The Sound of Distant Thunder

by Jan Drexler

  He sat on the threshold of the doorway, his rifle between his knees. Samuel would never back down from the words he had spoken at the church meeting. Rash words, as it turned out, because Samuel had backed himself into a corner. With his call to the draft, he had given himself one choice, and that was to join the army. In only five days, Samuel would be a soldier in the Union army, unless the Good Lord intervened.

  They could hope that Samuel would change his mind and agree to pay the fee, but Jonas knew his brother. He was just stubborn enough to keep his word, even if it killed him. And it might.

  Jonas loaded his gun slowly, taking care with the powder and ball. The afternoon was waning, and by dusk the deer would show up at the salt lick at the southern end of the woodlot. With the cool evenings and frosty mornings, it was time to start hunting the game that would make up a large part of the family’s meat supply for the winter. But Jonas knew hunting was only an excuse. He needed to think through this problem, and his mind worked better if he was deep in the woods, with no distractions.

  Following the trail the deer had made from the creek to the salt lick, Jonas felt his weariness slip away with every step. Birds called in the treetops, hidden by the leaves still remaining on the branches. Beneath his feet he trod on a carpet of bright colors, the leaves not yet dry and crisp. Ja, for sure and certain, it was a good day for hunting.

  He reached the salt lick before the light changed from afternoon to evening. The sky was still a bright blue, and the leaves all around reflected the bright October sun. Finding the tree branch he always used, an oak limb growing parallel to the ground about six feet up, he scrambled up to his seat. He took a deep breath and settled in. All that was left to do was wait. Wait and not think.

  Jonas let his mind clear, holding his memories of the past closed in their corner. Thoughts of war and of Samuel tried to grasp his attention, but he pushed them away. Time passed, and he let his mind drift to thoughts of Katie and their future together. By the time they married, perhaps the war would be ended. There couldn’t be another draft. From the violent shouts outside the draft office in Millersburg this morning, folks wouldn’t stand for the government to do this again. And the war couldn’t last much longer. So many men had died already.

  Impatient with the direction of his thoughts, Jonas shifted, scowling. He wasn’t going to think about the war.

  As the light began to change, Jonas saw movement between the trees on the far side of the clearing. He swallowed, licking his dry lips, but as he watched the cautious figure step into the clearing, he let out a long breath and let the hammer down slowly on his rifle. Gentry Hamlin, Ned’s father, waved to him and started making his way toward him around the salt lick. Jonas jumped down from his seat. No deer would be coming to the lick while Gentry was out in the open.

  “Jonas Weaver?” Gentry said as he drew close. “I couldn’t tell if it was you or your brother from across the way.”

  “It’s me.” Jonas had never had much to say to Ned’s father, who kept himself buried in the woods as much as possible, and Gentry had never spoken directly to him before.

  “Any luck?”

  “Still early. I was hoping to find a deer coming to the lick.”

  Gentry spit into the grass at the base of the tree, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “I heard from Ned.” He thrust his hand inside his shirt and drew out a folded paper. “The store clerk in Farmerstown give this to me, and said it was from my boy.” He turned it over. “I’m not so sure about that, seein’ as Ned can’t write, and I don’t read. But when I seed you sittin’ over here, I thought maybe you could do the readin’ for me.”

  Jonas took the paper from him and broke the seal, opening it. He scanned the scrawling handwriting and read the signature.

  “This isn’t from Ned.” Glancing over the first sentence, he swallowed a sudden lump that appeared. “It appears to be bad news. Do you want me to read it to you?”

  Gentry widened his stance, as if bracing for a blow. He held his hunting rifle across his chest and bowed his head, waiting.

  Dear Mr. Hamlin,

  I regret to inform you that your son, Edward, died this morning, September 5, 1862. He did not suffer long, but succumbed to typhoid fever within a day of contracting it. He died in the presence of myself, the camp physician, and his friend, Reuben Kaufman. We buried his earthly remains in a grave near the camp in Vicksburg, alongside other victims of the fever.

  Sincerely,

  Lieutenant William Spencer, CSA

  Jonas glanced up, waiting for Gentry’s reaction, but the man remained as he had been until he extended one hand. Jonas folded the letter and gave it back to him.

