Is this the day that I give all back to You? But when You took Jenna, You took all I had. You gave me a beautiful child, and then You took her from me. I had a wonderful husband, and he’s gone too. You stripped me of everything. I have nothing left except the quilt. Are You taking that from me too?
And then she heard the same voice that had spoken to her in the storm—deep, peaceful, and kind.
“You still have Me, dochter.”
Do I, Lord? Do I still have You?
“Jerusha! Start a fire—now!”
Jerusha struggled against the overwhelming drowsiness, her shivering, and her wandering thoughts and roused herself. She knew what she had to do. She pulled a corner of the quilt from around the little girl, grasped it firmly with both hands, and ripped it open. The thick padding layer was now exposed. She tore a piece from the padding and pulled it apart into strips. She opened the woodstove and laid the strips in a heap. Then she stacked a small pile of the kindling over the padding.
Why do I feel as if I’m killing something instead of saving someone?
She picked up the matches and held them close to the stove. There were only three left in the book. She pulled one out and struck it. It flared and then fizzled and went out. She took the second match and struck it. This one didn’t even flare before the tip crumbled and dropped off. Jerusha could feel herself succumbing to the freezing cold from her wet clothing.
Please, help me!
She struck the last match, and it flared into life. Carefully she reached into the stove and lit the padding. It caught! As the small flame began to grow, Jerusha added more of the wood until the fire began to crackle and the light from the open stove door was dancing on the wall.
Quickly she pulled off her coat and her wet dress. She dragged the makeshift table in front of the fire and draped the dress over it to dry. Then she opened the remainder of the quilt and checked the little girl.
She looks about four years old. The same age as Jenna when...when she left me.
The girl’s hair was damp and plastered to her face. Her skin was pale, and she was thin, almost emaciated. Jerusha checked her pulse. It was faint but beating.
I remember your pulse beating in your throat as I sat by the hospital bed, my darling Jenna. So faint, just a little tiny beat, and then I felt you go...
The little girl gave a slight cough, but she didn’t awaken.
I’ve got to warm her up. She’s going to die if she doesn’t get warm.
Quickly Jerusha opened the little girl’s coat and took off her damp dress and undergarments. The fire was beginning to give a little heat into the room, and she put one of the bigger pieces of wood on the fire. She could see the sides of the stove begin to turn red as it heated up. Then she pulled Henry’s old blanket around her shoulders, opened her blouse and pulled the little girl next to her bare skin. She wrapped the blanket and quilt around them and sat down close to the stove. She felt the child’s icy-cold body against hers, and her skin shrank from the cold. As fire generated more heat, she felt the warmth of her body begin to transfer to the little girl.
Just like when I held my baby Jenna in my arms, my life flowing into hers, my love pouring into my Jenna. Oh, my blessed girl...
As she held the little girl against her body and her life began to bring life to this lost little one, something in her heart that had been frozen and dead began to thaw. As the storm raged outside the old cabin, a spring of tears that had been held in check by the bitter walls of her self-imposed prison began to flow from her inner being and then from her eyes, and Jerusha cried and cried.
The Jepsons’ cabin wasn’t that far from Dalton, but with the storm raging it might as well have been a hundred miles away. Temperatures continued to plunge, and much of Ohio suffered power outages and road closures.
After finding Henry’s deserted car, Bobby Halverson quit searching and drove home to his parents’ house in Apple Creek. He pulled the tractor around to the back and put it into the barn. Then he walked wearily inside and slumped down at the kitchen table. His mother brought him some hot coffee and led him into the front room to sit by the fire.
Mark Knepp had returned to his house on the way back from Kidron Road and checked on the animals. Now he was sitting in front of his fire, but he wasn’t sleeping. He was praying deeply and fervently for Jerusha, for Bobby, and for others who might be lost in the storm.
Inside the Jepson’s cabin, the terrible cold circled like a starving wolf slinking outside the circle of heat, kept at bay by the glowing stove but waiting for the fire to die down so it could move in and make its kill. Jerusha lay next to the stove and held the little girl next to her heart, wrapped in the remainder of her Rose of Sharon quilt.
