A Simple Change (24 page)

Rolling onto my side, I bunched the pillow beneath my head. I had to admit that Nathan had taken up a small corner of my heart, as well. Not because of his belief in God, for Nathan avowed he controlled his own path and didn't need religion or the church—unless it would provide him with the desired social contacts. His lack of faith plagued me, but I did admire his determination to be successful in spite of his early life. And though I'd observed occasional good changes in him over the past weeks, I'd also noticed they never lasted for long. I worried Nathan told me
what he believed I wanted to hear rather than telling me what he truly believed. Without God, I wasn't sure Nathan could be the attentive, thoughtful, compassionate husband I desired.

And then there was Thomas. He wasn't a man who wanted to win my heart, but he'd stolen a small piece of it—not in any romantic way, but because of his desire to help his sister. Even though my association with Thomas had created all sorts of difficulties and recently raised some troubling questions, I still desired to help him if I could.

After a night of fitful dreams, I awoke with one thought in mind: I was going to return the newspaper clipping to its proper place. Perhaps Nathan would never ask to see it again, but if he did, I'd tell him the truth. Even though he'd told me to keep the clipping and leave everything to him, I no longer wanted the paper in my possession. I'd still depend upon him to investigate the bank robbery through his telegraph messages, but as soon as I found an opportunity, I was going to return the article to that bag hidden beneath the floorboards.

I had completed my breakfast when Sister Bertha signaled to me from the kitchen. As soon as we'd recited the after-meal prayer, I wove my way through the departing sisters. They were going one direction while I went the opposite, and for a few moments, I felt like a fish swimming upstream. “You wanted to see me, Sister Bertha?”

The plump woman swiped her hands on her apron and pointed to a basket. “I would like Sister Hanna to remain here so she can begin to make noodles for the noonday meal. You can take breakfast to your Mutter, ja?”

“Yes, of course.” I grabbed the basket handles and departed out the kitchen door. I hoped Margaret wouldn't think that my ankle was posing problems and I'd been required to remain abed. She'd likely be worried when I didn't appear on time. Instead of turning toward home, I decided to stop at the dormitory and let her know before I headed for home.

I circled around the Küche and down the path toward the men's quarters. The other workers had departed before me, and the only sounds were birds twittering overhead. Soon the mill machinery would block out any birdsong, but for a few minutes more, I could enjoy the sweet music.

“
Psst.
Jancey! Over here.”

I stopped in my tracks and looked toward the trees. “Nathan? Is that you?” A prick of irritation rose in my chest. Nathan had once again needlessly broken the rules. What if someone saw us?

He stepped from behind a tree. “Yes. I looked for you after breakfast, and when I didn't see you on the path, I was worried.” He glanced down. “How is your leg? I thought it might be worse today.”

“My ankle is fine. Surely you saw me in the Küche and could see I wasn't having any trouble. I'm not even limping.”

He frowned. “You tell me you want a man who is caring, but you become angry when I am worried about you. After listening to you lately, I realize I wasn't a good suitor while we were in Kansas City, and I wanted to show you that I can be the kind of man you say you desire. I want to make you happy and provide you with the life you deserve. I've been doing everything possible to make that happen.”

“Thank you, Nathan. I shouldn't have snapped at you, but both of us will be in trouble—particularly me—if we're seen alone out
here. I need to stop by the dormitory before taking Mother her breakfast. I didn't want Margaret to worry when I was late.” The warning bell rang in the distance. “If you don't hurry, you're going to be in trouble. Thank you for your concern, but please go on. I'll wait a minute or two before I continue down the path, just in case someone should be watching.”

I could see that my words didn't completely appease him, but he departed. I waited by one of the tall pines for a couple minutes and then continued to the men's quarters. Margaret was standing in the doorway looking toward the path as I approached. I waved to her and picked up my pace.

“I'm sorry to be late.” I lifted the basket a little higher. “I had to pick up breakfast for my mother. Sister Hanna needs to remain in the Küche this morning, so I'll need to go home for a short time. I didn't want you to worry about me.”

Her lips curved in a generous smile. “I am glad you stopped by. Already I was worried your ankle was swollen and you would need to remain at home today.” She glanced at my foot. “Is gut you are doing so well. Go on and take your Mutter's breakfast. I will be in the washhouse doing the ironing. It is cooler out there.”

