The Sound of Distant Thunder

by Jan Drexler

  He tucked the book he had purchased last week in the box under the seat, still in its paper wrapping. He would give it to Katie today.

  Waving to Mother as he passed the house, Levi pulled his hat down snug against the wind. Ja, ja, ja, she would like the book. The poems were easy to read and simple in their descriptions, but deep in their meanings at the same time. But he had to admit to himself that he had a different reason for giving it to her. He wanted an excuse to talk to her, to discuss the poems. Perhaps discuss the sermons they heard at church. Talk about the meaningful things of life. Things to keep her from brooding over Jonas’s absence.

  He would give her the book before they reached the post office, because if there was another letter from Jonas, that would take all her attention on the trip home. The day brightened a little at the thought of her face when she opened the package. Would she feel joy? Anticipation? Maybe she would open the book immediately and begin reading to him from it. Levi smiled as he imagined the scene.

  When he arrived at the Stuckeys’ house, Katie was on the back porch, shaking the rag rugs.

  “Hallo, Levi. What brings you by this afternoon?”

  “I thought you might want to go to the post office again.”

  She smiled, warming him inside and out. “For sure, I do. Come in the kitchen while I finish up, then I’ll be ready to go.”

  The Stuckey kitchen was warm, but in disarray. Margaretta stood on a chair, wiping off the shelves, while all the dishes, pans, and other items cluttered the table.

  “You’ve caught us in the middle of cleaning.” Katie took his hat and hung it by the door, while he removed his coat. “Sit down. It won’t take long.”

  Margaretta finished the last shelf, and climbed off the chair, breathless and smiling. “We weren’t expecting company this afternoon, or we wouldn’t have started this project.”

  “I thought I’d take Katie to Farmerstown,” Levi said. He tried not to stare at the change in Katie’s mother. He had never seen her this way, interested in what she and Katie were doing. He had always thought of her as being gray and quiet, like a mourning dove on a November day.

  “To see if there are any letters from Jonas,” Katie finished for him. “Is there anything you need from the store, Mama?”

  Margaretta thought, tapping a forefinger on her lips. “What do you think about getting a new can of stove black? That will make the stove look cleaner, won’t it? I was going to wait until it was time for spring cleaning.”

  “Stove black is just what we need. And don’t wait for spring.”

  Katie had been right, they were nearly finished. Soon the kitchen was back to normal and Katie was tying her bonnet on.

  “I just checked the pie,” she said. “It isn’t quite done yet. Will you be able to take it out when it is, Mama?”

  “For sure, I can. You just go on and have fun.” Margaretta smiled at Katie. “The pie will be good to have with our supper. Denki, Katie.”

  As they climbed into the wagon, Katie shook her head.

  “What’s wrong?” Levi asked, spreading the lap robe over Katie.

  “Nothing is wrong, it’s just that I don’t ever remember Mama saying thank you to me before.”

  “Your mother seems different today.”

  “She spent the morning visiting Lena and the new baby.”

  Levi turned the horse toward the road. “A new baby isn’t that special, is it?”

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Levi regretted them. He never understood the fascination babies held for women, but he knew it was there. Millie and Mother both forgot about everything else if someone brought a baby to the house.

  “A new baby changes everything.” Katie didn’t seem to mind his thoughtless comment as she watched the trees go by the wagon. She shifted in her seat, bringing her attention back to him. “I appreciate you driving me to the post office, but you don’t really need to. Someone from the neighborhood makes the trip to Farmerstown at least once a month. They would get any mail for us that might be waiting there.”

  Levi smiled at her. “Do you really want to wait a month between letters?”

  She smiled back. “For sure, I don’t. You’re being a good friend.”

  Turning onto the Hyattsville Pike, he pretended to concentrate on his driving to hide his disappointment at her words. A good friend? He wanted to be more than a good friend. Reaching under the wagon seat he pulled out the slim package wrapped in brown paper.

  “I thought you might like this.”