The Fourth Day
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 25, 1950
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Die Heilberührung
EARLY SATURDAY MORNING, November 25, Bobby Halverson was asleep at his parents’ house in Apple Creek. After he and Mark found Henry’s abandoned car, Mark persuaded Bobby to go home and get some rest. Bobby slept fitfully through the night as the storm raged on outside. He dreamed chaotic and frightening dreams.
He was wandering through the snow, searching for Jerusha. But then he wasn’t looking for Jerusha anymore, he was searching for Reuben or Jenna—which one was it? In his dream, their faces kept changing. He saw them just up ahead through the blinding snow, and he ran up to where they were. But just before he caught up to them, they ran away. Bobby tried to follow, but the snow kept getting deeper and deeper, and he was up to his waist and could hardly move, and his legs felt like cement blocks.
“Wait, wait for me!” he called after the fleeing figures. “I have to save you!” But Jerusha or Reuben or Jenna—who was he trying to find?—scurried away, leaving Bobby trapped in the deepening snow.
Then everything changed, and he was in the steaming jungles of Guadalcanal, crawling through the mud, hiding from the enemy, silently searching for Jerusha and Jenna. What was he supposed to do when he found them? Shoot them? Then he was sitting in a chow tent with Reuben, but Reuben was wearing a broad-brimmed black hat and overalls. He had a beard but no mustache.
“Hey, Reuben, you’re out of uniform.”
In his dream, Reuben looked at him strangely and said, “Not anymore,” and then a messenger ran into the tent.
“Reuben, they found Jenna and Jerusha. They’re both dead.”
“Dead! But how did they die?” Bobby asked.
“They froze to death in the jungle,” replied the messenger. And then Reuben went berserk in the tent and came at Bobby with a knife.
“You didn’t try to save them,” he screamed at Bobby as he tried to stab him.
Bobby grabbed Reuben’s arm as he stared into savage eyes burning with hate. He tried to hold Reuben’s arm back, but Reuben was too strong, and the knife came closer as they struggled together...
“Bobby! Bobby! Son, wake up!”
Bobby felt a hand shake him, and he jerked awake. His mother’s concerned face stared down at him. Even though the room was cold, Bobby dripped with sweat.
“Another war dream, son?” his mother asked gently.
“Sort of. I was searching for Jerusha or Jenna, and I didn’t know which one I had to find. Then I was with Reuben in the war, and we were fighting and Reuben tried to kill me because I let Jerusha die...”
“Well, it was just a dream, and you’re awake now. Would you like some coffee?”
“Sure. Thanks.” Bobby swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat with his head in his hands.
Maybe it was a dream and maybe not. I’ve got to keep looking for Jerusha. If Reuben ever comes back and finds out I gave up trying to find her, it would kill him...or maybe he would kill me.
“What’s it like outside, Mom?” he called out to the kitchen. “And what time is it?”
“It’s six o’clock. Been blowing a gale all night,” she called back. “It’s worse today than it was yesterday. Coffee’s read
y.”
Bobby grabbed some dry long johns, two pairs of heavy wool socks, denim coveralls, several layers of turtlenecks, and his heavy Pendleton wool shirt and started getting dressed. He was still pulling on his shirt when he walked out to the kitchen. He glanced out the window to see the tree branches flapping sideways in the wind and the heavy snow falling. The kitchen lights flickered off and then back on.
“It’s been doing that for a while,” his mother said. Noticing his heavy clothes, she asked, “Are you going out again?”
“I have to, Mom. Jerusha’s out there somewhere.”
“But what if she’s already dead?” his mother asked. “It’s been below zero all night, and unless she got in somewhere, I’m afraid there’s not much hope for her.”
“I know. But for her sake and Reuben’s I’ve got to keep looking until I know.”