  “Thank you,” Gentry said, his voice full of gravel. “I’ll take my leave now, and good hunting to you.”

  Without another word, Gentry walked back into the forest and disappeared. Jonas leaned against the oak tree and looked up into the deep blue sky, streaked with orange and pink clouds. Ned Hamlin was dead. He had been a part of Jonas’s life at Weaver’s Creek, even though they had never been friends. And Ned hadn’t even been killed in battle but in camp. In bed.

  A deer stepped out of the trees to Jonas’s right. A buck, with ten points on his antlers. He took another step, then stopped, his nose searching the air. Behind him came his does. Three of them, and their half-grown fawns, walked past the buck, grazing on bits of grass. Jonas didn’t move.

  Finally, the buck urged his does toward the salt lick, keeping watch as they alternated between grazing and licking the salty ground. He stood twenty feet away, upwind from Jonas. After a few minutes, he also grazed, but that magnificent head rose as he chewed, keeping watch over the others. Another buck appeared across the clearing, and the two looked at each other.

  A dog barked in the distance, startling both bucks, and the first one moved toward his does, pushing them toward the cover of the trees. The second one disappeared.

  The dog barked again. Jonas looked at the rifle in his hands and at the stars beginning to appear in the sky. He had forgotten that he had come here to hunt. The peaceful scene had been a long way from his thoughts of Ned and the grave in Mississippi. Far from the specter of war.

  10

  OCTOBER 4

  “Samuel Weaver’s name is on the draft list,” Papa said as he sat down to dinner on Saturday. His clothes were dusty from working in the field, shocking the corn. The weather was warm and dry.

  Katie had a dish of potatoes in her hand, and when Papa mentioned Samuel’s name, she dropped the dish onto the table, nearly spilling it.

  “Be careful, Daughter,” Mama said. She reached behind Katie to put the plate of ham slices next to the potatoes. Mama scanned the table, then nodded, satisfied that all was ready for the meal. As she sat in her chair, she said, “Were there any other names that we know?”

  “Ja, ja, ja,” Papa said. “Twenty-two Amish boys and men from Holmes County alone.” He sighed, then closed his eyes for the silent prayer.

  Katie prayed a quick blessing for her meal, then waited for Papa to signal that he was done. Her mind raced. Who else was on the list? He would have told her if Jonas was one.

  Papa reached for the potatoes, filling his plate, then Mama’s, then Katie’s. He did the same with the ham, and then the sauerkraut. He laid Katie’s plate in front of her before he continued.

  “Samuel Weaver is the closest one to us. Both Gingerich boys and the oldest Hochstetler.”

  “Amos? But he has a family to support.”

  Papa nodded. “Ja, ja, ja. But the draft committee doesn’t care about that. They only draw names.” He glanced at Katie and smiled. “Jonas’s name wasn’t on the list, so you can stop looking so worried.”

  Mama buttered a slice of bread. “Did the church collect enough to pay the fees for that many?”

  “And more, if needed. None of the ones on the list will need to go to war. I am thankful that the government recognizes our stand against war. That would not hav
e happened in the Old Country.”

  Papa ate in silence until his plate was clean. “Some more news. Jonas said that Gentry Hamlin got a letter saying that Ned has passed away.”

  Katie stopped cutting her ham. “Ned Hamlin was killed?”

  “Not killed in the war. He died of typhoid in the camp. Jonas said that Reuben Kaufman had been there when it happened.”

  “Elizabeth will be glad to get word of her husband.” Mama rose from the table to get the pie for dessert. “Katie, after dinner, you can take the other pie to Elizabeth and Ruby. Tell Elizabeth we’re thinking of her at this trying time.”

  “Ja, Mama.” Katie stared at the piece of pie Mama had put on her plate. It was still warm, and fragrant with the aroma of apples, cinnamon, and cloves, but Katie couldn’t bring herself to eat it. Ned Hamlin was dead. She began to tremble.

  “I . . . I need to be excused.” Katie started toward the door. “I’ll be back to clear up from dinner . . .”

