by Murray Pura
Lyyndaya smiled. “You had yourself quite a day, Master Whetstone.”
“Everyone had quite a day. Thanks be to God.”
“Amen. So what’s next? Your father left us Grit and a buggy. Will you give me a ride home—the long way around?”
He laughed. “If you mean doing a long loop by way of Pittsburgh and Chicago and Omaha in order to avoid the worst puddles, my answer is yes.” He took her hand. “But first, please come around to the back of the barn.”
“The back of the barn? What are your intentions?” teased Lyyndaya.
“Come.” He tugged her around to the other side of the large red building.
“But people will be watching.”
“Who?” He stood with her and looked out over the empty brown and green fields. “Who do you see? Ah, there is a flock of crows—is that who you meant? The old crows are watching?”
She grinned and punched his shoulder. “Stop.”
“Bishop Zook said I should marry you quickly. That I shouldn’t wait until the fall, but wed you early, in the summer, like the Amish do in Ohio. Pastor Miller told me the same thing.”
“His wife told me that as well.”
“Did she?” Jude tipped his straw hat back on his head. “What do you think, Lyyndy? Should we charge ahead?”
“Charge ahead? You and your English expressions. All right, let’s charge ahead. Is that what you dragged me around to the back of the barn to tell me?”
“Not exactly.” He put his hands in his pockets. “You know, out there in Philadelphia and Pittsburgh and Boston a boy gives a girl an engagement ring when they say they want to marry one another.”
She arched her eyebrows. “But this is not so among the Amish. Now what are you up to?”
“No, you are right, it is not so among the Amish. I’m supposed to give you a practical and plain gift—like china. Or a clock.” He made a face. “That does not suit me.”
Her eyes gleamed and narrowed and became her cat’s eyes. She took both his hands in hers and squeezed them until he winced. “No? What does suit you—Lover Boy?”
They both laughed. Then he tugged a hand free. “If you haven’t broken all the bones in my fingers I’ll show you.” He brought a white scarf out of his back pocket. “There. A plain, practical Amish engagement gift from a man to his beauty.”
Her eyes brightened as she unfolded the scarf and let it run through her hands. “This can only be pure silk. It’s wonderful.” Then her lips curved upward. “But how is this a plain and practical Amish engagement gift I can explain to my mother?”
Jude took the scarf and gently wound it about Lyyndaya’s throat. “In the war we always had to have eyes at the back of our heads. Since God did not put any there we were forced to twist our neck in every direction imaginable to try to spot enemy planes before they jumped us. Without this scarf a pilot’s skin would be worn raw in a few days. It had to be silk. Cotton wouldn’t work and certainly not wool.”
“Ah,” she smiled. “So I shall tell Mama when I go up in my plane to fight the German Empire this silk scarf will keep the skin on my throat from chafing.”
“Exactly. Though I really do have something more practical in mind.” He pulled her to himself. “Fly with me across America, Lyyndy. Before too many years the sky will be full of planes, and there will be so many rules about where we can go and what we can do that it will feel like the Amish have written a flight Ordnung. Fly with me now while the air is still clear and free. Then you can look up and down, east and west, for the most beautiful sights in God’s creation, point them out to me one after another, and never have to worry about rubbing the skin raw on your pretty little neck.”
She ran her fingers over his face, her eyes getting greener by the minute. “And you? What will you use your silk scarf for?”
“Not much. Staring straight ahead. You see, the most beautiful sight in God’s creation will be right in front of me.”
She reddened. “Ah, my brown-eyed Amish boy. You still know how to win the extra kisses.”
“And behind the barn too.”
“Ja, behind the barn with the old crows.” Laughing, she brought his head down and put her lips warmly against his.
TWENTY-NINE
Bishop Zook let his horse take its time plodding down the hot, dusty road toward the Stoltzfus meadow. The laughter of children reached his ears, giving him both joy and a sharp pang of sorrow.
“But my John and my Annie do not grieve as I do, Lord,” he said out loud so that his horse twisted its left ear back toward him. “They run and play with you and are like the angels in heaven. And I do not grieve as one without hope.”
