The Sound of Distant Thunder

by Jan Drexler

  The captain chewed on the end of his cigar, watching him for a long minute, then moved on.

  Hiram slapped George on the back. “Congratulations, Sergeant. We should celebrate your promotion.”

  George grinned at him. “Maybe after we get back to our tents.” George hopped up on a log so the men could hear him better. “Time to form up, men, and be ready for the march back to camp.”

  As the others got into formation, Jonas went to Lieutenant Wilson’s body. He felt in his pockets and found the letter he knew would be there. A letter addressed to his parents, to be sent in the event of his death. Another letter was with it, addressed to the lieutenant in a woman’s handwriting. A sweetheart, perhaps? Or a wife?

  Jonas hadn’t known the young lieutenant well, but he had joined in the prayer group gatherings sometimes. He would be remembered, Jonas was sure. But when he looked up from the lieutenant’s body and saw a dozen more lying motionless on both sides of the battle line, he shuddered, retching again. This had only been a small battle, one that might not even be recorded in the regiment’s log, and yet so many had lost their lives. And in their homes, all over the country, this day would be remembered only for the grief and heartache it brought.

  He would give the letters to Captain Wentworth, to be sent to the lieutenant’s home along with a letter from the captain. He could only pray that someone would do the same for him when his turn came.

  DECEMBER 7

  Levi sat in his usual place on Sunday morning, on the bench directly behind the ministers and deacons, next to the aisle. Church was at the Beiler house on this first Sunday of December, and Levi glanced around at the gleaming wood floors and clean walls with approval. Mother kept the house spotless at all times, but they had turned the place inside out this week preparing for the worship service. Both Levi and Millie had been happy to help. They hosted the worship service twice a year, and it was the opportunity to show the community how a minister’s family should live, as Mother always said.

  While Father was sequestered in an upstairs bedroom, praying with the other ministers during the singing, Levi let his mind wander, as he often did, to the time when he would be sitting in the front row of the congregation. He sang with his gaze on the bench in front of him. That was his seat. Or it would be one day. First a minister, then a bishop. Levi was content with his future plans.

  And the future was unrolling before him. This winter, church was different with Jonas gone and Rosie Keck off and married. The group of young people was shrinking. Even Henry Keck was absent today, having gone to the services at the Berlin church. They were growing up, Levi thought with satisfaction. No longer too young to be considered one of the men, now that they were marrying age.

  Although that line still stood between them and true adulthood. Unmarried men were rarely nominated to be minister when the selection time came around. Folks thought unmarried men were less mature than their fellows, but Levi knew they were wrong. Being married was good for a minister or bishop, for sure, but the apostle Paul had advised against marriage, if one could keep from it without sinning. Still, marriage would be a good step for him to take, and soon.

  He didn’t glance behind him, but he knew where Katie was sitting, next to her mother and the Weavers. Keeping his mind on the sermons was harder with each week that went by. Sometimes he wished Jonas had never asked him to look after Katie, not when doing so had placed such temptation before him. But at other times he felt that marrying Katie was as much a part of his future as becoming bishop. For sure and for certain.

  Thinking of Katie reminded him of Mother, sitting in her normal place, on the second row of the women’s side, with Millie next to her. Ever since he was old enough to sit through church alone, the Beiler family had sat in these seats, and Mother saw to it that they followed the pattern Father had set. She was the perfect minister’s wife, dedicated to making sure her husband’s physical needs were met so that he could focus on his calling. Levi would have a wife just like her someday.

  After the fellowship meal at noon, Levi stood by the front room window, watching the snow fall. Folks would start heading for home soon, since the house was crowded. Some of the men had gone to the barn, but it was too cold for him out there. Katie found him and handed him an envelope.

  “I have something for you,” she said. “A letter from Jonas.”

  Levi smiled, even though a flash of disappointment caught him off guard. “You went to the post office without me?”

