by Jan Drexler
“Was anyone hurt?”
The woman twisted her hands together. “I don’t know. I don’t know. It’s terrible to have something like this happen here.”
Clanging bells sounded from the direction of the fire, and the crowd scattered to let the fire engine through. Men formed a line and passed buckets from one hand to another, filling the tub of the engine with water, while others pumped the handles on either side.
As they watched, the fire was extinguished, and the crowd began to disperse.
“I saw your husband leave you and the wagon,” the woman said as the noise died down.
“He said he’d be right back,” Katie said, not bothering to correct the woman’s assumption.
“If he got entangled in that fight, he might be a while. Do you want to come into the shop? I could use a strong cup of tea after all that.”
Katie looked through the doorway to the shop full of fabric, with a comfortable seating area near the front window. “I had better wait here. Jonas won’t know where to look for me if I go inside.”
The other woman patted her arm. “I understand. I’ll wait with you so you don’t need to be alone. My name is Miss Watson. I’m the dressmaker.”
“I’m Katie Stuckey.”
“You’re one of the Amish, aren’t you? I don’t see any of your kind come into my shop.”
“We make our own clothes,” Katie said, looking at the fancy cut of Miss Watson’s skirt.
Miss Watson’s eyebrows rose. “Yes. I can see that. I could help you find a more stylish pattern, if you’d like.”
Katie shook her head. “We wear plain clothing. It’s part of what we do to remain separate from the world.”
“Oh.” Miss Watson shifted from one foot to the other, as if she didn’t know how to continue the conversation.
“You don’t have to wait out here with me. I’ll be fine until Jonas comes, and I’m sure you have things you need to do.”
The other woman blushed at that, but smiled. “Yes, I do.” She stepped toward the shop door. “It was nice to meet you.” Then she disappeared.
Katie moved to the alley opening, where she could watch the wagon, but where Jonas would still be able to see her when he came. Miss Watson reminded her of the other Englisch people she had met. They didn’t understand the Amish way of life, something that was so simple for Katie. What Katie didn’t understand was why the Englisch women wore such wide skirts, almost like a bell. How could Miss Watson work in an outfit like that?
Before too much time had passed, Jonas appeared out of the thinning crowd of people, and she ran to meet him. His face was black with soot, and blood oozed out of a cut over his eye.
“You’re hurt!”
Jonas shook his head. “It’s nothing. I got in the way of someone’s fist.” He saw the wagon in the alley and led her to it. “But Mr. Cabot is badly hurt. He had been in the newspaper office when someone threw a stick of dynamite through the window.”
Katie’s fingers chilled. “You mean they threw it on purpose? Did they know he was in there?”
Jonas nodded, leaning against the wagon’s tailgate. “Some people don’t like what he prints in his paper, so they did this to try to stop him, I suppose.”
“We need to get you cleaned up, and it’s after lunchtime. Is there a place where we can get some water?”
“We’ll go to the public square by the courthouse. There is water there, and we might find a quiet spot to sit to eat our lunch.”
Jonas drove behind the buildings along the main street. As they passed the back of the newspaper office, Katie could see the scorched false front standing black and broken against the partly cloudy sky.
“Was anyone besides Mr. Cabot injured?”
“He was the only one in the building. Someone said he had just sent his clerk out on an errand.”
Pulling Nan to a halt at the horse trough in the square, Jonas jumped down, then helped Katie with her basket. She carried it to a bench nearby while Jonas splashed water over his head, washing away as much of the soot and mud as he could.
Setting out the lunch she had packed for them, Katie watched the other people in the square. Today’s events made her want to run home and forget about going to town ever again. She longed for the quiet routine of her mornings, helping Mama with housework and the garden. Even though the tumult around the fire and the crowd of men had quieted down, the square was noisy with groups of people gathered, some of them talking loudly as they conversed. From the main street, the traffic that had been held up because of the fire was now making its way through. Heavy freight wagons, light buggies, and carriages filled the road. Every driver seemed to be angry with the other drivers and shouted at them and their horses.
Jonas finally joined her, his hair and shirt soaking wet.
“I’m hungry.” He reached for her hand. “Are you ready to eat?”
Katie nodded, curling her fingers between his. He didn’t seem to be bothered by the noisy town at all. After their silent prayer, he reached for a sandwich.
“After we eat, we’ll make our purchases. Then before we start for home, I would like to stop in at Mr. Cabot’s to see how he is doing.” He took a bite of his bread-and-butter sandwich, then looked at her. “Are you all right? You look pale.”
Leaving her sandwich on the napkin she had spread on her lap, she looked around at the strangers on all sides. “I’m just not very hungry.”
As Jonas chewed, he frowned, following her gaze to the other men in the square. “You’re not enjoying yourself.”
“I thought I would.” Katie shrugged, staring at her lap. “But it’s all so noisy and rough.” She forced a smile and looked at him. “I guess I’ll be glad when we get home.”
“I like the farm better too, but there’s something exciting about being among all these people.”
“Do . . . do things like this happen often in towns?” Katie looked toward the newspaper office.