  She ran to the privy, the only place she could be assured of privacy. Ignoring the odors and the flies, she closed the door behind her and leaned on it.

  Ned Hamlin was dead.

  And then she was sick.

  Afterward, she sat on the bench, her head in her hands. She hadn’t seen Ned since that time in the woods last spring, but several times she had thought someone was watching her. He had sinned when he had accosted her, and now he had paid for that sin. But she was the one who had tempted him. How many more had to die because of her?

  When the sick feeling finally passed, she returned to the house and her work. Once she had cleared away the dinner dishes and washed them, she wrapped the second pie in a towel and walked up the road to Elizabeth’s house. Clouds were beginning to gather in the west, and Papa had said that a storm was coming when he had come in from the cornfield for dinner. As she passed the trail leading to the sturdy bridge across the creek, she saw the two walls of the house that Jonas had finished. Two walls standing straight and true against the trees, reminding her of his promise to her.

  A breeze blew by carrying a rustling wave of brown leaves along the road, brushing against her ankles. Jonas would not die. His love was pure, not evil. They belonged together. He would not die. Papa had said Jonas’s name wasn’t on the list, so he wouldn’t even be tempted to go to war. He would stay here in Weaver’s Creek, finish the house, and next year they would be married. He would be safe. She continued down the road, against the gusting breeze.

  The wind had strengthened by the time she reached Elizabeth’s cabin, and Katie paused to look toward the west again. The clouds were building into thunderheads, but they weren’t a threat. Not yet.

  “Katie? Is that you?” Ruby Weaver called to her from the chicken house behind the log cabin. “Come back here. We’re giving the henhouse its fall cleaning.”

  Katie put the pie on a small table outside the door of the cabin. Through the open door, she could see that the little building was cleaner than she had ever seen it before. Without Reuben here, perhaps Elizabeth had more time to care for the place. She heard laughter coming from the back of the cabin, and found Ruby and Elizabeth enjoying the dirtiest chore Katie could imagine. She had to laugh with them, in spite of the smell and mess. Feathers covered both of them from head to foot, and every time one of them looked at the other, they would start laughing again.

  Trying to stay out of the cloud of flying feathers, Katie found a shovel and helped load the wheelbarrow with the litter from the henhouse. In a short time, they had the little building emptied and Ruby dumped the soiled bedding onto the compost pile.

  “Let’s take a rest before washing the walls,” Ruby said, breathless. “Did I see a pie in your hands?”

  “Ja, for sure. Mama sent it.” Katie shifted her gaze to Elizabeth. “She wanted to let you know we’re thinking of you.”

  “Denki,” she answered. Elizabeth was the opposite of her sister. Short and slim where Ruby was tall, and her soft brown hair contrasting with Ruby’s curly red hair that was escaping from the kerchief she had tied around her head. “Come to the house. Ruby put a pitcher of mint tea in the springhouse, and we can sit for a spell and visit.”

  Katie followed the sisters to the washbasin outside the cabin, then to the little table set in the grass.

  Ruby brushed a stray leaf off the wooden surface. “The weather has been so fine that we moved the table out here. No use crowding the cabin more than we need to.” She went into the house and came out with plates and glasses.

  “We’ll have to take it inside soon, though,” Elizabeth said, watching the gathering clouds. “It looks like a storm is coming.”

  The three sat for a while, listening to the sounds of the afternoon as they ate their pie. In such good company, Katie’s second piece tasted better than her first one had.

  Elizabeth took a couple bites, then laid her fork down. Ruby leaned toward her.

  “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “It’s good pie,” Elizabeth said, smiling at Katie, “but I’ll save the rest of my piece for later.”

  Ruby shook her head. “She’s worried about Reuben and has been ever since last night when Jonas told us about Ned.”

  “Aren’t I right to be worried about him? He’s my husband.”

  “If he acted more like a husband, I would say you are.” Ruby took a long drink of her mint tea, as blunt as ever. “But you know you’ve been happier since he’s been away.”

  Elizabeth blushed. “He’s still my husband. I worry that perhaps he became ill also and died.”