  “Elizabeth and Ruby went on Friday and asked me to go along. Even though I had gotten a letter from Jonas on Tuesday, there was another one there already.”

  Her smile made Levi warm and comfortable. He could spend a lifetime with that smile. “Do you still want to go on Tuesday, then?”

  She nodded. “For sure. I don’t want to miss a chance to find a letter.”

  Katie went to talk to Lydia Weaver and left him by the window. He turned the envelope over. The postmark was from Washington City. He opened it and unfolded the letter.

  Fredericksburg, Virginia

  November 24, 1862

  Dear Levi,

  It is Monday, and another Sunday has gone by without my presence in church with you and the others. Although, by my reckoning, yesterday was a non-church Sunday. Still, even though I attend services every time they are held, the worship in camp is different from our sedate gathering at home. I do long to talk with you about the different Christian churches represented in our regiment. Nearly every nationality and religion are represented here, and you would enjoy the exchange of ideas. When I come home, you and I will sit down and have a long talk about it.

  We ended our long march yesterday, arriving in position on the bluffs across the Rappahannock River from Fredericksburg. The town is occupied by Confederates. From here, it looks to be a fine city, and well kept. I pray it will look the same during the Yankee occupation to come. The word is that we are to wait here until we are able to cross the river on pontoon bridges. I think we could swim across, but I suppose that isn’t the army way. And the river is cold, with ice along the edges. Being nearly December, the weather is becoming wintry.

  George and I have gotten better at constructing our tent to keep out the worst of the weather. It even gets warm inside, if we remember to keep the flap closed. Although, I must say that my “warm” is a bit colder than George’s idea of it. He complains constantly about the cold. I remind him that it is better than sleeping without a tent, as we hear the rebel soldiers are forced to do.

  As far as action is concerned, we have only had one small skirmish, as the veteran soldiers are calling it. I consider that it was a battle, since men were shooting at each other, and some were killed or captured. I received commendation for capturing a rebel soldier, although I would rather that it not be counted. I had wounded the man, and only captured him so he wouldn’t return to the opposite army and start shooting at us again.

  I pray every day that we can march from here to Richmond without fighting another battle, but I am sure that is too much to hope for. It seems that I am to pass through fire before this war is done. My greatest prayer, though, is that I will not kill any man, while all around me soldiers are praying that they will “get their man” before they go home. If you never thought so before, dear brother Levi, know that war is evil, and it does evil things to men.

  The home folks are always in my thoughts and prayers, also. Letters come, but not often enough for my voracious appetite for news. I wonder how my dear Katie is doing. Her letters to me are heartening and comforting, but I wonder if she is telling me the entire truth in them. I am glad to hear that you gave her an outing the other week, taking her to the post office. She wrote to me of how much she enjoyed it, and how she found my letters there. You are my eyes and ears while I am gone. Report to me the truth of her health and well-being, and I will be forever grateful.

  Take care of yourself also. I trust you with the one closest to my heart.

  Best wishes to all,
>
  Jonas

  Levi folded the letter and returned it to the envelope, his stomach sick. He was betraying Jonas by his thoughts of Katie, and Jonas’s trust was misplaced, at best. He must bring every thought captive, as Paul said in the letter to the Corinthians. Every thought.

  Across the room, Katie laughed, attracting his attention. She was beautiful, her smile lighting her face, and she was popular among the other women in the church. Again, the thought of how perfectly she would fit into his future plans flitted through his mind.

  Disgusted with himself, he turned toward the window again, the envelope crumpling in his hand. Every thought captive. He leaned his head against the cold glass. He had no idea where to start.

  DECEMBER 12

  On the west bank of the Rappahannock River, just south of the center of Fredericksburg, Jonas shivered in his blankets. Their regiment had crossed the river earlier in the day under the constant fire of artillery from the Confederate positions on the heights west of the city, and they had marched to the southern end of the city to camp for the night. Temperatures had fallen below freezing on that December evening, and he was unable to sleep, in spite of being bundled in both of his blankets. The artillery had stopped once darkness fell, and Captain Wentworth had told the men to prepare to attack the enemy in the morning.

