Despite the fact that the driver kept his eyes on the road and his head tucked low, I decided to venture a question. “Is this land a part of the colonies?”
He gave me a sideward glance and nodded. “Ja. There are twenty-six thousand acres in all.” When I gasped at the figure, he chuckled. “Some is in timber and swamp, but much of it is cultivated for farming, and we use about four thousand acres for grazing our animals.” He pointed toward the houses slowly coming into view. “In East the sheep are plentiful, and they graze well on land that isn’t good for farming. God directed us to Iowa, and we are most thankful. This land we own is gut for our large crops of grain as well as our vegetable gardens; it provides us with timber for building our houses and fueling our fires. There are hills and valleys that are gut for grazing animals, and there are creeks and a river to provide the water we need. God has been gut to our people.”
“But you own none of it,” my father said. His comment caused Brother Ackermann to turn and stare at him.
“Ja, that is right. But I am satisfied. For me, to be content is more important than any possessions, Mr. Cates. Each man must decide for himself.” His lips curved in a broad smile. “And I am free to leave if I should become unhappy. Nothing holds me to this place, except my desire to be here.”
Smoke rose from the chimneys like welcoming signals, and I longed for the comfort of a fire to warm my hands and feet. As we entered the far end of the village, I hoped we’d soon stop in front of one of the houses. This village appeared smaller than the one we’d left, but it was of little consequence to me. “Does Cousin Louise live in one of these houses?”
“A little further. Her house is at the end of the street. If you walk up to the cemetery, you can look down into the valley and see much of our land, especially in winter, when the trees are completely bare and there is little to block the view.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to visit the cemetery, but I thanked him for the information. Moments later our wagon came to a stop in front of a two-story brick house.
“Here we are.” The driver looked in our direction before he set the brake and jumped down. “I think I will go inside with you and warm myself before heading back. A cup of hot coffee should help.” Without asking, he unloaded my bags and strode toward the door.
I’d longed for this moment to arrive. But now that we were here, I couldn’t move from the hard wooden seat. I sat there, frozen in place. Brother Ackermann glanced over his shoulder and motioned for us to follow.
My father stood beside the wagon, offering his outstretched hand. “Come along, Dovie. It’s too cold to sit outside.”
CHAPTER 5
“I brought your company from the train station, Sister Louise.” The wagon driver turned and shouted to his left as he placed my bags near the kitchen door and then strode across the room. He gestured for my father and me to follow.
I wanted to call after him and tell him Cousin Louise wasn’t expecting me, but it was too late. And unlike me, he appeared confident I would be welcome. A short, stout woman with graying hair and a kind face appeared in the doorway. Her blue-eyed gaze brushed over my father before resting on me. She took several short-legged strides across the dining room and rested one hand on a large white apron that protected a dark calico dress.
Long wood tables and benches filled the room, an aisle separating them into two distinct sections. Though aligned in a coordinated fashion, the sight of so many benches and tables in one room appeared strange to me. I couldn’t help but wonder how many people ate their meals in this room.
“Dovie?” The woman’s brows dipped low on her forehead as she continued to study me. “You look like Cousin Barbara.” She strained forward. “I wasn’t expecting you.” She looked at my father. “Either of you. At least not now. I wrote a letter. I said spring would be best for a visit.” Confusion clouded her eyes. “Ja, spring is the time I said you should come.” She glanced toward the window as if to assure herself that spring hadn’t somehow slipped around the corner while she’d been busy in the other room. “It is still winter.”
I forced a smile. “I received your letter. And I wrote back, but . . .”
Before I could finish, Sister Louise motioned to the wagon driver. “There is a pot of hot coffee in the Küche, Brother Joseph. Please help yourself.” The driver grinned and ambled toward the other room. Once he’d disappeared, Cousin Louise returned her attention to my father and me. “I did not receive another letter.” She waved her hand in a circular gesture. “Yet here you are. Strange that you have arrived before your letter, ja?”
I gave my father a sideways glance. He had offered to mail my letter on his way to work. Had he? Instead of affirming the missive had been posted, he avoided my gaze.
“No matter.” A generous smile curved her lips. “I am Louise. Your Mutter’s cousin. Even if I am surprised to see you in the winter, it is gut to have you in our home.”
My father stepped forward. “I am Nelson Cates—Dovie’s father.”
“Ja. Barbara wrote me when she married you.” Cousin Louise tipped her head to one side as if examining my father’s every feature. “And for a few years after, too.” She ran a finger beneath the wide cotton strap of her apron. “Strange that the two of you arrived before Dovie’s letter. Makes no gut sense.” Cousin Louise’s comment hung there like a sagging clothesline.
I wasn’t sure how to answer and was thankful when my father finally cleared his throat. “I find you can’t always depend upon the mail, and I do understand you weren’t expecting Dovie until spring. However, what with my work, I had little choice. If her visit isn’t convenient, she can accompany me to Dallas. It won’t create any problem for me—or for her.”
My father’s comment caused me to once again wonder if he’d mailed my letter. I didn’t want to believe he would give me permission but then sabotage my plans. I stared at him, unable to erase the distasteful thought from my mind. His eyes didn’t reveal guilt—but they didn’t reveal innocence, either. I might never learn the truth, but during the coming days I planned to keep a lookout for my letter.
