Sunlight and Shadows

by Christine Cross

  “Why doesn’t he write?”

  “He will sweetheart.” Adelaide Beiler assured her daughter. “You must stand strong for him now, understanding that for some reason, God has seen fit to allow Ezekiel to endure this trial. Perhaps he is there to save someone’s life, whom otherwise would perish.”

  Rebekah felt like she was perishing. The wedding she’d been looking forward to was moving quicker and quicker away from her, just as Ezekiel himself did. Hate was a strong word, but she hated the English war.

  She turned to her mother and said, “The man who gave Ezekiel his draft papers said that they didn’t have record of Ezekiel being Amish, just that he lived here. What did he mean?”

  “I don’t know,” Adelaide said. “Even the Amish have to file birth certificates for the babies we carry. We might not participate in social security, but our births are always recorded.”

  “Should I talk to Mrs. Miller about it?”

  “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea Rebekah.” Adelaide cautioned. “You have to remember, while you’ve had your man taken away for a time, Margaret has had her son taken away. As a woman who hasn’t had children yet, you don’t know what it’s like to have a child taken away from you. Especially after all they went through to even have Ezekiel.”

  “What do you mean all they went through?”

  “Why do you think Ezekiel is the only child that Margaret and Benjamin have? You know full well most Amish have at least seven children on average. Why would the Miller’s be any different?”

  “I always assumed that something had stopped them from having more children.”

  “When Margaret had Ezekiel, she had a hard time carrying him. The doctors said he was an overly active baby. When he was finally born, Margaret bled so badly that she had to have that part of her body removed because of the damage the bleeding caused. She was never able to have any more children because of this.”

  “Surely they would have received a birth certificate for Zeke though.” Rebekah argued, trying to make sense of everything. “Wouldn’t they? Couldn’t that have proved he was born to Amish parents?”

  Rebekah could feel the tears starting again and when her mother wrapped her in a hug, she let them fall, amazed that she still had tears to cry. Rebekah spent the next week praying and crying her heart out at nearly every turn. So much so that when she saw Ezekiel’s parents the following Sunday, she simply couldn’t help but talk to them. “Mr. and Mrs. Miller?”

  “Rebekah, how nice to see you dear.” Rebekah could tell that Margaret Miller suffered a fate much like her own. Pining away the time until they saw Ezekiel again.

  “I was wondering if you’d like to come over for Sunday luncheon with my family today?”

  “We’d much prefer to just head home,” Benjamin Miller said, a gentle hand on his wife’s back.

  “I have some questions, things I don’t understand. I’d very much like to talk with you if I may.”

  “Of course sweetheart,” Margaret Miller said. Rebekah asked permission to ride home with the Miller family, with a promise that they would drive her home afterward.

  “Excuse the later dinner hour,” Margaret said, and Rebekah smiled.

  “It’s not something that’s unusual to me. Ma always says her favorite time is when her kids start doing for themselves,” Rebekah added.

  “Well, in that case, tell me what it is you needed to know?”

  “I wanted to ask about Ezekiel’s birth,” Rebekah said, noting the way Margaret tensed at her words. “I don’t mean to cause unnecessary pain, I just… I don’t understand why or how he was drafted into a war that he doesn’t believe in.”

  “The circumstances surrounding his birth aren’t as we’ve led everyone to believe.” Margaret sighed. “When Benjamin and I first got married all I could think about was starting a family. I wanted so badly to have children, lots of them. Two years after we were married I still hadn’t conceived. I was devastated and despite Benjamin’s encouragement, I found myself increasingly saddened by our inability to have a baby. The longer we went without conceiving, the more desperate I became. Three years after our wedding, I was inconsolable. Nothing I did, nothing Benjamin said made a difference. One afternoon I drove into town and saw an advertisement for adoption. I knew then that I wanted to adopt a baby. I wasn’t sure how everyone would look at me though, not being able to have my own children. After discussing it at length with Benjamin, we agreed that we would tell everyone that I had delivered him at the hospital and that due to complications, I had to have my reproductive organs taken out.”