  The word from their commanding officer had been whispered, flying through the regiment from company to company, along with rumors. The fight on Marye’s Heights, to their north, had been a bloodbath. The Confederates held their position along a stone wall at the top of a long slope, and the Union soldiers had launched charge after charge up the bloody slope all through the previous day, but to no avail. Even through the night, the poor men caught on the slopes as darkness fell were under the watchful eyes of snipers, and Jonas heard the intermittent rifle fire as they had shot at any movement.

  Finally, morning came, with George fidgeting next to Jonas, his face shining with perspiration. “I hate waiting like this. I hate it.”

  “I don’t like it any better than you, but it’s no good worrying about it.” Jonas gripped his rifle in his own damp hands. As the sun rose, the sounds of the renewed battle on Marye’s Heights drifted toward them. Nonstop artillery punctuated with sharp pops of rifles, and underneath it all, the echoes of the rebel yell and the shouts of the Union soldiers. The battle for the heights was in its second day.

  Jonas checked his rifle. The Minié ball was loaded, the powder was dry. His ammunition pouch was filled with paper cartridges. The only thing that would keep him from shooting was his own fear. He would have to shoot, if he was ordered to, because the alternative was to be shot for cowardice. So he would shoot and pray that his bullets would cause no harm. The metallic taste of his own blood filled his senses and he forced himself to relax. He whooshed out a deep breath, not even aware that he had been holding it.

  “At least we won’t be heading up the heights,” George said. He hunched his shoulders against the cold wind blowing from the northeast. “Whoever is waiting for us along that line up there won’t have the advantage of a stone fence for cover.”

  “I heard it was Stonewall Jackson, himself, up there,” the soldier on the other side of George said. “Word is that he’s fearless in battle, sitting on his horse while the bullets swerve to miss him.”

  “We won’t be fighting old Stonewall,” George said. “Just the men who consider it a privilege to die under his command.”

  Captain Wentworth signaled his company to be ready and Jonas checked his rifle again. Once the charge started, only God knew what would happen next. He reached inside his jacket, feeling the comforting envelope holding Katie’s most recent letter. All he wanted to do was to return to her.

  When the order came, Jonas followed the man in front of him. They ran at a steady pace for nearly a quarter mile before the gunfire started. The man in front of him went down and Jonas tripped over his body. Turning him over, Jonas could tell the man was already gone. He backed away from him and stumbled to his feet.

  While he had been checking the dead soldier, the rest of the regiment had left him behind. A copse of trees appeared in front of him, obscured by the haze of smoke rising from the guns. He stopped behind one to catch his breath.

  “George!”

  His voice was lost in the overwhelming roar of gunfire. He moved to another tree. A shadowy group of men ran past a dozen yards away and he lifted his gun to shoot, then lowered it. He couldn’t tell which side they were on in the smoky air.

  He climbed on a rock to get his bearings. There, ahead of him, was the company flag, floating above a gray haze. He ducked down and ran toward it, dodging bodies on the ground. He topped a small rise and stumbled again, rolling to the bottom of a small ravine. Feeling pain on the side of his head, he touched it and his hand came away bloody. Either a bullet had grazed him, or he had hit a rock. No matter. He had to keep going. He wasn’t a coward.

  The ravine provided some shelter from stray bullets and the fighting was still ahead of him, so he followed the fold up toward the sounds of the gunfire. When he came to a tangle of brambles, he had no choice but to turn to the left, up the ravine. At the top, he had a better view of the battle off to his right, and in the middle was the company flag.

  Somehow, he had dropped to his knees, but now he struggled up, heading for the flag. He stumbled again, this time falling over a body that grunted as he fell. Shaking his head to clear his vision, he saw a Confederate officer, dressed in a fancy gray uniform that would have been something to see that morning. But now it was torn and bloody, the left sleeve in rags, and the arm it should have covered a bloody mess. The man’s face was gray, his lips a pale blue under his blond mustache. The man was still alive, but he wouldn’t be for long without help.

