A Shining Light

by Judith Miller

  “What if— No, never mind.” I shook my head.

  Dirk reached for my hand then quickly pulled back. “Tell me, Andrea. What were you going to say?”

  “What if you gained Greta’s permission to speak with her father and tell him what she had planned? Maybe if he knew the lengths she was willing to go to in order to gain his approval, her father would understand how much she loves Benjamin. Her father admires you, Dirk. If you spoke to him, I think he would listen.”

  He arched his brows. “I do not know if he would be convinced, but it would not hurt to try. For sure, I would be willing to speak to him.”

  “But first you must ask Greta. If she thinks it is a bad idea—”

  “You do not need to worry. I will first gain her approval. But I think this is a gut idea. Danke, Andrea.”

  I nodded and glanced toward the door. “I should be on my way. I promised Sister Erma I would return in time to help with noonday preparations. And I need to stop by and see Fred for a few minutes, or he’ll tell Lukas I didn’t stop by to see him.”

  “And does it bother Lukas when you don’t visit Fred?” Dirk asked while he followed me to the door.

  “If I don’t make a visit to his father, Lukas will ask why. I think it’s another way Fred manipulates both of us into doing what he wants.” I smiled and shrugged. “And of course, his tactics usually work. Thank you for your offer to help, Dirk.”

  “Ja, of course. It is gut we could both help each other.”

  Though I shouldn’t have been pleased by what Dirk had told me, it delighted me to hear him say he did not wish to marry Greta. However, the warm glow evaporated like a morning mist when I considered my selfish spirit. Would I ever be truly free of my feelings for Dirk?

  As I walked to the doctor’s office, I thought about the vows I’d made when I married Fred. Deep within, I knew I must set aside my feelings for Dirk, honor my marriage vows, and trust God to change Fred into the man he should be—a man who would love and protect his wife and son.

  Two days later, Greta and I began the weekly chore of cleaning lamp chimneys and trimming the wicks of the kerosene lamps that hung on the walls in the dining hall. A large pan of soapy water sat alongside the rinse water on one of the long tables. She washed one of the chimneys and dipped it into the rinse water before handing it to me to dry. “Thank you for trying to help. Brother Dirk spoke to me about your suggestion.”

  I continued to work the soft cloth around the interior of the lamp chimney. “Do you think it would help to have Brother Dirk speak to your father?”

  She nodded. “I told him he could try. I did not think my Vater would listen. I expected him to be very angry about my attempt to deceive him.”

  I arched my brows. “So Brother Dirk has already spoken to him?”

  “Oh ja. We went together after prayer service last night. I did not think it was fair for Brother Dirk to speak with Vater alone. Since I was the one who came up with the plan, I thought I should be there to help explain. Besides, if Mutter or Vater had heard any of the comments I’d been making to the other sisters, Vater might be angry with Dirk. I needed to explain that Dirk only went to the picnic with me because I had already asked permission and he did not want to embarrass me.” She turned away. “When Dirk said he would not be a part of my plan, I decided I could still make others think we were more than friends.”

  I now knew why Sister Dorothea had considered Greta and Dirk a couple who planned to marry. Greta had carefully dropped a comment here and there—just enough to convince the sisters and anyone else who might ask questions.

  “Does Dirk know that you involved him more than he agreed?”

  She bobbed her head. “I told him. He was not happy to hear what I had done, but he has forgiven me.”

  I was surprised Greta had taken her plan so far, but I was pleased she’d been honest with Dirk—and her parents. I was almost afraid to ask how her father had taken the news. Her facial expression didn’t reflect whether the discussion had met with a good or bad reaction. “And did your father become angry?”

  “Nein. At first, he appeared confused. But once Dirk fully explained what I had hoped to accomplish, he said he would reconsider his decision.” She smiled and handed me another dripping glass chimney. “He asked me to leave and he talked with Dirk for a short time. Once Dirk left, my Vater called me back into the parlor and spoke to me. He was unhappy that I had tried to deceive him, but he was even more disappointed that I had involved Dirk and then deceived him, as well.” She sighed and shook her head. “I know I was wrong and I am sorry for what I’ve done, but Vater has agreed to reconsider and seek the Lord’s guidance about my future.”