  “So, Ezekiel really was an orphan?” Rebekah asked, astonished.

  “He was a week old when we brought him home. He looked enough like Benjamin that no one questioned his heritage, and if they did, they were decent enough to not ask. I’m sorry we kept it a secret for so long. Seeing other young women suffer the same fate, I realize now how much my experience could’ve helped them. I do wish now though that I’d demanded a birth certificate from the hospital. Without adequate proof that he was our son, I lost him to a war we taught him to shun.”

  “Couldn’t you get a birth certificate and bring him home?” Rebekah asked, feeling even more desperate.”

  “I’m not sure that’s how it works. He was drafted into service. If I’m understanding it correctly, Ezekiel has no choice now, but to serve. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you Rebekah. I love him as a mother, not as his beloved. I do know that God has him in the center of His will. He will not fail us and He won’t fail Ezekiel either. We must stand strong and pray always for God’s protection over him until we see him safely home again.”

  *****

  The Solomon Islands

  Ezekiel dropped his pack and thanked God they’d finally stopped. After hiking nearly six miles with their full ruck sacks strapped to their backs, he was physically worn out. The sun beat down on them relentlessly and even a full canteen wasn’t enough to keep anyone hydrated. With an hour’s reprieve before they marched again, Ezekiel took time to write to Rebekah and his parents, hoping the letters would go out within the next week.

  August 20th, 1942.

  Dearest Rebekah,

  It’s beautiful here. I wish I could say that’s the first thing I noticed. Unfortunately, that’s not the case. I can no longer close my eyes to this war, whether I like it or not. I find myself torn between my beliefs and needing to keep my fellow men alive. Thankfully, God has kept us well hidden so far, as I am reluctant to say the least, about killing anyone. I’m not sure becoming a prisoner of war would be my best option, however. I’ve heard that the Japanese are ruthless and less than hospitable to their POW’s.

  How is the farm? I miss its tedious labor. I never thought of it as easy work, but compared to what I’m doing now, I would find the repetitive nature soothing, something I sorely miss. Have I told you I miss you? You fill my thoughts, even when I’m busy doing other things. I dream of you, of the way you smile, the sound of your laughter. I’m regretful that we aren’t living the life we’d intended. I’d have liked to call you my wife by now. Will you still marry me Rebekah?

  Know that I long to come home, to hold you, to continue the plans we made what seems like forever ago. Know also, that at the signing of this letter, I am healthy and safe. I will write again as soon as I can.

  Always yours,

  Zeke

  Then he wrote his parents letter, letting them know he was safe, for the time being. Sealing the letters, Ezekiel handed them to the mail officer and picked up his pack just as his sergeant ordered them up again. Another two miles inland and they finally saw the encampment of allied soldiers. Everyone from Americans, to British and Australians were strewn out like specs on a chalk board. Ezekiel followed his company to a vast area where they could set their packs down and prepare for nightfall. Ezekiel took his bedroll off his pack and rolled it out on a fairly flat piece of land.

  “Are you going to tent up?” Michaelson asked. Gregory Michaels
on, one of Ezekiel’s closest English friends; a tall man from New Jersey who had carrot red hair and enough freckles to nearly obscure his face.

  “No,” Ezekiel replied. “I want to look at the stars and pretend I’m anywhere but here.”

  “Can’t blame you there man.” Ezekiel and Michaelson settled down and talked over their MRE dinners. “You got a special girl back home?”

  “There’s a girl who’s promised to be my wife, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Alright!” Michaelson smiled. “Amish has a girl. How long have you two been dating?”

  “The Amish don’t date per se. We court, in hopes of finding someone to spend our lives with. If the courtship doesn’t work out, we hopefully haven’t done anything we’d regret later.”

  “Hopefully?” Michaelson laughed.

