The Sound of Distant Thunder

by Jan Drexler

Katie pulled her hand back, her heart pounding. “It isn’t all men. Only men who . . . want to be . . . romantic with me. It’s a curse.”

  Sunlight fell through the window, landing on the table. Dust motes danced before Katie’s eyes. How much could she tell Lydia about Teacher Robinson? She had never told anyone about the curse, but now that Jonas was in danger, maybe Lydia could help her save him.

  “Katie”—Lydia’s voice was firm—“what are you talking about?”

  Katie closed her eyes, trying to shut away the memory of those hot afternoons after the other students had gone home the summer when she turned thirteen. The private lessons in arithmetic, and the poetry he taught her to love. He said she was intelligent and beautiful. He said she was a pleasure to teach because her mind was so quick. She had thought of him as a kind grandfather, opening doors to a world she had never seen before.

  “Teacher Robinson put a curse on me.”

  “Teacher Robinson? You mean the man who taught school for you children?”

  Katie nodded, shuddering as his fat, puffy face appeared in her memory. His friendly smile turning to a leer as his fingers pressed against her knees. His red face, scowling as she pulled away from his heavy body leaning against hers. The flash of anger in his eyes as she wrenched away from his groping hands. And the agony that twisted his features as he fell to the floor, gasping in pain and cursing her with his last breath.

  Lydia paused, frowning. “When he died, it was a terrible thing, but that has to be four, maybe five years ago. What does his death have to do with you?”

  “I killed him. He . . . he tried to . . . touch me, and when I pulled away from him he grew so angry. He tried to come after me, but he fell on the floor, like he had some kind of attack, and he cursed me. He said that I was a . . . a Siren. That I lure men to their death.”

  Lydia drew back. Repulsed, just as Katie feared. But once she understood, then she would make sure Jonas came home.

  But Lydia laid her hand on Katie’s. “There is no curse powerful enough to harm one of God’s people.”

  Katie chewed on her bottom lip. Somehow Lydia must understand. “But the curse is true. Teacher died, and Ned died. I thought Jonas was safe, but he isn’t. Not if he’s gone into danger.” She shivered as ice crept up her fingers to her aching arms. She pulled her hand back and clasped her elbows, hugging her arms close.

  “Ach, Katie.” Lydia’s red-rimmed eyes brimmed with tears. “Ned died far away in the South.”

  “But before he left he said he . . . he wanted to kiss me.” Katie leaned toward her. “Don’t you see? Every man who thinks he has romantic feelings for me ends up dying.”

  “Mr. Robinson’s words have no power over you. His death wasn’t your fault, and neither was Ned’s. If Jonas—” She stopped, tears spilling down her cheeks. “If Jonas should die, it won’t be because of you.”

  The sunbeam fell off the edge of the table like a stream of water. Katie gripped her arms more tightly as she considered Lydia’s words.

  “I wish what you are saying was true.”

  “It is true. A curse has no power over us.”

  “I’m not a member of the church.”

  “It has nothing to do with being a church member. It all has to do with whether you believe that Christ’s sacrifice is your only hope. God has provided the way for you to belong to him.”

  Katie pressed her knees together as the cold crept up her legs.

  Lydia moved around the table to sit in the chair next to her and folded her in her arms. “What Mr. Robinson tried to do to you wasn’t love. It wasn’t romantic. A true love doesn’t bring fear, but safety and joy. I know Jonas loves you, and he will never willingly hurt you.”

  Tears stung in Katie’s eyes as she melted into Lydia’s embrace. The aching stiffness eased. She wanted to believe Lydia, but Teacher’s voice still echoed in her ears.

  “Datt?”

  High in the barn loft, forking hay into the horses’ mangers, Abraham heard Samuel’s voice but didn’t answer right away. First thing after breakfast, he had gone to Samuel’s to tell him of Jonas’s action. But when Anna had answered the door, Dorcas on her hip and eyes red, she said she didn’t know where Samuel was. She had said she was afraid he had gone off to report for duty with the army, but he had left his bag behind.