  “I am pleased to know he is willing to reconsider his decision. I think your father cares very much for you. I am sure he wants to be certain you are happy.”

  She exhaled a long breath. “Ja. I tried to explain to him long ago how much I love Benjamin, but he did not listen.”

  I finished drying the remaining chimney and placed it on the table alongside the others. “I know, but fathers want to protect their daughters. As a mother, I know I would do most anything to protect Lukas. Try to remember that his actions are based in love for you—not to make you unhappy.”

  “I know you are right. Sometimes I forget that he wants only the best for me.” She leaned forward and picked up the wick trimmer. “I’ll trim the wicks. You can hand me the chimneys.”

  I carried several chimneys as we crossed the room. With careful precision, she reached up, cut straight across, and then made carefully angled cuts along each side of the wick.

  I handed the chimney to her and she gently set it in place. “The room will shine tomorrow.”

  “Ja, the dining room is always brighter the day after we clean the chimneys and trim the wicks.” When we finished, Greta surprised me with a quick hug. “Thank you for being a gut friend, Andrea. I know my mood has been disagreeable over the past weeks, and I am sure it has been difficult to be pleasant when I am around.”

  “We must continue to pray that your father will make a decision that will be best for you and Benjamin,” I said as we carried the buckets of water and other cleaning supplies to the kitchen.

  In addition to praying for Andrea’s situation, I would be praying for my own circumstances. Lukas and Dirk had talked after meeting the night before last, but Lukas hadn’t yet confided in me. Thus far, there had been no opportunity to speak with Dirk. In truth, I hoped I wouldn’t have to go to him. I wanted my son to come to me with his problems and concerns. But I worried Fred had won his heart and his mind. How did a mother protect her son from his own father?

  When Lukas returned a short time before supper, I greeted him on the back porch of the Küche. “Did you stop to see your father today?”

  “For a while, but I went to work with Brother Dirk first.” A sheepish look shadowed his blue eyes. “I quit going to the tinsmith shop after school. Papa said he needed my help more than Brother Dirk did.”

  I nodded but remained silent and waited for him to continue.

  “Brother Dirk talked to me after prayer meeting the other day. He said he missed having me work at the shop.” He looked up. “And he said he was disappointed that I hadn’t kept my vow to help him, and that a man needs to keep his word.” Tears glistened in his eyes. “I wanted to go to work at the shop, but Papa said that a good son did whatever his father told him. Even when I tried to explain that everyone in the village was expected to do what they could to help, he wouldn’t change his mind.”

  My heart ached for Lukas. He’d been torn between his desire to win Fred’s affection and breaking his word.

  “Papa said family comes before anything else and that we are going to leave the colonies as soon as he’s well.” A tear trickled down his cheek. “I said you might not want to leave, but he said you have to do what he says.”

  “I don’t think we need to worry just yet, son. Before we can leave, your father needs those stitches to heal. B
esides, even if he wants to leave, he’ll first need money.” I pasted on a brave smile. “Once he’s well enough to work, he’ll need to go somewhere and earn enough wages to send for us.” My response didn’t seem to calm Lukas, and I pulled him into a hug.

  “But what if he had enough money? Would we go with him?”

  I released my hold and looked into his eyes. “You are worrying needlessly, Lukas. Your father has no money.”

  I glanced up and caught sight of Brother Bosch. He waved and called a greeting. “I need to have a word with Sister Erma. Is she inside?”

  “She is. And I’d better get back to my duties before the supper bell rings.” I leaned close to Lukas’s ear. “We can talk more later, but I’m glad that you decided to keep your commitment at the tinsmith shop.”

  Brother Bosch followed in my footsteps as I returned to the kitchen. He lifted his nose in the air as he stepped inside. “The smells in this Küche are like a little piece of heaven, Sister Erma.”

  She waved her hand at him. “Just because you give me the compliments, do not expect a bigger bowl of filled noodles on your table.”