  “They would have sent a letter to you,” Katie said, putting her hand over Elizabeth’s. “They sent a letter to Gentry Hamlin, so they would send one to you, for sure.”

  “That’s right,” Ruby said. “He would have told them to write to you, and you know folks always do what Reuben tells them.”

  Elizabeth smiled again. “You’re so good to me, Ruby. How would I get by without you?”

  “I’m just glad you took me in.” Ruby leaned across the table so they could both hear her as she whispered, “And you don’t keep asking me when I’m going to find a husband and get married.”

  “Ach, Ruby, you know Mamm means well.”

  “For sure she does. But I don’t need to be reminded of it every day.” Ruby laughed then. “And she should be happy that Jonas is getting married. She can pester him all day long and he won’t mind. Will he, Katie?”

  Elizabeth looked from her sister to Katie. “Jonas and Katie are getting married? When?”

  “Not until next summer,” Katie said. “Only our folks know about our plans. And now, I guess you do too.”

  “I’m so glad you told me! But why wait so long?”

  Katie wrinkled her nose. “Papa thinks I’m too young to get married. He thinks a girl should be older, even though I know I won’t marry anyone but Jonas.”

  “Your father is right.” Elizabeth’s face was solemn. “I wish I had waited until I was older.” A cloud’s shadow passed over the table, and when the sunshine came back, so did Elizabeth’s smile. “But you’re marrying our brother, so now we’ll be sisters. You’ll have to come over often when winter arrives so that Ruby and I don’t get too tired of each other’s company.”

  “And you’ll have to visit me too.” Katie smiled at both of them. “I’m making a quilt, and I’ll need plenty of help to finish it.”

  Ruby grinned back. “That’s a wonderful plan. Every time we get tired of our cabin, we’ll spend the afternoon with you and our needles.”

  “I haven’t quilted since I got married.” Elizabeth’s eyes were shining. “I wish it was winter already.”

  OCTOBER 5

  Every time Lydia thought of Samuel’s name on the draft list, her stomach turned with a sickening twist. She was glad there was no church today, because she wasn’t sure she could answer questions from the other women. Those same questions swirled in her head and were on the tip of her tongue whenever she could corner Abraham to talk, but he spe
nt the days in silence.

  “There is no sense in worrying about something you have no control over,” he had said yesterday, wrapping her in his strong embrace. “Until Samuel changes his mind about paying the fee, we can only pray that he will.”

  Lydia scrubbed the table after clearing up from their cold dinner. Men never could understand what mothers felt for their sons. She worried, for sure, more than she ever told Abraham. But one thing she took comfort in was that Jonas’s name wasn’t on the list along with Samuel’s. She also took comfort in the provision of the alternatives for her son, but at that thought, her worries started all over again. She sat on the closest chair, holding her aching head in her hands. What if the unthinkable happened and Samuel ended up as a soldier in the army?

  Voices in the yard broke through her thoughts. Samuel and his family were here. They had walked over in spite of the rain. Lydia rose to take Dorcas from Anna as they came in the door.

  “What a wet day!” Lydia snuggled Dorcas against her while Anna hung her shawl near the stove. She had kept Dorcas under it, and both stayed dry in the light rain.

  “For sure, it is.” Anna stood in front of the stove shivering. “And chilly too.”

  Lydia patted Dorcas’s back. “Are you cold, little one?”

  The two-year-old shook her head.

  “Samuel and the boys must have gone to the barn.” Lydia set a chair near the stove for Anna, then sat in her chair with Dorcas on her lap.

  “I don’t know what men find to do in the barn on a Sunday afternoon,” Anna said. “But look at us. Sitting in the kitchen, where we spend every day.”

  “It’s where we’re comfortable, I suppose.” Lydia held her granddaughter’s cold fingers to warm them.

  “I want to ask you something before they come in.” Anna leaned closer. “What does Abraham think about Samuel’s decision not to pay the fee?”

  “He hopes Samuel will change his mind.”

  “I wish Abraham will tell him to do just that.” Anna hunched on the chair, hugging herself. “I’m so worried that Samuel is just being stubborn because his pride won’t let him change his mind.”