“I understand you wanting to find Jerusha, but why are you so worried about helping Reuben? He’s a no-account if you ask me. Running off like that and leaving his little wife to suffer through that tragedy all by herself.”
“He’s a good man. He’s just had some hard times. He earned the Congressional Medal of Honor. If it weren’t for that no-account, your boy wouldn’t be standing here today. Reuben saved me and a bunch of other Marines and kept the enemy from breaking through our line. He even—”
Bobby’s mother raised her hands. “Okay, Bobby, you’re right. He’s a hero, and he saved my boy, and I’ll always be grateful for that. It seems odd, though, that an Amish boy is the one who got that medal out of all the boys on that island.”
“There were at least ten Congressional Medals awarded after that campaign. And don’t forget, I got a medal too. Reuben was just in the right place at the wrong time. I don’t think he ever knew war would be like that. None of us did. That’s probably why Reuben is so troubled. He thought he could be a good Marine. He was a sniper who shot Japanese soldiers from a long way off...all very impersonal, just routine stuff. But when it came down to fighting and killing the enemy with his bare hands, something broke inside him.
“That’s why he came back and buried himself in the church. He just couldn’t take the world and all the bad things going on in it. He thought by becoming a good churchgoing Amish man, he could forget the war. But he went too far the other way, and that’s why Jenna died.
“Reuben didn’t want any part of the world, so he put all his trust in his church. Then when she died…well, her death broke him. First the world betrayed him, and then his religion betrayed him too. He had nothing left to hold on to. I don’t hold it against him for running away. I just wish I knew where he was. I do know this—wherever he is, he’s a hurtin’ pup if he’s even still alive. I owe him my life, and I’ve got to repay him. And if that means going out in this storm and finding Jerusha...”
Just then the back door banged open from the force of the wind as Bobby’s dad came in. Snow blew in on the linoleum floor as Fred Halverson stomped his boots on the mat in the mudroom and brushed his coat off.
“Got the glow plugs warming up,” he said. “Figured you’d be going out after Jerusha again today. The tractor will be ready to go in about ten minutes. Can you get any diesel?”
“Thanks, Pop. I’m going to grab a bite and get some of Mom’s coffee in me, and then I’m going out. I’ll stop by Dutch’s place before I head out and get some fuel.”
Bobby’s mom took hold of his arm. “Promise me you’ll check in when you come back through town. We need to know where you are if you get in trouble. And you should probably throw some blankets in the tractor, just in case you find her out there.”
“Okay. And don’t worry. If I can make it through the Battle of the Ridge, I can make it through this storm. I’ll try to keep you posted.”
Bobby sat down at the table as his mom bustled about the kitchen. In a few minutes she flopped some steaming pancakes on a plate, laid some fried eggs and bacon on top, and handed it to Bobby with a big mug of coffee.
I’ll do the best I can, Reuben. If she’s alive out there, I’ll find her. I promise.
Dawn crept slowly in through the cracks around the boarded-up window of the old shack. Jerusha lay in front of the stove, wrapped in the quilt with the little girl snuggled against her. She had gotten up several times during the night to tend the fire, and the wood supply was running low. She looked at the little girl lying beside her.
So much like Jenna. That strong face, the reddish blonde hair, the deep violet eyes. It’s so strange how much she resembles my girl.
The heat from Jerusha’s body had warmed the girl, and the bluish tinge was gone from her skin. A faint flush of pink tinted her cheeks, and her breathing had become deeper and stronger. As Jerusha held her, she couldn’t keep thoughts of Jenna from her mind. And this time, something was different.
It doesn’t hurt so much anymore! I can think about Jenna without having a knife in my heart. What has happened?
Jerusha felt different emotions take hold of her—surprise, thankfulness, and surprisingly, down deep, a kind of fear and bitterness.
What is that? And then she knew.
I’ve been so bitter and hurt that I became the hurt. Hurt and pain have been my identity since Jenna died. And now part of me wants to hold on to the bitterness because it’s who I’ve become. That bitterness is what drove Reuben away, and it’s what made me hate God and revel in that hatred. I feel like I’ve been ill for a long time and I’m finally starting to get well. Only now, part of me still wants to stay sick.
