Free Judith Miller - [Daughters of Amana 01] by Somewhere to Belong Page B

work must be completed before we departed for church. Yesterday I had offered to remain behind during the service, but my offer had been immediately rejected.
    “You need church more than most,” Sister Muhlbach had replied. And that had ended any aspiration of missing what would likely be one of those longer-than-usual meetings like the ones we’d attended in Chicago on Christmas and Easter.
    Then again, a comparison between the Chicago and Amana churches would be silly. The two were as different as a cat and a dog. There was no huge edifice or expensive pipe organ in Amana. No worshipers wearing festive hats or riding to the church in fancy carriages. No hand-carved pulpits or stained-glass windows could be found in any Amana church. In fact, until Johanna had pointed out the meetinghouse, I’d thought it just another home. Simplicity and uniformity ruled in Amana, and the meetinghouse was no exception.
    With its whitewashed walls, bare floors, and long unpainted benches, the interior of the structure was as simple as the exterior. Instead of standing behind a pulpit, the presiding elder sat at a plain wood table. The people sang hymns without organ accompaniment, their voices blending in perfect harmony. Instead of vociferous entreaties, prayers were offered silently.
    Johanna was waiting at the bottom of the steps. “I’m glad to see you’re on time.”
    “I wouldn’t want to get in trouble. Sister Muhlbach said I could help hide the eggs and cookies.”
    The early hours were hectic, but by the time we departed for church, Sister Muhlbach was pleased with our progress. “You did a good job this morning, Berta. You may help Gertrude hide the eggs while we are serving dinner.” In spite of her earlier prediction, there was no sign of rain. We would hide the eggs outdoors, and while the children hunted for them, we would hide the cookies in the kitchen and dining room.
    “The children have such fun hunting. They each have their own Easter basket, hand-woven by Brother Snyder and presented to them when they are old enough to hunt the eggs.” Johanna grinned. “I’m too old to hunt eggs, but I still have the basket Brother Snyder made for me.”
    In Chicago my Easter basket hadn’t been made by a basket weaver. In fact, I’d received a new one each year, and I had no idea where any of them were now. I was surprised when a stab of jealousy knifed through me. Why should I be envious of an Easter basket?
    Instead of listening during meeting, I pondered that question. Though I’d not come up with any answer, I had been correct in my earlier expectation of Easter morning. The church service was longer than usual, but with an afternoon of fun looming ahead, I managed to maintain proper decorum. Finally the church service ended. I came alongside Johanna and Gertrude, and the three of us hurried back to the kitchen. Sister Muhlbach and some of the other women were there when we arrived.
    The hearty smell of smoke-cured ham filled the kitchen. “Umm. It smells wonderful,” I said.
    “And now you see why we had to come early and get the hams in the oven and the potatoes peeled.” Sister Muhlbach pointed at the pegs near the door. “Get your apron on. We have only an hour before dinner must be served.”
    Sister Muhlbach called out orders, and we all jumped to do her bidding. By the time the village bell rang to signal dinner, Spätzle soup had been ladled into tureens, the ham sliced, the mashed potatoes topped with toasted bread crumbs, and the green beans seasoned with crispy bacon.
    “The meal won’t be as gut without fresh lettuce or radish salad,” Sister Nusser lamented.
    “Ach! It will be fine. No other kitchen in all the colonies is serving radish salad or fresh lettuce. Easter is early this year. No one expects lettuce; they will be happy with Quark .”
    Sister Nusser frowned. “Cottage cheese is no substitute for fresh lettuce!”
    “There is no time to argue about salads. The milk pitchers need to