The Sound of Distant Thunder

by Jan Drexler

  © 2018 by Jan Drexler

  Published by Revell

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  PO Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

  www.revellbooks.com

  Ebook edition created 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  ISBN 978-1-4934-1508-3

  Scripture used in this book, whether quoted or paraphrased by the characters, is taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.The author is represented by WordServe Literary Group.

  “Twenty-year-old Jonas Weaver can’t resist fighting the evil of slavery by joining the War Between the States. Off to the army he goes, despite strong objections by his family, his Amish church, and his sweetheart, Katie Stuckey. When Jonas’s letters stop coming, Katie has to face something from her past she has tried to ignore. Jan Drexler’s The Sound of Distant Thunder combines historical research with compelling characters to create a memorable story of love in the time of war.”

  Suzanne Woods Fisher, bestselling author of Anna’s Crossing

  “In The Sound of Distant Thunder, the sweetness of young love, the conflict and sorrow of the War Between the States, the wisdom of couples long married, and the cost of making a stand for what one believes are blended into a story that kept me turning pages. The way Jan Drexler’s Amish characters spring to life off the page will leave readers wanting to know more about the people in this Amish community. For sure and certain.”

  Ann H. Gabhart, bestselling author of These Healing Hills

  “Faith, family, and freedom are tested by the crucible of war in this haunting love story of a gentle people whose lives—and hearts—are disrupted by the sound of distant thunder. Historically rich and rare, this is a unique glimpse into a nation divided that both captures the mind and nourishes the soul.”

  Julie Lessman, award-winning author of The Daughters of Boston, Winds of Change, and Isle of Hope series

  “In a beautifully woven story, Jan Drexler once again gives her readers a true look at the struggles of faith, hope, and love facing families, churches, communities, and a nation during a time of turbulence . . . and love.”

  Ruth Logan Herne, award-winning author

  For John Tomlonson, my dad, whose love of history has done much to shape my life.

  Soli Deo Gloria

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Endorsements

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  An Excerpt of Jan’s Next Book in the Series

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other books by Jan Drexler

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  And it came to pass, when Joshua was by Jericho, that he lifted up his eyes and looked, and, behold, there stood a man over against him with his sword drawn in his hand: and Joshua went unto him, and said unto him, Art thou for us, or for our adversaries? And he said, Nay; but as captain of the host of the LORD am I now come.

  Joshua 5:13–14

  1

  APRIL 17, 1862

  MILLERSBURG, OHIO

  “Jonas! Pay attention! You’re going to drop that sack!”

  Jonas Weaver barely heard his brother Samuel’s warning above the tumult of the crowd down the street. As he had come out of the feed store, balancing the fifty-pound bag of seed on his shoulders, the shouts had drawn him. He stared into the crowd gathered in front of the office of the Holmes County Gazette. Among the raised voices, the only clear word was “War!”

  Samuel grabbed the sack of seed corn off Jonas’s shoulders and tossed it onto the wagon bed. “What are you doing? I thought you were going to wander off with that seed. You need to keep your mind on your work, not on Katie Stuckey.”

  Jonas glanced at his older brother’s stormy face, then back at the crowd that commanded his attention. Katie was never far from his thoughts, but Samuel was wrong this time. Something big must have happened in the war. A big battle, maybe. The Federals needed a big win to end this war and bring peace to the country.

  “Don’t you hear what they’re saying?” Jonas followed Samuel as he turned to walk back into the store. He caught up with him at the freight door, next to the rest of their sacks of seed corn. “They’re talking about the war, Samuel.”

  His brother ignored him as he hefted the next sack of grain onto his shoulders and headed toward the wagon again. Jonas grabbed a sack off the pile and hurried after him.

  “What do you think it means?” Jonas tilted his sack onto the wagon bed.

  Samuel pushed the sack into place against the others, then he leaned one hand on the tailgate and frowned at Jonas. “What does it mean? It means more evil, and more fighting. Bloodshed and violence. Homes destroyed, men killed, farms torn in pieces so there’s no possibility of crops. It means terrible things. It’s been going on for a year now with no end in sight, and I’m sick of hearing about it.”

  Samuel stalked back to the freight dock. He was right. Jonas glanced across the street again, where the crowd was getting larger. But where there was war, there might also be change. Change that could bring the freedom to the slaves in the South that the abolitionist preachers had been urging.

  “Jonas!” Samuel’s impatient voice strode ahead of him as he came back with another load. He heaved the grain onto the wagon. “I need to get some things for Anna at Wilson’s Dry Goods. When you’re done loading the grain, drive down and meet me there.”

  “For sure, I will.”

  At thirty-four years old, and married with four children, his brother acted as if Jonas was still a young child. But Jonas was twenty years old, old enough to know his own mind. Old enough to make his own way in the world.

  As Samuel walked off, Jonas quickly loaded the last two sacks and closed the tailgate.

