learned that back in 1842, after receiving a word from the Lord, the first members of the Community of True Inspiration sailed from Europe, where they had been persecuted for their religious beliefs. I heard about the places they had lived in Europe and how they worked to establish their first villages near Buffalo, New York. I also learned that as the outside world encroached upon them, their religious leader, known as a Werkzeug, received another word from the Lord that the people should leave and settle elsewhere. In 1855 the group began a slow migration to their present location in Iowa.

In addition to teaching me the history of the Inspirationists, Cousin Louise and the other ladies had been quick to instruct me in a variety of kitchen tasks. I’d also met Anton, the new shepherd, and even though Karlina denied any feelings of significance between the two of them, I remained convinced that I had detected more than a working friendship. Whenever I broached the subject of Anton, Karlina brushed aside my questions and talked about some problem with the sheep.

In much the same manner, Cousin Louise brushed aside my questions about my mother and her family’s departure from the Amana Colonies. I didn’t want to annoy Cousin Louise with my persistence, but I had come here with questions, and I didn’t want to leave until I had answers. A sense of urgency nudged me, for I needed those answers before my father sent for me to join him in Texas.

Thus far, there had been no word from him, but as the days passed, my concern mounted that he would write and expect me to join him. I continued to watch for mail from him, and I also watched for the second letter I’d written to Cousin Louise prior to our departure from Cincinnati. Thus far, it hadn’t arrived. Either my father had failed to post the letter, or it had been lost somewhere along the way. Although I didn’t want to think my father had intentionally deceived me, I now tended to believe he had never mailed the letter.

I buttoned my dress as Karlina quietly recited her morning prayers. I’d become accustomed to hearing her pray in the morning and evening. Each evening after she finished her nighttime prayers, Karlina would explain anything I hadn’t understood during the day. On one of my first nights with her, I had questioned her practice of praying while washing and dressing in the morning and while undressing at night. She had smiled as she detailed lessons from the Kinderstimme, a book used to teach children the practice of virtue and their duty to God, to fellow members, and toward themselves. I’d listened intently to a few of the rules Karlina had memorized. Most sounded like things my mother had taught me as a child: Direct your eyes ever and only upon Jesus, your beginning, aim, and goal; do not elevate yourself because of a few good deeds, for thereby you rob God of the honor; and guard yourself against the misuse of the name of God or of Jesus; do not use either in vain or from habit. Just like Karlina, Mother had memorized, remembered, and taught them to me. Though I had been unaware until now, my mother had shared some of her life in Amana with me. I wasn’t certain why, but the realization gave me a feeling of hope.

The two of us walked downstairs together, and Karlina donned her heavy cape while I slipped into my wool coat and buttoned it tight around my neck. Gathering the two water buckets, I followed her outdoors.

“I’ll see you at breakfast,” she called as I walked to the water pump and she strode toward the barn with her chin tucked tight against her chest.

“And I will be much warmer than you on this cold morning.” My words transformed into puffs of white vapor and disappeared as quickly as ice on a summer day. If I moved quickly, I could have the buckets filled and return inside to warm my hands before the bread wagon arrived. I’d almost finished when I heard the bell in the distance, which meant Berndt Lehmann, the young man who worked at the bakery, was arriving at the Fuchs’ kitchen house.

I topped off the final bucket, and walking carefully to avoid spillage, returned to the warmth of the kitchen. “Here you are, Cousin Louise. I know the ladies will be happy if the coffee is ready when they arrive.”

“Ja, for sure they like that. And they work better, too.” After grinding the coffee beans, she dipped water into both of the large enamel coffee boilers while I warmed my hands near the stove.

The moment I heard the jingle of the bread wagon outside our Küche, I turned away from the stove and hurried to the door.

“Guten Morgen, Dovie.”

“Good morning, Berndt.”

When I’d first met Berndt, I’d requested he address me as Dovie. He said he would agree if I would reciprocate. I wasn’t certain Cousin Louise would approve of the familiar form of greeting we’d adopted, but I didn’t ask.

He jumped down from the wagon and walked to the rear of the enclosed wagon. “I have your bread and the coffee cakes for Sunday breakfast.” He opened the door of the wagon. The contents had been neatly organized and the orders arranged by kitchen house.

I watched as he moved the rectangular metal container that held the stacked coffee cakes. I extended my hand to accept the container, which had been designed and made by the village tinsmith. “The coffee cake makes everyone happy to see Sunday morning arrive.”

“But Sunday mornings are not so happy for me.”

I arched my brows. “And why is that? Doesn’t your father bake enough coffee cake that you may have some?”

