Love Finds You in Homestead, Iowa

by Melanie Dobson

  Frank mulled over the words. Where has Jacob Hirsch run?

  “Did his neighbor say how they were faring before they left?”

  “Apparently they’ve been living quite well the past few months.” Orwin folded his hands together and leaned closer to his desk. “She said she’s been wondering how he’s been able to afford so many new clothes and furniture pieces after he lost his position at the bank.”

  Frank stared at the man across from him as if Orwin might tell him this was a joke, but Orwin didn’t blink. How could Jacob have done this to him? To the men and women who had trusted him?

  He needed to find out what happened to the bank’s money, for the sake of both his business and his customers, but he didn’t want to hear that the man he’d trusted had been stealing from him all along. If he couldn’t trust someone like Jacob, who could he trust?

  “Is that it?”

  Orwin placed the package on the desk. “Not exactly.”

  Frank eyed the package. “What is this?”

  “I went into Jacob’s house.”

  Fear weaved up his spine. “How did you get inside?”

  Orwin’s thin lips eased into a smile. “You don’t want to know that, sir.”

  He reached for the package, but Orwin pulled it back toward his lap. “What did you find?”

  Orwin peeled back the brown paper to reveal a red-and-gold ledger covered with a thin layer of dust. He slid it across the desk.

  Frank reached for it, his eyes wide. It was identical to their ledger for customers with surnames from A through E. “Where did you—?”

  Orwin cut him off. “Under Jacob’s bed.”

  Slowly, Frank turned the crisp pages until he reached Charlie Caldwell’s record. Scanning the record, anger and sadness twisted in his belly. He was too numb to react except to stare at the numbers before him.

  The lines in Caldwell’s record were filled with bank deposits over the past five years along with two withdrawals. His friend had been telling the truth. More than a thousand dollars was missing from his account.

  Frank closed the book, trailing his fingers through the dust on the cover. Jacob had carried pocketfuls of money out of the bank and then kept a second set of books so no one would guess his game. He had to know that Caldwell and the other men and women would eventually ask for their money, but he’d been fired before the reckoning day.

  Now the money was gone and so was Jacob.

  Frank’s head felt heavy, as if he could no longer support the weight on his shoulders. His hands were almost too heavy to lift, but he picked them up and pushed the foul book away from him. For the first time in his life, he felt his seventy-two years.

  Orwin’s eyes were on him, waiting for him to speak, but Frank wouldn’t tell Orwin the money was gone. Instead he would search for Jacob Hirsch until he found the man. And he’d get the money back for Stanley, Caldwell, and his other friends.

  In such a free, unselfish and cooperative society, My light can evermore be imparted through Inspiration, thereby bringing fulfillment through the power of My grace….

  Christian Metz, 1843

  Chapter Eleven

  Liesel was resting on the ottoman, her legs tucked under her dress and her head huddled over the Scriptures, when Jacob entered the sitting room. Her face transformed into a smile as he stepped toward her, and he almost smiled back at her…but he didn’t feel quite as comfortable being alone with her as he had while Cassie was sick.

  “Is she asleep?” Liesel whispered.

  He nodded, sitting in the chair beside her. “Finally.”

  “God took care of her, Jacob.”

  He nodded. “That he did.”

  “And you took good care of her too.”

  He shook his head. He could have done so much more if he hadn’t been distracted and tired, but even so, Liesel’s simple words were a much-needed balm. Perhaps he’d done all right.

  She closed the worn cover of the Bible and placed it on the table, beside the oil lamp that flickered between them. She watched him but didn’t speak again, and he squirmed on the hard seat. Silence had been a welcome friend over the past week as he anguished over Cassie’s health. There had been no reason to talk with this lovely young woman who’d labored over his daughter beside him. But now that the danger had passed, he didn’t know what to say.

  “Cassie seems happy, ja?” she asked.

  He nodded, glad she wanted to talk about Cassie. “Your friends are spoiling her with toys.”

  “It’s our way.”

  “What way?”

  “It’s how we demonstrate God’s love.”

  “Aah…” They’d certainly demonstrated His love with every step, providing for Cassie and nursing her back to health. In fact, God had poured out His blessings ever since they’d arrived in Homestead in a way he’d never experienced in his life. “They’ve shared so much with her.”

  Liesel flicked a strand of hair off her forehead. “We share everything in the Amanas.”

  He paused. “You share everything?”

  She tilted her head, brushing her hands over her apron. “Not everything, I suppose. We own our clothes and shoes and any items we craft in our homes.”

  “But who owns your homes?”

  “The Society owns the houses,” she said. “And our animals and wagons and all our land. We work together for the good of the community instead of collecting goods for ourselves.”

  He swallowed, marveling that they were able to own everything collectively. People were supposed to work together in the outside world, but it seemed as if everyone was really working for themselves. In fact, he’d never seen anyone work together like the Amana people supposedly did. It seemed too perfect. Utopian.

  Once he was released from quarantine and could meet the other people, he was certain he’d find plenty of people working for their own good instead of for the good of the community.

