A Hidden Truth (28 page)

In the distance I could see Berndt walking toward the barn, so I quickened my pace. I didn't want him to think I wouldn't be there.

Berndt saw me as I rounded the corner of the barn, and he waved and strode toward me. “Would you like to walk, or would you rather stay here at the barn?”

I glanced toward the barn. I knew Karlina wasn't in there. Cousin Louise had insisted she rest after the noonday meal. She'd been unhappy because the shepherds and some hired hands had begun the sheep washing, and she'd wanted to be there during the process.

“Do you know where they're washing the sheep?”

Berndt grinned and nodded. “Ja, at the pond. I was thinking it was gut we didn't meet there, but if you want to go and watch, we can do that.”

“I've heard Karlina talk about it, so I thought it would be fun to see how it is done, but first I think we should talk. I have a lot to tell you.”

He motioned toward a tree a short distance from the barn. “I hope what you have to say will make me happy.”

His smile was as bright as the sun-drenched afternoon. My heart pounded a new beat as we walked to a large oak tree and stood beneath the towering branches. My voice quivered while I did my best to explain everything from my desire to learn of my mother's past to thinking he was my half brother, to the revelation that my assumptions had been completely incorrect.

Berndt listened intently and interrupted only once. When I had finally completed the tale, he rubbed his jaw. “So that is the reason you changed how you acted toward me? Because you thought we were brother and sister?”

“Yes.” Though I knew it would embarrass me, I needed to tell Berndt the truth. “I . . . I had started to think of you as a man I could love.” Heat spread across my cheeks, but I forced myself to continue. “But then I read those letters and began to investigate. Soon I came to believe you were my half brother, and I knew my feelings for you had to change.”

Using the tips of his fingers, he gently lifted my chin until our eyes met. “And now that you know we are not relatives, have those earlier feelings returned?”

Discomfort assailed me. How could I answer such a question and maintain my modesty? A woman didn't declare her love for a man until she was certain of their future plans to wed. At least that's what Margaret Holmann told me back when we'd attended school together years ago. Margaret had adopted the role of authority on young men back then, as she was never without an escort at her side. And all of the girls had listened to her.

I finally gathered enough courage to speak. “I believe my feelings for you are equal to those you possess for me.”

Berndt's serious look gave me pause. I wasn't certain what he was thinking. Had he expected a more direct response?

He leaned toward me. “In that case, I suggest that I go and speak with the elders tomorrow. I will tell them we love each other and seek permission to marry.”

I gasped and pressed my hand to the bodice of my dress. “Oh no. You cannot speak to the elders. That is impossible.”

He arched his brows. “And why is that? I know they may have some misgivings, but once you declare your desire to live in the colonies and embrace our faith, they will agree. I am sure of it. Your grandparents and Mutter lived here; you still have relatives here—there will be no problem.”

I shook my head. “You don't understand. After they learned that Karlina and I visited the Sedlacek farm, the Bruderrat in East could not come to a decision about my future in the colonies. The matter has been passed on to the Grossebruderrat for determination. They may elect to have me leave. I didn't follow the rules, and I caused Karlina to go astray.” I lowered my head. “I don't think they will look kindly upon my request to remain here.”

Berndt squared his shoulders and inhaled a deep breath. “I will convince them! You are the woman I wish to marry. If you feel the same, then I will do everything in my power to influence the Grossebruderrat that they should give you another chance.” One corner of his mouth tipped in a smile. “They were young men at one time, too. They will listen to my plea.”

He looked deep into my eyes and stepped closer. When he wrapped his arms around my waist and drew me into an inviting embrace, I didn't resist. A flash of heat seared my cheeks as I met his ardent gaze, and my knees felt as though they might buckle. He lowered his head and covered my lips with a passionate kiss. A delightful tremble raced through my body as I responded to the warmth of his kiss. I belonged right here—in Berndt's arms.

“Say you wish to be with me always, Dovie.”

“I do want to be with you forever and remain in East, but—”

He touched his finger to my lips. “Then with God's help, we will be together. Trust me.” With a wink, he grasped my hand. “Let's go and see how much progress they have made washing the sheep.”

I smiled and nodded. “Oh yes. Karlina will expect a report from me.” I glanced at our clasped hands. “But I do not think holding hands is wise.”