“Nein! Her visit isn’t a problem, only a surprise. I thought spring would be better because of the weather, and I thought you would want to be at home for Christmas. But you are most welcome in our home, Dovie.”
The warmth in Cousin Louise’s voice swept over me like a rain-freshened breeze, and I realized the lump that had taken up residence in my stomach had disappeared. Though I didn’t know what lay in store for me, I no longer feared being rejected. Finally I would discover something of my mother’s past.
Cousin Louise’s eyes shifted to my father. “And you are welcome, as well. We will soon be serving the evening meal, but you can go upstairs to the parlor and rest until then. Once I’ve finished my work, we will visit.” She hesitated for a moment. “Or after prayer meeting.”
My father took a backward step and pointed to the heavy wooden door. “No, but thank you for the offer. I’m going back to the hotel with Mr. Ackermann. I have an early train to catch in the morning.”
Cousin Louise tightened her lips into a thin seam and shrugged. “I can tell you my food is better than what they serve at the hotel.”
“For sure, she is right about that.” Brother Ackermann stood in the doorway holding a cup of coffee and leaning against the doorjamb. “If I lived in East, this is where I’d want to eat my meals.” He chuckled before downing the last of his coffee. “You want me to take those upstairs, Sister Louise?” The driver gestured toward my trunk and suitcase.
“Ja, that would be gut, Brother Joseph.” She returned her attention to my father. “And how should we contact you while you are in Texas, Mr. Cates?”
My father withdrew an envelope from his inside pocket and handed it to Cousin Louise. “Inside, you’ll find the address of the company where I work. Once I’ve located a place to live, I’ll send the address to Dovie. And to you.” The final words seemed to pain him. He turned to me. “Unless you’ve changed you
r mind.”
I crossed the distance between us and hugged him. The familiar scent of pipe tobacco and wool greeted me. “I haven’t changed my mind. I’ll be fine, Father.” I leaned back and looked into his eyes. “I’ll write as soon as I have your new address.”
“Our new address.” He brushed the back of his fingers along my cheek. “Together, we’ll enjoy spring in Texas.”
Since Mother’s death, I had noticed changes in my father, but his recent sorrow and desire to keep me close continued to catch me by surprise. Never before had he appeared so forlorn and hopeless. I could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. A chapter of his life had come to an end, and he didn’t want to move on. At least not alone.
I held his hand as we walked to the front door. He pulled me close, and I kissed his cheek. “You’ll be so busy you won’t have time to miss me, Papa.”
“Or maybe you’ll be so unhappy in Iowa that you’ll decide to join me in Texas for Christmas.” When I kissed his other cheek, he whispered into my ear, “Just remember that I’ll be here until six o’clock tomorrow morning. You have until then to change your decision.”
Once my father and the driver departed, Cousin Louise waved me toward the other room. “Come with me to the kitchen. I will introduce you to all the sisters who work here.” When my forehead creased in a frown, she smiled. “We address each other as ‘Sister’ or ‘Brother’ here in the colonies. We all consider ourselves brothers and sisters in Christ.”
“I see. And will I be your sister, as well?”
My question seemed to momentarily baffle Cousin Louise. “The other sisters will likely address you as such since you are staying with us and we’re not accustomed to outsiders visiting, but it is our faith that binds us as sisters and brothers, not simply being present in the village.” When I didn’t acknowledge the remark, she continued. “During harvest or shearing, the elders will sometimes be required to hire outsiders to help with the work in our villages. Those hired workers are not addressed as ‘Sister’ or ‘Brother’ because they aren’t members of our faith.”
“But my mother was your sister as well as your cousin,” I said.
Cousin Louise chuckled. “Ja. And I loved her very much.” Her laughter was like sunshine on a dreary day, and I followed her as she strode into the kitchen. Though I doubted I would remember all of their names, Cousin Louise introduced me to the other women, who were busy stirring pots, chopping vegetables, or slicing thick pieces of meat. Just like her, they wore dark dresses, large aprons, and small black caps. I wasn’t sure what to think of the plain attire. At least my dress wasn’t much different from theirs.
I leaned to one side and whispered in Cousin Louise’s ear. “Are they all in mourning, too?”
“Nein. We always wear modest clothing of dark colors.” A grin as bright as a summer morning curved her lips. “There are Amish settled to the south of our villages. They come here to purchase goods from time to time. I’m told they believe our clothing is quite fancy.” She pointed to the white-dotted design in her charcoal gray dress. “To them, I suppose it is. They purchase only plain dark cloth—nothing with design. Each of us must follow what we believe to be the right path for our lives.”
I wasn’t certain when or where I might find the correct path for my life, but from all appearances, the ladies working in Cousin Louise’s kitchen had found theirs. While laughing and visiting with one another, they stirred, peeled, and cooked with purpose and determination. To see such joy and friendship permitted me a glimpse into the life my mother had left behind many years ago. She’d had few friends during our years in Over-the-Rhine, and seeing these women now caused me to realize how lonely she must have been.