  “What about the food?”

  She grinned. “The food is very good.”

  “I know it’s good,” he said with a wave of his hand. “But who buys it?”

  “Our coffee is shipped to us along with some flour, but we grow or raise the rest of our food.”

  “Doesn’t that concern you?”

  Her smile fell. “Why should it concern me?”

  Why should it concern her? There were more reasons than he could name. What if a storm destroyed their gardens or crops? What if disease swept through and killed their sheep or chickens? What if the Society couldn’t afford to buy them enough food?

  He glanced out the window at the quiet street. With less than two dollars to his name, he was very concerned about food. “How does the Society get money to buy your coffee and your seeds and your land?”

  “Our Society sells woolen blankets and extra food, and the Elders use that money for supplies…but no individual makes money here, and we don’t spend it. We work hard to contribute, and all our needs are provided for.”

  “But what if…” It sounded strange to ask, but he couldn’t help but wonder. “What if you want more?”

  She nodded like she’d been asked the question many times before. “Every year we get a ration of coupons for personal items from the general store.”

  “And if the store doesn’t have what you want?”

  “What more could I possibly want?” She paused. “Our Society is more concerned about supporting each other and serving and worshipping God together than accumulating new dresses or other things.”

  He crossed one leg over the other. Perhaps he had found utopia after all.

  She leaned toward him. “What do you worry about?”

  He felt a barrier go up between them, a guard to keep his heart and his mind in check. It wasn’t any of her business what worried him. He didn’t need a community to support himself, nor did he need anyone questioning his motives.

  She scooted closer, examining his face. Cool air poured through the window, and he wanted to push her away, to tell her it wasn’t
any of her business—but it was almost as if he was supposed to be here tonight with Liesel. Like he belonged. “I’ve had plenty to worry me lately.”

  She tucked a loose strand of hair back into her hairnet. “Like what?”

  He fidgeted on his chair. It was more than not wanting to share. Liesel unsettled him, and he was scared to share his load with her…as if sharing his fears would give her a bit of power over his weakness. Yet he still wanted to tell her.

  “I’ve been worried about Cassie.”

  “Of course you have.”

  “And I’ve been worried about finding work.”

  She repositioned her legs and tucked her skirt tightly under her. “What was your position in Chicago?”

  “I was a clerk…at a bank. Second National,” he said. Then he felt silly. She wouldn’t know the name of the bank nor would she care. “We began to lose money last year, and the president could only keep one clerk.”

  Liesel straightened her back. “He should have kept you.”

  “The other clerk is his nephew.”

  “Oh…,” she whispered. “I guess he had to keep his nephew.”

  “So now I’m looking for a new position.”

  “In a bank?”

  “I’ll take just about anything.”

  They sat still again, and he listened for Cassie. She was tired after her day of play. Tired and happy. Perhaps they would both sleep well this night.

  “So what else worries you, Jacob Hirsch?”

  The clear blue of her eyes unnerved him, and he looked away. He wanted to tell her that nothing else worried him. All he needed was a job and everything would be fine.

  “I’m worried about Cassie growing up without a mother.”

  The words hovered between him and Liesel like a thunderhead. He hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t really been thinking about finding Cassie another mother. A mother for her would mean a wife for him, and he couldn’t imagine marrying again.

  The lamp flickered again.

  “I didn’t mean to say that.”

  Her voice was quiet. “It’s all right.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “What happened to Cassie’s mother?”

  “She…” His gaze trailed toward the window.

  Liesel shook her head. “Never mind.”

  His mind wandered back a year ago. Outside the hospital walls, crowds swarmed the city for the World’s Fair even as the financial world collapsed around them, but he didn’t care about any of it. For one minute, he held his son—Jacob Thomas Hirsch II—in his arms. Sixty precious seconds with his child before the nurse whisked him away.

  Then his world began to crumble from the inside. His baby son had been born dead, and the chloroform the doctor administered stole his wife away from him. Weeks passed, but she never woke after her labor, never knew the fate of their son. For that, he supposed he was grateful.

  A blast of wind gusted through the window, and he heard the rain begin. He didn’t want to talk about Katharine tonight.

  “Liesel…,” he began. “What are you afraid of?”

  Her eyes widened, like the very question of her fears frightened her most. Instead of answering, her black stockinged feet slid out from under her dress and touched the floor. “It’s time for me to sleep.”

  “Surely something frightens you.”

  “Another time,” she said as she fled into her chamber.

  Liesel couldn’t stop her fingers from trembling as she untied her hairnet and placed it on her dresser. She wasn’t supposed to be afraid of anything, but she was. She was afraid of marrying Emil. She was afraid of the outside world. She was afraid of moving water. And she was a little bit afraid of Jacob Hirsch.

  She couldn’t tell him this, of course. She shouldn’t be asking him such personal questions anyway. She was an engaged woman, and Emil would be furious if he knew she was staying up late in the darkness and communing with Jacob while his daughter was asleep.

