The Sound of Distant Thunder

by Jan Drexler

  Jonas swallowed, his throat dry. If he was in Tom’s place, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to pull the trigger either. Killing an animal while hunting was bad enough. He couldn’t imagine shooting another man.

  He stood. “I had better be getting on home. They’ll be wondering where I am.”

  Tom stuck out a hand and Jonas shook it. “You take care now. And think about joining us. It’s a glorious cause.”

  Jonas headed home, up the long road toward the lowering sun. A glorious cause? That might be reason enough for Tom to join in the fight, but not for him. The roll of drums might be exciting, but war wasn’t any place for a coward.

  MAY 3

  Saturday morning was fine and sunny, perfect for planting the big garden the four families shared on the Stuckeys’ land. In the twenty years that Mama and Papa had lived here, the garden had expanded with the growing families. This year Wilhelm had plowed a full acre in the area behind the barn that had once been pasture, while Papa’s team had been moved to a different pasture in a newly cleared part of the woodlot.

  Katie worked with Lena’s three older children, Naomi, Ben, and Josef. Margaret, being the oldest, was watching the little ones at home while the four of them planted hills of potatoes. Katie and Mama had marked out the rows early in the morning, before the others had arrived, by dragging a log with spikes two feet apart through the potato field one way, marking little furrows, and then crossways. In each place where the furrows crossed, Naomi and Ben dropped a piece of potato, then Katie and Josef followed behind them with their hoes, covering up the potato pieces. All through the spring, Katie and the others would hoe around the growing potato plants, keeping weeds from choking the baby plants until they were large enough to cover the ground.

  Next to the potato field, Mary and Esther worked together planting long rows of turnips. They had their heads together as they worked, pausing often to discuss something at length before getting back to their work. It was a good thing Mama was working by herself with her back to the two younger women. Mama didn’t like gossiping, and it looked like that was exactly what Mary and Esther were doing.

  Eleven-year-old Josef was a good worker, keeping his hoe moving with a rhythm that would keep him from getting tired. It didn’t keep him from talking, though.

  “Katie, Datt was at the Weavers’ yesterday, and he said he saw Jonas sharpening his felling axe.”

  His felling axe? Men only used that kind of axe to chop down trees.

  “Is that so?” She kept her voice steady. Josef didn’t need to know how interested she was in what Jonas was doing.

  “Ja, for sure. Mamm said that could only mean one thing.”

  He went ahead to the next hill, following eight-year-old Ben, while Katie waited for seven-year-old Naomi to straighten the potato she had just dropped.

  “It doesn’t have to be perfect, Naomi. Just drop it in the middle of the cross.”

  “But Mamm said the eye should be up.”

  Naomi stooped down to dust a bit of dirt off the potato she had just straightened while Katie held back a sigh. As Naomi moved on to the next cross, Katie pulled dirt over the potato and hurried to catch up with Josef. That boy could be such a tease, making a comment like that and then waiting until she was bursting to hear the rest of what Lena had said.

  She came abreast of Josef, pulling dirt over the next potato as soon as Naomi dropped it. “What did your mamm say it meant?”

  Josef grinned. He had her undivided attention and he knew it. He let her stew while he covered two more potatoes.

  “She said Jonas must be clearing some land. Then Datt said—”

  He broke off as he moved to the next hill and Katie followed him, passing Naomi.

  “Datt said that Jonas was building a house on the land his datt is going to give him when he turns twenty-one.” Josef stopped, leaning on his hoe and grinning at Katie. “Then Mamm said she wondered if Katie knew he was building a house.” Josef stretched his cheeks down with two fingers and rolled his eyes up. “Jonas is in love,” he said in a falsetto voice. Then he doubled over with laughter.

  “Ach, you are a pest!” Katie lobbed a clump of dirt in his direction with her toe and went back to covering potatoes.

  But she couldn’t stay upset at Josef because his news made her smile so. Jonas was finally starting his house.