He laughed and pushed his hat further back on his head. A wave of sandy hair dropped across his forehead. “Oh, he makes sure there is always plenty for the Schneider Küche. But on Sundays I don’t get to make deliveries, and that means I don’t get to see you.”

Berndt’s comment both surprised and pleased me, for meeting the bread wagon each morning had quickly become the best part of my day. In spite of the cold, undeniable warmth blossomed and spread across my cheeks. Under any other circumstance, I would have worried. But today anyone who saw me would attribute my rosy complexion to the freezing temperatures.

“I wish I could figure out some way my family would be reassigned to eat in Sister Louise’s Küche.”

“That would be very nice, but I don’t think it will happen.” Berndt’s family lived much closer to the Schneiders’ Küche, and the location of your house determined where you took your meals.

“I’m afraid you are right, but still it would be nice if I could see you more than when I make the bread deliveries.” He reached inside the wagon and removed a large tray lined with loaves of bread. “Why don’t you take the bread. The tray isn’t as heavy as the container of coffee cakes.”

Berndt was handing me the bread tray when the back door slammed with a loud bang. I twisted to look over my shoulder. Sister Louise stood on the porch, her hands cupped to her lips. “What is taking so long? Is Brother Berndt baking the bread in his wagon?”

“Nein! But if it would make you happy, I will see if I can put a stove in the wagon to keep the bread warm for you, Sister Louise.” Brother Berndt’s laughter echoed in the crisp morning air as he strode to the back door, carrying the metal container in one hand while cradling extra loaves of bread in his arm.

Sister Louise remained at the door and held it open. “You spend too much time talking, Brother Berndt. I do not think your Vater knows that you could return to the bakery a half hour earlier each morning if you didn’t waste time visiting.”

Berndt set the container on the table while I started removing the coffee cakes. “But you are the last delivery of the day, Sister Louise. I have been up half the night baking for you, and instead of offering me a cup of coffee, you criticize me for being friendly.”

“Ach! You are not fooling me.” Sister Louise flapped her dish towel in the air. “It is your Vater who has been baking half the night. And if it is coffee you want, you know how to help yourself.” Berndt didn’t wait for another offer. He picked up a cup and filled it to the brim while Sister Louise examined the coffee cakes.

“The cakes look gut. Tell your Vater I send my thanks.”

“What about the bread? Does it look gut, as well?”

Sister Louise picked up one of the crusty loaves and gave a nod. “Ja. I never have complaints about anything your Vater bakes.”

Berndt grinned. “I bake the bread by myself every Saturday so Vater can bake the cakes. I thank you for your compliment, and it is my great pleasure to please you, Sister Louise.”

“Ja, well it is proper you help your Vater as much as possible.”

Berndt took a sip of his coffee. “You must always have the final word—just like my Mutter.”

I expected to hear Sister Louise protest, but instead she headed into the dining hall to give some of the junior girls instruction. Berndt lifted the empty container from the table.

“Thank you for your help, Berndt.”

“Since I don’t deliver bread to the Küche on Sunday, maybe I will see you sitting across the aisle from me in the meeting hall instead.”

I shook my head. “I’ll be helping in the kitchen tomorrow so that Sister Marta can attend church instead.” I didn’t consider myself as skilled as the women who worked in the kitchen, so I had felt a sense of pride when Cousin Louise asked me to oversee the junior helpers on Sunday mornings. She said it would give Sister Marta an opportunity to attend Sunday meeting. I would have liked to attend myself, but helping in the kitchen would be of greater benefit to the community. “It is one way I can express my appreciation to Cousin Louise and the other women for their kindness to me. And a way of showing that I am willing to serve God and other members of the community.”

“I see you have been learning some of our beliefs.”

“I am trying. Karlina has been helping me.”

“I would be pleased to act as your teacher if you would like to ask me questions when I deliver the bread.” He hesitated a moment. “Or maybe you would like to go ice skating tomorrow afternoon?”

Skating sounded wonderful, but I wasn’t sure if Cousin Louise would approve. “I couldn’t go without permission.”

The back door opened and two of the kitchen workers bustled inside. “For sure, it is going to snow before evening,” one of them said as she removed her heavy cloak.

Just then Sister Louise strode back into the kitchen. “Are you still here, Berndt? You are crowding the kitchen and keeping us from getting breakfast cooked. If you don’t move along, you’ll be late for your own breakfast.” She rested her hands on her hips. “I don’t know any Küchebaas who tolerates stragglers wandering into their dining hall—especially Sister Frieda.”

Berndt pulled his coat collar high around his neck. Before he moved away from my side, he tipped his head a little closer. “I’ll come over tomorrow afternoon and see if I can gain Sister Louise’s permission to take you skating.”