  And war or no war, he was old enough to know who he wanted to marry. After all, Samuel had been nineteen when he married Anna. There was no reason why Jonas couldn’t marry his Katie and start farming his own land. Tonight, after storing the seed and before the hard work of planting began tomorrow, would be the time to talk to Datt.

  Years ago, when Samuel and Anna had set up housekeeping on the north section of the farm, Datt had let Jonas choose a quarter section of land for his own, and Jonas had chosen the woods in the east section. If he wanted to marry Katie in the fall, it was time for him to start building a house for the two of them, but he had to convince Datt to give him the time off to do it. He had been rehearsing what he would say ever since the idea had come to him.

  Climbing onto the wagon seat, Jonas picked up the reins. As he drove closer to the newspaper office, he was drawn by the excitement of the crowd. He wished he had the money to buy a copy of today’s edition, but he’d have to make d
o with gleaning what he could from the crowd.

  Not that he read the newspaper often. The Amish didn’t involve themselves in politics, as Datt always said. Not just Datt, but all of his family. All of the church community. But Jonas wanted to know what was happening in the world around him, especially during an exciting time like this. Ever since last spring, when the Southern states fired on Fort Sumter, Jonas had found himself held captive by the events.

  As he came closer to the newspaper office, the large crowd forced the wagon to the far edge of the street. Everyone was focused on a man standing on a box in front of the Gazette’s office, reading aloud from the paper that must be fresh off the press. Jonas only caught snatches of what he was reading, but the meaning was clear. A battle had been fought in a place called Pittsburg Landing in Tennessee. He had nearly reached the far edge of the crowd when the speaker came to the end of the reading, listing the number of casualties. Then he read that the Confederates had been defeated, and a roar of dismay went up from the crowd that startled Jonas and spooked the horses.

  Jonas stood on the wagon box, leaning back on the reins to hold the horses in as well as he could, speaking to them in a low tone that he hoped would carry to the frightened team. The horses jostled the men at the edge of the crowd, and one of them looked around, annoyed. Jonas met his eyes before turning his attention back to his team. It was Ned Hamlin. Ned and his father weren’t farmers but lived off the land in the wild, swampy area on the other side of Weaver’s Creek, east of the Weavers’ farm.

  Ned spat in the dirt next to the wagon wheel, then grinned at Jonas. “One Federal victory ain’t gonna win this war, right?”

  Jonas clenched his teeth to keep from entering into an argument with Ned. “I need to move on.”

  Ned stepped back. “Sure you do. You and all your cowardly family. Amish don’t fight? I say Amish can’t fight. They’re too busy running scared with their tails between their legs.”

  Jonas tightened sweaty fingers around the reins as one of Ned’s companions noticed them. He clapped Ned on the shoulder. “Them Amish are all Lincoln’s lackeys, ain’t they? Doin’ whatever he wants.”

  Clucking to the team, Jonas drove away from the boisterous crowd, toward the block past the courthouse where Samuel would be waiting. A different kind of crowd gathered along the boardwalk, keeping their distance from Ned Hamlin and his like. These men were quieter, grouped in twos and threes, reading the paper to themselves. John Cabot, the publisher of the paper, stepped up next to the wagon and handed Jonas a copy.

  “I don’t have the money to buy a paper today, Mr. Cabot.” Jonas knew the man from the abolitionist meetings he had attended during the winter.

  Mr. Cabot’s smile was genuine. “No charge today, Jonas. In celebration of the Union victory.” He folded the paper up and tucked it under the seat, keeping pace with the wagon. “Look at the notice on page 3. There’s a meeting for volunteers in Brownsville on Tuesday. We need every able-bodied man we can get.”

  Jonas glanced toward Wilson’s store, where Samuel waited for him on the boardwalk in front. “I don’t know, Mr. Cabot. I support abolition, but joining the fighting—”

  Mr. Cabot waved his protest away. “I know, I know. You Plain folk won’t enter into war, and I won’t push you.” He turned to head back to his office, where more people had congregated, and threw a last comment over his shoulder. “But think on it, boy. It could be the Lord has a place for you in the Cause.”

  Drawing the team up in front of Wilson’s store, Jonas handed the reins to Samuel as his brother climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “What was that all about?”

  Jonas refrained from glancing toward the newspaper office. “What?”

  “I saw that newspaperman talking to you. Did he want the Amish perspective on the price of corn?” Samuel started the horses off, turning the corner to avoid the crowds on Jackson Street.

  “You know what they’re talking about.” Jonas leaned over and drew out the newspaper. He opened it to page 2, where the news of the war started. “Do you want me to read to you about the battle in Tennessee?”

  Samuel hunched in his seat, his eyes on the near horse’s ears. “I have no interest in what is happening in the world. It has nothing to do with us. It’s foolishness. God calls us to live separate from the world, and that’s what we do.” He shot a meaningful glance in Jonas’s direction. “It’s what you should do too.”