  Abraham had gone back to work, his emotions seething. He rarely gave in to anger, but he was ready to give full vent to it now. One son had taken his pride off to war while the other son, in his own pride, had done nothing until his hand was forced. Had Samuel gone to report to the army, as Anna had feared? Or had he given in to fear, and was trying to escape to the Canadian border? Until he heard Samuel’s voice calling him in the barn, he was thinking the worst thoughts of his oldest son and regretted every minute.

  “Datt?” The call came again.

  “Ja, Samuel. I’ll be right down.”

  Filling the last manger, Abraham thrust the hayfork into the loose pile and headed down the ladder. Samuel waited for him in the center of the barn, next to the patch of sunlight that streamed through the eastern door. It looked like the rain of the past few days had finally cleared away.

  Abraham faced his son. “You heard about Jonas?”

  Samuel nodded, his arms crossed in front of him. He pushed a stray piece of straw with the toe of his shoe. “Anna told me.” There was no hint of surprise in his voice or his features.

  “You knew he was planning this?”

  “He suggested it yesterday, but I told him not to do it.”

  “You know you can’t tell Jonas not to do something once he’s made up his mind.”

  Samuel didn’t answer but pushed at the straw again.

  “What did you intend to do today? Were you planning to go to Mansfield yourself?”

  “I did not intend to give myself to the army.” Samuel finally looked him in the eye. “I’ve been praying, and thinking about nonresistance and what it means. I had determined to do nothing.”

  “But Jonas acted instead.”

  “I told him not to. I don’t want him involved in this war or thinking that he has to take my place.” Samuel scrubbed the back of his neck and paced toward the horse stalls and back. “But you know Jonas. Better than I do. He got this notion in his head that I was sacrificing too much by either going to war or being arrested for not reporting. I know what I choose to sacrifice, but he thinks he’s saving me by going to war in my place.”

  Abraham rubbed his temple. This problem wasn’t something he could wish away. If it was, the war would never have started.

  “Are you certain that you’ve counted the cost of your actions? The whole cost?”

  Samuel ticked the list off on his fingers. “If I am arrested for being nonresistant, I leave my wife and family alone. I would be risking my life, as I could be convicted of treason. I would risk being forced into the army in spite of my resistance. I risk losing . . . everything.” His hands dropped at his sides.

  “Have you considered the rest of your family? Your mother and me? Your brothers and sisters? And Jonas? What have your choices cost him?”

  Samuel ran one hand over his face. “I didn’t ask him to take my place. What could I have done differently?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps you could have taken one of the options the government provided for us.” He hated the sound of his own voice as his anger and frustration ground out. Sarcasm wasn’t his best choice.

  “And compromise my principles?”

  Abraham’s temper roared, making his head throb. Jonas’s life was forfeit because of his brother’s principles. He slammed the heel of his hand against the huge support beam in the middle of the barn. Dust sifted through the sunbeam, the millions of motes reflecting the light like broken shards of glass. As he leaned on the beam, he heard Samuel’s footsteps go out of the barn.

  How had his family come to this point in only a few days? It was as if some force from outside had reached into the center of his home and snatched away the
peace. Was it his fault? Had he done something that he was being punished for? Something so terrible that it affected his family in such a devastating way?

  He searched his memory but came up with nothing. A verse from the Psalms came to his mind, and he prayed it out loud. “‘Search me, O God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts: and see if there be any wicked way in me . . .’” His voice failed. He brought things he knew were sins into his mind. Pride. Hatred. Foolish thoughts. Murder.

  Pride. Had he been overly proud of his family? If anyone would ask, he would say that he was content rather than prideful.

  Hatred. Did he harbor hatred toward the change-minded leaders who would pull the church apart? The only feeling he was aware of was sorrow. A deep sorrow.

  Foolish thoughts? Not that he remembered. Murder? Not in action . . . and not in thought.

