by Murray Pura
But she knew not to trust the illness. It had a mind of its own, and that mind was sinister and treacherous. A patient could look like they were improving one minute and the next go into a sudden and irreversible decline. She prayed and rocked the child and willed the Jenny to go faster and faster. Finally she blurted out, “Push it!”
“What did you say?” called Jude from behind her.
She twisted her head around as far as she could. “Push it!”
He laughed. “Where are you picking up all these English expressions? Were you a pursuit aircraft pilot in France and never bothered to tell me about it?”
“Ja! I was just one aerodrome over! You thought I was the odd little man with a mustache the color of your girlfriend’s hair! But please, go faster, go faster!”
“We are doing almost ninety miles an hour!”
“You said we could do ninety-three, didn’t you? The boy has to make it, Jude, he has to!” Then a verse from the Bible flashed into her mind. “‘They shall mount up with wings as eagles!’”
“I’ll see if I can coax ninety-five out of her!”
She checked the baby again and his skin was cooling off though his eyes were still active. “He’s cold, Jude!”
“I’ll drop down!”
Jude swooped so low over a road that Lyyndaya could clearly see the expression of a woman who was a passenger in a black Ford. Her mouth was open and her eyes were popping. The car went off the road and into a bank of snow and stopped dead.
Electricity poles pelted past. She thought she could reach down and skim the tops of them with her hands. A group of boys were sledding on a snow-covered hill and she smiled to see their mouths move in shouts and cheers. One little girl standing off to the side unwound the red scarf from her neck and began to wave it like a flag.
A verse popped into her head, a verse her great-grandmother had written about in the red book the day before—Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor the arrow that flieth by day; nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday.
“How is he?” Jude yelled.
“Warmer!”
“Warm enough?”
“I’m not sure!”
“Hang on!”
How could he possibly fly lower? Lyyndaya wondered. But he did, now swerving left and right to avoid flocks of birds that could damage the engine or wings, or wound them with a bullet-like impact against their bodies, and send their aeroplane crashing to the ground. Fear fought with excitement as they screamed over haystacks and leafless orchards and frozen ponds with boys and girls skating in circles and then raising their arms as the Jenny ripped past—almost, it seemed to Lyyndaya, capable of pulling the skaters’ caps and toques from their heads with the prop wash. She hardly ever saw American flags in Lancaster County, but here they were unfurling from flagpoles in backyards and porches and schoolhouses. She found them beautiful, so much lively color and pattern against a landscape gray and white and brown.
The baby closed and opened his eyes and then closed them once again. She put her ear to his mouth. Yes, there was breath, but it crackled. She exhaled over his mouth and nose, trying to imitate in some small way the effect steam would have. A worry about catching the disease came and went. It was more important to her that the little boy survive than that she avoid close contact. She continued to breathe warm air into his nose. The landscape hurried past.
So this is how you flew in France, didn’t you? This is how you outflew the Germans and your own men as well. It’s the kind of skill that made you an ace without killing a single person so that even your enemies admired the way you handled an aircraft, though they could not comprehend your mercy. Such tributes poured in from the Germans and Austrians when they thought you had perished! In that war you fought to preserve life as well as end the conflict. Now you are flying with all the ability you possess to preserve life in a different kind of fight. And you are my man. Thank God, you are my man.
“Here we are!”
The large brick buildings of the city swept rapidly toward them. Jude banked right to a field, where Lyyndaya could see other Jennys lined up on the grass and ice and half a dozen flags snapping in the breeze. They didn’t have far to descend. She saw soldiers running out of huts as the plane circled once and touched down. A car came racing out to them as Jude pulled off his leather helmet and sprang to the ground. She could hear an officer shouting, “Who are you and what do you think you’re doing buzzing a U.S. Army aerodrome? Do you want to get yourself shot?” And Jude replied calmly, “Major Jude Whetstone, U.S. Army Air Service, lately returned from France. Captain, I’m flying a mercy mission. I have a sick child here and I require immediate transport to a hospital.”