“My mother was happy here?” I hadn’t planned to quiz Cousin Louise, but the question slipped out before I could stop it.
Her eyes glistened and she gave a slight nod. “Ja. She was happy.”
Before Cousin Louise could elaborate any further, the back door burst open and a girl, who appeared to be a few years younger than I, bolted into the room. Arms extended, she scuttled across the room to warm herself near the stove. After an exaggerated shiver, she glanced in my direction. Her ice-blue eyes sparkled as she adjusted a black gauzy cap over her thick brown hair. Her mouth dropped open, and she lifted her mittened fingers to her parted lips. From her surprised reaction, I could see that visitors were uncommon in the colonies, just as Cousin Louise had earlier mentioned.
“Karlina! How many times must I tell you there is no rushing through the kitchen when we are cooking! Too many accidents can happen.”
A sheepish grin spread across the girl’s face. She grasped her mother around the waist and kissed her cheeks. “I am sorry, Mutter. Now will you introduce me to our guest?”
Cousin Louise extended her hand to me, and I stepped closer. “Karlina, this is Dovie, my cousin Barbara’s daughter.”
“Dovie? But you weren’t supposed to come until spring.” She removed her thick mittens and unfastened her heavy wool cape. “My room isn’t prepared.”
Heat flooded my cheeks. My unexpected arrival was proving to be inconvenient for everyone. “Perhaps I can help?” I could think of nothing else that might ease the uncomfortable situation my appearance had created. “I’m quite good at cleaning and arranging furniture.”
Karlina unfastened her cape and hung it on a nearby hook. “Ja, we can do it together. I’m happy you are here, Dovie. Just surprised.” Looking toward her mother, she arched her brows. “We have time before supper, ja?” Her full lips curved into a broad smile that produced deep dimples in each of her rosy cheeks.
Cousin Louise chuckled. “If you use your time to work instead of to talk, you can accomplish much before we eat.” She waved toward the other room. “Karlina will help you learn our ways, Dovie.”
“Learn our ways.” I wasn’t certain exactly what all that would include, but from the little I’d observed so far, I had much to learn.
CHAPTER 6
Karlina
My excitement mounted as we climbed the steps to the room I would share with Dovie. She possessed an air of sophistication that I had noticed among the visitors I’d occasionally seen at the train station in Main Amana. Yet never before had I visited with anyone from the outside world. And realizing that I would have Dovie all to myself every evening filled me with more joy than I had thought possible. Though her German dialect was a little different from our own, I had no problem understanding her—and soon she would understand us with greater ease, too. For a brief time, most new arrivals to the colonies had difficulty with our mixture of dialects. Even from village to village there were slight differences in our language, for the immigrants who had established our original settlement of Ebenezer in New York had gathered from several German provinces, as well as Alsace-Lorraine and a small number from Switzerland. Our dialect had evolved and changed, becoming a mixture of those original languages.
If she remained in East long enough, Dovie’s proper German might even change a bit. I didn’t know her very well just yet, but I already liked her and hoped she would remain with us for quite some time. Though Mother had warned me Dovie wouldn’t be here for long, I couldn’t help but recollect that my mother was sometimes wrong. I hoped this would be one of those times.
While we rearranged the furniture to make room for Dovie’s belongings, I answered her questions and asked some of my own. She wanted to know about life in the colonies, and I wanted to know about life outside. I was awed by her description of a forty-three-foot-high fountain in Cincinnati—a gift from the citizens of Munich—and her freedom to visit parks, museums, and libraries. I laughed when she told me about the wienerwurst man who carried a large tin full of sausages and strolled through the streets and parks each day, selling them to eager customers. And though I tried my best, I couldn’t picture the churches with colored-glass windows and steeples that rose toward heaven—so unlike our own plain meetinghouses that were free of adornment. We even called them meeting ha
lls rather than churches in order to maintain a feeling of simplicity.
Pushing my dresses closer together in the wardrobe, I made space for Dovie’s gowns. I looked over my shoulder. “We have nothing like that in the colonies.”
“No churches?”
“Oh ja, we have meeting halls, but not like the ones you are talking about. Unless you knew it was our meeting hall, you wouldn’t guess it is where we worship. Our meeting halls are much like our people—very plain and free from adornment.”
Dovie stared at me, her forehead wrinkled in disbelief. “I can’t imagine such a church. The only ones I’ve ever seen have been quite beautiful. Is this because you can’t afford the additional costs?”
“Nein. It is because our people believe we should keep our thoughts upon the Lord when we worship, not be distracted by beautiful decorations or adornment.”
“I suppose there is soundness to that idea, but I think it would be difficult for me to become accustomed to such a change.” She reached into her trunk and withdrew several dresses, all in dark colors. I was momentarily surprised, but then remembered that she was in mourning.
She unfolded one of the dresses and shook out the wrinkles. “With all of my dark dresses, I won’t be quickly mistaken for a visitor.”
I didn’t disagree, but whether she donned a dark-colored dress or one of bright red, everyone in East would know that she was an outsider, for we all knew one another.
She dug deeper inside the trunk, removed a framed picture, and held it out to me. “This is a picture of my mother and father, taken two years ago.”
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