  The elder laughed. Soon after I started working in the Küche, I learned that Brother Bosch had a fondness for filled noodles. No doubt he was pleased to see they were on this evening’s menu.

  “I expect only my fair share, Sister, but there will be an extra outsider eating with us today, if that is not an inconvenience for you.”

  She wagged her head. “Nein. One more is not a problem. A new field worker?”

  He shook his head. “No. A visitor to our villages.” He glanced in my direction. “One who is most unexpected.”

  Chapter 26

  I paid little heed to Brother Bosch’s comment, but after he departed, I wondered if the doctor had declared Fred well enough to eat in the dining hall. His appearance would certainly be unexpected, and even though he’d been here several months, he was considered a visitor. Is that why Brother Bosch had looked in my direction?

  A knot tightened in my stomach. What if Fred exhibited rude behavior during the meal? He enjoyed making others feel uncomfortable, and he would find the fact that we did not speak during meals an unnecessary rule. Would he care so little about Lukas and me that he would jeopardize our welfare here? I wanted to believe he wouldn’t, but my mind told me otherwise. If he would teach his son to disobey me, he would care little about offending the residents of the village—or me, for that matter.

  “Sister Andrea!” Sister Erma nudged me. “You are lost in your daydreams. We have work to do.”

  She gestured toward the empty china serving bowls and soup tureens sitting on the worktable. I nodded and began to fill the tureens with pea soup. Fred would turn up his nose at the soup—he disliked pea soup. My hands trembled as I wiped the edges of the tureens and placed a lid on each one.

  “Shall I take these to the dining room?” I turned to face Sister Erma.

  She looked at me as though I’d lost my mental faculties. “Ja. They cannot eat the soup if it is out here, can they?” With a quick flit of her hand, she motioned for me to take the tureens into the other room. “You are acting as though this is your first day in the Küche.”

  I offered a feeble smile and hurried to do her bidding. There wasn’t time for an explanation. Sister Erma wanted action, not excuses. Complaints regarding her Küche were far and few between, and she expected it to remain that way.

  When the final bell rang and the doors of the dining hall opened, I focused on the men’s door and looked for Fred to enter and take his seat with the other outsiders. Instead, a neat-appearing man wearing a brown wool suit sat down at the outsiders’ table. I blew a sigh of relief. Since there was no sign of Fred, I’d likely misinterpreted Brother Bosch’s expression when he had mentioned the visitor. Still, I wondered who the stranger might be and what had brought him to West Amana.

  Because of the train stations in Main, Homestead, and South, those villages were frequently visited by salesmen or buyers from the large cities. Visitors to West were mostly farmers and their wives from the surrounding area, locals in need of repairs to their household wares or farm equipment—visitors who didn’t eat their meals in our kitchen houses.

  From all appearances, I wasn’t the only one interested in the stranger. It seemed everyone in the dining hall had taken a turn looking in his direction. My earlier apprehension eased, and I moved back and forth filling bowls and platters at my usual pace. The stranger wasn’t shy about taking in his surroundings. While he ate, he appeared to study the room and each of us, as well.

  Once the after-meal prayer had been recited, I was surprised to see Lukas rush out the men’s door of the dining hall. Usually he stopped to tell me good-bye before heading off to visit Fred before prayer meeting.

  As I stacked the dirty plates and placed them on a large tray, a shadow fell across the table and I looked up. Brother Bosch and the stranger stood on the other side, both of them staring at me.

  A tingling sensation swept over me as I looked into the visitor’s dark eyes. His hard stare caused me to flinch, and dread made my dinner sit heavily in my stomach. I turned away, gathered a handful of dirty silverware, and hoped he would leave, but I knew he wouldn’t. He was here about Fred. I was sure of it.

  Brother Bosch tipped his head toward the visitor. “Sister Andrea, this is Mr. Shaw. He would like to speak with you.” He gestured toward the back porch. “I think there would be more privacy outdoors.”

  I glanced back and forth between the two men and nodded. After placing the fistful of dirty silverware on the tray, I scooted it from the table and carried the tray to the kitchen. Sister Erma frowned when she caught sight of the stranger following me.