He chuckled. “We are safe for a little while.”

We walked as far as we dared with our hands clasped, but once we caught a glimpse of the men at the pond, I pulled my hand away and put a little distance between us. There were a number of men standing in the water, as well as those who were moving the sheep toward the water. “Have you ever helped wash the sheep?”

“Nein. It is not something that appeals to me. Have you ever smelled a wet sheep?”

I laughed and shook my head.

“You'll soon discover that it's not a very pleasant odor.”

As we approached, Cousin George motioned for us to stay at a distance. A short time later he walked toward us. “Sheep don't particularly like being washed, so they're a little skittish. You need to stay over here where we're washing them rather than with the ones on the hillside. The men are trying to keep them calm so that when they herd them down, they're easier to handle.”

I glanced toward the rise. With all of the woolly sheep, it looked as if a snowstorm had descended upon the hillside. Karlina said the sheep preferred the closeness of their flock, so I thought they should be profoundly happy at the moment. The three of us walked toward the water, where the men had partitioned off a shallow section of the pond with wood slats that reminded me of a narrow corral. The sheep had been herded into a wagon, and one by one, they came down a ramp with protective sides and into the water. One of the men stood in the knee-high water and briefly submerged each animal, head and all, and then pushed it along to the next man, who sent the sheep up another wood ramp and into the bed of the wagon waiting at the opposite side. Once the wagon of dirty sheep had been emptied, the shepherds loaded another flock into the wagon and the process began anew. The clean sheep were taken back to the pasture, where the sun would help their wool dry before shearing took place.

“What do you think of our method?” Cousin George asked while he waited for another load of dirty sheep.

I wrinkled my nose. “It appears to be efficient, although wet sheep have an odor—and it isn't particularly pleasurable.”

Cousin George tipped his head back and laughed. “You get used to it after a while.” He pointed to the partitioned area in the water. “Before we started washing them this way, we used to take them one at a time into the water, and with one man at the head and one at the tail, we would grab hold of their hooves and swing them to and fro in the water to remove the excess yolk.”

I arched my brows. The only yolk I knew about was the yolk inside an egg. Cousin George grinned. “Sheep yolk is the oily secretion that covers a sheep's wool. It protects the sheep from rain and keeps the wool from becoming matted. When some of that substance is removed, the sheep are easier to shear.” He rested one palm on his opposing shoulder. “It was hard on the shoulders. This is better and we can wash more than seven hundred sheep in one day.”

The thought of washing that many sheep in one day amazed me. I was certain the men would be exhausted by the time they had completed this chore. Another wagonload of sheep was positioned near the water, and Cousin George watched closely as the men set up the ramp. “You tell Karlina I do not want her to come down here. Being around the water and the wet sheep will not be gut for her. She needs to rest, and then she can be at the barn when we begin shearing.”

“I'll tell her, but I know she won't be happy with your decision.”

“It is for the best.” He tipped his hat, turned, and strode off toward the wagon.

We watched a while longer, and I wasn't sure if I felt more sympathy for the sheep or for the men who washed them. The men sounded as though they were enjoying themselves, while the bleating sheep appeared far less happy.

I was afraid Karlina would feel more like one of the unhappy sheep when I delivered the message from her father. But even the thought of delivering unpleasant news to Karlina couldn't spoil my own happiness or squelch my excitement. The possibility of a future with Berndt burned warm in my heart.

CHAPTER 28

June 1893
Karlina

The decision had been made. Shearing would begin on Monday. At prayer meeting on Friday, Vater asked God for continued good weather. Since being washed, the sheep had regained the amount of yolk that provided their wool with excellent luster and softness, yet not so much as to cause matting. Extra shearers had been hired, and all was in readiness to begin shearing on Monday.

My father glanced around the group that gathered for prayer each evening. “I am asking all of you to join me in continued prayer that our sheep will not suffer from any effects of cold weather after we shear them.”

Brother Herman elbowed my father and chuckled. “I do not think you need to worry the gut Lord about the weather, Brother George. June has arrived, and from what the traveling shearers tell me, our sheep are the only ones in all of Iowa still wearing wool coats.”

“Ja, that may be true, but perhaps you should ask those shearers how many sheep were sick or died due to the cold weather that arrived after they sheared them so early. Like the others, I had planned to begin washing the sheep earlier, but I watched the barometer. It showed we would have a change in the weather. I was not willing to take any chance that our sheep would suffer from cold weather while their wool was wet or after they had been sheared.”