  Or at least, she thought Emil would be upset. She’d been quarantined for an entire week now but hadn’t heard a word from him. During their engagement, they weren’t supposed to write and were permitted only the occasional chaperoned visit—like their dreadful picnic along the river—but surely the Elders would make an exception because of the circumstances. What man wouldn’t demand to know if his betrothed was well after being exposed to diphtheria?

  A man who didn’t want to marry her.

  Perhaps Emil had changed his mind and no longer wanted to marry her. She hoped he’d changed it.

  Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Or so Thomas Haynes Bayly had written in his famous poem.

  She believed his words. Absence did make the heart grow fonder, but for her, the absence was making her heart grow fonder of someone else.

  Would a father give his child something which that child could not put to use? Have I given intelligence, will, understanding, and wisdom in vain?… Determine what your best talents are and put these talents to full use.

  Johann Friedrich Rock, 1717

  Chapter Twelve

  Jacob unfolded the Chicago Daily News and spread it across the small desk in the bedroom, but instead of reading the headlines, he glanced toward the window. Blue sky had replaced the clouds, and for the first time in a year he felt God’s presence, almost as if He was pouring His grace over Cassie and him along with the sunshine.

  The door between his room and the sitting room was open, and he leaned back on his chair to peek into the room. Liesel and Cassie snuggled together on the couch reading a book, content in each other’s arms. For an instant, he wanted to step away from the paper and join them, but what would Liesel think of a grown man listening to her read a fairy tale?

  The two were happy being together, and he would let them be for the moment.

  He rocked the front legs of the chair back onto the floor, but his gaze wandered out the window again instead of on the paper. Life was so different here in Homestead from the rest of the world, certainly from his grandparents’ home where he spent his childhood. His grandfather may have spoken the same language as the people in the Amanas, but his outlook on work was opposite from communal living.

  As Jacob grew up, his grandfather instilled in him the importance of individualism and the drive for success. That he would have to be the best in his trade to get ahead. Life was a race—a competition—and his competitors were every person working around him. In order to succeed, he had to work harder and run faster than the rest of the pack.

  He’d educated himself on accounting and banking and became the best bank clerk at Second National. Or at least he thought he had been the best. All of his hard work and drive crumbled the day Frank Powell walked into his office and told him, regrettably, that it was his last day. It wasn’t because he was a poor manager of the bank’s money or because he’d somehow failed at his job. He’d lost his hopes for promotion when Frank opted to hire his nephew and groom him for the role of president before Frank retired.

  Jacob had run as hard and as far as he could, but Frank Powell had taken him out of the race before the finish line was in sight.

  He leaned back in his chair, basking in the sunshine.

  Perhaps Liesel and her friends were right to walk through this life arm in arm instead of pushing and shoving each other to win the race. He’d never met anyone quite like Liesel, so free from the cares of this world, and if he were really honest with himself, he was a bit envious of the peace that enfolded her.

  Being quarantined in Homestead had been good for both Cassie and him. In the past week, they’d eaten better food than he’d ever had in his life, and they’d eaten in abundance. Cassie had regained her health quickly, and his leg had healed even faster than the doctor anticipated.

  He was rested now and ready to get out of this room and start working again—as soon as the laboratory results came back from Iowa City.

  His eyes focused back on Monday’s headlines, three days past. The top story was about the Pullman St
rike, the same story that ruled the front page since they’d left the city. There were six thousand federal and state troops in Chicago now, and more than three thousand police and five thousand deputy marshals trying to stop the obstruction of the U.S. mail and the destruction caused by the rioters.

  If he and Cassie hadn’t hopped on that train, they would still be in the city, and God only knows what would have happened to his daughter.

  He listened for Liesel’s soft voice as she read to Cassie, but all was quiet in the sitting room. He was so very grateful that Cassie was here in Homestead, safe from the disease and corruption and violence that plagued Chicago’s streets. He didn’t know where they were going from here, but he was certain they wouldn’t be returning east.

  Someone knocked on the bedroom door, and Jacob, expecting the doctor, called for him to come into the room. The door opened slowly, but instead of Dr. Trachsel, two middle-aged men stepped into his bedroom. The men wore denim pants and work shirts, and they both held hats in their hands.

  Hurrying across the room, Jacob stretched out a hand to greet them but then checked himself and quickly retracted the gesture. These men shouldn’t be here in his room, not until he was out of quarantine and they had confirmed Cassie’s recovery.

  Just before he asked them to leave, one of the men held out a piece of paper toward him. He scanned the short letter from the University of Iowa laboratory in Iowa City, the words registering slowly.

  A sigh of relief escaped his lips, and he waved the paper in his hands. Neither Liesel nor he had diphtheria.

  The men introduced themselves as two of the eight Elders in Homestead. Niklas Keller was a tall man with reddish hair cut close to his head. Adam Voepel was a few inches shorter and rounder. His green eyes twinkled when he smiled.

  Jacob held out his hand again, and both men shook it in turn this time. “Thank you for providing me with the newspapers.”

  Niklas twisted his hat in his hands. “We have wanted to welcome you to Homestead.”

  Adam nodded. “The whole community has been praying for your daughter.”