Softly Blows the Bugle

by Jan Drexler

  “You look like a man again,” he said to his reflection, keeping his voice low. “And from now on you’ll act like a man, not a wounded animal.”

  He took a step closer to the mirror, but a sharp pain stopped him. The stump was still too tender to put his full weight on it for very long. With a sigh, he grabbed his crutches and went downstairs to breakfast.

  “I hope you won’t mind being on your own today,” Jonas said as they went out onto the porch after the meal. “I’m meeting with the ministers this morning and Datt’s coming with me.”

  “Are they going to decide if you can join the church or not?” Aaron stopped and adjusted the laces again. It would take some time to get used to this contraption.

  “They’ll discuss it. They have some questions to ask me, and I hope they’ll decide to let me join. Everything is at a standstill until we hear their decision.”

  “What if they decide against you?”

  Jonas shook his head. “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “What work needs to be done?” Aaron tapped his new leg. “I’m able to do much more now that I have this.”

  “Before this meeting was scheduled, I was going to fix a broken board on Katie’s porch. Do you think you could do that?”

  “No one could do it better.” Aaron looked up the road toward the house Katie and Elizabeth shared. “I’ll have to drive up there.”

  “The horse and wagon are available, and the tools are in the workshop. Do you need help hitching up Rusty?”

  “I think I can do it.” Aaron had a flash of memory of the last time he tried to harness the horse. “But stick around. I’ll try to do it myself before you leave and let you know if I need help.”

  As Jonas went back into the house to finish getting ready for his meeting, Aaron went to the barn, using his new leg as much as possible instead of the crutches. If it were anyone but Jonas, he would never ask for help, but Jonas was different. He had seen Aaron at his worst, when he had been near death and delirious with fever but hadn’t abandoned him. In fact, their friendship had grown stronger.

  Rusty was standing just outside his stable door in the morning sunshine and came right away when Aaron called him in. Through the door, Abraham’s bull stood in his pasture. The big animal grazed with the sun on his sides, absorbing the morning rays.

  Aaron patted Rusty’s neck. “You know you’ll get oats when I call, don’t you?” He poured a cup of oats into his feed bin and fetched the brush.

  His new leg held him up well enough as he groomed Rusty, and Aaron reveled in the new strength in his arms as he lifted the harness from its place on the wall and carried it to the horse. He had to walk slowly, but he kept his balance during the few steps between the wall and where he had tied Rusty, even turning around without falling.

  Aaron had settled the harness on Rusty’s back and was beginning to buckle the straps when Jonas came into the barn.

  “It looks like you’re doing well without my help,” Jonas said, standing off to the side while Aaron worked.

  “The new leg makes a big difference,” Aaron said, reaching under Rusty’s belly for the final strap and fastening it. “I can keep my balance and use both hands at the same time. I think I’ll need help with the wagon, though.”

  Once Rusty was hitched to the wagon, Jonas fetched the toolbox and some lumber from the workshop while Aaron boosted himself onto the wagon seat, adjusting his jump to accommodate the weight of the wooden leg. Jonas stowed the toolbox in the back and Aaron clicked his tongue at Rusty. As the horse headed out of the barn, Aaron fingered the lines in his hands. He hadn’t driven in nearly a year and he had missed this live communication with the horse through the reins. He drove across the bridge and turned onto the road.

  The drive was pleasant with the early morning sun low enough that the shadows were still fresh with the night’s cool air. Birds sang in the trees and Aaron spied a wild turkey hen with her brood scurrying across the road ahead of him.

  A tune came to him. It was a hymn from his childhood, long forgotten until he had heard the boys in the camp singing it around the fires at night during the war. He hummed it for a few bars, then whistled it as Rusty turned into the drive leading to Katie and Elizabeth’s house. The tune stuck with him as he hopped down from the wagon seat and tied Rusty to the hitching rail. He pulled the toolbox from the back of the wagon and carried it to the porch, using one crutch for balance.