I didn’t answer, but my heart quickened at his suggestion.

Later that morning after the breakfast dishes had been washed, the pots scrubbed, and the kitchen and dining hall floors swept, Cousin Louise sat down and began to make a list for her purchases at the general store. “May I come with you to the store?”

She looked up. “If there is something you need, I will put it on the list.”

“Nothing I need, but with Christmas not far off, I thought I might see if I could find a gift for Karlina.” My father had given me a small sum of money before we’d left Cincinnati. “Pin money,” he’d called it—to be used for incidentals while we were apart. I wouldn’t be able to buy anything extravagant, but I doubted I’d find anything in the general store that would match the expensive selections available at Mabley and Carew, Rollman’s, or Alms and Doepke, three of the large department stores in Cincinnati where Mother and I had occasionally shopped.

“Gifts are not necessary, but if it pleases you to come with me, you may come along.” Cousin Louise folded the piece of paper and tucked it into her skirt pocket. She gestured toward the pegs on the far wall. “You will need your coat. It is much colder than it looks.”

I quickly retrieved my coat and also grabbed Cousin Louise’s cloak at the same time. “And you will need this to keep you warm.” I giggled and handed her the heavy garment.

“Ja, you are right.” She stood and turned to Sister Marta. “Please make sure the coffee, bread, and jam are ready by midmorning. I hope I will be back by then, but who can say for sure.”

Except on Sundays, the workers returned to the dining hall for a light lunch that was served between breakfast and the noonday meal. The same happened between the noonday meal and supper. The practice surprised me, but Cousin Louise explained that hard work required energy, and the extra sustenance provided the workers with necessary stamina. It also created extra work in the Küche, but nobody appeared to mind—it was as customary as the other three meals served each day.

Sister Marta’s brows knit together in a frown. “I take care of it every day. Why would today be any different?”

Cousin Louise patted her friend’s arm. “And you do a wonderful job. I don’t know what I would do without your help.”

The compliment was like a soothing balm and immediately erased the frown from Sister Marta’s face. It hadn’t taken long for me to see that Cousin Louise knew how to manage every woman in her kitchen. Some needed compliments, some needed to share their problems, and others enjoyed laughter. Whatever the need, Cousin Louise adapted and helped. And today I planned to seek her help. I hoped to use our time together to gain some answers about my mother.

On several occasions I’d broached the subject, but Cousin Louise’s answers had always been guarded—at least they’d seemed that way to me. Each time I attempted to dig deeper into the past, she changed the subject or sent me to the other side of the kitchen to help cut noodles or peel potatoes. But on our way to and from the store, we would have uninterrupted time together, and I planned to use that time to full advantage.

We’d gone only a few steps beyond the porch when I asked my first question. I didn’t want to waste precious time. “Tell me about my mother, Cousin Louise. I want to know what she was like when she lived here, and why her family left.”

Pulling her hood tight around her head, she glanced in my direction. “I know you miss your Mutter, but digging into her past will not bring her back. I am sure she told you everything she thought was important for you to know. She loved you very much.”

“How do you know that?”

She tsked and shook her head. “Because mothers love their children and because she wrote to me after you were born. She was delighted to have a daughter of her own.”

“And my father? Did she write about him, too?”

Cousin Louise hesitated. “Not so much. But you must remember that I did not know your Vater.”

She hadn’t known me, either, but I didn’t want to say that or it might stop her from telling me more. “What else did she tell you?”

“At first she wrote about her move to Covington, Kentucky, with your Oma and Opa, and then later about getting married and moving across the river to Zinzinatti.”

I smiled at her pronunciation. “Did she say she liked it there?”

Cousin Louise’s hard-soled shoes clacked on the board sidewalk. “I don’t think she ever felt as at home as she did in the colonies, but she was happy your Vater agreed to live in that place she called Over-the-Rhine. In one of her letters she said there were many German immigrants. That pleased her, I think.”

“Maybe it pleased her a little, but I don’t think she was ever completely happy. There were many days when I couldn’t convince her to leave the house. Most of the time, she appeared melancholy, but she wouldn’t tell me why. Vater said it was because she never was very healthy, but I think she may have regretted marrying my father and having me.”

“Nein.” She stopped and turned to me. “You should never think such a thing. Your Mutter loved you, and your birth gave her great joy. I am sure you miss her very much.” She patted my arm with her gloved hand. “I can tell you that your Vater was right about your Mutter’s health. She was a sickly girl and she always tired easily.” Bowing her head against the cold breeze, she strode toward the store with a determined step.

Our conversation had ended, and I didn’t know any more than when we’d walked out of the Küche. How would I ever learn about my mother’s past if Cousin Louise refused to talk to me?