I wasn't sure it would be cool anywhere, especially with the fire already stoked to heat the irons, but Sister Margaret's news pleased me. If I hurried, I could deliver Mother's breakfast, return to the dormitory, and put the news clipping back in place, all before Margaret completed the ironing.

Thankful Mother hadn't needed me to remain at home with her, I walked to work as fast as my ankle would permit. Unfortunately, the quick pace wasn't wise. By the time I entered the dormitory,
a dull ache had spread around my ankle and downward into the arch of my foot. I considered going directly to Thomas's bed but decided first to check on Margaret's progress. I didn't know how much ironing she had in her basket. If she hadn't much, she'd be almost finished, and I didn't want her walking in on me while I was in the midst of pulling up the floorboards.

I sat down only long enough to massage my ankle and then proceeded across the yard to the washhouse. I called out to Margaret as I approached and then stepped inside. “I wanted to let you know that I've returned. I'll go back and start cleaning.” I looked in the basket that sat near the ironing board. “It looks like you still have quite a bit left before you finish.”

“Ja, I will be here until time for the noonday meal—and maybe even after that. There is more ironing than usual this week.” Removing a handkerchief from her pocket, she wiped away the perspiration that dotted her forehead.

A wave of guilt washed over me. “I can come out and relieve you in an hour or so if you'd like.”

Sister Margaret chuckled and shook her head. “You remember the last time you tried your hand at ironing clothes? I had to dampen them down and start over.”

“I won't learn unless I try.”

She bobbed her head. “Is true, but you have other talents. Even with practice, I do not believe ironing is your gift, Sister Jancey.”

I laughed and nodded. “You're probably right, but if you change your mind, I'd be willing to have you instruct me while I try again.”

“Nein. We both have work to complete. There isn't time for lessons today.” She turned back to the shirt and pressed the iron across the yoke.

Her return to work signaled our conversation had ended, so I strolled back to the men's quarters, relieved there would be sufficient time to return the clipping. Once inside the dormitory, I went directly to Thomas's bed, shoved it a short distance, and knelt down. I silently cheered when the floorboards lifted without much effort. “Probably because I loosened them so much the last time,” I muttered.

I reached inside the hole, but my breath caught in my throat as I stretched my hand further inside and found nothing. No bag, no money—the space was completely empty. I captured my lower lip between my teeth, fear taking hold as I leaned forward to gain a better position. I spread my fingers, but felt nothing except an empty space.

I pushed back to my knees and stared into the dark, barren hole. Instead of returning the news clipping, I replaced the floorboards, shoved the bed to its former position, and dropped to the side of the bed. Panic gripped me and I glanced around the room, feeling like an animal in a trap.

Where was the money? Thomas must have decided to remove it after seeing the news clipping was missing. I stared at the trunk beside his bed and noticed a note beneath Kathleen's picture. My fingers trembled as I set aside the picture and unfolded the note.

“Where is it?”

I read the three words and gasped. Did he believe I'd taken his money?

Chapter 24

My mind was in a whirl. I didn't know what I should do. I'd prayed, but so far I still hadn't received an answer.

Telling Nathan wouldn't be wise. He'd instructed me to leave things to him, but I'd done the exact opposite. He was sure to be angry when he discovered I'd taken matters into my own hands. I could confide in Ritt if an opportunity presented itself, but I doubted that would happen. Besides, Brother William might see me and reprimand both of us, and I didn't want to cause problems for Ritt.

I needed to keep my wits about me and hope an answer would soon arrive. Above all else, I needed to avoid Thomas, even if it meant sticking close to Margaret's side until this matter was resolved. What if Thomas left work and came to the dormitory and confronted me? The mere thought created a shiver of fear that caused my entire body to tremble.

Instead of remaining inside any longer, I hurried out the back door to the washhouse. “How are you coming along on the ironing, Margaret?”

She looked at me as though I'd lost my buttons. “You were out here only a short time ago, and I told you I wouldn't be finished until noon. Nothing has happened to change that. You have finished your cleaning?”

