The Sound of Distant Thunder

by Jan Drexler

  “I purchased gifts for Mother and Millie. I bought wool fabric so they could make new dresses.”

  “That was a good idea. What about your father?”

  “I always buy a book for him. Mother and I traveled to Millersburg last week to pick it up. Mother had ordered it from Ephrata, Pennsylvania. It’s a copy of the Martyr’s Mirror, to replace the one Father sent to my oldest brother last year.”

  “Is he the one who lives in Illinois?”

  Levi nodded. “He had sent the book to Hosea, but then Father said he wanted a new copy for his library. I’m glad he did, because it isn’t easy to find books that he would like to have.”

  Katie rode for a while, watching the roof of the Farmerstown General Store coming closer. Even though money wasn’t scarce for her family, she had always enjoyed making the gifts for her family and receiving them too. Purchased gifts just didn’t seem as much fun.

  The store was crowded on this Tuesday afternoon. With Christmas only two days away, folks were buying curious things like decorated cards and tiny candles to put on trees. Katie hurried to the post office window to mail her letter and had to wait for two customers who were in line ahead of her.

  When her turn came, she smiled at Mrs. Lawrence. “Your store is very busy today.”

  The older woman returned her smile. “Yes, isn’t it wonderful? It’s always this way just before Christmas.”

  “Are there any letters for Weaver’s Creek folks?” Katie slid the letter for Jonas under the wire enclosure along with three pennies to pay for postage.

  Mrs. Lawrence looked in the cubbyhole where she kept the sorted mail, but it was empty. Then she looked in a basket that held letters she hadn’t sorted yet. She came back to the window shaking her head.

  “No letters today.” She smiled. “But I’m sure there will be. Sometimes the war mail gets delayed for a few days, but then we’ll get several letters in one day.”

  Katie turned from the post office window to make room for the next customer and walked to the door. None of the fancy Christmas things caught her attention as she tried not to worry. Mrs. Lawrence would know about the mail from the soldiers, and she must be right. Often on Katie’s weekly visits she would find more than one letter from Jonas. The mail had been delayed, that was all. She hugged herself in the chilly air as she waited for Levi.

  But this delay had lasted two weeks already. If he had been killed—

  Katie shook her head to stop her thoughts from going that direction. If anything had happened to him, surely Lydia and Abraham would be notified.

  Levi came out of the store carrying a package. “Are you ready to go home?” He put the package under the wagon seat and held her hand as she climbed up. “How many letters were there?”

  She sat, pulling the lap robe up and pressing her toes against the warm brick. “None. Mrs. Lawrence said that the soldiers’ letters are delayed sometimes.”

  “She would know the truth of it,” he said. “Don’t worry. There will be plenty next week.”

  “But what if there aren’t?”

  He nudged her shoulder with his. “Then we’ll come back the next week, and the one after that, until we do hear from him again. Don’t worry about something that might not have happened.”

  Katie nodded her agreement but heard Levi’s worry behind his assurances. He admitted that something might have gone wrong for Jonas.

  The drive home was cold. Champ didn’t trot as briskly, and as the sun dropped toward the horizon, the air grew frigid. Levi and Katie both buried their chins in their wraps and didn’t talk. When they finally reached Katie’s home, Levi reached under the seat and pulled out the package he had stowed there. He held it out to her.

  “This is for you from Jonas. He asked me to buy it for you in his last letter.” His words were muffled in his scarf, but his eyes reflected the same worry she felt.

  “Denki, Levi.” She took the package from him. The box was large enough to hold a mixing bowl but felt too light to be something like that.

  “Have a happy Christmas, Katie.”

  Katie watched from the porch as he drove away into the growing dusk, then let herself into the house. Mama was setting the table for supper.

  “Did you have a good time?” Mama asked, glancing up as Katie closed the door behind her. “Were there many letters today?”

  Katie hung her bonnet and cape on the hook, then set her package on her chair as she moved to the stove to stir the pot of soup.

  “No letters.” The soup was rich and thick, full of potatoes, ham, and corn. Her favorite chowder.