  The front door opened. Aaron had hoped it would be Elizabeth to greet him, but instead it was Katie. When she saw him, her smile turned to a disappointed frown.

  “I thought Jonas was going to fix the porch.”

  “Sorry,” Aaron said. “Plans got changed so you’re stuck with me.” He grinned at her. “I know that isn’t as much fun for you.”

  Katie blushed, her pink cheeks turning red. “What is Jonas doing that’s more important than fixing our porch?”

  “He said he had a meeting with the ministers this morning.” Aaron set the toolbox on the porch next to the broken board. “I guess he thought that was important enough.”

  A happy smile covered her face. “That’s for sure. I had hoped they would meet this week. We’ve waited a long time.”

  “Are you sure Jonas is worth it?” A familiar, nearly forgotten, teasing note colored his voice.

  “Of course, he is. That doesn’t make the time pass any faster, though.” Katie’s smile didn’t fade as her gaze went past him, down the drive toward the unfinished house on the other side of the creek. “I’d wait my whole life for Jonas if I had to.”

  She stood there, unaware of him or anything else, lost in her thoughts. Jonas had told Aaron about Katie, but until he came here and witnessed the bond the two of them enjoyed, Aaron hadn’t realized how strongly Jonas’s life was tied to her. Yes, to the farm, his family, and the community too. But Katie was Jonas’s home.

  As Katie went back into the house, Aaron got to work. He pried up the broken board, then hammered out the nails and straightened them. Going back to the wagon, he found a board the right size and tested it on the porch. A little trimming, then some sanding, and the new board would fit right in.

  Humming as he worked, Aaron sat on the top step of the porch. Without thought, the words to the song formed themselves and he sang softly, remembering Ma’s voice singing this same hymn.

  “Rock of ages, cleft for me,

  Let me hide myself in thee . . .”

  Aaron stopped, the board in one hand and the sanding block in the other. This little house surrounded by pines reminded him of the cabin where he had grown up. Had Ma called upon her God when she was in her final affliction, that terrible day when she breathed her last? He let the sanding block rub along the grain of the board, continuing the song.

  “Let the water and the blood,

  From thy wounded side which flowed,

  Be of sin the double cure;

  Save from wrath and make me pure.”

  Grandpop had never called upon the Lord, but Ma had spent hours holding Aaron on her lap, teaching him about her Lord Jesus Christ and what she called his saving grace. The same Lord who had abandoned her to her fate and Aaron to a life without her.

  He pressed his lips together and rubbed harder.

  “Don’t stop singing.”

  The voice came from behind him, but he recognized it. Elizabeth had come out onto the porch and he hadn’t heard her. He was losing his soldier’s awareness.

  “I got to the end of the verse,” Aaron said, not looking at her.

  “Then sing the next one. It’s a lovely tune.” She sat on the step next to him.

  He turned the sanding block and started the next verse.

  “Not the labors of my hands

  Can fulfill thy law’s demands;

  Could my zeal no respite know,

  Could my tears forever flow,

  All for sin could not atone;

  Thou must save and thou alone.”

  “That’s a beautiful though
t,” Elizabeth said, sitting with her chin in her hand watching the trees at the edge of the yard. “The words are talking about Jesus, aren’t they?”

  “Probably. It’s a song my mother liked to sing.”

  “So, you sing it to remember her?”

  Aaron nodded. “It’s about all I remember of her.” He turned his mind to the memories of her last day and night as she gave birth to the sister he had never known. “She passed on when I was a youngster.”

  “But she believed in the Lord?”

  “I suppose she did. She tried to teach me, but it didn’t stick. Didn’t help her much, either.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Aaron ran his hand along the new board. No splinters. He’d give it a coat of paint, then nail it into place after it dried. He looked at Elizabeth, who still waited for an answer to her question.

  “Where was her God when she was in the agony of childbirth? Where was he when she cried out to him for help? Nowhere. She died and that was it.”

  Elizabeth’s face was thoughtful.

  “You’re not going to argue with me?”

