The Wings of Morning

by Murray Pura

  He got to his feet. “Then let’s walk.”

  “Walk to where?”

  “Philadelphia. New York. Los Angeles in California. What do I care where we go so long as it’s you I am walking with?”

  He extended his hand and helped her up from the bench.

  “Well,” she said with a sly smile, “what will Emma Zook think?”

  “Probably the same thing David Hostetler will think, and Jacob Beiler, Jonathan Harshberger, Samuel Miller, Hosea Zook—”

  She laughed and slapped him lightly on the shoulder as they walked slowly out to the road. “All those boys never come to the house.”

  “They will now, if we’re seen together.”

  “Why is that?”

  “They all thought the two of us had no chance. Now they’ll be worried. So they will begin to pester you, bringing flowers and chocolates like the English do.”

  “Stop, Jude—no Amish boy is going to do that to win a proper Amish girl.”

  “And you are the proper Amish girl?”

  “Yes.”

  “I do not think of you that way.”

  “No?” Lyyndaya looked at him as they went along the dirt road under the July sun. “How do you think of me then?”

  “As Barrel Roll Kurtz. That is my new nickname for you.”

  He anticipated another swat from her hand and ran ahead, laughing. “Catch me if you can.”

  “It’s not seemly,” she called after him.

  “Is it that…or is it that my Lyyndy Lyyndy Lou has become old and fat?”

  Lyyndaya drew a sharp breath and said, “So that’s what you think?” She began to run and caught him almost immediately and gave him a firm slap on the back. “Who is old and fat now, Jude Whetstone? You’re it!”

  The two laughed and took delight in playing again as they had done as children. A teasing game of “chase,” then a run to the small grove of willow trees…and back again.

  It was summer and it was the perfect time to be in love.

  NINE

  It became, Lyyndaya thought as the days rolled on in sunshine and in thunder, raindrops dripping from barns and oak trees, sun ripening the green tobacco leaves and the golden corn, the perfect summer of long walks with Jude, visits after church, long talks at picnics and in each other’s homes. They were able to spend so much time together that she found she didn’t mind it when on occasion she saw him with Emma Zook or Katie Fisher because she had seen, again and again, the way his brown eyes softened and warmed when he looked at her.

  “I think he just might love me,” she said to Ruth one August evening while they were brushing out each other’s hair and watching the sun set from their window like the ball of a brass bedpost.

  Ruth snorted. “I do not think it. I know it.”

  “Truly?”

  “How can you ask? You’re a woman just as I am, aren’t you? If I can feel it from the other side of the room, how can you not feel it when you are two feet away from him at the kitchen table?”

  “I don’t know—what if I’m simply imagining it?”

  “Do you never look into his eyes?”

  “Of course I look at his eyes.”

  “Or are you always staring down oh-so-modestly at the salt and pepper shakers?”

  “I look at his eyes!”

  “And you read nothing there?”

  Lyyndaya stopped pulling the brush down the gleaming length of her sister’s dark hair. “What if I read what I want to read? The way some people go to the Holy Bible and tell us it says what they want it to say when it doesn’t say anything like that at all?”

  Ruth glanced back at her. “Are you finished?”

  “With your hair or my questions?”

  “I think with both.” She turned around and took the brush from Lyyndaya’s hands. “Honestly, Lyyndy, if you can’t tell that man is crazy about you, I worry about your eyesight—and your intuition.”

  “Why? I’m just trying to approach this with humility.”

  “Humility is one thing. Discernment is something else. Turn around.” She began to brush Lyyndaya’s long blonde hair. “You need both. Don’t deny the one to exalt the other. What good is a humble farmer who can’t plow a straight furrow or a humble milkmaid who keeps missing the pail?”

  “Then I shall exercise both,” Lyyndaya said. “I shall not miss the pail!”

  It was the very next morning that the two sisters found themselves walking in the direction of the Whetstone house. It had been days since Lyyndaya had heard from Jude—she knew he was busy at the smithy—but there was something more. She just felt it. Something was amiss, and she and Ruth would simply take a walk past Jude’s house and see what, if anything, might come of it.

