Softly Blows the Bugle

by Jan Drexler

  Levi grinned. Not too long ago, he and Jonas and the others would be pretending to watch the horses while keeping a close eye on the girls. Now most of their group were married as well as those girls. He and Jonas were the only bachelors left from their group of friends, and he hoped Jonas wouldn’t remain unmarried for long. Father and the other ministers had discussed his situation at the end of the ministers’ meeting in Wayne County. Levi hadn’t heard the results of that discussion yet, but Father needed to tell Jonas what they decided before anyone else did.

  His gaze slid over to the group of young women, many of them girls when he and Jonas had idled their Sunday afternoons away with the fellows. Some were married, some not. None of them had children old enough to play tag with the others. It didn’t take long for him to find Elise. She sat next to Millie, with one of the twins on her lap. She laughed at something Millie said and her face was as joyous as a lark’s song. Even though her smile wasn’t aimed at him, it found a target and wound itself around his heart.

  “What do you think, Levi?” Gideon asked.

  Levi felt his face heat as the others waited for his answer.

  “I’m sorry. I missed what you were talking about.”

  “Too busy watching the scenery,” someone said, and the others chuckled.

  “What will you do if the change-minded faction decides to leave the church? Should we try to force them to stay?”

  He cleared his throat. He wasn’t asked to share his opinion very often. “You can’t force someone to go against their conscience, even if you think they’re wrong. If we try to force them to remain united to us, the only result would be discontent and complaints. I think we should approach their decision the same as when an individual leaves the church. If they are sinning, we need to shun them until they repent.” Levi wiped the trickling sweat from his forehead as the men nodded in agreement. “But I’m not convinced that they are sinning. We have a difference of opinion regarding certain things, but those things are contrary to our traditions, not the teaching in the Bible.”

  “Even when they take photographs?” Solomon crossed his arms. “Isn’t that a graven image?”

  “I’ve heard some say that,” Levi said. He spoke carefully so he wouldn’t be misunderstood. “I don’t think a photograph is breaking the second commandment. When you read through the commandments in the Bible, it is clear that God is forbidding us from worshiping idols, especially images we might try to make of God. But a photograph or an engraving, capturing a moment in time in a visual way, is innocent. It is only the sin in our own hearts that is a danger when we are tempted to use it as an object of our worship.”

  Perspiration prickled on his back as he looked around the circle of men. He had never spoken at such length before in a group like this, with men listening who were older and wiser than he was. Their faces were thoughtful. Some were nodding in agreement.

  “Well said, Levi.” Casper Zook smiled at him. “That was a prudent answer and one we should remember. The change-minded group are still our brothers in Christ, no matter what we may think of their actions.”

  The conversation continued as Levi left the group. The sight of Elise’s face . . . had it given him the courage to speak his mind like that? He searched for her among the women, but the seat next to Millie was empty.

  He walked down to the house to get a drink and found her next to the well. She was trying to pump some water for herself and hold the cup under the waterspout at the same time.

  “Can I help you?” The question sounded silly to his ears. Levi nearly ran back the way he had come.

  Then she smiled at him. “If you pump it, I’ll fill the cup and we can both have a drink.”

  He worked the handle until the water began to flow. It filled the small tin cup to the brim and spilled over onto the grass at their feet. She laughed and his heart squeezed.

  “Are you enjoying your new home here?”

  She nodded and handed the cup to him. “The other girls are very friendly. I’ve been invited to stay for the Singing tonight, and Datt has said I may.” She smiled. “I hope you will be staying also.”

  Levi smiled back. He was too old to go to the Singing and hadn’t attended for several years. But if Elise was going, he wouldn’t miss it.

  “Only if I may walk you home afterward.”

  She blushed a pretty shade of pink. “I would like that.”

  He handed the cup back to her. “Then it’s all arranged.”

  Their fingers met around the cup and she dropped her gaze to the ground.

  “Elise—” Levi stopped. What should he say? He didn’t know her well enough to ask if she felt the same as he did. “Elise, I hope no one else will ask to take you home.”

