heard the news. Did they believe I would marry Nathan in order to remain in Kansas City? Surely they realized I would want to be with them.
While the children loved me with an unconditional zeal that couldnât be questioned, my relationship with Nathan ran warm and cold, depending upon his mood. If I said or did something that displeased him, he could remain aloof for days. But when hewas satisfied with me, he behaved quite the opposite. While heâd avowed his love for me on two occasions, the declarations had both been made after weâd disagreed and Iâd suggested we put an end to seeing each other. To marry Nathan while still unsure of his love for meâor mine for himâwould be foolhardy.
âThereâs my work with the children. To leave them . . .â My voice trailed off as I recalled the fun weâd had earlier that afternoon.
My father nodded. âYou should let the director of the orphanage know that you are considering a move so they wonât be surprised if you decide to come with us. Unless, of course, you arrive at another decision after you have prayed.â His lips curved in a lopsided grin. âAnd after you have spoken to Nathan.â
In my heart, I was certain of my decision. To be away from my mother during the remainder of her life was unthinkable. If I didnât go with my parents, Iâd forever regret the decision. Yet they had asked me to pray before making a decision, and I intended to honor their request. Maybe God would change my mind. But Nathan? I didnât think so.
I wondered what my future would be like in Amana. Women couldnât be teachers in the colonies, a fact my parents had pointed out to me when theyâd told me to seek Godâs direction. They didnât want me stepping into a new life without knowing the truth. And that particular truth caused me more concern than I cared to admit. No matter if it was a fact in history, geography, reading, or arithmetic, nothing gave me greater joy than to see the light of understanding shine in a childâs eyes. I would miss teaching, and I prayed God would somehow fill that void in my life.
Chapter 3
I startled when the doorbell rang. After supper Iâd gone to my room to read the Bible and pray. Iâd promised my parents I would seek Godâs direction. If they should inquire, I wanted to truthfully tell them Iâd kept my word. I didnât believe God would direct me to remain in Kansas City, but I was trying to remain receptive to the idea.
Not that I wanted to leave. I was quite content here. Unlike many young women, Iâd never been in a hurry to marry, and being single afforded me the opportunity to spend more time with my mother as her health declined. I enjoyed occasional outings with Nathan, and I adored my work with the children.
Living at home also permitted me the luxury of teaching at the orphanage, where I volunteered my services. I loved the children and would miss them greatly. Each one held a special place inmy heart, but I needed to be with my mother during her final daysâboth for her sake and for mine.
When the new director of the orphanage arrived in Kansas City, heâd wanted to change my volunteer status, saying it was improper for a teacher to work without pay. But after a cursory review of the orphanageâs budget, he had changed his stance. Unless a replacement could be located, my resignation would leave the orphanage with a limited teaching staff.
I glanced in the mirror, patted my hair into place, and hurried downstairs as the doorbell chimed for the second time. Over and over, Iâd asked Nathan to be patient when he arrived. Since Motherâs condition had worsened, the doorbell could disturb her rest. Yet he continued to ignore my requests.
Nathan removed his brown felt hat. âYou appear troubled.â
His slicked-down brown hair was a perfect match for his brown eyes, brown hat, brown coat, brown