  “It should be the goal of every courting couple to treat each other with the utmost respect and honor. That way, if the courtship doesn’t work out, the two people involved won’t have to take any unwanted baggage into their marriage when they do find someone.”

  “Do the Amish ever marry someone who isn’t Amish?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. If they do, I’m sure they made a choice not to join the church.”

  “But they would be looked down upon, right?”

  “Yes,” Ezekiel said, continuing he added, “Those who choose not to join the church and remain in the English world, become strangers to us, even if we once knew them. They won’t attend the same functions we do and will, in effect, become English. No matter how they live, they won’t be considered Amish. It’s more than just adhering to a simpler life. It’s believing the Christian values that we uphold as the very core of what we practice. If anyone isn’t capable of that, then they shouldn’t join the church. We’d rather lose contact with someone, who was once part of our order, than to have someone join the Amish church for the sake of saving face.”

  “Rough standards to live by it seems,” Michaelson said, his dark brown eyes meeting Ezekiel’s equally light blue ones.

  “I suppose looking at it through the eyes of an English person, no offense, it would seem strict and obtrusive. To those born into it though, it’s what we know, what we’re most comfortable with. Even this, is so outside my comfort zone. As a believer in non-resistance, it’s hard to imagine having to take another person’s life to save one.”

  “So, what happens if an Amish farm gets attacked? Would you just let them take whatever they wanted? Would you defend your wife and children?”

  “It is extremely rare for an Amish farm to be victimized, but to answer your question, I honestly do not know if I could stand by while someone tried to hurt my family. Rebekah, the woman I will marry when I return home, means the world to me. To watch someone victimize her would be a test of whether or not I truly believed in non-resistance. However, when it comes to my home, the things I own, I will gladly give them up. They can be replaced easily enough. As far as I know the Amish are usually respected enough that even villains pass us by.”

  “Wow.” Gregory sighed. “Don’t know if I could do all of that. Props to those of you who can though.”

  ***

  Rebekah was folding ironed laundry when her mother came in with a smile on her face. “There’s a letter for you Rebekah.”

  A smile as bright as the sun lit her face and she nearly forgot about her father’s shirt she was folding. “Dank je, Ma,” Rebekah replied in her common Pennsylvania Dutch. She took the letter from her mother, ran up to her room, grabbed her paper and pen, and headed out the door. She ran across the wheat field that had just been harvested and sat in her favorite spot. It provided adequate shade, a modicum of privacy and most importantly, gave her a place to process everything Ezekiel said and what to write back.

  Reading quickly through the letter, she hugged it to her chest, knowing that sometime in the last six weeks he’d held the exact same paper. She laughed and cried reading over his words again. Would she still marry him? Was the man daft? He held her whole heart and she told him so in the letter she wrote back.

  October 5th, 1942.

  Dear Ezekiel,

  Your words are like life to me. I find myself barely breathing in between receiving them. To say I miss you terribly is the severest of understatements. I often wonder what our life would be like now if the war hadn’t taken you away.

  If you have to ask if I’ll still marry you, I’m not sure I ever truly conveyed my love to you. Even now, I’m not sure I could find the right words to say, to help you see just how much you effect my life. Mother says I’ve lost weight from eating less. I just can’t scrounge up the appetite most days.

  I wish I could see where you’re at right now. Saying its beautiful makes me want to join you, to see things through your eyes as we once did here. Will you describe it in more detail if you can? I miss seeing your face. I often worry that I’ll forget what you look like. If someone snaps a picture of you sometime, will you send it to me?

  Your, our first barn is up and looks amazing. Newly painted, I’m having it stocked with everything we’ll need when you get home. I haven’t purchased anything outrageous as I’m not able to live there, to contribute to our community in that way yet. Did I mention that I talked with your parents this past Sunday? I learned a lot about your birth and how special you are, even though I already knew it was quite a bit. I love you Ezekiel and I will marry you anytime, anywhere. Come home safe to me.