  The rest of the day couldn’t pass quickly enough, but by late afternoon, the entire garden had been planted and Katie’s sisters-in-law had taken their families home.

  “I think we’ll have a cold supper tonight,” Mama said as they went into the house. “Some of that roast sliced thin will make a good sandwich. And we’ll make a salad out of the leftover potatoes from yesterday’s dinner.”

  “I think I’ll pack a picnic for Jonas and me for this evening.”

  “Ja, you do that. I’m going to rest for a bit.” Mama moved stiffly through the kitchen to her bedroom beyond. “You’ll make the potato salad before you go, ja?”

  “For sure, Mama.”

  Katie loved having the kitchen to herself. She fetched the leftover beef and potatoes from the springhouse and set to work. She packed her basket with sandwiches, a container of potato salad, and a jar of the little dill pickles Jonas loved. She put the rest of the potato salad and the sliced beef back in the springhouse to keep cool for Mama and Papa’s supper, then took her basket and went down the road to Jonas’s land.

  As she drew close, she could hear the axe echoing through the woods, and each time the blade bit into the tree, it brought her closer to her dream. She hurried down the road to the path, watching for Ned or anyone else who might be hiding among the trees, but didn’t see anyone. She went along the shady path, relieved that she was alone but angry at herself for giving in to her fear.

  “You have to get over this,” she whispered to herself. “Be strong, like Lena. She would have kicked Ned Hamlin in the shin, and that’s what you should do the next time.” She walked faster, as if she could avoid another meeting with Ned by hurrying.

  Jonas had laid a log, peeled and hewn into a flat bridge, across the creek. Katie crossed to where Jonas was working and stopped near a new stump. He was cutting a small maple tree a few yards away from the first stump. His back was toward her as he concentrated on his task. With each swing, his entire body moved in an arc, shuddering a little as the axe bit into the tree. Then he loosened the axe and swung again. Katie watched him until the tree fell, crashing into the underbrush.

  “That’s the second one you’ve felled?” Katie called to Jonas, and he turned with a grin, wiping sweat off his brow with his forearm.

  “Ja, for sure. You came across the bridge I made from the first one.”

  “And it’s a fine bridge.”

  Jonas hadn’t only cut two trees, but he had cut the underbrush and grasses between the trees to give him more room to work. Katie could imagine the house he would build in the little clearing.

  “How many more trees do you need to cut down?”

  Jonas leaned the axe against the stump and walked toward her. “Enough to build the house, and then a barn. We’ll want a chicken house and garden space too. Datt recommended an acre.”

  Katie’s hopes fell. “An acre? That will take a long time.”

  “Long enough.” Jonas lifted the towel Katie had used to cover the basket. “And what’s in here?”

  “I thought we’d have a picnic supper.”

  He grabbed her free hand. “To celebrate the beginning of my house?”

  “It’s something to celebrate, isn’t it?”

  His face grew serious, watching her. She set the basket on the ground and stepped closer. The silent forest embraced them, folding them into itself. Cool air rising from the creek swirled around Katie’s bare legs and feet, drawing her even closer to Jonas. This was where she belonged, gazing into the depths of Jonas’s indigo blue eyes. This is where she was safe.

  “This could be our house.” Jonas lifted her hand to his lips and gave it a
quick kiss. “If you would marry me.”

  Katie took a deep breath, letting this moment sink into her memory. The moment she had been waiting for. All of her hopes centered on this space in time, like a door on a hinge. She only had to answer him, agree to marry him, and that barrier would swing open. Like a flood, all of her being rushed against the door, swinging it wide to the bright future ahead.

  “I’ll marry you,” she said, unable to stop a smile that threatened to disrupt this solemn moment.

  But why be solemn? She laughed as Jonas’s eyes lit up at her words.

  He caught her in his arms, swinging her around in a circle, then kissed her.

  As she clung to him, resting in his embrace, she laid her cheek on his broad chest. This was where she belonged, for sure and for certain. Now she could lay the past to rest.