  Abraham lifted his head as a thought came to him. Had he been so proud that he assumed his family was safe from the troubles that were part of this world? There was no reason to think they would be immune from the effects of this war only because they lived in this valley that had known nothing but peace since the time his father had settled here so long ago.

  “Have mercy, dear Lord, have mercy on us.” Then the last words of the Psalm came to his mind. “And lead me in the way everlasting.”

  The sun had shifted and the dust motes had settled, but the light coming through the barn door was still clear and bright. The sky was the clean blue of October, with the red and gold leaves blazing at the tops of the trees in the woodlot.

  Abraham drank in the sight. It was as if he was viewing God on his throne, just as Isaiah had, and the train of his robe filled the temple, and the whole world was filled with his glory.

  He needed to make amends with Samuel. He couldn’t let his sin of anger become a wedge between them. His work could wait until after he found his son and talked with him.

  The solid beam had held fast once more. Abraham let a smile come as he ran a hand along the worn wood. Solid and strong, just as God’s faithfulness had proved to be once more.

  12

  OCTOBER 13

  On Monday afternoon, Katie sat at the kitchen table with her scissors and fabric. She had brought out her fabric scraps to cut into squares as soon as the dinner dishes were done, to the accompaniment of many tongue clicks from Mama. But Mama had gone to Lena’s and now Katie could work in peace.

  She needed peace. Her thoughts swirled in her head like storm clouds on a summer’s day. She still expected Jonas to walk up to the porch with the smile reserved just for her, but he was gone. Yesterday had been Sunday, and normally she would have spent the afternoon with him, talking and making plans for their future. But the time after church had been empty, relieved only by a visit to Wilhelm and Esther’s house. The rest of the family had been there too, and as the cousins played, the adults talked of every subject Katie could think of, except the war. Except the news that Jonas was off somewhere, possibly even now being shot at by another soldier.

  Katie finished cutting a piece of light green fabric into squares and counted them. Putting the pile into the basket, she noted the thirty-two squares on a scrap of paper. Once she knew how many squares she had of each color, she would plan the design of the quilt. Laying her pencil down, she sighed and picked up the next piece of fabric. She hoped the complex pattern would help the time pass through the coming winter.

  Footsteps sounded on the wooden porch, followed by a sharp knock that made Katie jump. When she opened the door, Ruby greeted her with a smile, her hair windblown and escaping her kapp as usual. Elizabeth was next to her.

  “We thought you might be at home,” Ruby said, walking into the warm kitchen. “We’ve been to Farmerstown to buy a few things at the dry goods store there, and they had a letter for you.”

  Katie took the envelope, recognizing Jonas’s handwriting on the front.

  “I’ve never gotten a letter before.” She turned it over.

  “Ruby and I got one too, and there’s one for Levi Beiler.” Elizabeth said. “See on the front where it says, ‘Soldier’s Letter’? The postmaster said that means that Jonas can send his letters without having to pay. We pay the postage when we pick them up.”

  “We won’t stay to visit,” Ruby said. “You’ll want to read your letter. Jonas said that he is lonesome already and wants news from home whenever someone can write. We can take turns going to the post office to mail the letters and pick up the ones he writes.”

  Katie ran her finger over her name on the envelope, then remembered Elizabeth. “Did you get a letter from Reuben?”

  She shook her head. “Very few letters get through from the Confederate soldiers. I haven’t heard a word since he left. But it is a joy to hear from Jonas, isn’t it?” She reached into the basket she carried and pulled out a second envelope. “Will you be seeing Levi soon? Ruby thought you might, since you’re friends with his sister.”

  “Ja, for sure. I can take the letter. It will give me an excuse to stop in to see Millie.”

  As Katie closed the door behind her friends, she put the letter to Levi in her sewing basket and turned her envelope over again. The postmark was Mansfield, so that meant he was still in Ohio. She had to read the letter, but not here, where Mama might walk in at any minute. She added wood to the fire and adjusted the damper, so it would burn slowly but not go out, then put on her shawl and bonnet.