  “What do you have there?”

  Katie looked at the package on the table. It was wrapped in brown paper, tied with string, but nothing written on it.

  “Levi got it at the store. He said it was something Jonas asked him to buy for me for Christmas.”

  “It seems that Levi might have rather given you his own present,” Mama said, slicing a loaf of bread.

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Haven’t you noticed that he goes out of his way to spend time with you? Why do you think he takes you to Farmerstown every week?”

  Katie ignored the sinking sensation in her stomach. “He takes me to the post office to send my letters to Jonas and to get the mail.”

  “Ja, ja, ja. And he has to take you with him? He could go to Farmerstown alone.”

  “He’s Jonas’s friend. He’s only doing what Jonas would want him to do.”

  “And how long has it been since Jonas wrote to you?”

  Katie bit her lip. The last letter had been dated December 5. “Not that long ago. Just over two weeks.”

  “I’m only saying that you shouldn’t discount Levi and his feelings. If something happens—”

  “Don’t even mention that possibility,” Katie said, interrupting Mama for the first time in her life. “Nothing is going to happen. Jonas will come home, we will be married, and everything will be fine.”

  “Ja, for sure.” Mama’s voice was soothing, as if she was speaking to one of her grandchildren. “Jonas will come home. But Levi would make a fine husband—”

  “Not for me.” Katie pressed her lips together, holding back the biting response she wanted to make, holding in her fears that Mama’s words were true. “I’m going to marry Jonas and no one else.”

  She ran up to her room, tripping on the steps on the way. She pressed her hand against the pain in her knee and stumbled to her bed. She buried her face in her pillow, her eyes dry and hot, her head aching. She was tired of fighting against the fears that tore at her. All the possibilities of what could happen to him. And the certainty . . . Katie’s stomach wrenched with a pain that had no name. She was going to lose him. He was going to die on a battlefield somewhere in the East, or from disease. The curse was going to haunt her forever.

  When she woke, her room was dark. Someone . . . Mama . . . had covered her with a blanket. Katie sat up, clutching the blanket around her as she got ready for bed. She felt drained and alone. Where was Jonas tonight? What was he doing? Was he even now, at this minute, in the midst of a battle? Was he wounded? Or worse . . .

  She lit the candle by her bed and got Jonas’s letters from her blanket chest. She sorted through the envelopes until she found the one she was looking for. His most recent letter . . . his last letter. Katie sat on her bed, legs crossed, and her feet tucked under her blanket. She opened the letter and tilted it toward the candle.

  Fredericksburg, Virginia

  December 5, 1862

  Dear one,

  I take my pen in hand to open my heart to you. When I so quickly chose to take Samuel’s place in fighting this war, I was naive and foolish. I thought I would sacrifice a few months of my life to help my brother, but I am afraid that I underestimated the devastation this war would rain down upon my soul.

  We fought in a battle yesterday, against a group of rebel soldiers who were trying to attack us by flanking our northern end. We had fought in a skirmish before,
and that had been bad enough. The battle . . . what a small word to name this horrible evil. For it is evil, dear Katie. Have no doubt of that. There is no glory in men lying wounded, drowning in their own blood. No glory in pulling the trigger on a rifle, knowing that each pull may take another man’s life. No glory in the smells, the putrid smells of blood and death.

  Before yesterday’s battle, I dreamed of you. We were having a picnic supper at our house, like we did so many times last summer. The light was golden, but in the distance we heard the thunder of a coming storm. Do you remember, dear one, how I once told you I liked to hear the thunder? No more. I’ve grown to hate thunder. It is the sound of death.

  I must end so this can go in the next post. I love you, dear Katie, and long for the day when I can tell you those words from my own lips. Although sometimes I wonder if that world will ever exist again.

  Yours, always,

  Jonas

  Katie returned the letter to its envelope, her headache beginning again. As she turned to slide her feet under the covers, she noticed the forgotten package Levi had bought in Farmerstown.