  She shook her head. “How can I?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He turned his back on me too.”

  Elizabeth rose from her seat with a jerk and disappeared into the house. Aaron’s sanding block slowed, then stopped as he turned to look after her. Grandpop had always told him that the Amish were high and mighty, bragging about their special place in God’s eyes, but Elizabeth didn’t seem to be like that at all. Her whisper . . . maybe he wasn’t meant to hear it . . . but her whisper betrayed a brokenness as deep as his own.

  Levi slipped in the front door of his family’s home and sat in a chair near the door, close enough to observe Jonas’s meeting with the ministers without interfering.

  “There has been no precedent on this issue that I can think of,” Wilhelm Stuckey said as he opened the meeting. “Jonas was not a baptized member of the church when he took up arms, nor did he join the army out of a sense of discontent or anger.”

  “But he did join the army, something that goes against the deepest ingrained teaching of the church. Jesus Christ himself showed us the way to live, and loving our enemies is paramount.” Father paced as he spoke, just as he did when preaching on Sunday mornings, his left hand fisted behind his back and his right hand punctuating his sentences in the air.

  Abraham Weaver leaned back in his chair. Gideon, the third minister, sat with his fingertips steepled beneath his chin, his eyes closed in thought. Jonas perched on the edge of his chair, looking from one man to the other as they discussed his fate.

  “The precedent exists,” Gideon said, his eyes still closed. His voice was strained, and Levi felt the anguish he was experiencing at deciding Jonas’s fate. “During the American Revolutionary War, members of the church that supported the rebellion against the established government never rejoined the fellowship of the church.”

  “But that doesn’t address Jonas’s case.” Wilhelm looked at Father with a hard gaze. “I say that if he can assure us that he didn’t act in a war-like manner while he was in the army, then we should welcome him into fellowship.”

  Father, silent for once, stared at Jonas, then resumed his pacing.

  “Amos, what questions would you ask him?” Abraham’s voice stopped Father and all the ministers looked at him. “What would satisfy your requirements?”

  “First of all,” Father said, taking his seat, “we need to be clear about whether his actions ever harmed another man.”

  All three men looked at Jonas, who didn’t meet their gaze but stared at the floor.

  “There were times when I was required to fire my rifle. However, I aimed above the soldiers’ heads and didn’t intentionally kill or wound any man. I can’t say that the bullet spent itself without causing harm, but I’m not aware if it did so.”

  Wilhelm cleared his throat. “So, you did not knowingly take the life of any man, but you were involved in fighting a battle?”

  Jonas nodded. “Before I was transferred to the medical corps, I was in several battles as a soldier. I found a way to make myself useful by treating the wounded and pulling them from the heaviest part of the fighting. Then, at the Battle of Fredericksburg, I was captured by the enemy.”

  Father stopped his pacing and faced Jonas. “Jesus taught that sin is not only in the committing of a deed, but also in the contemplating of the deed. During these battles and after you were captured, what thoughts filled your mind? Did you hold animosity toward your fellow man?”

  “No. I felt . . . pity. Remorse at the situation I was in. Horror at the evil that overtakes men during a battle.”

  Levi saw a slight shudder pass through Gideon, the only other one in the room who shared Jonas’s experiences. Gideon had told Levi of the part he had played in the war when he had been forced to work as a teamster. He had also told him about the agony he experienced when his inaction caused the death of a young soldier.

  Gideon addressed his question to Jonas. “Was there ever a time when you could have prevented an act of violence, but didn’t?”

  “Not that I know of. I tried to save the wounded, Federals and Rebels alike.”

  Father resumed his pacing. “If I have the facts clear, after you were released by your Confederate captor, you were transferred to service in the medical corps, where you spent the rest of the war in acts of mercy. Is that correct?”

  “For the remainder of the war I served in field hospitals and most recently at a hospital in a prisoner of war camp. I did my best to bring comfort to the wounded and dying.”

  “But you were still a member of the army.”

  Jonas nodded, his eyes on the plank floor beneath his feet.

