A Shining Light

by Judith Miller

  I turned and gestured for Lukas to join me. His legs flew like a windmill propelling in a brisk wind. In a few brief moments, he came to a halt beside me, his breath coming in gasps. He narrowed his blue eyes and angled his head to one side. “Are you my grandpa?”

  Confusion shone in Brother Bosch’s eyes.

  “Lukas has never met his grandfather,” I explained and then turned to Lukas and shook my head. “No, this is Brother Bosch. He lives in West Amana.” I pointed in the direction of the village.

  “Does he know Grandpa?”

  “I haven’t yet had time to ask him. Why don’t you go back into the barn and shake out the blankets for me. You can fold them and put them back in the trunk.”

  Lukas inched closer to me. “But I—”

  “Please do as I’ve asked, Lukas. I’ll come in and get you in a few minutes.” I touched his shoulder and gently nudged him back in the direction of the barn.

  Lukas shuffled off, but not without glancing over his shoulder several times.

  “He is a fine boy.” Brother Bosch settled his straw hat atop his graying hair. “His Vater? He is with you?”

  “Nein. His father is dead. He died at sea.” If the older man was surprised by my emotionless response, he gave no indication. “That’s why we returned home.” I hesitated and looked into his dark brown eyes. “You said something about this being your barn. What did you mean?”

  He motioned to a leafy elm not far from the barn. “Since there is no place to sit, we can at least go over and stand in the shade, ja?”

  I nodded and did my best to match his long-legged stride. I was happy to accommodate his wish, but more than shade I wanted answers to my questions. We had almost arrived at the tree when I said, “You know my father?”

  He nodded. “I did. He was a hard worker and a gut man.”

  I stopped in my tracks. Brother Bosch had spoken of my father in the past tense. Either he had left the farm or he was . . . dead. Either way, I needed to know. I grasped the older man by his sleeve. “Is he alive?”

  He looked down at me and shook his head. “Nein. He died in the fire.”

  I gasped and clutched one arm around my waist. I thought I might be sick. With a gentle touch, Brother Bosch led me to the shade of the tree, removed his jacket, and spread it beneath the elm.

  He pointed to the jacket. “You should sit. I am sorry to be the one to tell you this sad news about your Vater. Is bad enough you did not know about the fire, but . . .”

  His voice trailed off while a group of baby birds in a nest chirped overhead. A fat robin circled, settled at the edge of the nest, and dropped food into the gaping beaks of her babies. A stark reminder that I would soon need to find a way to feed my son. We had little food and even less money. Although I’d attempted to devise a plan as I lay awake last night, my efforts had been unsuccessful. I couldn’t farm this land by myself, but perhaps I could sell the acreage. The very idea reminded me of Brother Bosch’s earlier remark regarding “his” barn.

  A surge of guilt attacked. I’d learned only moments ago that my father was dead, but instead of mourning his loss, I was already making plans to sell his land. Yet what was I to do? Just as those baby birds were dependent upon their mother, Lukas depended upon me. My grief would have to wait. Right now, I needed answers.

  He’d leaned his lanky frame against the trunk of the tree and silently stared into the distance. I had to know what Lukas and I now faced. “When you first arrived you said this was your barn. What did you mean, Brother Bosch?”

  His eyes shone with concern. “There is so much you must learn in just a short time, but if you want to hear, I will tell you.”

  I nodded. “I have no choice. I can’t make any decisions until I know everything that has happened.”

  I didn’t miss the pity that shone in his eyes as he nodded. “About three years ago, your Vater came and spoke to the elders about selling his land to us. He thought we would be the best choice since we own the adjacent land. After many months and much talking, we finally came to an agreement with your Vater.” He pulled a pipe from his pants pocket and knocked it against the tree. A few pieces of tobacco drifted on the breeze before fluttering to the ground. “He was a gut businessman—stubborn.” He chuckled.

