Somewhere to Belong (Daughters of Amana Book #1) , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - Judith Miller

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166 pages

English

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Johanna Ilg has lived her entire life in Main Amana, one of the seven villages inhabited by devout Christians who believe in cooperative living, a simple lifestyle, and faithful service to God. Although she's always longed to see the outside world, Johanna believes her future is rooted in the community. But when she learns a troubling secret, the world she thought she knew is shattered and she is forced to make difficult choices about a new life and the man she left behind. Berta Schumacher has lived a privileged life in Chicago, and when her parents decide they want a simpler life in Amana, Iowa, she resists. Under the strictures of the Amana villages, Berta's rebellion reaches new heights. Will her heart ever be content among the plain people of Amana?

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Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	01 mars 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781441207562
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0259€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Cover
Title Page
© 2010 by Judith Miller
Published by Bethany House Publishers 11400 Hampshire Avenue South Bloomington, Minnesota 55438 www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan. www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2010
Ebook corrections 04.18.2016 (VBN), 10.26.2017
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4412-0756-2
Scripture quotations unless otherwise identified are from the King James Version of the Bible.
Scripture quotations identified NIV are from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION. ® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.
Cover design by Lookout Design, Inc. Cover photography by Aimee Christenson With special recognition to The Amana Historical Society.
Dedicated to
Mary Greb-Hall . . . for the many years of friendship and valuable assistance.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Other Books by Judith Miller
Back Cover
Come with me from Lebanon, my bride, come with me from Lebanon. Descend from the crest of Amana, from the top of Senir, the summit of Hermon, from the lions’ dens and the mountain haunts of the leopards.
SONG OF SOLOMON 4:8 NIV
CHAPTER 1