  3

  MAY 28

  By the end of May, after almost four weeks of felling and trimming trees, Jonas finally had enough logs to take to the sawmill. Samuel had helped him load the logs onto the chassis of the big farm wagon and then he was on his way.

  It was drawing close to summer and the days were long and productive. Jonas had been able to spend many evenings in the growing clearing in the woods, and often shared a cold supper with Katie as they made plans for their home together. Katie was anxious to share the news of the coming marriage with her family, but they both agreed to wait until closer to autumn, when the bishop would hold a membership class. They could marry as soon as they both were baptized and joined the church.

  Until then, the families would be curious about their plans, but no one would ask outright. Smiling, he remembered when one of the couples at church finally announced their coming marriage. Everyone had known what was going on, but part of the fun was pretending to be surprised when they shared the news.

  Jonas kept the team going at a steady rate on the narrow road. Six miles lay between Weaver’s Creek and the sawmill at Stevenson, and he had no desire to spend his time reloading the logs because he was in too much of a hurry.

  But driving only required part of his attention. The rest was wrestling with a problem. When he took the vows of baptism, he would never be able to go back on them. Just like marriage, joining the church was a lifetime commitment. And he could easily promise everything that was required of him, except one. Confessing his faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and vowing to submit to the fellowship of the church were easily done. He already lived that way, and would continue to. But he would also have to vow to support the teaching of the church in all things, including nonresistance.

  Up until he attended the abolitionist meeting last February, he had never questioned the teaching that God had dealt with his people one way in the Old Testament and a different way in the New Testament. Wars were part of the Old Testament. The church taught that, at that time, God used men like King David to deal out his justice, but in these days, God was a God of mercy.

  But Jonas had trouble accepting that people had changed very much between David’s time and the present. Couldn’t God still call some men to war when the cause was just? The abolition of slavery seemed like a just cause to him.

  He remembered his conversation with Tom Porter as he was on his way to war earlier in the month. Tom had mentioned a glorious cause. Glorious? He shook his head at himself. No cause was glorious, unless the Lord himself had established it. At least, that’s what he thought. And he still felt the way he did then—he didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want to kill another man. But if it became necessary? If he was in a situation where killing a man would save the life of another, what would he do? A chill ran down his back at the thought of the possibility.

  The problem came back to that vow he would need to take at his baptism. He couldn’t see taking a vow to support all the teachings of the church when questions like this still swirled in his head. But without taking that vow, he wouldn’t be able to marry Katie.

  Reaching the sawmill before noon, Jonas was surprised to see a dozen or so men outside the mill. As he drew close, he saw that they were listening to a man reading a newspaper tacked on the wall next to the mill’s door. Stopping the team at the watering trough, Jonas leaned forward to listen.

  “Cabot says that Congress should pass the confiscation law.” The man’s voice was clear as he read the editorial, and it carried to the edges of the group. “With that law, as currently proposed, the civil authorities would be able to set the slaves of rebel masters at liberty and appropriate the property of Confederate officials to help defray the cost of the war.”

  A thrill ran through Jonas at hearing Mr. Cabot’s words. Set the slaves free? But at the same time, the idea was unsettling. Perhaps that was something the government shouldn’t have the power to do. The rising murmurs among the gathered men told him he wasn’t the only one who wondered about this idea.

  After a pause, the reader continued, “The rebel forces continue to advance in the Shenandoah Valley, and the citizens of Washington City are very concerned.” Another pause while the man scanned the columns. “The president says he needs two hundred thousand more men.”

  “Where’s he going to get them?” A stout man with a bushy black beard turned to his neighbors, his voice loud enough to be heard by all. “Every man who would volunteer has already gone.”

  “He’ll have to squeeze them out of the woods,” another man said, and the crowd laughed.

  “Any local news?” A man standing a few feet away from Jonas shouted this.