“Whetstone? Whetstone?” The captain gaped. “You’re the ace who brought in Schleiermacher. I attended your award ceremony in Philadelphia last week.” He snapped to attention and saluted. “It’s an honor, sir.”
She smiled to see Jude return a salute.
“Thank you, Captain. Now I really could use a car—”
“This is my personal staff car, Major. It’s at your disposal along with my driver. What hospital do you need to get to?”
“The large one. Downtown. A Dr. Leif Peterson is on staff there.”
“Corporal Samson knows it. Bring the child and we’ll get you on your way at once.”
Lyyndaya handed Jude the boy while she climbed down from the plane. The captain saluted her as well as she stood there in her bulky suit and goggles and helmet. She decided to leave them on for the time being so as not to embarrass him and she gave an awkward salute in return. In the car, as the driver whisked them off the base and into Harrisburg traffic, she tugged off the goggles and helmet. Her prayer covering came off along with the helmet and she found that many of the pins had fallen out of her hair. As the corporal roared through the streets in the same way Jude had roared through the sky, she took Joshua back into her arms. His eyes were open and he seemed to be able to breathe through his nose again, though she could still detect a great deal of congestion.
When they told the receptionist at the hospital who they were she ran off down a corridor, returning in moments with a doctor in a white lab coat. Dr. Peterson had received Dr. Morgan’s cable and he scooped the baby from Lyyndaya’s arms and vanished. The receptionist asked them to take a seat and offered them two white masks.
“You’re not wearing one,” Lyyndaya pointed out.
“I’m tired of them. They make it hard for me to get my breath.”
Jude and Lyyndaya sat down on the hard wooden bench in their leather-and-sheepskin flight gear. His arm went around her and she snuggled up against his chest. The masks remained in her hand.
“You look a little tired,” he said.
“I’ve been up since three. Nursing. And I didn’t get much sleep before that.”
“Well, you can rest now. We’re sticking around till we know Josh is okay.”
“‘Okay’? More English.”
“No, it comes from Pennsylvania Dutch.”
“It does not.”
“Yes, from oll korrect, which comes from alles in Ordnung.”
Lyyndaya laughed. “So you are a language professor now? I’ll just close my eyes for a little bit. Once we find out about the baby we must head back to Paradise. There are so many who are sick. They need our help.”
“Of course.”
“And, I must tell you, the answer is yes.”
Jude looked down at her as she grew drowsier. “Yes to what?”
“I will marry you.”
“But I haven’t even asked.”
“You have asked with your eyes. Many times.”
“What if I’m still in the army? What if I’m a flight instructor? What if we’re both turned out of the colony?”
She smiled with her eyes shut and murmured, “When I told you it was Pastor Miller’s son you didn’t blink an eye or miss a step. I saw the concern in your face. I watched
how you flew for that boy—I could have plucked cones from a spruce tree. If you flew any better in France it’s no wonder you didn’t need to shoot anyone down. The poor Germans probably got dizzy just watching you. You are my man. And the answer is still yes.”
She drifted off. Jude kissed the top of her head, savoring the texture of the soft blonde hair that fell loose over her face and shoulders. He prayed for Josh, prayed for the sick in Paradise, prayed for the woman he was going to marry.
In time, he also fell asleep, leaning his head against hers. The receptionist watched and tapped her fingernails against her desk.
“Bill,” she said to an orderly that was rushing past. “That guy remind you of anyone?”
He paused and glanced over. “Where’ve they been? The North Pole?”
“Dr. Peterson said they flew in. But that face. I’ve seen it before. In the paper, maybe?”
He shrugged. “I gotta go.”
“That’s Whetstone,” said a nurse behind her. “You know? The ace? Like Rickenbacker. They called him White Knight, the pilot who always brought ’em back alive.”
“Brought who back alive?” asked the receptionist. “The enemy?”
