Free A Simple Change by Judith Miller Page B

arrival in Middle, but Mother’s initial spurt of energy didn’t last. Instead of starting my job, I remained at home to care for her. In some respects it worked to advantage for me. When Mother wanted to remain awake and visit, she told me about her early years in the colonies—how she’d worked in the large garden that supplied fresh vegetables to the Küche where she and her family ate their meals. At times she became surprisingly animated. When she talked about the delivery of bread and coffee cakes from the village bakery, she lifted her nose in the air and sniffed as if she could still smell the yeasty aromas. Though I wasn’t excited to hear tales of butchering, my mouth watered when Mother spoke of the cured hams and the sausages, for I’d already tasted both during meals at the kitchen house.
    She described how the women preserved and dried fruits and vegetables for the winter months. “If you ask Sister Hanna, she can show you how things are stored in the cellar below the Küche and in the drying houses.”
    Although not so different from the way things were done in the outside world, I couldn’t imagine the enormity or the responsibility of preparing and storing enough food to feed so many people through the winter months.
    All of it interested me, yet I wondered why Mother hadn’t told me any of this years ago. Perhaps back then it hadn’t seemed important. Now she likely hoped her remembrances would help me adjust and feel a sense of belonging. And they did help, but I believed both time and participation would teach me the most about this new way of life.
    Worrying I might forget some of the Amana customs and regulations Mother spoke of, I began writing her recollections in my journal after she went to sleep. Whether good or bad, a memory, or a rule to live by, I wanted to retain her words.
    Last evening I’d received notice that today I would commence my new job of cleaning the men’s dormitory. So this morning I opened my journal, and to refresh my memory, I read aloud some of the rules Mother had mentioned during our visits: “Don’t talk during meals; walk to and from church with the women; always enter the women’s door; a single life serving God is preferable to marriage; a year of waiting is necessary after receiving the elders’ permission to wed; a young man must be twenty-four years of age before marriage.” My thoughts turned to Ritt and I stopped short. I barely knew him, so why had he come to mind rather than Nathan?
    Across the hall, my mother stirred and I closed the book. Iwondered if the doctor had informed Brother Herman that my mother’s health had shown some improvement over the past few days.
    Since our arrival, time had passed quickly, and our small apartment now bore some semblance of our former home. The overstuffed sofa and three chairs, though somewhat less sturdy than those constructed in the colonies, looked quite nice in the parlor. I’d taken care to arrange small marble-topped tables near each of the chairs and topped them with vases and kerosene lamps. I’d become accustomed to the gaslights in our Kansas City home, but it hadn’t taken long to adjust to the flicker of the kerosene lamps. If my parents experienced any difficulty readjusting to their earlier way of life, or if they missed any of the conveniences we’d once enjoyed, they gave no sign. In truth, they both appeared quite content.
    For as long as I could remember, my father had read the daily newspaper each morning without fail. Now, instead, he read the Bible, and the only news from the outside world came by letter. Only one had come since our arrival, and it was from Father’s lawyer. A brief note stating funds had been transferred from the sale of our house to the elders of Middle Amana, as previously instructed.
    I had hoped to hear from some of my students by now, for I’d left a packet of addressed and stamped