  “Yep. It seems those rebels in our midst are at it again.” The man proceeded to read an account of a flag, made and raised by schoolchildren, being destroyed during the night by anonymous Southern sympathizers.

  “A cowardly action, that,” said a man to Jonas’s left. He turned and saw Jonas and the loaded wagon. “Well, it looks like I have a customer.” He extended his hand. “The name’s Stevenson.”

  “Jonas Weaver.” Jonas shook the man’s hand. “I have some logs I need cut into lumber for a house.”

  “Sure thing.” Mr. Stevenson walked around the wagon, briefly inspecting the logs Jonas had brought. “Recently felled?”

  “Over the past few weeks.”

  “We can do it for you, but I have other orders ahead of yours.”

  “Whenever you can get to them is fine, as long as it isn’t too long of a wait.”

  Following the mill owner, Jonas passed through the gathered crowd and into the dark interior of the building. To the right, a door opened into a tiny office with light filtering into it through a small, dusty window.

  “Interested in the war news?” the man asked as he sat at a desk covered with ledgers, loose papers, and bits of wood.

  “For sure I am. I like to keep up with what is going on.”

  The man perched a pair of wire-rimmed glasses on his nose and peered over them. “That’s unusual for an Amish man, isn’t it?”

  Jonas shrugged. “Probably. But the war affects all of us in one way or another.”

  “You’re right about that.” The man opened a book and turned to a blank page. “How do you want the lumber cut?”

  Jonas gave him the order he had figured in his head and the man copied it down along with his name.

  “Right. I should be able to start working on this in a few days.” He closed the book, laid his glasses on top of it, and leaned back in his chair. “You live out by Weaver’s Creek?”

  “Our farms are in the valley there, just west of the Hyattsville Pike.”

  “I thought so. I passed by that way a few months back. There’s quite a nice stand of trees along there. An entire section of virgin forest.”

  Jonas nodded. “That’s my land.”

  Mr. Stevenson leaned forward, his forearms resting on the desk. “I’d like to buy that timber from you. I’ll give you top dollar for it.”

  Jonas shook his head. Datt had been clear when he proposed giving that section to Jonas. The forest there was for the use of the entire family. With good management, it
would provide firewood and lumber for generations. Jonas might own the land, but the trees belonged to the family.

  “The trees aren’t for sale. And what use would you have for them?”

  “The war, Mr. Weaver. With any war comes the need for raw materials. Wood, iron ore, wool, corn . . . anything we can produce can be used to help our troops and the war effort.”

  “Sorry. They aren’t mine to sell.”

  “Who can make that decision?”

  “My father, but I can tell you his answer. He’ll say no.”

  Mr. Stevenson smiled. “It won’t hurt to ask him. I’ll deliver your lumber when it’s ready, and I’ll talk to him then.”

  When Jonas left, the men were still standing outside the mill, listening to another account of what was happening in Virginia and Tennessee. Datt and Samuel might want to ignore what was going on in the world, but they would have to face it eventually. And Datt might change his mind about selling some of the lumber if the man offered a high enough price.

  Abraham dropped his fork on the table and stared at Jonas. “Stevenson wants to buy our timber? Why?”

  Jonas sopped up some gravy with a crust of bread. “He said that he could sell it to the army. He said they’d need all kinds of raw materials, including wool. Maybe we should think about raising sheep.”

  “I think sheep would be a good idea,” Ruby said. As tall and angular as a man, his daughter could never keep quiet during discussions about the farm. She buttered a piece of bread as she spoke. “Wool is always useful, even if we don’t sell it.”

  “They could graze in the meadow by the creek.” Jonas grinned at his sister. “We could be shepherds, like King David.”

  “Maybe you could be like David,” Ruby said. “I’d rather be like his wife, Abigail.”

  Abraham pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair. “Does Mr. Stevenson think the war will last long enough for him to get a return on his investment?”

  Jonas leaned his forearms on the table. “Folks thought the war would be over last summer, but it just continues. Men are dying on battlefields all over the South.”