  She pointed a wooden spoon in his direction. “Only workers are allowed in the kitchen.” When Brother Bosch appeared, she dropped the spoon to her side. “Is against the rules for him to be in here, Brother Bosch.”

  “Ja, ja. We are going outside.” He motioned toward the back door. “It is easier this way.”

  Her frown remained intact, but she didn’t argue. I shrugged and hoped she would understand that I hadn’t directed them through the kitchen. “I will be back to help in a few minutes.”

  Mr. Shaw stopped at the door and glanced over his shoulder. “It may take longer than a few minutes.”

  In spite of the kitchen’s warmth, I shivered. What could possibly take more than a few minutes? If this man was here about Fred, wouldn’t it be easier for him to go and speak to Fred? With my insides tossing about like cream in a butter churn, I stepped outside.

  “I will wait over here by the tree so that Mr. Shaw may speak to you in private, Sister Andrea.”

  Before he could move, I shook my head. “No, please stay. I have nothing to hide, and I am sure Mr. Shaw won’t object if you are present during our conversation.” I folded my arms across my waist and returned his stare. “Will you, Mr. Shaw?”

  The man walked down the porch steps and halted. “If you don’t mind others knowing your business, I don’t mind.” There was a callous tone to his voice—one that signaled that he was accustomed to getting his way.

  A man like Fred.

  Yet Mr. Shaw didn’t appear to be of the same ilk—he seemed better educated, and certainly better dressed. Brother Bosch stepped to my side while Mr. Shaw stood across from us. To any onlookers, we would look like three people engaged in a pleasant conversation, but from the moment I’d met Mr. Shaw, I knew this talk would not be pleasant.

  “I’m not a man who beats about the bush, Mrs. Wilson, so I’ll get right to the point. I’m here regarding your husband, Fred Wilson. He is your husband, isn’t he?”

  I nodded. “I am sure Brother Bosch has already told you I am married to Fred Wilson.”

  He shrugged. “He did, but a man in Baltimore said he thought Mr. Wilson might have married some gal down in Martinique, name of Neyssa. Wanted to be sure I got things straight.”

  My stomach roiled. Who was Neyssa? Had
Fred been involved with another woman while he was gone? Is that why he hadn’t returned from the Caribbean? “Who was this man in Baltimore who told you about another woman, Mr. Shaw?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry, but I promised I wouldn’t say. I can tell you the information came from a reliable source, a man who sailed to Martinique on the same ship as your husband.”

  While I did my best to digest the unexpected news, Mr. Shaw removed a small notepad from his pocket. “Has your husband ever spoken to you about a robbery or murder in Baltimore?”

  I reeled and took a backward step. So the letters were true. Fred had been involved in a terrible crime. Brother Bosch reached around my waist and walked me to the porch. “You should sit down, Sister Andrea.”

  My gaze remained fixed on Mr. Shaw as I sat on the porch step. Should I mention the letters I’d read? I couldn’t chance Fred knowing I’d read his mail. Fear gripped me, and I swallowed hard. “No, he has said nothing about such things.”

  “I see. Well, Mr. Bosch tells me that your husband has been treated by the doctor ever since he arrived in Iowa. Did he tell you how he happened to injure himself?”

  “Not in any detail. The malaria is common among sailors who travel to the Caribbean. As for the other injuries, I assumed they happened in Martinique or on his return voyage.” One look at Mr. Shaw’s eyes and I could see he didn’t believe me, but I didn’t want to tell this stranger that I spent as little time as possible with my husband. Though I was ashamed to admit it, I hadn’t asked for details—partly because Fred became angry when I peppered him with questions, and partly because I feared him. Now, however, Mr. Shaw was quite interested.

  “My husband could more easily answer your questions, Mr. Shaw. You’ll find him at Dr. Karr’s office.” I hesitated a moment. “Are you an officer of the law, Mr. Shaw?”

  He cleared his throat. “I am a Pinkerton agent charged with apprehending the man who shot and killed a banker in Baltimore.” He tugged on his necktie. “I have every reason to believe that man is your husband, Mrs. Wilson.”