There were murmurs of approval. “I was only joking with you, Brother George. We are all thankful for your gut care of the sheep,” Brother Herman said. “You watch after your sheep just like the Father in heaven watches after us.”

Anton scooted to the edge of his chair. “Ja. Brother George says that just like sheep need a gut shepherd to care for them, we need the Lord to care for us.” He smiled at his mentor. “He also taught me that the sheep learn the voice of their shepherd and learn to trust him, and if we listen for God's voice, we will hear Him speak to our hearts. He even showed me in the Bible where Jesus says He is the Gut Shepherd and the sheep hear His voice and know Him.” Anton tapped his chest. “I like that the Bible talks about us as sheep. Jesus said He would lay down His life for His sheep, and that meant He was willing to die for us. Isn't that right, Brother George?”

“Ja, that is right, Anton. Jesus died so we could live. In the book of John, Jesus uses a parable about sheep to refer to mankind.” My father handed his Bible to Anton. “We have been talking about sheep, so why don't you read the tenth chapter of John for us? Then we will pray.”

I was surprised by Anton's bold behavior during prayer meeting. He seldom spoke out, but tonight he appeared pleased when my father asked him to read from the Bible. Earlier in the year he would have refused to participate. With his shoulders squared, Anton read the entire chapter without faltering.

While my father led the prayer time, I opened my eyes a mere slit and peeked across the room at Anton. He sat with his eyes tightly closed and his hands folded. Great changes had taken place in his life since he'd arrived in East, and my heart swelled at the progress he'd made.

During the days while I'd been confined to bed, Anton had written notes and drawn sketches of the sheep for me. Though he wasn't permitted to enter my bedroom, he sent the messages with Dovie or slipped them beneath my door. On a few occasions, he'd stood in the doorway and talked to me. Worry had shone in his eyes, and his gentle concern touched my heart.

Although Dr. Zimmer had declared me completely recovered, Anton continued to watch after me as carefully as he would a newborn lamb. His caring behavior and words of endearment had dispelled my former doubts about him, and I had given more and more thought to his suggestion that we build a life together.

Tonight as we departed the prayer meeting, Anton moved to my side. I smiled, pleased to have him walk beside me. “You did a gut job with reading tonight.”

“Danke. I feel more at ease now, and it is because of you. I always feel better when you are near me.” His lips tilted in a bashful smile. “You will come to the barn tomorrow while your father is teaching me to shear, ja?”

Darkness had not yet descended, and I could see the shadow of apprehension lurking in his eyes. “I will be there, but you will do fine. The sheep know your voice, and they will respond well to you. After you shear a few of them, it will become easier for you.”

He didn't appear totally convinced. “I was hoping there would be enough of the hired help that your Vater wouldn't think I needed to shear.”

I smiled and shook my head. “A gut shepherd knows how to care for his sheep in every situation. You must learn so if outside help is not available in the future, you can perform the task yourself.”

“I know you are right, but the shearing is one thing I would rather not learn.”

I took hold of the banister on my way upstairs to bed. “I will pray that all goes well in the morning.”

His smile didn't quite meet his eyes, but he thanked me. “You should also pray for the sheep that must tolerate my clumsy attempts.”

I chuckled. “You can be sure I will be praying for them, as well.”

The thought of Anton's concern over the sheep warmed me. He had developed the heart of a true shepherd. I understood his worries and had done my best to reassure him. Though he didn't appear swayed, I believed that the Lord would grant him the peace and skill to handle the shearing.

After breakfast the following morning, the three of us made our way to the barn, where Anton would begin his lessons. Father had made certain no one else would be around while Anton tried his hand with the shears.

My father walked toward one of the larger ewes. “I am going to shear this one while you watch, Anton. While I shear, I will do my best to explain, but you should ask me questions if you do not understand.” He pointed to a spot nearby. “Move over there and stand beside the tarp. Karlina will gather the wool once it is off the sheep. Later today we will get all the spaces ready for the shearers. We want the sheep and shearers as comfortable as possible, and we want to keep the wool nice and clean.”