  “You forget,” Jonas said, crossing one leg over the other knee, “I’m not baptized yet.”

  A growling sound came from Samuel’s side of the seat, but Jonas ignored it. He folded the paper so he could focus on the third page. Between an advertisement for men’s clothing and one for prickly plasters was the notice Mr. Cabot had mentioned. “The time is now for all men of good conscience to act . . .”

  Jonas glanced at Samuel, then back to the notice. Did a man of good conscience live as if this conflict didn’t exist?

  “Katie!” Mama’s tired voice drifted up the stairway from the kitchen. “Where have you gotten to?”

  Sitting on her bed, where she could see the road and the turn into the Weavers’ farm through the fence row, Katie glanced toward the stairway, then out the window again. Jonas and Samuel should be coming home from Millersburg any time now. He must come home before sunset, because Papa wouldn’t let her walk out after dark.

  Mama’s foot sounded on the bottom step. “Probably dreaming again.” Mama was muttering to herself again. “Head in the clouds, that one.”

  Two more steps. One more, and Mama would be able to see her. Margaretta Stuckey wasn’t one to condone daydreaming. Katie stood and untied her apron strings, tying them again just as Mama’s frowning face appeared at the top of the stairway.

  “I’m coming, Mama. I just needed to retie my apron.”

  Mama leaned back as Katie slipped by her on her way down the steps. “Those supper dishes won’t wash themselves.”

  “Ja, ja, ja, Mama. I know.”

  Katie grabbed the tin washbasin off its nail on the wall, leaning over to look out the kitchen window. She couldn’t see past their own barnyard from here, the bushes were too thick. The spring growth already covered the opening she had been able to peer through all winter, blocking her view of the road and the neighboring farm in the distance. She had to hurry, in case he did come in time.

  She ladled hot water from the pot Mama kept on the back of the stove into the basin and set it on the counter. A few quick shavings of soap, and Katie stirred the water with her fingers, trying to get the soap to dissolve.

  “I have to say you aren’t wasting any time.” Mama came up behind her with the plates she had gathered from the table.

  “You always say that tasks are already halfway done when you start them.” Katie put the plates in the dishwater and started scrubbing while Mama took the second washbasin and filled it with clean water for rinsing.

  “Why are you in such a hurry?” Mama asked as Katie put the first plate in the rinse water.

  “Jonas should be home at any time, and I expect he’ll come over.”

  Mama wiped off the table, clicking her tongue. “Don’t put all your eggs in one basket. There is more than one boy interested in you.”

  Katie knew who Mama was thinking of and suppressed a laugh. “Levi Beiler might be interested in me, but I’m not interested in him.”

  “You shouldn’t dismiss him. He’s a good worker, and not too bad looking.”

  “But I like Jonas.” Katie kept her voice firm. She had always liked Jonas, and always would. Levi was a friendly boy, and he would make someone else a fine husband, but not her. Jonas was the only man she would marry.

  “Where has Jonas been today?”

  “He went to Millersburg with his brother to buy seed.”

  “That’s a far piece to travel. He’ll be late coming home.” Mama fetched the broom and swept under the table.

  “Not too late. And if he comes after sunset, we could sit on the
porch, ja?”

  She gave Mama the smile neither of her parents could resist.

  “If you must.” Mama turned her eyes toward the ceiling. “Ach, these young ones! How did I ever survive until your sisters all married?”

  Katie grinned at her. “You were much younger, then.”

  Katie’s sisters were all older than her own seventeen years. Susanna, the next youngest, was nine years older, and Katie hardly remembered when she went through her courting years. Her brothers and sisters, from twenty-six-year-old Susanna to Hans, who was approaching forty, had all been born in Germany, before the family had emigrated to Ohio in 1840. Mama always said that Katie had been a surprise, born four years after they had arrived in their new home. Katie often wondered if she had been a good surprise or a bad one. Mama had always seemed to make her feel like her arrival created a lot more work.

  As soon as the dishes were done and the floor swept, Katie plucked her shawl off the hook by the back door and took the kitchen towels to the clothesline to dry as well as they could before dark. The sun was low enough in the sky that it no longer gave the warmth it had earlier in the day, but there were more than two hours until dark. Papa had gone out after supper to finish plowing the east field, and the home place was quiet. No sound of a wagon coming down the road.

  She glanced back at the quiet house, then slipped into the washing porch to fetch her fishing pole and bait bucket. Mama opened the kitchen door just as she was on her way out again.

  “I thought I heard your papa coming in.”

  “He’s still working.”

  Mama shook her head. “He works too hard, that one. It’s time he slowed down some.”

  “You know Papa, he’s never happy when there isn’t work to do.”

  “Ja, ja, ja. But I wish he’d let one of the boys take over more of the farm.” Mama turned to go back into the house. “You’re going fishing, then?”

  “They should be biting well this evening.”

  Mama frowned. “And the best fishing spot happens to be where you can see up the road and watch for Jonas to come home.”