Jonas was quiet until he finished his sandwich. “The war has brought out the worst in people, so that even here, away from the fighting, men still wage their battles.” He brushed crumbs off his knee. “Are you sorry you came with me?”
“I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this day with you, but I’ll be happy to leave the town behind.”
“I guess you’ll be content to wait at home for me the next time.”
Katie smiled. “Ja, I’ll be content at home.”
By the time Jonas and Katie had finished their lunch, the main street of town was quiet, with an occasional freight wagon or buggy passing by. Jonas left Nan tied in the shade along the town square and walked with Katie to the dry goods store for the first items on her list.
“Mama wants me to buy a bolt of muslin,” Katie said, “and a spool of cotton thread.”
“I’m not sure you’ll be able to buy either of those things.”
“Why not?”
“Because cotton is grown in the South, using slave labor. I promised myself I wouldn’t buy cotton until slavery is abolished.”
She stopped in the middle of the board sidewalk. “How can we sew the things we need, then?”
“We have to make do with linen and wool, like our grandparents did. They didn’t have cotton, and got along just fine.”
“But I didn’t make that promise, and it’s on Mama’s list.”
Jonas led her to the side of the walk, out of the way of the folks trying to get past them. “You can’t buy something that people have suffered to provide for you.”
“But Jonas, it’s only cotton fabric.”
“Cotton most likely picked by the hands of slaves, working under horrible conditions. Torn from their families at the whim of their masters and forced to do whatever work he decides.” He glanced at the passing crowd, not wanting to start another riot, but no one paid attention to them.
“What difference will one bolt of fabric make? Whether I buy it or not won’t influence those slave owners.”
“It’s a matter of princip
le.”
Katie fingered his sleeve. “But you wear cotton.”
Jonas scrubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve had this shirt for a long time.”
“It’s still made of cotton, and the principle still applies.”
“We have to choose someplace to make a stand.”
Katie stared at him, then looked down at her list. “I hope Mama isn’t too disappointed.”
“Let’s see what they say at the store. Perhaps the other women in town are using something else.”
As they opened the door, a bell rang. Other customers were ahead of them, so Katie went to the display of bolts of cloth.
“Here’s muslin, Jonas.” She lifted the tag attached to the bolt. “This says it was produced with free labor, to the standards of the American Free Produce Association.”
While Jonas read the tag, a young woman approached them. “May I help you?”
“This cloth is cotton?”
“Yes, sir.” She unrolled the bolt to display a yard of the fabric.
“And produced without slave labor?”
The clerk smiled. “That’s right.”
“How much is it?” Katie asked.
The clerk named a price that would have been enough to supply the materials for his entire house.
Katie turned away from the cloth with a little shake of her head. “I don’t think we’ll get any today.” She handed her list to the clerk. “Here are the other items I need, though.”
While the clerk filled their order, Katie drew a hand across the muslin fabric. “I can’t believe it’s so expensive.”
“That’s one of the problems with a war.”
“And another reason not to like it.”
Katie paid for her package and they went on to the hardware store. Jonas chose hinges and latches for three doors, and enough windowpanes for five windows, arranging to pick up the purchases on their way out of town. As they headed back to the wagon, Jonas looked down the block to where the riot had taken place. Mr. Cabot, his head bandaged, stood in the street, looking at his burned-out office.
Jonas shifted Katie’s package. “Let’s go this way. I want to see if Mr. Cabot is all right.”
As they came closer, Jonas saw that his friend was bruised, but not too badly hurt. He turned to greet them as they came closer.
“Hello, Jonas.” He nodded to Katie. “Thank you for stepping in earlier.”
“I’m glad I wasn’t too late. Will you be able to open the paper again?”
Mr. Cabot shook his head. “I don’t have the heart for it anymore. Today’s fire was the last in a series of incidents. One time they broke in and spilled ink all around the floors and counters. Last week they stole the papers I had stacked to take to the post office and set fire to the pile in the middle of the street.” He kicked a piece of burned wood with his boot. “I get the message. I’m not wanted around here, and I don’t feel like fighting anymore. At least, not here.”
“What will happen to the paper?”
“The press wasn’t damaged in the fire. It was in the back room and can still function. There’s a fellow from Cincinnati who’s been wanting to buy the business. I’ll sell it to him and head west. Now that the years of Bleeding Kansas are done, my son wants me to join him in Lawrence. There is still much work to be done for the abolition movement, he says. And I can publish a newspaper there as well as here.”
Jonas gazed at the burned office, the printing press visible in the back room. He was going to miss this man.
“What about you, Jonas?” The older man turned his penetrating blue eyes toward him.
“What about me?”
“We’re in a war. We didn’t want it, but it’s here. No one can remain untouched by it. And you’re not one to remain at home while others fight for a cause you believe in.”
Jonas felt Katie step closer, leaning in to hear Mr. Cabot’s words.
“Have you forgotten that I’m Amish? We don’t fight.”
“But this is a fight to defend others. To take care of those who are helpless under the rule of government.” His voice strengthened. “Every man should work to help their brothers in need. Slavery must be abolished, and now.”