  As they approached the house, Ruth was the first to speak. “Isn’t that the Zooks’ buggy in the drive?”

  Lyyndaya squinted. “Yes, I think so.”

  “Emma is visiting, trying to undo Jude’s affection for you,” said Ruth.

  “No, I don’t think so,” said Lyyndaya. “Besides, let her try if she must. What will be, will be. I can only stand in front of Jude as who I am—Lyyndaya Kurtz. I don’t have Emma Zook’s eyes. My skin is not the color of cream. I’m not so tall and slender. My father is not the bishop.”

  As they walked closer to the house strong male voices came to them from inside. Then they noticed the army truck parked on the other side of the house and a cluster of soldiers at the bottom of the front steps.

  Before they could speak, Emma Zook came running down the drive—her cheeks shone with her crying. She seized onto Lyyndaya’s hands and sobbed, “Please, Lyyndy, you care for him as much as I do. Can you not help? Didn’t your father work for the government in Philadelphia before he joined the Amish people?”

  Lyyndaya and Ruth stared at her in surprise.

  “What is it, Emma?” asked Lyyndaya. “What’s happening?”

  “The soldiers have come to take him. They will not recognize his exemption.”

  “How can they not recognize his exemption?” demanded Ruth. “He is Amish. It has always been so for our people in America.”

  “They say he’s hasn’t been Amish long enough, ten years is a small amount of time,” Emma said through her tears. “And the Lapp Amish have only been a group since 1890, they say that also is not enough to excuse him.”

  “Nonsense,” snapped Ruth. “They can’t get away with this. That’s your carriage by the forge, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Father is trying to reason with them. They came to our house first to fetch Hosea. I insisted on driving here with Papa.”

  Ruth’s eyes took on dark fire. “They think to take Hosea as well?”

  “Because the Lapp Amish are not one of the old Amish groups.”

  “Since when does this matter? Amish are Amish. Where is your brother?”

  “In the truck—under guard—along with Jude.” Emma broke down and collapsed into Lyyndaya’s arms. “They will take them to the base after they have collected the other young boys—Samuel Miller, Jonathan Harshberger, Jacob—”

  “Come.” Ruth took Emma’s hand. “We’ll take your buggy to our house and tell my father. He will have words with them. Quickly. Come, Lyyndy.”

  Lyyndaya hadn’t spoken, but now said, “No, I want to wait here. I…”

  Ruth hurried Emma up to the smithy and the buggy and the two were gone in a whirl of dust.

  Lyyndaya went around to the front of the house where Emma’s father was pleading with the officer in charge of the squad of soldiers armed with rifles.

  “These are my orders, sir,” the captain was saying. Lyyndaya noticed a soldier nudge a companion in the side and how they both began to stare at her, but she ignored them.

  “I ask you to wait until we’ve had a chance to get a message to the governor,” the bishop replied. “There is a mistake. It will be rectified.”

  “There is no error on our part, sir. The young men’s names have been selected for service. If they will not co
mply, I must take them into detention. The religious exemption does not apply.”

  “It has always applied.”

  “This is a world war, sir. There has never been such a war before. The exemption does not extend to a new group such as yourselves.”

  “We are Amish.”

  “Lapp Amish.”

  “We are no less Amish than any other group.”

  “I have my orders, sir. Now, we have a long drive ahead of us. I must collect the others. Will you assist me by pointing out the various homes or must I go door-to-door with my men?”

  The bishop closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. “No, no, there is no need for that. I will go with you. I will direct you.”

  “Thank you, sir. Please step up into the cab of the truck with me and indicate to my driver the home of Samuel Miller.”

  Lyyndaya rushed to the back of the truck, which was covered with dark green canvas, and saw Jude and Hosea sitting side-by-side.

  “Lyyndy!” Jude reached out his hand and she grasped it without a further thought. “How is it you are here?”