After positioning the animal on its rump and resting its back against my father's thighs and lower legs, he held the shears aloft. “I like to talk a bit while I'm shearing so they hear my voice, but you'll soon discover the sheep are pretty cooperative when it comes to the process. We clip in a circular fashion, and if you keep their feet off the floor while you're working on them, you won't have any trouble.”

Anton arched his brows. “I'm not so sure, but I hope you are right.”

My father commenced clipping the underpart of the ewe's neck and moved around the top of the neck to the top of the shoulders. He pointed to the sheep's belly. “Now you clip from midbelly down to the hind legs and then move from midbelly to the thick portion of the forelegs, always shedding the wool back and forth from the right and left.”

Moving with ease, my father clipped the thick part of the wool near the foreleg, continued in parallel rings over the shoulder, ribs, and loins, and then clipped up and along the top of the back before he gently dropped the sheep on its side. He talked to the sheep in a low voice while he continued the circular cuts over the hip and thighs until he had sheared up to the line of the backbone.

“Now we turn and do the same thing on the other side,” he said to Anton.

“But how do you know how close to make the cuts and how close to the skin?”

My father moved the sheep into position and motioned to Anton. “Come closer and you will see my ring marks are about a half inch apart. You don't want them much more than a half or three-fourths of an inch apart.” My father lifted the wool far enough for Anton to see where he had cut. “Put your hand beneath where I've cut so you will know how it should feel. You want to make your cuts about a third of an inch away from the skin.”

Anton stepped back after he'd examined the sheep. “You are cutting pretty close to the skin.”

“Ja, that is the idea. The sheep needs to be cool in the summer. We don't want to give them only half a haircut.” My father chuckled.

“What if you nick them?”

“Sometimes it happens, but always we try to be careful. Place your free hand flat on the skin and draw it tight as you shear and you will have an easier time.” He nodded toward the wool he had clipped and lifted along the sheep's body. “Always try to keep the wool collected together so the sheep does not break the fleece with its feet if it should kick.”

“There is a lot to remember. I hope the shearers will move quickly, because I doubt I'll be able to finish more than two or three sheep in a day's time.”

“Ach! You will do better than that. Most of the men can shear about thirty sheep in a day. Some a few more and some a few less.”

“Ja, well I will be among the group who shear less. Much less.”

“Do not become defeated before you begin. The Lord made you as capable of shearing a sheep as any other man.”

“We will see,” Anton said. He maintained a watchful eye while my father continued shearing the ewe, but his uneasiness increased as my father made the final cuts.

I swept the tarp with a besom and picked up the stray locks of wool before I carried the fleece to a large table. When work began in earnest on Monday, the sheared woolly coats would be piled in stacks and sent by wagons to the woolen mill, where they would be sorted, cleaned, spun, and woven into blankets.

My father waved Anton forward. “Now you can begin with that ewe over there. Remember to keep her feet off the floor, and you will do fine.”

I wasn't certain if he would be more at ease if I didn't watch or if he wanted me to give him my attention, so I stood at a distance and kept my eyes trained on him. If he looked in my direction, he would know I hadn't left the barn. He pulled the ewe into position and hesitated.

“You cannot expect the sheep to remain in that position all day, Anton. You must begin to shear.” My father opened and closed his hand in a rapid motion. “Put your shears to work for you.”

Anton placed his hand on the sheep's belly and made his first cut, and then the next. His confidence increased, and while my father offered verbal instruction, Anton worked his way around the left side of the sheep. He turned her and had begun the second side when his shears went too deep.

Anton gasped. The sheep bleated, fought her way to her feet, and ran across the barn with the half-shorn portion of her coat dragging along one side of her body. Had the lower barn door been open, she would have run outside. Instead, she circled around the barn with Anton racing after her. As the ewe circled for the third time, my father managed to gain a hold on the animal, and Anton leaned forward to catch his breath. I did my best to squelch the laughter that threatened to escape.

His face turned the color of a beet and his features pinched in a tight frown. I expected him to lash out with an angry exclamation, but instead he looked up at me. “I do not think she is bleeding too much, since she made it around the barn three times.”

My father chuckled and shook his head. “Not bad enough to need a stitch, but it could use a little tar.” My father called for me to bring the small pot of hot tar. He quickly dabbed a little on the nick. “That should take care of it. She's fine. Now pick up your shears and finish the job.”