  She looked at him again. “Even if someone else does ask, I’ll tell him he’s too late. I’m already walking home with the finest man in the church.”

  Levi’s face burned, but it was worth all the embarrassment to hear her say those words.

  Even though no work was done on Sunday, certain chores were necessary. Aaron had started doing the Sunday evening chores a few weeks ago to give Abraham a rest, and he found he enjoyed it. Taking over the Sunday evening responsibilities was little enough compared to what Jonas and his family had done for him.

  He took the stool from its hook on the wall and placed the milk pail under the cow’s udder. She was an old cow and used to the morning and evening routine. She turned to look at him as he milked, strands of hay sticking out on each side of her mouth.

  “You’re all right, Bossy, you know I’ll take good care of you.”

  The milk pinged in the pail until he had milked enough to cover the bottom. Aaron leaned his head against the cow’s flank, taking in the comfortable fragrance of fresh milk and sweet hay. Even the odor of manure couldn’t overpower the pleasant aromas of the barn but settled underneath it like a rich foundation.

  The barn cats had heard the sound of milking. One twined itself around his ankle while the others sat in a circle, watching him. They knew he would pour a little fresh milk into a pan for them when he was done, but a few sat up on their haunches, begging for an early taste. He aimed one of the teats in their direction and squeezed. The big gray cat was an expert and caught the entire stream in its mouth. The black-and-white one tried to bite at the milk and ended up covered with white drops. Aaron chuckled as it quickly cleaned its face before the drops disappeared.

  He stopped in surprise. When was the last time he had laughed? The cow stomped a foot in protest, and he started the rhythmic milking again. He hadn’t felt this comfortable and settled since . . .

  Aaron thought back. Not at all while he was in the army. Every day he had lived in anxious fear that death would strike without warning. That the next artillery shell or musket ball heading his way would be the last one he would ever hear—if he heard it at all. And during the long days between battles, he lived as the other soldiers did. Bitter, angry, and hungry. Cold in the winter and hot in the summer. Nothing brought joy, even though he had tried nearly every diversion available.

  Even the weekly church services he attended failed to satisfy his longings. He had sat in the back, in the shadowy edges, watching the preacher’s face lit by a half-dozen campfires circling him. He had gone for the music. The hymns the men had sung reminded him of home. The home he had known before Ma died.

  Closing his eyes, Aaron let his cheek rest against the soft flank as if it were Ma’s bosom. If he listened closely, he could hear her singing to him. But when he opened his eyes again, it was still all gone. Destroyed. He was the only one left.

  Not the only one. He smiled. The Zooks had taken him in as if they had known him from the time of his birth. Even though none of them had known Grandpop, they had accepted him for the old man’s sake, and for Casper’s father’s sake. Both men gone, but their memories lived on in their descendants. Aaron whooshed out a breath. It was hard to get accustomed to, but he had a family. Dan and Ephraim were his cousins. Their childre
n were part of him, carrying on a legacy he only knew from Grandpop’s stories.

  Grandpop had never returned home to his family, but Aaron had that chance. He could plant himself among the Zooks and others from the church, if he wanted to.

  That was the problem. What did he want? He couldn’t go home, and he couldn’t see what was ahead. Anything beyond now was a shadowy haze.

  He finished the milking, poured the cats’ milk into the pan, then set the pail next to the door, covered with a towel and ready to take to the springhouse.

  Leaning against the doorframe, he watched the sun lowering into a bank of clouds in the west, lighting the sky with colors so vivid he longed to grasp and hold them. The children were playing near the barn in the little playhouse Abraham had made for his grandchildren. Ezra and Daniel chased each other in and out while the older ones tried to catch the fireflies that were beginning to appear as the twilight cast its glow.

  Aaron’s breath caught. This . . . this was what he wanted. Not a western town where he would be a nameless stranger. Not a world where every day was a fight for a few pennies to survive. He wanted a life with a family. With children who hunted for fireflies, and a wife . . . He swallowed, casting his gaze back into the barn where the horses waited for their supper. A useless dream. No woman would marry half a man. The shadowed interior of the barn revealed the same future he saw for himself. Nothing. No answers anywhere.