A coarse laugh came from behind Jonas. A crowd had gathered, including some young men who had been drinking.
“Hey, old man. Didn’t you get the message earlier? We don’t want you spouting your antislavery speeches around here. It’s time for you to leave town.”
Mr. Cabot faced the crowd and held up his hand as Jonas moved Katie out of the way.
“You boys don’t have anything to worry about. I’m leaving tomorrow.” As they cheered, he waited quietly. Once the noise died away, he continued. “But that doesn’t mean you’ve silenced me. I’ll still write, and I’ll still champion the abolitionist cause until I’m in the grave.”
Someone threw a rock that landed at the editor’s feet. “We can make sure you won’t have to wait long for that.”
“Mr. Cabot, you need to go home,” Jonas said, pulling the man away. “You can’t fight all of them.”
“You’re right,” he said, letting Jonas lead him away from the main street. “One man can’t fight a mob like that. But together, we’re unstoppable.”
“Fighting isn’t the answer.”
“No, not always. In fact, it’s probably rarely the answer.” Mr. Cabot stopped as he reached his house behind the newspaper office. “But sometimes, it’s the only way to quickly stop evil from continuing.” He laid his hand on Jonas’s shoulder. “I told you once before that the Lord may have a place for you in this fight. I fight with my pen, battling evil with words. You need to find your calling.”
After leaving Mr. Cabot, Jonas’s mind was filled with questions. He had thought that to fight meant to carry a gun and serve on the front lines. But the editor was right. There was more than one way to fight against evil.
“What are you thinking about?” Katie asked. “You’re awfully quiet.”
They had reached the wagon and she put her package in the back.
“About fighting this war. There must be something I can do to help.”
Katie’s brows knit together. “You’re not going to volunteer to join the army, are you?”
Jonas helped her onto the wagon seat, then checked Nan’s harness. “I wouldn’t do that.” He led Nan to the horse trough and let her drink. He leaned on the wagon wheel, feeling the familiar tug that came whenever he talked with Mr. Cabot. He was being called, but to what? And who was doing the calling?
In front of the courthouse, a drum started beating out a peppy rhythm and a fife joined in, playing a tune he had never heard before, but it pulled at him. If God was calling him to do something, he must answer.
But what about his plans with Katie? He glanced up at her and she smiled. She had liked his answer, that he wouldn’t volunteer. But as much as he loved Katie, he would have to obey if he received clear direction from the Lord.
Nan finished drinking and Jonas climbed onto the wagon seat next to Katie.
“I have a question for you,” he said as he turned Nan toward the street leading behind the hardware store. “Do you think God gives direction to people?”
Katie was quiet for a moment. “He did in the Good Book. The Scriptures are full of people being called by God and being told what to do.”
“But what about now? Does God speak to people today?”
“It would be prideful to think that God speaks directly to a person, wouldn’t it?”
“What about a feeling that won’t go away. An impression that you’re supposed to do something.”
Katie shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean. I know what I’m supposed to do.”
“Maybe that’s my problem.” Jonas sighed as he pulled Nan to a stop behind the hardware store. His packages were on the step, waiting for him. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
“I can help you with that,” Katie said, slipping her hand into his elbow. “You’re sup
posed to marry me so we can raise our family together.”
Jonas squeezed her hand, then jumped off the seat to load the hardware and window glass. If only he could be as certain about the rest of his life as he was about his future with Katie.
9
OCTOBER 3
An hour before dawn on the first Friday of October, Levi buried his face in the muffler Mother had convinced him to wear. He was glad of it too. Fog was thick in the creek bottom, and even on the rise where he waited, mist swirled around him in the pale light.
According to the newspaper Jonas had brought home from Millersburg last week, the draft office would be drawing the names for the Holmes County draftees today, the third of October. Once Father had heard that news, he consulted with the bishop, and the two of them decided that two men from their church should be in Millersburg that day and bring home the list of men who had been selected from their township. Jonas had volunteered to go and asked Levi to go with him.
So this morning Levi was to meet Jonas at the top of the hill, near Reuben Kaufman’s place, where the Weaver’s Creek road met the road to Berlin. His knees shivered, and Levi hoped it was only from the cold. Traveling to Millersburg was something he tried to avoid, and with the announcement of the draft lists today, the city streets could be crowded. There was always the possibility his name would be on the list, even though he had prayed for the Good Lord to prevent that. Paying the fee to keep from serving in the army would take time and energy, and he would much rather spend his time working on the quiet farm or studying. He had set himself the task of memorizing the hymns in the Ausbund, which wasn’t hard, but it did take time and daily work.
Levi started singing one of the hymns under his breath, concentrating to remember the words of the many verses. His voice was low and echoed in his own ears as he pulled his face down into his muffler. After four verses, he caught sight of some movement on his left as Jonas appeared out of the foggy creek bottom like some sort of specter.
“I didn’t hear you coming,” Levi said as Jonas climbed into the wagon. “The fog muffled your footsteps.”