  Jonas took the man’s belt and made a tourniquet around his upper left arm, the way the medic had shown him, then untied a yellow scarf that the man wore around his waist and used it to bind the wounded arm against his body. As he lifted the captain to pass the scarf behind his shoulders, the man’s eyes opened. His face was calm as he watched Jonas.

  “I thank you, sir, for your help.”

  The man’s voice was gentle, in spite of the chaos around them. Jonas ducked as a Minié ball whined past his head, his vision going dark at the sudden movement, then clearing. He turned back to the wounded man.

  “Are you thirsty?”

  “Oh, my, I certainly am. Do you have any water?”

  Jonas’s canteen was full. He lifted the man’s head to drink, cradling his head, careful not to disturb the wounded arm.

  “I thank you, again, sir.”

  Jonas moved him so he could recline against a tree root.

  “Will you be all right here? I need to find my company.”

  The captain, as weak as he was, struggled to look toward the sounds of the battle. The gunfire had slowed and had moved back toward the city. Back to the area where the Union regiment’s charge had started this morning.

  “It appears that they’ve left you, and you are now behind the Confederate lines.” The captain fumbled with his jacket, pulling out a pistol that he pointed toward Jonas. “And I am afraid, sir, that you are my prisoner.”

  Jonas looked for his rifle, but the captain stopped him. “Don’t think about trying to escape. I would hate to have to shoot you after you’ve been so kind to me. Besides, with that head wound you have, I don’t think you’ll be able to get far after all.”

  Lifting his fingers to the bloody spot on his head, Jonas felt a sudden weakness. Blood had matted his hair, dripping onto his shoulder and down his sleeve. Until now, he had felt no pain. But he sank to his knees, suddenly weak, then the ground rushed up to meet him as everything went black.

  16

  DECEMBER 23

  With six inches of snow covering the ground, Katie didn’t expect Levi to come by for their weekly trip to the post office, but when he pulled up the lane driving a sleigh, she ran for her bonnet and cloak.

/>   “I’m going to Farmerstown to the post office,” she said, looking in the front room where Mama sat with her sewing. “Do you need anything from the store?”

  Mama shook her head. “I can’t think of anything.”

  “I’ll be back before supper, but it might be dark.”

  “I’m sure Levi will take good care of you.” Mama held the seam she was working on up to the light coming in the window. After the sad days of November passed, Mama seemed to be better, but was still quiet and withdrawn most days.

  Levi pulled up to the porch steps just as Katie closed the door.

  “Are you ready for a quick ride?” He held up the lap robe for her and she slid underneath. A hot brick was under the robe to warm her toes. “I’m driving Champ today, and this cold weather makes him want to trot at a good pace.”

  “Ja, for sure.” Katie snuggled under the robe. The afternoon was colder than she had anticipated.

  Levi was right about the horse. The landscape flew by as he trotted along the road, the sleigh skimming across the snow behind him. Levi held the reins with both hands and laughed as Champ’s hooves threw chunks of snow at them. Katie tried to laugh with him, but a nagging worry wouldn’t leave her alone. There had been no letter from Jonas last week, but this week there surely would be. Perhaps several would be waiting for her.

  “It’s almost Christmas day,” Levi said. “Have you gotten your presents ready?”

  “For sure. They’re all done. I made dolls for my nieces and wooden horses for my nephews. Papa carved them, and I colored them with ink.”

  “You make me wish we had young children in our family to make toys for.”

  “It is a lot of fun.” Katie smiled, thinking of the excited children on Christmas day. “I knitted wool mittens for the grown-ups. I feel like I’ve been knitting for weeks.” She pushed her toes closer to the brick. “Did you make any gifts for Christmas?”