“The enemy and his own men too.”
At half past six Dr. Peterson shook Jude’s shoulder. “Major Whetstone.”
Jude’s eyes flicked open. “What is it?”
Peterson was smiling. “Joshua Miller has recovered rapidly. You did well to bring him in as swiftly as you did. It saved him. We had plenty of time to work.”
Lyyndaya’s head came up suddenly. “The little boy’s alive?”
“Very much so,” said Peterson.
“Oh, thank God.”
“Yes, God. And the pair of you. I must get back. But I wanted you to know.” He started to walk off down the hallway. “I have telegrammed Dr. Morgan. He will tell the family. It is good to save a life during times when so many have been lost.”
“Ah,” sighed Lyyndaya and kissed Jude on the cheek. “My hero.” Then she sat up. “But we must get back. Can we fly this late?”
“Probably not a good idea.”
“But I must help. Ruth can’t nurse them all.”
Jude got to his feet. “Come on. We’ll put you on a train. Get a cab to the station and get you rolling east. I’ll cable my father to pick you up.”
She took his hand and he helped her get up from the bench. “What about you? What about the plane?”
“I’ll come down first thing in the morning,” he said.
“But where will you spend the night?”
“Probably at the army base.”
“So you still are in the military?”
“It’s like the Amish. The army gave me another month to think about it. At first I told them no.”
Lyyndaya stopped walking and looked up into his face. “You told them no?”
“I told them no.”
She hugged his arm as they went out onto the street. “You don’t need to worry about the Amish. Or Jacob Miller. Not after this. You will be able to stay.”
“I hope so, Lyyndy. But what about flying? What about aeroplanes? Will they ban them like the telephone and the motorcar?”
“I can’t answer that today and neither can the Amish. They still haven’t made up their minds about electricity poles. So we will let it sit. We have no choice.”
Lyyndaya always carried a health certificate in a pocket in her dress. Dr. Morgan had renewed it that very day, checking her and Ruth over before they began helping him with the sick. The conductor let her board a train for Lancaster City and Paradise and asked her to put on a mask. She still had the two from the hospital.
“Now you look like Jesse James,” teased Jude as she leaned out the window to talk with him, the lower half of her face covered.
“And what does she look like?”
He laughed and said, “Please tell Papa I will land by the smithy tomorrow so long as there isn’t a snowstorm.”
“I wonder what he will think when I tell him about our wild ride?”
“What wild ride? Treetop flying? It worked, didn’t it? You can tell Josh all about it on his fourteenth birthday and embarrass him.”
“We can tell Joshua Caleb all about it on his fourteenth birthday and embarrass him together. My almost-husband.”
The whistle blew twice and the train began to move. Jude reached up and gave her hand a strong squeeze. “Love you,” he said.
“Really love you,” she said back.
Then the train moved forward into the black.
Lyyndaya rested her head against the seat. She thought of the welcome Jude would receive once he returned, and she even indulged in a daydream about Pastor Miller hugging him and shaking his hand in gratitude and Christian love. Ideas about what color she would choose for a wedding dress drifted through her sunny thoughts—blue, lavender, green? Whatever it was it needed to be right because someday they would bury her in the same dress.
“Sometimes your eyes are celadon,” Emma had told her once, showing off. “Do you know what color that is?”
“No,” Lyyndaya had replied.
“A beautiful light green. You should think about wearing that color.”
“I don’t want to draw attention to myself.”
Emma had ignored her. “In certain moods your eyes are so bright. Then they’re chartreuse. That’s such a lively green. That would be good for your wedding dress.”
“Chartreuse?”
“Or turquoise. There are few colors richer or more beautiful than that. Turquoise is a gemstone, you know. That is your best color.”
Lyyndaya watched the lamplight from farm windows as the train steamed east. They had probably flown over some of those houses. She wondered if neighbors were still talking about it or if anyone had actually telephoned the police like Jude was sure they would. It didn’t matter. She was certain it had thrilled and delighted many, just as it would have at an airshow. And the stunt flying had saved a human life.