“Not all of it, but I was thinking I'd really like to learn to iron. The cleaning can wait. I doubt the men will notice if I haven't dusted.”

I wasn't sure she'd agree since she'd said ironing wasn't my gift, but I planned to stay until I convinced her I could learn.

Her lips drooped into an upside-down U. “I don't think it is wise. You've tried before and failed. Is easier if I finish the ironing and you clean.”

“I don't think ironing is so much a gift as something that can be learned. Why don't you let me try one more time?”

She didn't appear pleased by my argument, but she acquiesced. “As soon as I finish this shirt, I will give you another lesson. You should sit there and watch. Maybe you will learn a few things before you actually begin.”

I sat down and focused on each stroke of the iron. Perspiration soon trickled down the sides of my face, and I wondered how Margaret managed in this heat. She returned her iron to the stove and picked up the other one that had been heating. By the time she had finished pressing the shirt, my back was wet with perspiration and I wondered if I should have remained in the dormitory.

She gestured for me to stand. “Now, you can take a turn.” She pointed to the basket. “Choose one of the shirts. One that is still
damp.” She'd sprinkled them earlier in the morning, and with the searing heat, I imagined they'd all be as dry as dirt, but I did as she said and dug deep into the basket until my fingers touched a slightly damp piece of clothing.

I pulled the shirt out of the basket and lifted it to the ironing board. I can't say that Sister Margaret was pleased with my finished product, but when I asked to try another, she didn't argue. Instead, she set up a second board and ironed my first attempt again. My second and third shirts weren't much better than the first, but I had improved enough that Sister Margaret had ceased starting over on the ones I had just pressed.

By the time the noonday bell rang, we'd finished the last of the shirts, and as we carried them back inside, Sister Margaret lauded my efforts. “I did not think ironing was your gift, but you have proved me wrong. Soon you will be ironing as gut as any Amana woman.” She beamed at me. “Next week I will let you help me again so you can practice some more.”

I hadn't planned to make ironing a part of my weekly routine, but I didn't offer any objection. If Margaret wanted my help in the future, it was the least I could do.

After Margaret left, I watched at a distance as the men departed the woolen mill. If I could walk close to Ritt or Nathan, Thomas wouldn't approach me. Moments later, I saw Thomas take to the path, and I stepped from the doorway. When I saw Ritt, I hurried to close the distance between us. Earlier I'd considered waiting until all of the men were out of sight, but then I worried Thomas might be waiting for me along the way. Better to avoid taking chances.

Ritt smiled as I approached. “You had a gut morning?”

“No, I mean yes. I mean, I suppose it was fine.”

I longed to confide in him, but if I explained everything, we'd be late for lunch. Unless I had time to detail how I'd first seen Kathleen's picture and the meetings with Thomas, he'd never understand all that had occurred.

His smile faded and his eyebrows dipped low on his forehead. “You are worried about something. I can see it in your eyes.”

I glanced around to see if Nathan or Thomas might be nearby. “No, there's nothing.” I forced a smile. “I learned to iron this morning.”

“Ach! So that's what's worrying you. Ironing shirts that meet Sister Margaret's high standards would make for a difficult morning, for sure.” He grinned. “Brother John tells me that no one can iron a shirt as well as Sister Margaret.”

“Brother John is right. She doesn't leave an unwanted wrinkle in anything that comes off her ironing board. I'll have to iron a lot more shirts before I can ever iron as well as she does.”

We were nearing the doors to the Küche, and I broke off to go to the women's door, relieved that I'd been able to stave off any further questions about my uneasy behavior. I hadn't yet entered when Sister Hanna hurried down the steps and waved to me. I ran toward her, fear taking hold when I saw the dread in her eyes.

“Your Mutter is worse and you need to go back to the house. Your Vater is there, but he asked me to send you home.”

My stomach tightened in a knot. “Has he called Brother Rudolf?”

“Ja, the doctor is there, but you should go.”

As I ran for home, I didn't know if the drumming in my ears was caused by my hammering heart or my pounding shoes, but the sound made me run all the faster. I could barely breathe by the time I'd arrived home. Once inside, I leaned against the door and panted for air. I could hear muffled voices coming from the
bedroom, and I strained forward. A part of me wanted to know what was being said, yet another part didn't want to hear, especially if it was bad news.