  Clasping his hands together, Father turned to Abraham and Jonas. “If you would wait outside, we will discuss this matter among ourselves.”

  Jonas led the way out of the room and Levi followed him. Abraham brought up the rear as they walked to the shaded area in front of the barn, out of earshot of the discussion taking place inside the house.

  Abraham sat on a bench near the barn door and leaned against the wall. The late morning air was warm and humid.

  “What do you think, Datt?” Jonas asked, keeping his gaze on the house. “Do you think they will support me?”

  “I can’t say.” Abraham stroked his beard.

  Levi’s thoughts drifted back three years to the night Jonas had left to join the army. Had his friend’s actions been foolish? Perhaps. But he had kept his brother Samuel from suffering a worse fate.

  “What will you do if they refuse to bring you into the fellowship?” Levi asked. They both watched the house for any sign of a conclusion to the deliberations.

  “I’ve had a lot of time to think about this,” Jonas said. He sat next to Abraham on the bench. “For three long years I’ve wondered what would happen today. If they decide against me, I will still marry Katie. We’ll join a Mennonite church, or a Dunker congregation. We would still be part of our families, just not the church.”

  Abraham laid a hand on his son’s knee as if he could call him back. “Don’t forget that Katie has joined our church already. Would you have her turn her back on her membership vows?”

  Jonas drew both hands over his face. “I hate to put her in the position of deciding between me and the church, but it’s up to the ministers now.”

  “Ne.” Abraham patted Jonas’s knee. “It’s up to the Good Lord. We will pray that the ministers listen to him.”

  A bumblebee buzzed in the clover near the barn door. It stopped on one purple flower, making it sway up and down, and then moved on to another, landing heavily. Levi watched it search each part of the blossom for the nectar within. By the time the bee had flown away to a new hunting ground, the front door opened, and the three ministers came out.

  Levi followed Jonas across the barnyard, then fell back to keep pace with Abraham. He searched the three faces. None of them met Jonas’s gaze as he walked toward them. The
y stood on the porch, no one talking.

  They caught up to Jonas at the foot of the porch steps. Father glanced at his fellow ministers, then at Jonas.

  “We have decided that we need more time to pray and discuss this matter. We will also confer with other ministers from around the country next month when they gather for the ministers’ meeting in Smithville. Until we come to an agreement on our decision, Jonas is welcome to continue worshiping with us as he has always done.”

  So, there was dissent among the ministers. Jonas’s shoulders slumped.

  Levi stepped close to Jonas. “Everything will turn out all right.”

  The other men said their farewells and left, the Stuckeys in their spring wagon and Abraham and Gideon walking home together. The two paused on the road, waiting for Jonas to join them.

  “You think it will?” Jonas’s face was stony. “No decision at all is worse than refusing to let me become a member. Now everything will be delayed more weeks before they decide against me.”

  “You don’t know what the final decision will be.”

  “Don’t I?” Jonas scrubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “I knew the night I left to take Samuel’s place in the draft that this would be waiting for me when I came home. If the church wants to turn me away, Katie and I will be all right. We’ll find a community that will accept us. But this isn’t the way I wanted our lives to be.”

  Levi swallowed the lump in his throat. “Don’t do anything rash. Wait until the ministers make their decision.”

  Jonas sought Levi’s gaze and held it. Years of friendship stood between them, shimmering like heat rising from the barn roof on a hot summer day. Levi fought the urge to grasp Jonas’s arm. To hold him fast, pull him back from the edge.

  “I’ll wait.” Jonas rolled his shoulders. “I need to do everything I can to stay in the church for Katie’s sake.”

  He gave Levi a nod, then turned for home, joining Abraham and Gideon on the road.

  On Friday morning, Elizabeth and Katie left the house early to help Mamm in the big garden at the home farm.

  “I love our little house,” Katie said. “The pine trees whisper in the wind, and the shade keeps the place cool in the summer. But there isn’t a sunny place anywhere.”