The Curtiss Jenny became obvious as the buggy rolled around the last turn in the road. Along its fuselage, in bright white paint against the yellow paint of the plane, was the name LYYNDY. The bishop bit into the toothpick in his mouth. The plane cost around four thousand dollars, even as army surplus. It had been a gift that Jude could not refuse, but he had never discovered who had purchased it for him until the Communion Sunday. Then Flapjack and Zed admitted the boys in the squadron had chipped in and raised the money. General Jackson himself had contributed half the sum. The bishop shook his head. When God was on the move in people’s hearts, anything was possible.
The pie table was set up under the tall shade trees again, his daughter and wife serving up slices. There had even been ice cream for the first two hours. Many families had spread their blankets nearby, but few of them were occupied. Almost everyone stood around the aircraft that rested in the freshly cut hay field. Jude and Lyyndaya were smiling and chatting, but they had already tugged their leather helmets down over their heads, pulled on their flying jackets, and wrapped white silk scarves around their necks. They were ready to lift off.
“Here he is!”
“He finally made it!”
“Are all the cows milked so quickly, Jeremiah? It’s only just noon.”
He waved his free hand as the people laughed and clapped. “I would not miss the chance of giving that propeller a turn one more time,” he called.
Stepping down from the buggy, he wiped his hands on his pants and extended his hand to Jude. “Congratulations to you, young man.”
“Thank you, Bishop Zook.”
Then he leaned down and planted a brief kiss on Lyyndaya’s cheek. “Is that your wedding dress I see peeking out from under your flight jacket, my dear?”
“Ja. It’s too beautiful to take off. Your daughter is a wonderful seamstress.”
Emma laughed. “Don’t make my Amish head swell. Turquoise is your color. That’s why you like the dress so much. Not because of the stitching.”
“No, it’s more than the color. It falls from my shoulders just right. I know you spent a lot of time on the dress. It’s perfection.” Lyyndaya kissed Emma on the cheek. “Thank you again, sister.”
Emma kissed her back. “Bitte.”
Bishop Zook put his hands on his hips. “So you get married in July instead of December. You go on a honeymoon instead of helping with the haying. The aeroplane is something you own, not one you have borrowed. Are there any more Amish traditions you wish to break this summer?”
As the people laughed, Jude reached up to the bishop’s height and put a hand on his shoulder. “The Amish have said no to the telephone and now to the electricity poles. They may be a passenger in a car, but not drive or own one. However, nothing has yet been finalized about the aeroplane.”
The bishop smiled. “Go quickly then, before a messenger comes and tells me every time an Amish plane goes up an Amish bishop must be in it to be sure it comes down safely and in the right place. Then where will your bride sit?”
Lyyndaya grinned her green-eyed tomboy grin. “On the wing.” Then she became quiet and everyone saw her eyes brimming. “Thank you for everything. All of you. Mama, Papa. Ruth, Sarah—my young beauty. Harley, Daniel, Luke, my handsome men. Pastor Miller. Rachel.”
“Jacob,” Pastor Miller corrected her.
“Jacob.”
Jude was shaking hands and giving hugs. “Papa. Mr. Kurtz. Mrs. Kurtz. Ruth. God bless you.” Then Jude turned and saw Pastor Miller waiting. The two men stood for a few seconds and then they embraced as tears formed in the pastor’s eyes. “Godspeed, my boy.”
“Thank you, my friend,” Jude said as the two men released their embrace.
Jude turned and helped Lyyndaya into the front cockpit, then clambered into his own. Bishop Zook rested one large hand on the side of the Jenny.
“Where is your first stop?” the bishop asked.
“I hope I can get past Pittsburgh to an army base for refueling,” replied Jude. “After that, we keep heading west until we fly over the Grand Canyon. They say it is one of the great wonders of God.”
“A military base? But you are no longer in the army.”
Jude shrugged. “They still do me favors.”
“Well, as God opens the doors so we should walk through. You will write us all? Ja?”