  Always yours,

  Rebekah Dagny Beiler-Miller

  Rebekah and Ezekiel continued to exchange letters throughout 1942, while Ezekiel was stationed in the Solomon Islands. Their love for each other and the Lord grew daily as they prayed toward the same goal; getting Ezekiel home safe and sound. 1943 saw Ezekiel enter Europe, to be stationed in Portsmouth, England. It was there that Ezekiel and his company deployed with the allied forces to storm the beaches of Normandy, in what would become the most successful and largest amphibious assault landing in military history.

  Ezekiel, who took two weeks to find a peaceful place to savor a quiet moment, wrote to his beloved:

  June 25th, 1944.

  Hello Beloved,

  I noticed that it’s not nearly as pretty here as it was at my last station. There, I could almost convince myself that I wasn’t in the middle of a war. I could almost imagine that I was just waiting for you to come out from shopping for the items we needed at home. Moments like that break my heart.

  I don’t know what to write anymore other than I love you, that I will always love you. You still fill my thoughts, despite the more than two years that’s separated us. Do you still wait for me? How I miss you!

  I hope that what I’m a part of now will go far in ending this terrible, murderous war. It is my fondest hope to be home with you before Christmas. I’m obviously aware that it is a far, far off dream.

  Does our home still look new as it once did? I can’t imagine the farm looks well right now. I hope someday I’ll tend it while you chase our children. I miss the sound of you Rebekah. No matter what you’re doing right now, know that I’m thinking of you. Know that I’m praying always for an end to all of this, to see all of us men safely home to our families.

  I love you eternally,

  Zeke.

  Folding his letter to Rebekah, Ezekiel stepped out from the ruined café and headed toward the barracks. He found Michaelson, he best friend, sitting on a bunk. “How’s sarge?”

  “Worn out.” Michaelson confided. “I’m not sure that he hasn’t been broken by all of this. God knows he’s been in the military since before this war started. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s had some sort of mental break.”

  “He’ll be okay,” Ezekiel said, his faith in their NCO standing strong. “I wrote Rebekah again today. I’m worried that I haven’t heard from her by now. Not even the Solomon Islands caused us this much trouble.”

  “She’ll write soon bro, don’t worry. Women always have to take their time and figure out exactl
y what they want to say. They don’t want to nag at us, but they have things they need to get off their chests. You’ll see Amish. You’ll get a letter before long.”

  “I hope so.” Ezekiel grinned, slapping his friend on the back before lying down on his own bunk to catch some sleep.

  ***

  Rebekah sat with Ezekiel’s last letter and worried her bottom lip. She still cried when he wrote home. The damage to her heart was extensive. She feared that much more waiting and she’d be useless to anyone as a wife, let alone a mother. By the time the letter arrived in August of 1944, Rebekah couldn’t even bring herself to imagine a life outside her parent’s home. She no longer attended the Sunday night socials. She didn’t volunteer at barn raisings or other frolics and no amount of discussion seemed to help the way she felt. She was a shell of her former self.

  She hated to admit that her faith had suffered, even when Ezekiel’s seemed so steadfast. Knowing him like she did though, she could tell that the war had changed him. He would no longer be the fun-loving young man who’d teased her relentlessly in the first days of their courtship. Nor, she feared, would he be the tender, loving man she’d fallen in love with. She’d woven dreams of a full life, of a beautiful family with him. As her tears fell again, she feared it was all unraveling before her very eyes.

  Forgive me father for my apathy. Help me to hang on, to cling to you in the midst of this storm. It is so hard to have no one with me who can relate to my trials and temptations. Keep Ezekiel safe as always and bring him home in your good time. Thank you for taking the time to teach me patience. Help me learn it Father. Be with both myself and Zeke as we try to understand your will. Please bring an end to this war. Help the parties involved find a peaceful resolution so all of their countrymen and women can come home. There are days that it’s hard to breathe without Zeke by my side. Then there are days when I’m so numb, I forget I even have anything to do. I miss him so Father. Bring my Zeke home to me, please.