  The horses were gathered at the back door of the barn, waiting to come in for their evening feeding. The team of big draft horses needed grain, even after a day of rest. Tomorrow would bring another long day of work for them. Aaron undid the clasp that held the gate closed and then started pouring the measures of grain into their feedboxes. One for each horse.

  The children’s voices grew louder. At first, Aaron thought they were playing a different game, but then he heard the shouts for help. He dropped the grain scoop and hurried outside. When he saw five-year-old Ezra in the pasture with Abraham’s bull, he ran for the fence, thrusting himself forward with his good leg and pivoting on his wooden peg. He scrambled over the fence and dropped on the other side.

  The bull didn’t look his way. The beast must have broken through the fence again. His attention was on the boy in front of him. Ezra stood about ten feet away from Samson and too far away from Aaron. The big beast shook its head and grunted.

  “Ezra.” Aaron kept his voice calm as he slowly got to his feet. “Don’t move.”

  “I didn’t know Samson was in this pasture,” Ezra said, his voice quivering. “I thought it was empty.” The bull raked at the ground with one hoof.

  “Don’t talk.” Aaron swallowed, watching the bull. “Just stand still.”

  Aaron took a slow step toward the boy. The animal cast one glance his way, the red eye rimmed with white. Aaron stopped and licked his dry lips. Ezra was frozen in place, his gaze locked on the bull. He had to make sure the boy would be able to follow his directions.

  “Ezra, look at me.”

  The boy pulled his gaze away from the bull and turned a pale face toward Aaron.

  “Can you take a step backward? Just one step. Very slow.”

  Ezra lifted his left foot and put it behind his right heel. As he moved, the bull grunted again and tossed its head.

  Aaron tried to judge the distance between him and Ezra. He only had one chance, and when he acted, the bull would charge. Just beyond Ezra was a shallow depression in the ground. That low spot was his only chance to save the boy. Aaron tightened his muscles, ready to jump.

  “I’m going to save you, Ezra. Don’t worry. Just stay where you are.”

  Movement off to the side distracted him. The other men, racing from the house. The bull saw them, too, and bellowed. They wouldn’t reach the pasture in time.

  The big animal dug his hind feet into the turf, propelling himself forward, and Aaron leaped, running at full speed. He grabbed Ezra and rolled into that hole, covering the boy with his body.

  The ground shook as the bull overran them. As it passed over the depression where Aaron pressed their bodies as close to the ground as he could, a blow hit Aaron on the back of the head as strong as the percussion explosion of artillery. He crouched over Ezra, using his body as a shield. The bull would turn at the end of his run and come back.

  Aaron glanced up and saw the horns flash in the last light of the setting sun. Flashing like the fire from the Yankee artillery. A roaring bellow split the air just as he heard the explosion. It was the last he knew.

  11

  Elizabeth volunteered to sit with Aaron on Thursday. She had avoided the task all week, but Mamm and the others were making cheese in Anna’s dairy at Samuel’s house across the road. With Solomon’s interest in her at the top of her mind, she wasn’t sure she could keep from talking about him during the work frolic, and she wanted to keep these new feelings close to her heart for now.

  She wrung out a cloth in the basin of cool water and replaced the warm one lying across Aaron’s forehead. Her biggest job was to keep the stubborn man in bed when he was awake. The bull’s hoof clipped the back of his head as he had crouched over Ezra, protecting him, and Mamm said the best way to recover from an injury like that was to rest for at least a week, perhaps more.

  Whenever he was awake, Aaron insisted he was ready to work, but Mamm was firm, and Elizabeth trusted her judgment on injuries and illnesses. She resisted smoothing the vertical line between his eyebrows, evidence of the pain he was suffering.