  There was real truth to that statement. My father had always worked hard, and our farm had usually made a good enough profit that we lived as well or better than most of the farm families in eastern Iowa.

  “So what agreement did he make?” My stomach knotted, for I knew I wasn’t going to be pleased with the answer. I was now certain my father had sold the land.

  Brother Bosch trained his eyes on the bowl of his pipe while he filled it with fresh tobacco. “He signed a contract to sell us all of this.” Cupping the bowl of his pipe in his left hand, he arched his right arm in a wide circle. “The land, the buildings, the house, the animals—everything. But we could not take ownership until his death.”

  Though the breeze was warm, a chill coursed through me and I shuddered. Had someone caused my father’s death in order to gain possession of the land?

  No! Surely not.

  The members of Amana Colonies would never do such a thing—they were an honorable people. My father had always said as much. And if they hadn’t been willing to wait until Father’s death, they wouldn’t have signed such a contract. Besides, my father had always maintained a good relationship with the people of West Amana. They would never have harmed him.

  “So the animals?” I gestured toward their land and he nodded.

  “Ja, we took them right away, but we haven’t begun to plow over here yet. We are still busy with the other land, and a decision hasn’t been made if we will till and plant this year or wait until next spring.” He lit the tobacco and puffed several times. “We had already paid your father. There is paper work in the village you can examine if you would like. I am thinking you might want to see that, ja?”

  My mouth turned dry as the gravity of his words took hold. I could barely believe my ears. If they’d already paid my father, where was the money? I turned toward the burned-out remains of what had once been my home and shook my head. If the money had burned in the fire, there was nothing left for Lukas and me. There was no way I could support my child, and no way I could remain on this land. Desperation clawed down my spine. How would we survive?

  Chapter 3

  For several minutes, I sat in stunned silence. Finally, Brother Bosch pushed away from the tree. “You and the boy should come back to the village with me.”

  I shook my head. “My trunks are in the barn. Everything I own.”

  His lips curved in a gentle smile. Brother Bosch couldn’t possibly understand my concern over the baggage stored in the barn, for the people of Amana didn’t place a great deal of value on worldly belongings. They lived a communal life and had little need of the items I considered valuable. Long ago Mother told me she’d visited some of the Amana homes, and there had been a few personal belongings displayed in each one. But the farmland, the houses, the vineyards, the crops—all were owned by the Amana Society.

  “I will have one of the men bring a wagon.”

  Bring a wagon, load my belongings, and then what? I didn’t know how to respond.

  “You can stay in the village until you decide what to do.” His voice resonated with a compassion that tugged at my heart.

  “I have no money to pay for lodging or food.”

  “Ach!” He waved his hand in a dismissive motion. “What are two more mouths to feed? You and the boy can eat at the Küche, and we will arrange a place for you to stay. Is not difficult. If you stay for more than a few days, you may need to help in the kitchen house or garden, but the work is not so hard, and the sisters will be gut company for you. Will be gut for the boy, as well.”

  The idea seemed outlandish, and yet what else could I do? There seemed no other possibility for Lukas and me—at least for the time being. Once I had more time to think, maybe then I could develop
some sort of arrangement for our future.

  “Thank you, Brother Bosch. If I weren’t so worried about my son, I wouldn’t impose on you, but I must find some way to take care of our needs.”

  His gentle smile returned. “There is a passage in the Bible that says, ‘Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment? Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?’” He held out his hand and helped me to my feet. “You have heard this before?”

  Walking alongside him toward the barn, I nodded. “Yes, I’ve read those verses.” I didn’t go on to say that I’d read those passages and prayed on many occasions when our cupboard was bare and Fred out to sea. Most of the time, my needs had been met by Louise Adler, but there had been a few instances when Lukas and I had ached with unrelenting hunger. When we left Baltimore, I thought we’d left those days behind. All of this seemed a cruel joke, and I now wondered what God must be thinking.

  “Then you know God will provide.” He smiled. “Right now, He is giving us the opportunity to help you.”