  She put it on the bed and untied the string. Opening the box, she found a lamp chimney, a bowl, a wick, and a glass shade decorated with green and blue flowers. Setting the bowl on the bedside table, she ran downstairs for some lamp oil. Carefully filling the lamp, she set the wick in place and lit it. Then she set the chimney over the flame and set the shade on its brass supports. The flame sputtered a little as the new wick took time to draw the oil, but soon it was burning with a clear light.

  Katie turned the wick down and watched as the lamplight glowed behind the painted flowers on the shade. Curling up on her bed, she smiled as she gazed at the beautiful gift. She knew the perfect place for this lamp. It would sit in the center of the kitchen table in her house. Imagining the hundreds of wintertime suppers her family would enjoy around this lamp, she sighed. Jonas had chosen the perfect present for her Christmas.

  A sudden thought chilled her, dimming her joy. Had Jonas asked Levi to buy this for her, as Levi had claimed? Or had he purchased it for her himself, and only said it was from Jonas? She sat up, dismissing the idea. Levi was a friend, not a beau. The gift had to be from Jonas.

  She blew the lamp out and settled down under the covers. Only Jonas would think of such a beautiful present.

  DECEMBER 30

  On the Tuesday after Christmas, the coldest and darkest afternoon of the year, Levi Beiler stood in the kitchen of Abraham and Lydia’s house, bringing news that was no news. Abraham had invited the young man to sit down, but Levi had refused, shaking his head.

  “There were no letters again today.”

  Lydia lowered herself into her chair as if her knees didn’t have the strength to support her. “For sure, there must have been a letter for Katie, even if there wasn’t one for us.”

  Levi shook his head once more, placing his hat back on his head. “Not even for Katie. I don’t know what this means, but Mrs. Lawrence, at the post office, said that sometimes whole bags of letters are delayed. She seems to think that we will eventually hear from him.”

  “Denki, Levi, for stopping by and telling us.” Abraham stood behind Lydia, gripping her shoulders. “It’s a cold day to be out.”

  “Ja, for sure it is. I can’t leave Champ standing any longer. Katie and I will go to the post office again next Tuesday.”

  As Levi left, Lydia trembled, then stood. “We’ll just have to wait and see what happens next week.”

  She wouldn’t look at Abraham, and he knew she was working to hold back her tears. He gathered her into his arms and held her for a long minute.

  “He’s all right.”

  “How can you be sure?” Lydia’s voice was muffled against his chest.

  “Because he’s in the Good Lord’s hands. Even if he’s wounded, or something worse, he’s still all right.”

  Lydia drew back, her face composed. “You’re right.” She forced a smile. “You should get out to the barn. Samuel is waiting for you.”

  “I’ll be back in for supper.” He kissed her cheek.

  As Abraham left the house, he knew what Lydia would do next. Whenever something worried her, she waited until she was alone in the house, and then she would talk to God about it. Early on in their marriage she had told him that there were times when she just needed to release all of her feelings and worries to the Good Lord. If she did that by crying out to the heavens, then that was all right with him. By the time he returned to the house for supper, she would be at peace.

  After nearly forty years of marriage, Abraham was beginning to understand that women were different than men. It used to weigh on him that he couldn’t stop Lydia’s tears, but now he accepted that they were part of her life. An occasional time of weeping was to be expected, like the Good Book said. A time to weep and a time to laugh.

  Abraham approached his worries as he reckoned most men did. He knew the Good Lord’s ways were not always what he would choose, but they were always right. He would trust the Lord and wait.

  Samuel was working in the wood shop on the south side of the barn. Abraham had installed a small stove in the shop to make it warm enough to work there during the winter months, but even though the cast iron was almost red-hot, the edges of the room were still freezing. Standing with his back to the door, Samuel stood at the long workbench, sanding the new handle he had made for the scythe. Two glass windows provided light to work by on most days, but today the sunshine was dimmed by low-hanging clouds and Samuel had lit the lamp that hung over the bench.

  “Levi had no letters for us,” Abraham said, joining Samuel at the workbench.

  Samuel watched the scythe handle, rubbing the wood free of splinters. “What does that mean? Is Jonas all right?”

