Read Online A Hidden Truth by Judith Miller - Free Book Online

Cincinnati. Thus far, it hadn’t arrived. Either my father had failed to post the letter, or it had been lost somewhere along the way. Although I didn’t want to think my father had intentionally deceived me, I now tended to believe he had never mailed the letter.
    I buttoned my dress as Karlina quietly recited her morning prayers. I’d become accustomed to hearing her pray in the morning and evening. Each evening after she finished her nighttime prayers, Karlina would explain anything I hadn’t understood during the day. On one of my first nights with her, I had questioned her practice of praying while washing and dressing in the morning and while undressing at night. She had smiled as she detailed lessons from the Kinderstimme , a book used to teach children the practice of virtue and their duty to God, to fellow members, and toward themselves. I’d listened intently to a few of the rules Karlina had memorized. Most sounded like things my mother had taught me as a child: Direct your eyes ever and only upon Jesus, your beginning, aim, and goal; do not elevate yourself because of a few good deeds, for thereby you rob God of the honor; and guard yourself against the misuse of the name of God or of Jesus; do not use either in vain or from habit. Just like Karlina, Mother had memorized, remembered, and taught them to me. Though I had been unaware until now, my mother had shared some of her life in Amana with me. I wasn’t certain why, but the realization gave me a feeling of hope.
    The two of us walked downstairs together, and Karlina donned her heavy cape while I slipped into my wool coat and buttoned it tight around my neck. Gathering the two water buckets, I followed her outdoors.
    â€œI’ll see you at breakfast,” she called as I walked to the water pump and she strode toward the barn with her chin tucked tight against her chest.
    â€œAnd I will be much warmer than you on this cold morning.” My words transformed into puffs of white vapor and disappeared as quickly as ice on a summer day. If I moved quickly, I could have the buckets filled and return inside to warm my hands before the bread wagon arrived. I’d almost finished when I heard the bell in the distance, which meant Berndt Lehmann, the young man who worked at the bakery, was arriving at the Fuchs’ kitchen house.
    I topped off the final bucket, and walking carefully to avoid spillage, returned to the warmth of the kitchen. “Here you are, Cousin Louise. I know the ladies will be happy if the coffee is ready when they arrive.”
    â€œJa, for sure they like that. And they work better, too.” After grinding the coffee beans, she dipped water into both of the large enamel coffee boilers while I warmed my hands near the stove.
    The moment I heard the jingle of the bread wagon outside our Küche, I turned away from the stove and hurried to the door.
    â€œGuten Morgen, Dovie.”
    â€œGood morning, Berndt.”
    When I’d first met Berndt, I’d requested he address me as Dovie. He said he would agree if I would reciprocate. I wasn’t certain Cousin Louise would approve of the familiar form of greeting we’d adopted, but I didn’t ask.
    He jumped down from the wagon and walked to the rear of the enclosed wagon. “I have your bread and the coffee cakes for Sunday breakfast.” He opened the door of the wagon. The contents had been neatly organized and the orders arranged by kitchen house.
    I watched as he moved the rectangular metal container that held the stacked coffee cakes. I extended my hand to accept the container, which had been designed and made by the village tinsmith. “The coffee cake makes everyone happy to see Sunday morning arrive.”
    â€œBut Sunday mornings are not so happy for me.”
    I arched my brows. “And why is that? Doesn’t your father bake enough coffee cake that you may have some?”
    He laughed and pushed his hat further back on