  “Ruth and I were out for a walk when Emma ran up to us and told us—”

  “Poor Emma. She is so upset. Be kind to her, Lyyndy.”

  Lyyndaya gripped his hand tightly. “Of course I will be kind.”

  “You are both rivals for my affections, it seems. But it would please me if you became friends again, if you treated each other as sisters.”

  “No, Jude,” Lyyndaya protested. “Emma is not my rival. We both care about you, but what happens is up to you…and God.”

  “Do you mean that?”

  “Of course I mean it.”

  “And where is she?”

  “They took the Zooks’ buggy—she and Ruth—and went to fetch my father.”

  Jude squeezed her fingers. “That’s good of them, but I don’t think it will help.”

  Lyyndaya reached out and took one of Hosea’s hands that rested in his lap. “And you, Hosea? How is it with you?”

  Hosea gave his usual sleepy and peaceful smile. “I’m more than fine. God is in his heaven. It will turn out all right.”

  “How calm you are.”

  “Our people have been persecuted for their faith much worse than a little inconvenience like this. I suppose I will be home in a week or less. I may miss a cutting of the hay.”

  “But it could be longer.”

  Hosea shrugged. “As God wills. There are already blessings from this mix-up. A beautiful woman is holding my hand.”

  He and Jude laughed. Lyyndaya swatted Hosea, breaking her grip.

  “You are always the one for mischief!” she said.

  “A merry heart doeth good like a medicine,” responded Hosea, his green eyes and freckles dancing.

  “Step back.” A soldier with corporal’s stripes jostled Lyyndaya. “My men have to get into the truck.”

  “Hey!” exclaimed Jude. “Go easy with the lady.”

  “You can shut your mouth anytime, coward,” growled the corporal, “or I’ll shut it for you.”

  “Whatever you’re upset about has nothing to do with her.”

  “You are all birds from the same nest.”

  “Yes, we are all Americans.”

  The corporal struck Jude across the face with his fist. “Don’t put yourself in the same camp as our soldiers. They are fighting for the freedoms you enjoy. You do nothing but hide behind your women’s skirts.”

  “How dare you say that!” Lyyndaya flared. “He’s as much a man as you. No, he’s more of a man! He doesn’t need to act the bully to prove his manhood.”

  The corporal’s face darkened and he was about to reply when the captain appeared and barked a command. “As you were, Corporal. We do not make war on women and children. We are not the Hun. Get your men in the back of the truck.” He noticed Jude’s bleeding lip. “What happened here?”

  The corporal snarled. “He banged his head climbing in, Sir. Clumsy oafs, these German farmers.”

  The captain cut him with his eyes. “See to it that it doesn’t happen again. As he told you, he is still an American citizen.”

  The truck lurched forward, turned onto the road, and headed for the Miller’s farm. Jude’s father took Lyyndaya by the arm. “Come, my dear, we will follow them. And pray. Nothing good can come of this if we don’t pray.”

  Lyyndaya bent her head as the buggy rattled toward the Millers’. At first she prayed silently, but Mr. Whetstone asked that she speak out loud so he could follow along and join her with his own words. So she prayed in a quiet but firm voice and now and then, when she paused, Mr. Whetstone interjected his own High German. Ahead of them, the truck had already parked at the Miller farm. Lyyndaya could see the family crowding onto the porch as soldiers led Samuel down the steps and into the back of the green truck.

  As they drew up, Pastor Miller was remonstrating forcefully with them, trying to hold back his anger, refusing to let the young captain leave.

  “We pay our taxes,” he was saying. “We thank God for this country, our country.”

  “This is a time of war and we need your sons,” the captain responded.

  “We are farmers, that is what we do. It is not for us to bear arms. We bear the scythe. We grow the food you eat.”

  “I come from a farming family myself, sir,” said the captain climbing up beside the driver and the bishop. “Four brothers. All of us are in uniform. One is even a pilot.”

  Lyyndaya saw the bishop turn to him at this. “So, that’s what this is about? You need more pilots? And young Master Whetstone is a good flier?”