  I wasn’t convinced most people would consider helping us an opportunity, but I was glad to know Brother Bosch didn’t think us a burden. “I hope the others in the village will feel the same as you. Don’t you need to seek agreement from the others?”

  “There will be no problem. We would never turn away a widow and child in need of provision. The other elders will be in accord.” He grasped the wooden door handle and pulled back on the heavy door.

  So Brother Bosch was an elder. No wonder he’d been so knowledgeable about the sale of my father’s land. Maybe he could tell me even more. But I’d wait until Lukas wasn’t nearby to ask any further questions.

  Lukas scampered toward me, his blue eyes shining with an eagerness that accompanied childhood. “I folded the blankets and put them in the trunk like you told me, Mama.”

  “Thank you, Lukas.” I briefly considered going inside and refolding the quilts, but I didn’t want to discourage him from any future efforts to help me. With his short arms, I pictured the quilts stuffed beneath the heavy trunk lids in slapdash bundles, but it truly didn’t matter. Right now, there were far more important things to worry me. I tousled my son’s hair and rested my arm around his shoulder. “We’re going to go with Brother Bosch and visit the village where he lives. Won’t that be fun?”

  His forehead creased in a frown. “But what about Grandpa?”

  I stooped down in front of him and gathered his hands within my own. “Brother Bosch tells me that Grandpa died before we arrived here.”

  Lukas yanked his hands away from me and shook his head. “That’s not true.” He glowered at the older man. “My grandpa isn’t dead. Only my papa.” His voice trembled, and he clutched his small hands into tight fists.

  “Lukas! Don’t direct your anger at Brother Bosch. He is going to help us, and none of this is his fault.” Once again, I grasped his hands and looked into his eyes. “Do you understand me?” My tone had been stern enough that the boy’s shoulders relaxed a bit.

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “You should apologize to Brother Bosch.”

  He scuffed the toe of his shoe in the dirt and gave the man a quick sideways glance. “I’m sorry.”

  The elder nodded his head and patted Lukas on the shoulder before closing the barn doors. He motioned me toward the village. “We will cut across the fields so it will not be so far to walk.”

  I held Lukas by the hand as we plodded across the uneven terrain toward the village of West Amana. At least for the next several nights, we would have a roof over our heads and food in our stomachs. After that, our future remained an unsolved mystery.

  West Amana Colony, Iowa

  Only once could I remember being in one of the villages. The three of us had traveled to High Amana for Mother to purchase some dress fabric. She’d been unhappy with Papa’s previous choices and insisted that she go along and choose her own. Papa continued to maintain he liked the dark green material with huge pink flowers, but Mother disagreed and had sewn the fabric into window curtains rather than a dress. After that, Father had been more careful with his choices. The general store and houses I’d seen in High Amana had been made of sandstone, the same sandstone my papa used to construct the foundation of our own house.

  I expected to see similar houses in West Amana but was surprised when I caught sight of a few brick homes and some frame construction as well as the familiar sandstone. When I inquired, Brother Bosch explained that sandstone was much more prevalent in High, so it had been used for all of the houses there. He gestured toward the south. “In South Amana, the houses are of brick because that is where we make our bricks. In Main Amana, many of the houses are of frame construction because there were many trees nearby. We used what was most available for each village. Here in West, we have more of the sandstone, but we have a little of the others, too.” He grinned. “We have nice variety, ja?”

  “Yes, very nice.” With Lukas still holding my hand, I continued to survey my surroundings.

  The houses were larger than most family homes, and certainly larger than our farmhouse had been. During my years on the farm, I’d heard a few stories about the communal society, but I hadn’t been particularly interested in their way of life, and most of what I’d heard had long since been forgotten. This village exuded a sense of orderly arrangement and tidiness that refreshed my memories of High from years ago.

  When Lukas tugged on my hand, I looked down into his bright blue eyes. “Are we going to live here, Mama?”

