Free Love Finds You in Amana Iowa by Melanie Dobson Page A

in worldly pursuits. Why should she care about the world?
    “We choose to live apart from the world.”
    The man took the book to the counter and began to wrap it in brown paper. “Someday the world will come to you, whether or not you want it to. You might want to know why so many people have chosen to give up their farms and their families to fight in this war.”
    “I’m on my way to Iowa,” she told him. “Our new community is separated from the rest of the world.”
    “No matter how hard you try, you and your people will never be able to completely separate yourself from the world.”
    A protest bubbled on her lips, but she choked it back down. There was no use disagreeing with him. People on the outside could never understand the tight bond of the Inspirationists or their pursuit of righteousness. They couldn’t seem to understand how her community could be content living away from the luxuries of a town, but she and the others had everything she needed in her village. And their focus wasn’t on things. It was on following God.
    The man handed the package to her. “Please take this.”
    She looked at the brown paper, her hands unmoving. “I don’t have any money,” she repeated.
    “Consider it a gift,” he replied, and then he pulled it back. “But only on one condition.”
    “What is it?”
    “That you read it.”
    She considered his offer for a moment. She didn’t know when she could read it, certainly not while she was on the trail. There were too many people watching her, watching each other. But perhaps she could read it when she got to Iowa. If the man were wrong, if the story was corrupt, she would dispose of it.
    “Is the story truly a picture of Christ?”
    When he nodded, she reached out. “Then I will read it.”
    He slipped the package into her hands. “Your heart will never be the same.”

Lord, Thy grace for me has charted the direction I must take.
Now my journey I have started on to heaven’s narrow gate.
Joachim Neander
Chapter Seven

    Candlelight flickered along Friedrich’s wall as he huddled over his desk. Before he lit the candle, he drew the green muslin curtain over his window so the night watchman wouldn’t see the flame in his room and come knocking to check for a fire. The clock on his bureau read 3 a.m. and while most of the Inspirationists were early risers, no one besides him and the night watchman should be awake. And he didn’t want the watchman checking on him.
    He dipped his pen into the inkwell and wrote another line on Amalie’s letter, but the words sounded too crass. He wanted Amalie to know how much he cared for her. How he didn’t want to leave her or their Kolonie. How he didn’t want to leave, but he knew he had to go.
    Something smoldered within him like the flame of the candle. A small voice that told him he was supposed to fight. Whether it was God’s Spirit or not, he wasn’t certain, but there was no peace in his heart at the thought of paying his way out of the army, nor could he allow his blood to be on another man’s hands. His government had conscripted him and he would fight.
    He didn’t want to hurt Amalie, but he didn’t know the right words to write in the letter, not without wounding her.
    Frustrated, he held the paper over the candle and let his words burn before he opened the stove’s door and threw the letter onto the smoldering ashes.
    How could he communicate all he was feeling to Amalie and to his parents? And to Matthias?
    They would think that Friedrich had abandoned them, without even saying good-bye. He had no desire to abandon any of them, but if he waited a month to see Amalie or until the autumn when his parents arrived, he knew he wouldn’t leave for war. They would talk him out of it, or he would talk himself out of it. And he would never forgive himself if he didn’t go.
    He slid another piece of paper onto his writing desk to begin a third letter to Amalie. There wasn’t much time left now. An hour at the most.