  “We don’t know, but the Good Lord does.”

  “You mean he might have been killed.” Samuel’s hands stilled. “You mean he could be one of those thousands of men that are killed in every battle in this war.” His words bit the air, hard and clipped. He looked at Abraham. “If he dies, I’ll be the one to blame.” He turned back to his sanding, rubbing furiously.

  “It wouldn’t be your fault,” Abraham leaned on the bench, looking out the window. It seemed that Samuel was finally ready to talk about his brother. “Jonas chose to go, even though he knew we would stop him if we knew he was contemplating this.” A sigh escaped. Jonas. Always so hard-headed and determined.

  “That’s the problem.” Samuel dropped his sanding block and picked up a rag to wipe down the handle. “I should have done something to stop him.”

  Abraham ran his hand through his beard, taking a deep breath. “You knew he was thinking about doing this, but I don’t think anything you could have said would have changed his mind.”

  “I told him not to go.” Samuel rubbed his forehead. “I should have been more forceful with him. I know how stubborn he is, and how he’ll decide on things without thinking them through. But I let him go anyway. I thought . . . I don’t know what I thought. Maybe that he’d change his mind, or that once he got to the draft office, they’d refuse him.”

  “Meanwhile, you thought you’d find a way around your problem.”

  Samuel gave him a quick look, as if Abraham had discovered a closely held secret. “I suppose I did.”

  “But it didn’t happen that way, and now he’s in the Union forces, fighting this war.”

  “He accused me of letting my pride stand in the way of paying that fee.”

  “Did you?”

  “I didn’t think so at the time. But Datt, what if it was pride that made me say those things? And what if my pride destroys my brother’s life?” Samuel gave up trying to work and turned toward him. “I don’t think I could ever forgive myself for that.”

  “There’s a reason why some call pride the soul-destroyer. It is the source of never-ending grief when we let it have its way.”

  “But I didn’t think I was being prideful. I thought I was following what Chris
t would do.” Samuel shook his head. “I don’t know how I can tell the difference. And if I can’t distinguish between the two, how can I keep from sinning?”

  Abraham nearly smiled, thinking of his own years of questioning God on the same subject. “We can’t keep from sinning. It’s part of our nature. But a man who trusts in the Lord learns to ask for guidance and forgiveness.”

  “But Jonas—”

  “Don’t blame yourself for your brother’s actions. He took this upon himself and made his own choices. And for a reason I can’t fathom, the Good Lord can use Jonas’s actions to work in his plan. Leave your brother’s welfare to the One who knows him best.”

  “But I feel like I need to do something, anything, to make things right.” Samuel clenched his fists. “Sometimes I feel like I should travel to Virginia and bring him home by his ear, just to save him from himself. Who knows what kind of trouble he’ll get into out there?”

  Abraham grabbed Samuel’s shoulder. “The Lord knows, Son. And as for what we can do, we can pray. Always keep Jonas in your prayers.”

  17

  JANUARY 6, 1863

  The weather was fine on Old Christmas morning. Later the family would be coming to the house to break the morning fast with a big dinner, but before she started helping Mama with the preparations, Katie had to take some time alone.

  She made her way to her house . . . at least, what was left of her house after the November storm had blown down the wall. The east wall still stood, but only because it was leaning against the ruins of the north wall that the storm left behind. Snow covered every flat surface, making the place look like a cake with frosting. Katie stepped carefully through the sticks and debris surrounding it, searching for firm places under the snow. She finally reached her spot beneath the leaning wall. Sheltered from the wind and snow, it was dry. But most important, it was private. The only place where she could be certain of not being interrupted.

  Another week had come with no letters from Jonas, but instead, when Katie and Levi had made the trip to Farmerstown last Tuesday, the general store had been filled with news of another major battle in Virginia, and the Union Army had been defeated again. Katie rested her chin in her hands and propped her elbows on her knees. That was the battle Jonas had written that he hoped they wouldn’t have to fight. If it hadn’t been for that battle in the place called Fredericksburg, the war might be over by now. Jonas and all the other soldiers could have returned home to their families.