  “I don’t know anything about Mr. Whetstone and his flying abilities. I just have orders to bring in the young men selected for military service who refuse to take up arms in defense of their country.”

  Pastor Miller stopped talking and looked at the captain more sharply than before. “What other young men? Which others besides these three?”

  “I have six names. Now we must proceed to the house of David Hostetler.”

  “Who else?”

  The captain consulted a sheet of paper typed with a column of names. “Besides this Hostetler, one Jacob Beiler and one Jonathan Harshberger.”

  “All six of them? All of their numbers were drawn? From the same settlement? At the same time? I don’t believe it. You are trying to punish us.”

  “I have my orders. I do not have reasons. But I can assure you this is not a punitive exercise.”

  Pastor Miller’s face was grim. He spoke softly. “You lie to us. We all of us are Americans together and you lie to us.”

  “I’m not lying,” retorted the captain. “Each of their numbers was drawn. It sometimes happens.”

  “Where and when? Where else and when has it happened?” demanded the pastor.

  The Zooks’ buggy, driven by Ruth, stopped in front of the truck, the harness on the mare jangling. Lyyndaya’s father stepped down and removed his straw hat.

  “Captain,” he said, “I once held a job with the governor’s office in Philadelphia. Not this administration. But the rules have not changed. You know the Amish are permitted to refuse military service. This right has been guaranteed to them under dozens of governors and presidents.”

  The captain nodded. “I am aware of that, sir.”

  “It’s guaranteed in the Constitution. Freedom of religion. Our faith will not allow us to take human life.”

  “The Amish are protected, sir.”

  “But not the Lapp Amish?”

  “The Lapp Amish are considered a new sect. Apparently it’s not clear, sir, that the Lapp Amish are sufficiently connected to the Old Order Amish and have the same rights and privileges. It will take some time to sort out.”

  “We will send our people to Philadelphia.”

  “By all means, send your people to Philadelphia,” the captain said. “Send them to Washington. But until then, I have my orders. These men of yours must be brought to a military detention center for refusing to bear arms
in defense of the Republic. They will be given adequate shelter and provision. No harm will come to them. They will be released upon the cessation of hostilities between the United States and Germany. Or at such a time as your ministrations obtain their release.”

  The captain leaned from his seat through the open door of the truck, his demeanor like that of a hawk. “Just remember,” he added, “it was your people who brought this on. It was Germans who torpedoed our ships. It was they who drowned American sailors and merchantmen. You were warned when you sank the Lusitania in 1915. But you began sinking our ships again this spring. The Vigilancia, fifteen killed. The Healdton, eighteen or twenty killed. The Aztec, almost thirty killed. So we declared war on you. And your response? To kill more of our people by sinking more of our ships. Just the other day your U-boats torpedoed the Platuria tanker and took at least ten more American lives. You can thank God we don’t line the bunch of you up in front of a barn and shoot you on the spot.”

  He pointed forward with his hand and the driver steered the truck around the Zooks’ buggy and back down to the main road. Lyyndaya heard the captain almost shout at the bishop, “Where is the Hostetler home?”

  Lyyndaya’s father gestured with his hand to Pastor Miller. “Get in, Jacob. It’s important we follow them. That we see everything they do and hear everything they say.”

  The pastor didn’t move. “We have done all that we can. It’s in God’s hands now.”

  “God works through men and women of faith, Pastor. We are the instruments of his peace, are we not? The ones who hammer swords into plowshares.”

  “Very well. But this captain has no authority to do anything but carry out the orders given to him. He cannot change a thing.”

  He clambered up beside Lyyndaya’s father. Ruth and Emma sat behind the men.

  “Nevertheless,” said Lyyndaya’s father, snapping the reins, “we will keep them honest. At least while they are here in Paradise.”

  Lyyndaya looked at Mr. Whetstone. He was already clicking his tongue and turning their buggy around to the left. “I will talk to my son once more before they take him away. We must stay with him, with all of our young men, until the truck is gone.”