  Katie unwrapped the book and leafed through the pages. “It’s a book of poetry?”

  “William Wordsworth. One of my favorites.”

  “Will your father mind if you loan this to me?”

  Levi felt his cheeks grow hot. “It isn’t a loan. It’s a gift. For you.”

  “I can’t accept it.” She held the book out, waiting for him to take it. “It isn’t right.” Her eyes were wide, almost as if she was frightened.

  His stomach twisting, Levi forced a laugh. “It’s only a gift between friends.”

  “I . . . I can’t. And you shouldn’t even offer it.”

  Levi’s face grew hotter. He was making a fool of himself. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Jonas wouldn’t mind.”

  “It isn’t Jonas I’m worried about.” Her face was pale. “You shouldn’t . . . you can’t think of me as anything but a friend. Like Jonas. Or as a sister.”

  He glanced at her. She wasn’t embarrassed or angry. She was frightened, but of what?

  “For sure, we’re friends. I don’t think of you any differently than I think of Jonas, or Millie. I like you, Katie, but I know you’re promised to Jonas. I wouldn’t do anything to get in the way.”

  She looked at him, her eyes searching his face. “Are you sure?”

  “Ja, ja, ja.” He shrugged as if his stomach didn’t feel like he had dropped it over a cliff. “If you don’t want the book as a gift, then call it a loan. You can return it to me after you’re done reading it.” He made himself smile. “But don’t hurry through it. Take your time and enjoy the poems.”

  Opening the book again, Katie turned to the first poem.

  “Why don’t you read it aloud?” Levi’s smile turned genuine as she relaxed. “That way we can both enjoy it.”

  The rest of the trip to Farmerstown went quickly as Katie read the poems. The little town was quiet on the cloudy afternoon. There were two letters for Katie from Jonas and two more for Abraham and Lydia Weaver. A fifth envelope was addressed to Levi.

  As Katie posted her letters and purchased a can of stove black, Levi read the postmark on his letter. It had been sent from somewhere in Virginia, on the first of November, almost two weeks earlier. He slit the envelope open.

  Buffersville, Virginia

  October 27, 1862

  Dear Levi,

  I take pen in hand to bring you greetings. I am well, if a little underfed. I can’t tell you how much I would enjoy an apple pie right now, even one of your sister Millie’s creations.

  I don’t complain, though. Our food may be plain, but it is not full of worms or other such unmentionables as I have heard of from other units. I’m sure we will have our share of those victuals eventually.

  You will be glad to hear that marching has been my chief occupation. We have not been near the enemy and have seen no action. The other fellows in my camp complain of boredom, but I am well content to march with no opportunity to use my rifle.

  I pray that you are well and all is carrying on at home as usual. I should like to help with the corn harvest, if I could. Perhaps next year. I see the corn shocks in the valleys here as we march along. There are farms here in the midst of war, but I am afraid that with two armies competing for the same ground, the farmers won’t have much crop to take into their barns. I would say that the farmers won’t have corn to feed their livestock, but most of the cattle, horses, and hogs have also been taken by the armies. I do hope they are left with enough victuals for their fami
lies, though.

  Write to me. I miss our conversations about the things you have been studying. George, my tent mate, has no greater interests than the size of the deer he shot last fall. He doesn’t read and has no interest in religion or history. Even politics, which affects him greatly, is beyond his scope of interest. Even with all that, he is pleasant to be around and has become a good friend.

  I hope to receive letters from home in the mail every day but am often disappointed. So write! Please!

  Take care of Katie for me.

  Yours,

  Jonas

  Levi folded the letter and returned it to the envelope as Katie joined him.

  “You read your letter already?” She climbed onto the wagon seat. “Is there any news? Is he well?”

  Levi spread the robe over her skirt and turned the horse toward home. “Ja, ja, ja. He is well. But I’m sure your letters will tell you that.”

  She smiled at him, happier than she had been before they had arrived in town. Levi hunched his shoulders against the chilly wind and hurried Pacer along. With two letters to read, Katie would be occupied all the way home.