  In the weeks she had known Aaron, becoming acquainted with him and even becoming friends, Elizabeth had never taken the time to look closely at him. He didn’t appear like the Amish men she knew. His face was lean, his cheeks hollow. His hair was as wiry as his beard and hard to tame. Mamm had cut it shorter than Aaron had been wearing it to make caring for him easier, and now it looked more like an Amishman’s simple cut. But his beard and mustache were thick and long. And red. As red and hairy as Esau in the Bible.

  She removed the cloth and replaced it with a new one, pushing his hair off his forehead. She stroked it again. It didn’t feel as wiry as it looked. It felt soft, like a lamb’s woolly coat. She paused. Was his beard that soft? Or was it coarse like Reuben’s had been? Her fingers curled in anticipation. No one would know if she felt it. She was alone in the house with the sleeping man.

  Letting her hand drift down to his chest, Elizabeth took the edge of his beard between her fingers. Not as soft as the hair on his head, but still—

  A rough hand caught hers and she looked up to see Aaron’s blue eyes watching her. She snatched her hand back and buried it in her lap.

  “You’re awake.”

  His mouth twitched in a smile. “I’m awake.”

  Elizabeth’s face was burning. “How long have you been watching me?”

  “Long enough. I was dreaming that Ma was waking me up in the morning, but when I opened my eyes, it was you.”

  A memory from long ago flashed through Elizabeth’s mind: her mother stroking her hair to awaken her in the morning. She had forgotten that in the intervening years. How many mornings had Mamm gently woke her in that way? Yet she had turned her back on her loving family, thinking she knew best. She shook her head to dispel the memories.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I’m tired of staying in this bed.” Aaron glanced at her. “I’m sorry. It isn’t your fault I’m here.”

  “How can I help you?”

  “Tell me what’s going on outside of this room. Is Ezra all right?”

  “Ja, he’s fine. The bull isn’t, though. Datt says he won’t have an animal on the farm that’s a danger to anyone.”

  “He shot it, didn’t he?”

  “Just before it was going to run over you again.” Elizabeth closed her eyes, but that didn’t erase the image of the bull running down Aaron and Ezra. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt any more than you are.”

  “What else? How is Jonas?”

  “He had his meeting with the mini
sters. They’re going to let him join the church.”

  “And that means he can marry Katie, right?”

  Elizabeth grinned. “I’m so happy for them.” She looked at the clock. It was almost noon. “Are you hungry?”

  He stretched, his long arms reaching above his head. “Hungry and thirsty. I’ll go down to the kitchen and get my dinner.”

  “You will not. Mamm says you’re not well enough to go downstairs yet.” She straightened the light blanket covering him. “I’ll slice some bread and cheese for you.”

  “Is there any of that summer sausage left?”

  She smiled. His hunger was a good sign that he was improving. “I’ll bring some of that too.” She started toward the door. “Don’t try to get out of bed. Mamm wants you to stay there.”

  “I have to get out of bed, but I won’t leave the room. Just be sure to knock before you come back in.”

  By the time she had fixed a plate for each of them and took them back upstairs, he responded to her knock with a grunt. When she opened the door, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing a clean shirt and loose trousers. Drops of water sparkling in his beard told her that he had washed up, but he leaned his head into his hand.

  Elizabeth watched him for a moment. When he didn’t move, she adjusted his pillows and helped him recline on them. The pillows were stacked so he could sit up enough to eat without choking, but he could rest his head back whenever he wanted. Then she lifted his good leg up onto the bed next to the stump of his other leg and covered him with the blanket up to his waist. His eyes remained closed.

  “Aaron,” she said, sitting on the chair next to his bed and picking up his plate, “eat something. It might make you feel better.”

  He opened his eyes and reached for a slice of bread. As he chewed, he leaned back and stared at the ceiling.

  “Did you overestimate your strength?”

  Aaron attempted to nod, then winced. “I was all right until I bent down to pull on my trousers. I’ve spent enough time being sick and crippled since I was wounded last year and I’m tired of it. All I can think is that if I just make myself get out of this bed, I’ll work through the pain.”