Thank you, Father, for the word you gave me so long ago—“Perhaps he therefore departed for a season, that thou shouldest receive him forever”—a promise I feel you are now bringing to pass. You have done so many marvelous, inexplicable things because of Jude’s flying and because of the war, who could have guessed it? Even Bishop Zook is amazed and sees your hand in it. I pray that all the people in the church will see what he sees and what I see. Please open their eyes, my Father. And thank you again for preserving Joshua’s life.
Jude’s father was friendly, but quieter than she had expected him to be considering what his son had done to save Joshua Miller. She tried to liven him up with stories about the Jenny flying over flagpoles and tall spruce trees and running cars off the road, but the old man only grunted or smiled slightly and kept his eyes on the dark road and the plodding horse. Finally, exasperated at the cold water he was throwing on all her good cheer, she said, “Honestly, I don’t understand your lack of cheer. Your son flew like an angel of God today. He saved a child’s life. It’s a miracle, and you act as if I’m talking about him cleaning mud off his boots.”
Mr. Whetstone looked at her with sorrow in his face. “I’m sorry, my dear. Truly. My mind is elsewhere, I’m afraid.”
She felt a chill. “It’s the disease, isn’t it? Other people have died, and here I am going on about the baby and the aeroplane flight as if that’s all that matters.”
“No, no, it’s not that. The sick are doing better than expected. No one else is in real danger right now, according to Dr. Morgan. Ach, no, do not berate yourself. Your sister Ruth is doing marvels. And Emma is now helping the doctor as well. Yes, Emma Zook has stepped up and made a difference for our people today.”
“But then—thank God—that’s wonderful.”
“Ja, Gott sei Dank. No, my dear, it is something else that weighs me down, forgive me.”
Lyyndaya put her hand on his arm. “What is wrong, then? What can have happened to steal your joy? Yes, we lost Samuel, but he
is with Jesus now, and that’s a mercy. Still, the Lord gave us the little boy back and, as you say, all the Millers and Kauffmans and Fishers as well—”
“It is the Meidung, Lyyndaya,” he blurted. “They are going to enact the Meidung. They are going to ban my son.”
“What?” She felt as if she had swallowed a lump of ice. “That can’t be, not after what he’s done today, something none of them could do, something God has blessed.”
Mr. Whetstone was back to staring straight ahead into a darkness lit only by a few lamps and now and then candles in small square windows. “The leadership assembled this evening and took the vote as scheduled. I heard that one of them even suggested the community was being punished with the sickness because of Jude’s sin in going to war, a sin the church has tolerated. The ban will be made official at the communion service.”
“No!” Lyyndaya’s thoughts spun in a circle like floodwater swirling in a swollen creek. “They can’t all have voted for this. Not Bishop Zook. Not Pastor Miller. Jude saved the life of Pastor Miller’s little boy today.”
Mr. Whetstone turned his head and glanced at her in the nighttime darkness. “Why, it was Pastor Miller who said that God had afflicted us with the disease because we had turned a blind eye to Jude’s transgressions. It was he who cast the first vote for the Meidung. It was he who insisted all the others vote with him in order to put an end to God’s curse.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Lyyndaya was certain she heard a lark, the distinctive song that to her was a distillation of pure sunshine and clear skies. Perhaps it was a sign that God would have His way and that darkness would be turned into light this day. She hoped so. She prayed so. Yet often the ways of men could, at least for a time, appear to obscure and obstruct the purposes of God.
They were in Bishop Zook’s barn. It was Sunday, March sixteenth, in 1919, and the fields were greening while snowmelt and rain showers left puddles everywhere. Light had been gleaming like silver on the early hay when she had come to the church meeting with her family in the large buggy. Jude and his father were already seated on the other side of the barn. She kept her eyes on Jude until he felt it and looked up, and they both smiled at one another.