  As he drove, he mulled over Jonas’s letter to him. When Jonas mentioned the talks they used to have, it was as if he had shined a light on an empty spot in his life. He missed Jonas more than he thought could be possible, and not having the opportunity to say goodbye to him when he left made his absence even harder to bear. Who else had the patience to listen to his ramblings about the ideas he discovered as he read through the hymns of the Ausbund or studied the Dordrecht Confession?

  The wind picked up, cold and sharp from the north. Levi urged Pacer into his rocking gait that ate up the ground. There was a storm coming, and he wanted to get Katie home before it arrived. As she tucked her letters away inside her shawl, she shivered.

  “Were the letters good ones? Everything you hoped for?”

  She nodded. “He’s well. The most recent one was from a week ago. I just hope he gets the letters I’ve written to him.”

  “Keep writing them. In my letter, he sounded like he was a bit lonely.” Levi turned the horse up the lane to the Stuckeys’ house. “Expect me next Tuesday afternoon. I’ll plan on taking you to Farmerstown every week. That way we’ll make sure Jonas is getting regular mail.”

  “For sure, he’ll like that.”

  Katie held on to her bonnet as Levi stopped Pacer in front of the house. A gust of wind had nearly blown it off in spite of the tightly tied strings. The horse was restless, even after the drive to Farmerstown and back.

  “Be careful getting down. I can’t keep Pacer still in this wind and I don’t want you to get caught in the wagon wheels.”

  “Don’t worry.” Katie jumped clear of the wheels and then turned with a wave. “I’ll see you at church meeting Sunday.”

  He waved back and let the horse have his head. The wind carried sleet with it and the icy pellets stung. The horse was in as much of a hurry to get home as he was.

  14

  NOVEMBER 12

  The wind increased through the night, driving the pellets of rain and sleet against Katie’s bedroom window until midnight, when the sleet turned to snow. By the time she woke the next morning, a thick layer of ice obscured the view from the window and all she could see was white and gray.

  She dressed quickly and ran down to the kitchen. Mama had built up the fire in the stove, but Katie could still see her breath in the cold room. The storm battered the north side of the house.

  “This is some wind, isn’t it?” she said, but Mama didn’t answer. It was as if yesterday’s good mood had disappeared.

  “Should I cut some ham for breakfast?”

  “For sure. Some ham. It’s down in the cellar.” Mama gazed out the kitchen window at the snowflakes dancing against the window. “We’ll make pancakes too.”

  Katie fetched the ham and sliced it while the stove heated up. Mama hadn’t moved. It was as if she was captured by the swirling snow.

  “The snow is pretty, isn’t it?” Katie was determined to make things bright and cheery, no matter what Mama’s mood was. “I love the way it makes everything so clean and white.”

  Mama shivered, hugging her elbows. Katie checked the fire in the stove and added a couple more sticks.

  “The flower buds on the geraniums look a little larger today.”

  Mama sat at the table while Katie got the mixing bowl down from the shelf.

  “And it is nice to have clean and orderly shelves. I should have cleaned them earlier, but now they look so pretty.”

  Leaning her head in her hand, Mama closed her eyes. “Stop your chatter. It’s just . . . too much.”

  Katie sat in the chair next to Mama’s. “What is wrong?”

  Her mother shook her head. “It’s nothing you can help with.”

  “I know what happened on the voyage from the old country. Maybe you’d feel better if you talked to me about it.”

  Mama stared at her, eyes narrowed. “What do you know? Has Lydia Weaver been talking to you about me?”

  Katie’s eyes grew damp at the sharp tone of Mama’s voice. “She cares about you, and thought I should know . . . about when you came to America.”

  “Ach, Katie.” Mama looked toward the window again, the view beyond it now hidden by the built-up snow and ice. “Sometimes it weighs on me. During a storm like this, it’s as if it is happening now instead of twenty-two years ago.” She clasped her hands together in front of her as if she was trying to hold on to something. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper.