“Jancey? Is that you?” My father's voice drifted from the open door, and I inhaled a deep breath.

“Yes. Should I come into the bedroom?” If the doctor was in the midst of examining my mother, I didn't want to intrude.

My father appeared in the doorway and waved me forward. “Your mother will feel better if you are in the room with her.” Instead of doing his bidding, I gestured for him to come into the parlor. He crossed the room in long strides. “What is it?”

“What has the doctor told you? How bad is she?”

“He says he can't be sure. Each time she has one of these episodes, she becomes more fragile. She is very weak right now.”

“Does he think . . . ?” I let the question hang in the air. My father knew what I was asking without me saying the actual words.

Before he could look away, I saw tears begin to gather in his eyes. “He says he can't say for sure. If she makes it through the night, her chances will be greatly improved. He wants one of us to stay with her at all times. If you can stay here during the remainder of the afternoon, I'll take over after work.”

“Yes, of course.” I heard the doctor say something to my mother, and I glanced toward the bedroom. “Do you think Sister Hanna will send someone to tell Sister Margaret I won't be back to work this afternoon?”

“I'll stop to make sure she knows. Why don't you go in and speak to the doctor so he can give you instructions about the medicine.” He hesitated. “I won't go back to work if you don't feel comfortable being here alone.”

This wouldn't be the first time I'd been alone with Mother when she took a turn for the worse. That had been a benefit of teaching without pay: I'd never felt guilty when I needed to remain at home to nurse Mother. The village men were in the midst of raising a large new barn, and Father had been pleased when he'd been placed in charge of the project. I worried when I wasn't by Mother's side, but Father dealt with her illness more easily if he remained busy.

“You go on, Father. We'll be fine.”

He pushed down on the heavy metal door latch and pulled open the door. “I'll leave early if work is progressing well.” He turned and kissed my cheek before he departed.

When I entered the bedroom, the doctor looked up and greeted me. He touched my mother's hand. “Look who has arrived, Sister Almina. Jancey has come home to sit with you.” He waved me toward the empty chair on the other side of the bed. The room was warm and smelled of medicine and illness. Beads of perspiration lined my mother's forehead, and I leaned over her to remove the quilt.

She touched my hand. “Don't take it; I'm cold.” Her words trembled with frailness and I glanced at the doctor.

“She's having chills. I've given her medicine to help with the fever. Once her fever is reduced, the chills will cease.”

My chest tightened as he told me how to mix the medicines and when each one should be given. With each downward turn of her health, the doctor added another medicine or ordered the prescriptions be given more frequently. I was thankful Brother Rudolf had written the instructions on a sheet of paper, for I doubted whether I could remember the exact time and amount for each one.

The doctor stood and patted my shoulder. “She's stronger than she appears.”

His words gave me hope, and for that I was thankful.

I had drifted off while sitting in the chair and startled awake when the front door opened. Immediately, I looked at Mother and was pleased to see she had fallen into a restful sleep—likely the work of the laudanum I'd given her an hour ago. Her fever had broken and the chills had ceased by midafternoon, but the head and body aches had persisted, so I'd followed the doctor's instructions and given her the medicine.

I unfolded my legs from beneath me and stood. My legs and back throbbed and I stretched to release the soreness. I was massaging my lower back with my right palm when my father appeared in the doorway. I touched my index finger to my lips, and he retreated.

“I'm pleased to see she is resting.” He kept his voice low. “The fever?”

“It broke midafternoon. I gave her some medicine, and she's been asleep for over an hour. I pray the doctor was right that when she wakes up, she will feel much better.”

“That is my prayer, as well, but we must remember that your mother's health is in God's hands.”

Although I'd wanted to hear my father say he was sure she'd be fine by this evening, I knew he was right. If my mother completely recovered from her illness, it wouldn't be due to doctors or medicine. Only God could restore her to full health.

At the first clang of the dinner bell, my stomach growled a loud protest. In the excitement of returning home to care for Mother, I had missed the noonday meal.

My father grinned at the rumbling noise. “You go to supper and ask Sister Bertha if you may bring supper home to me. If there is soup or broth, you should bring some. I hope your mother will be a little hungry when she awakens.”