  “Maybe for a little while, Lukas. Do you think you would like that?”

  He shook his head. “I want to live on the farm with Grandpa.”

  I inhaled a deep breath. “That isn’t going to be possible, Lukas. We’re going to make new plans. Now, come along. Brother Bosch is going to take us to the kitchen house to meet some of the people who live here.”

  The boy lagged a few steps behind, and I didn’t blame him. His uncertainty about this new arrangement likely ran even deeper than my own—if that was possible. I moved a bit closer to Brother Bosch and lowered my voice. “I may have enough money to pay for one night at a hotel. Is there a boardinghouse or hotel in the village?” Some of these houses appeared as large as hotels in the small towns where Fred and I had stayed on our way to Baltimore years ago.

  The older man shook his head. “Nein. We have hotels only in the villages where there are trains passing through. No trains in West, so no hotel, but do not worry. For you and the boy, there will be a comfortable place to stay.”

  His offer was both generous and kind, and I was thankful, yet a tiny part of me worried about this arrangement. Brother Bosch was kind, but what if the other villagers didn’t want us there? How would we be treated? Surely they didn’t like outsiders. Why else would they segregate themselves in these villages?

  When the elder motioned to a nearby house and led us to the rear entrance, unexpected trepidation assailed me. My palms turned damp and I could feel the prickle of perspiration beneath my dark bonnet. He opened the door and gestured for us to enter. Rather than step forward, I longed to turn and run, but I forced a smile and tugged on Lukas’s hand.

  Brother Bosch removed his straw hat before stepping inside. “Guten Morgen, Sister Erma.”

  A small cluster of women turned to look at us when we entered. All but one turned back to her work. A rosy-cheeked woman with graying hair and bright blue eyes crossed the kitchen and stopped in front of us. Her full lips curved in a broad smile that she directed at Lukas, and I assumed she was Sister Erma.

  “Guten Morgen.” Her gaze passed over all three of us before it settled on the elder. “Who do we have here, Brother Bosch? Some visiting relatives, perhaps?”

  “Nein, Sister. This is Mrs. Wil
son and her son, Lukas. She is the daughter of Johann Neumann, who lived on the adjacent farm that we purchased.” He turned toward me. “This is Sister Erma Goetz. She is in charge of this Küche, and everyone who eats here will tell you the best meals are served in the Goetz Küchehaas.”

  The color in Sister Erma’s cheeks heightened at the flattery. She waved a dismissive gesture at Brother Bosch. “Is true we serve gut food in this Küche, but the food is gut in all of the village kitchen houses.” Waving us into the adjacent room, she gestured to one of many long tables. Backless benches were aligned on both sides of each table. “You sit down, and I will get you some coffee.” Before heading back to the kitchen, she pointed at Lukas. “And for you I have some milk.” Hesitating for only a moment, she tipped her head to one side. “And maybe some bread and jam, ja?”

  Lukas turned to me, uncertain how to answer. He’d doubtless understood very little the woman had said, for during his lifetime he’d heard me speak only smatterings of the German language. Mostly when Louise Adler and I would relax over a strong cup of coffee and talk about things we didn’t want others to hear. Although Lukas had picked up a few words of the language, his German vocabulary was far more limited than his English.

  I repeated the question, and Lukas bobbed his head with enthusiasm. The older woman laughed. “We will have to teach him to speak German.”

  Though I nodded my agreement, I didn’t expect to be here long enough for Lukas to learn the language. Brother Bosch excused himself and returned to the kitchen. Moments later, I heard the back door close, and I wondered if he’d left Lukas and me in Sister Erma’s care. Although the room was void of decorations, it exuded an air of warmth, perhaps due to the pale blue walls, or maybe due to the orderly alignment of everything in the room.

  Soon the sister returned with a tray bearing two cups of coffee, a glass of milk, and a plate heaping with thick, crusty slices of wheat bread. Beside the plate were two small white bowls, one containing butter and the other filled with jam.