  Katie couldn’t imagine that something that had happened so long ago could still affect Mama like this, but she seemed to be reliving the memories of the ocean crossing. Something that had happened even before Katie had been born.

  “Maybe you’re not supposed to forget.” Katie took Mama’s cold hand in her own. “Maybe you’re supposed to remember until it stops hurting so much.”

  Mama closed her eyes, shutting everything out. “But remembering . . . brings all the pain back.”

  “You’ve never told me about them, my brother and sister.” Katie scooted her chair closer to her mother and put one arm around her narrow shoulders. “What were their names?”

  “Christian, my darling boy. He was three years old.” Mama shuddered. “Nina was only a baby. I can see their faces, cold and gray. Whenever I think of them, that’s all I see.”

  Katie could picture them in her mind, such little children, like her nieces and nephews. “What were they like before? Perhaps if you remembered the good times instead—”

  Mama shook her head and stood, shaking off Katie’s embrace. “I don’t want to dwell on this. Your papa will be in soon and will want his breakfast. The stove is hot, so you can fry the ham while I make the pancakes.”

  Katie started her task, responding to Mama’s orders as usual. If the storm let up, she would visit Lydia later today and take the letters Jonas had sent to his parents. The Weavers’ warm kitchen would be a welcome relief from Mama’s bad mood.

  But the storm kept its strength until almost noon. After breakfast, Katie cleaned up the kitchen and added leftover ham from breakfast to the pot of bean soup in the oven. She rubbed the stovetop, polishing it as well as she could. Blacking the stove would have to wait until the weather warmed. She sighed as she rubbed at the dull finish. That job might have to wait for spring after all.

  Mama had gone into the cold front room and sat in her chair, watching the snow through the front window. It faced south and showed a clear view of Weaver’s Creek and the woods beyond it. When Katie looked in at her, she hadn’t moved, but only stared. In her lap was the old Bible Papa had brought from Germany, but she hadn’t opened it.

  Katie huddled next to the stove and looked around the kitchen. It was better after the work she and Mama had done yesterday, but with snow covering the window, the room was dim and gray. Even with the lamp lit, the kitchen didn’t have that warm glow she had hope
d for. She closed her eyes, picturing Lydia’s kitchen in her mind. Lydia’s table always had something on it between meals. Sometimes a plant, sometimes a glass with flowers from the garden. She also put a cloth on the table, a bright red square that cheered up the whole room.

  Running upstairs, Katie dropped to her knees in front of her blanket chest. Inside were the scraps of fabric Lydia had given her. She hadn’t sorted through them yet, since she was still cutting out squares from the fabric she had gotten from the girls. Katie pulled out the bundle, looking for a scrap the right size. She found a dark green piece. It wasn’t as bright as Lydia’s, but the green was the color of the pine trees in the woods and would look nice. She took it, her scissors, and her needle and thread back to the kitchen and started working.

  The cloth would only cover the center of the table, but that would be all right. She hemmed the edges, then pressed it with the iron. She spread it on the table, then put one of the geranium plants in the center, the one with the flower buds. When they bloomed, they would show nicely against the green cloth. She put her sewing things away and mixed up a corn cake to have with the soup.

  By noon, the wind had died down. Papa came in from working in the barn looking more cheerful than he had at breakfast.

  “The sun is breaking through the clouds,” he said as he took his boots off by the door.

  “Did we get much snow?” Katie asked as she set the table. The center cloth was small enough that it didn’t interfere with the dishes.

  “Only an inch or so on top of the ice we got last night. It’s slippery in places, so be careful if you go out.”

  Mama ladled the soup into bowls. “Is it getting warmer?”

  “Ja, ja, ja.” Papa sat at the table and lifted his bowl up, breathing in the scent of the bean soup. “With the sun shining, the ice will soon be gone.”

  Mama stared at the table. “What did you do, Katie? Where did these things come from?”

  “I thought they would make the kitchen look pretty.”