March 1877 Amana Colonies, Iowa Johanna Ilg
Rigid as a barn pole, I stood planted in the parlor doorway with my gaze fixed upon the pink feather-and-plume bedecked hat. Sparkling pins held it atop wavy dark tresses that crimped and coiled. The girl’s hair reminded me of the curly leaf lettuce we forced to early growth in our hotbeds each spring. An artificial rose peeked from beneath the curvy brim like a vigilant watchman. Although the visitors to our villages sometimes adorned themselves in outlandish costumes, the hat perched upon this young lady’s head surpassed anything I’d ever seen. She appeared rather young to be wearing such an ornate headpiece. Not that I could imagine anyone attaining any age where they thought that hat becoming.
Touching her fingers to the garish chapeau, the girl’s lips curved in a patronizing smile. She’d obviously noted my attention. “The latest fashion from England. My parents purchased it for me on their last visit.”
My mother waved me forward. “Come in and meet our guests, Johanna.” I tried to force myself to look away from the hat, but my eyes betrayed me as I stepped into the room. I couldn’t stop staring at the unsightly mixture of fabric and fluff. My mother cleared her throat. “Come, Johanna. Meet Dr. and Mrs. Schumacher and their daughter, Berta. They arrived only a short time ago. You remember we’ve been expecting them.”
I turned toward the well-dressed couple who sat side by side on our horsehair-stuffed divan. Berta, who looked to be sixteen or seventeen years old, had obviously inherited her dark curls and fine features from her mother. As if prepared to take flight at the earliest possible moment, the girl sat balanced at the edge of her chair. And given the size of her hat, it would take only a slight wind to carry her aloft.
“I am very pleased to welcome you to Amana. I hope you will be happy living among us.”
Berta’s dark eyes widened to huge proportions. She shook her head with such fervor I expected the decorations to tumble from her hat. “Living?” She glanced around our parlor with a look of disdain. “We are merely vacationing for a short time. My father’s family is from Germany, and we have a distant relative living in Middle Amana. My father thought this would be a pleasant place for our family to visit . I think he wanted to provide us a glimpse of his homeland without the expense of a voyage to Europe. Isn’t that correct, Father?” When Dr. Schumacher didn’t immediately reply, Berta leaned forward in her chair, her eyes flashing with impatience. “Well, isn’t it , Father?” Her voice had raised several decibels and panic edged her words.
One look at my mother confirmed that I’d misspoken. I longed to stuff the welcome back into my mouth, but that wasn’t possible. The damage had been done. Yet no one had forewarned me. How was I to know Berta hadn’t been advised of her father’s plans to move his family to the Amana Colonies?
The multi-striped woven carpet that covered the parlor floor muffled the stomp of Berta’s foot. I arched my brows and glanced toward my mother. The girl was behaving like an undisciplined two-year-old.
“Father?”
“Now, Berta, please. You must remain calm.” Mrs. Schumacher unclipped a hand-painted fan from her waist and handed it to her daughter. “Use this. I don’t want you fainting and embarrassing yourself.”
Berta grabbed the fan from her mother’s hand and slapped it atop her skirt. “I don’t need a fan. What I need is an answer to my question.” She waited only a moment. “Well, Father? How long will we be visiting in Amana?”
Dr. Schumacher shifted toward his daughter and inhaled a deep lungful of air. “We will be making our new home here in Iowa, Berta. I trust you will remain quiet until we can speak in private. I should have told you before we embarked on the journey, but I wanted to avoid a scene.”
“Did you?” Berta jumped to her feet, a horror-stricken look in her eyes. “You don’t really believe I’ll agree to live in this place, do you?”
Before either of her parents could respond, our parlor door opened and my father entered the room with his flat felt cap pressed between his callused fingers. A few pieces of straw clung to his dark work pants. He smiled, and crinkles formed along the outer edges of his sparkling eyes. Today his eyes appeared green.
When I was five or six years old, I’d asked him about the color of his eyes. He’d told me they were hazel, but my mother said they were brown. I argued they couldn’t be both.
“Hazel is light brown,” he’d explained before scooping me onto his lap. “But hazel eyes change and look different colors depending on what you wear. Sometimes they look green, and at other times you can see golden flecks.” He’d nuzzled my neck. “Some people call them cat eyes. Do you think I look like a cat?” he’d asked. Remembrance of that long-ago conversation warmed me. I was glad Father was home. Perhaps his easy manner would calm Berta.
He extended his hand and stepped toward the doctor. “Willkommen!” His deep voice filled the room. “We are pleased to have you join our community and to have another doctor in the villages.”
Berta glared at my father as though he’d committed a crime. “We won’t be staying in Amana, Mr. Ilg.”
My father’s brow creased. I was certain he was expecting Berta’s father to reprimand her for such rude behavior. Instead, Dr. Schumacher held a finger to his lips. “We will discuss this once we are settled in our rooms, Berta.”
“First, you must tell me we aren’t going to stay here more than one night,” Berta said before tightening her lips into a pout.
The doctor stood. “If you could show us to our rooms where we can have a private family discussion, I would be most grateful.”
My mother signaled me. “Johanna will be pleased to show you to the rooms. We must depart for evening prayer service soon. You are welcome to join us.”
“Not this evening,” Mrs. Schumacher said. “Another time.”
As I led the Schumachers upstairs, I couldn’t help but compare Mrs. Schumacher’s gown to the blue, black, or gray calicos that were woven in the Amana mills and worn by the women of our colonies. No one longed to wear the bright calicos woven for those living outside the colonies—at least no one ever spoke of such a desire. We didn’t object to the sameness of our plain waists or the wide-banded full skirts. Even our shawls, aprons, and caps were worn without thought to their sameness. Would Mrs. Schumacher, in her pale green silk dress, adapt to our ways with more enthusiasm than her daughter?
I pushed down the metal latch and opened the door leading into the rooms that would be the Schumachers’ living quarters—for how long was anyone’s guess. If Berta had her way, they would be gone before sunrise. “The rooms are sparsely furnished, but I’m sure when you add some of your own belongings, they will seem more like home.”
“This will never be my home!” Berta flung herself onto the overstuffed forest green divan with a theatrical flair that defied protestation.
I motioned toward the bedrooms. “Your sleeping rooms are to the rear.” I backed toward the door, certain my work here was done.
Mrs. Schumacher motioned that I should remain. “The kitchen?”
Dr. Schumacher grasped his wife’s elbow. “Don’t you recall that I explained we will be eating our meals in a communal kitchen? There will be no need for you to cook or wash dishes. Isn’t that grand?”
“Given that I’ve done very little cooking in my life, I suppose it is grand. Especially for you and Berta.” Mrs. Schumacher rubbed the back of her neck.
Berta arched forward and glared at her father. “Why are you even discussing where we will eat? I am not living here!”
I took another backward step. “I must go downstairs. I don’t want to be late for prayer service. We won’t be gone long. The meeting is short—usually no more than twenty minutes or half an hour each evening.” Reaching behind my back, I unlatched the door.
“You have prayer services every night?” Mrs. Schumacher took a step toward me.
I turned toward the doctor. “Did the Bruderrat not explain our ways before you arrived?” Surely, th