“Once we’re in Pima County in Arizona,” Lyyndaya promised. “If we try to go over the Grand Canyon and head to California to see Zed without stopping at the Jackson Ranch, that crazy general of Jude’s will probably have us shot down.”
Jude’s father handed him the wooden aeroplane. “Here’s ‘Kitty.’ She’s been everywhere else with you. Might as well join you across America.”
“Thanks, Papa.”
“Christ be with you, my son.” He held Lyyndaya’s hand a moment. “And with you, my daughter.”
“Amen, Papa. God’s peace.”
People began to step back from the plane and mothers shooed their children toward the fence. Bishop Zook stepped to the front of the plane.
“I’m sorry, Adam,” he said to Jude’s father. “Bishop’s rights.”
Adam Whetstone laughed. “It’s all right, Jeremiah. At least I won’t lose my hat.”
Jude reached forward to touch his bride. “Are you ready, Barrel Roll Kurtz?”
“Why? Are we going to do one?”
“As soon as I reach a thousand feet. That’s how I want them to remember us.”
“I’m strapped in.”
“You could take your helmet off too.”
She laughed. “So my nicely brushed hair can fly all over the sky?”
“Something like that,” he grinned.
“We’ll see.”
“Here we go. Love you.”
“Really love you.”
He gave the thumbs up. Bishop Zook pulled down on a propeller blade with a burst of strength. The engine roared and Jude turned the Jenny into the wind while the bishop chased after his straw hat.
The people watched as LYYNDY raced over the stubble and rose into the blue sky. No one was interested in pies or games or lemonade. Their eyes were fastened on the aircraft as it lifted higher and higher.
“If only he would do a stunt,” Lyyndaya’s father whispered.
A minute later and the Curtiss Jenny turned over on its side, hung upside down for several long seconds, then flipped right side up again. Everyone shouted. Amos Kurtz gave a very un-Amish cheer.
“I saw her hair!” squealed Sarah.
Emma announced that she had fresh lemon and cherry pies and even one last batch of freshly churned ice cream that would soon turn into colored water if it was not eaten. Boys and girls ran for the shade trees and the pie table while Emma ran after them. Families returned to their blankets, and even the Kurtzes and Adam Whetstone turned away, walking and talking together.
But Bishop Zook lingered, straw hat back firmly on his head. He stood in the empty hay field until the plane was only a dot and indistinguishable from a swallow or robin. Finally he whispered a prayer for their safe journey and safe return. Only then did he decide that a large slice of cherry pie from his daughter’s hand, a scoop of ice cream, and a tall glass of lemonade sounded like a good idea. Turning away and walking back across the field a cluster of verses came to mind, and he thanked God, smiled, and began to whistle.
When the Lord turned again the captivity of Zion,
we were like them that dream.
Then was our mouth filled with laughter,
and our tongue with singing:
then said they among the heathen,
The Lord hath done great things for them.
The Lord hath done great things for us;
whereof we are glad.
ABOUT MURRAY PURA…
Murray Pura earned his Master of Divinity degree from Acadia University in Wolfville, Nova Scotia, and his ThM degree in theology and interdisciplinary studies from Regent College in Vancouver, British Columbia. For more than twenty-five years, in addition to his writing, he has pastored churches in Nova Scotia, British Columbia, and Alberta. Murray’s writings have been shortlisted for the Dartmouth Book Award, the John Spencer Hill Literary Award, the Paraclete Fiction Award, and Toronto’s Kobzar Literary Award. Murray pastors and writes in southern Alberta near the Rocky Mountains. He and his wife, Linda, have a son and a daughter.
Visit Murray’s website at www.MurrayPura.com
Also, for more information about Harvest House books, please visit our website at www.HarvestHousePublishers.com and our Amish reader page at www.AmishReader.com
SNAPSHOTS IN HISTORY
The Wings of Morning is the first book in the Snapshots in History series by Murray Pura.
Watch for future titles that will tell compelling romantic stories about faith-filled men and women caught up in the high drama of past historical events of great significance such as the Civil War, Pearl Harbor, and the American Revolution.
World War I The Wings of Morning
The Civil War The Face of Heaven (Fall 2012)