Just then the little girl stirred. She didn’t awaken, but she snuggled closer to Jerusha. Jerusha held her tightly and softly stroked her forehead and cheeks. Having the little girl’s body pressed against her skin during the night had rekindled something in Jerusha, something she hadn’t felt in a long time—the pure unfettered joy of a mother’s love. There had been something in their skin-to-skin connection that had opened a hidden place in Jerusha’s heart. She remembered weeping uncontrollably and unashamedly until she had fallen asleep.
I haven’t even held a baby since Jenna died. My heart is so drawn to this little girl. Who is she? Why was she alone in the car? Who could have left such a precious child out there to die?
Jerusha noticed it was getting cold again. The fire was dying down, and she had just a few pieces of wood left. She started to get up, but the little girl clutched at her and spoke for the first time that day.
“Mama...Mama, don’t leave me.”
“Mama, Mama!” The words pierced Jerusha’s heart. She looked at the little girl’s face, but she wasn’t awake yet; she had cried out in her sleep. Jerusha pulled the little one close to her and wrapped her arms around the tiny body. Instinctively she began brushing back the matted hair and softly kissing the little one’s face.
“I’m here, baby, and I won’t leave. Don’t be afraid, darling girl. I’m with you now, and nothing can hurt you.”
She felt the girl relax and slip deeper into sleep. Softly she unclasped the tiny hands from around her neck, laid the girl down, and wrapped the quilt closely around her. She pulled her dress off the table and felt it. It had dried completely during the night, as had the girl’s underwear and dress. Jerusha buttoned up her blouse and put on her dress.
I need more wood. I’ve got to keep the fire going until the storm passes or someone finds us.
Jerusha put on her coat and buttoned it against the cold. She went to the back door and opened it a crack. The wind howled, and the powdery snow blew in through the gap. She opened the door a bit more and looked out. The landscape had completely changed. At least twenty inches of snow covered the ground, and in some places across the meadow the wind had piled the snow into huge drifts. Jerusha decided to see what was in the storage shed next to the house. She braced herself against the wind and made her way around to the covered archway. The shed door was closed and latched, but instead of a padlock someone had used a tree twig to hold the door shut. She pulled it out and went inside. As her eyes adjus
ted to the dark, she could see that someone had brought some wood in and piled it there. A pile of split pine logs was stacked against the wall, and several large branches were broken into stove-sized pieces.
Enough for a few more hours...
She gathered up what she could and made her way back inside the cabin. The little girl was lying still by the stove, sleeping in the quilt. Jerusha put the wood down and made another trip back to the shed. When she had accumulated a good-sized pile, she put some pieces in the stove and got the fire blazing again. Then she opened the quilt and quickly put the child’s dry clothing back on her. She took off her own boots, crawled back under the quilt beside the little girl, and pulled Henry’s old blanket over them. As soon as she wrapped herself in the quilt, the little girl put her arms around Jerusha and, without fully waking, spoke again.
“Mama...Mama, where are you?”
“I’m here, my darling, I’m here.”
Jerusha felt such tenderness come over her as she spoke the words that she almost broke. It was as though the love she had bottled up inside her for so long had somehow found its way into the old dry channels of her heart and started to flow like a stream seeking its way to the ocean, and wherever the water touched, healing came to that place. She pulled the little girl up close, and as she lay there with the child, she thought of Reuben. For a moment she wondered what was different, and then she realized that the anger she had felt toward Reuben for the last year was gone. Something had happened in the night, and all bitterness toward him wasn’t there anymore. It had changed into...what, pity? Compassion? Understanding?
Forgiveness? No, not forgiveness! Not after what he did. I’m not ready to forgive.
But as she thought of him, for the first time she saw through the pain and the heartache and past all the bitterness. And there it was before her as clear as day—the root of the disaster that had come upon them.
A Quilt for Jenna Page 15