  She ran down the lane to the road, and then to the wooden bridge that crossed the creek to the house. The two walls provided a bit of shelter from the gusty autumn wind. She settled down on a log against one wall and opened the letter.

  Camp Mansfield, October 11, 1862

  My dearest sweet Katie,

  I think of you every hour of every day, and hope to receive a letter from you soon. We will be located here for another week before moving east to join the Army of the Potomac. When you write, address the letter to me, Company C, 261st Ohio Regiment. That will get your letter to me no matter where we are.

  I pray that you are well and that all at home are also. I worry that Mamm and Datt have not taken my leaving well but pray that they will come to understand. I have written to them also, and to others in my family. Even though our days are long, the evenings are empty unless one wishes to participate in idle entertainments, which I don’t, so I have time to think about you and to write.

  We trained hard today. Many of the men are from farms and used to hard labor, but some are from the cities where they are not required to walk many miles every day. That is what we did. If we marched in a straight line, I suppose I would be nearly home again by now. But our marching was confined to the camp. We have been issued uniforms and guns, but no ammunition except what is doled out during practice. We shoot at straw targets, which is fine with me. The straw bales are fitted with cloth that is decorated with an outline of a man’s body on it. Some men took great joy in hitting the center of their “man.” I take no such joy, but the officers were satisfied with my aim.

  We get no war news here, only rumors. But as all rumor has a thread of truth in it, we listen and sift, trying to know what will happen tomorrow, the next day, and next week. You will be glad to know that I have found a comrade, a fellow from Darke County by the name of George Watson. We often talk about the homes we left behind—could it only be three days ago? It seems that I have been parted from you for a month.

  Write soon, dearest one. I want to know that you are well. I am well, and eating good food. I have blankets and a tent, companionship, and even some fun times. But all this is a poor substitute for the sight of your sweet face.

  Goodbye until another day,

  Jonas

  Katie read the letter through, and then again. She could almost hear Jonas’s voice as she read the words, sitting here in the shelter of the house he was building for her. As she folded the letter and placed it back in its envelope, she knew she had to write back to him immediately. If she wrote today, the letter might reach him while
he was in Mansfield.

  Holding the letter close, she ran back to the house to find some paper and a pen.

  OCTOBER 15

  Levi straightened, brushing the chaff off his clothes and trying to catch his breath. Father didn’t look at him, but Levi knew what he was thinking. Father had made two corn shocks for every one Levi had made, no matter how quickly he tried to work. But Father’s tall lean form was made for this kind of work and every movement was effortless, while Levi puffed as he picked up a bundle of stalks from the ground. By the time he reached the end of his row, Father had finished his half of the field and gone back to the barn without a word, leaving Levi to finish.

  Reaching for the next handful of stalks, Levi could feel the frown creasing his forehead. Resentment could build quickly if he let it, so he had to stop it. Better to put that energy into constructive work, as he had read somewhere. Life was filled with work from the beginning to the end, but the work didn’t have to be tiresome. Man was made for work, from the first day in the Garden of Eden. Smiling to himself, Levi tied the next corn shock. Only one more row to go.

  He should write his own book someday. What should he call it? Another corn shock was done as he thought of possible titles.

  “The Writings of Levi Beiler,” he said aloud, listening to the rhythm and sound of the words. “In My Youth.” That one sounded good too. He could write about all the things a young man needed to know as he was coming of age and ready to start his own family.

  Levi finished another row while he thought of the topics he would address in his book. Work should be included. And courtship should be a subject also. Finding a wife.

  Taking off his hat, Levi wiped his sweating brow with the back of his sleeve. Finding a wife. That was his challenge. A fellow like Jonas seemed to have no problem, but Levi couldn’t get any girls to look at him.

  Voices from the direction of the house caught his attention, and when he saw Katie Stuckey in the yard talking to Millie, he almost dropped the bundle of cornstalks he was twisting together. Katie . . . He caught his thoughts and brought them around to their proper place. Katie was here to see Millie, of course. But he couldn’t stop himself from watching her.