The Wings of Morning (27 page)

“Ruth, you go on,” Lyyndaya said. “I want to be alone for a while. I’ll take the path by the railroad home.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

The path she took would come out on a road that wound around back to Paradise. It was longer and would give her more time alone. Back at the house, Mama would go on about all the handsome young men swarming about Emma Zook at church, how lovely all the boys who had come back from the terrible army camp had turned out, that Jude could have been one of them if he hadn’t taken it into his head to run off and join the war just so he could fly a plane. And how Lyyndaya could have a dozen young men at her feet, even steal a few from Emma Zook, if only she would let it be known she was available and had chosen to turn her back on Jude and what he had done, like everyone else had.

No, she was not ready to listen to that again. She would, however, listen to her father. He had objected to Jude when he first began to fly and now it seemed he went out of his way to show kindness to her and Jude’s father.

Oh, there is a restlessness in me, Lord. I know it could just be from my own heart and, yes, my own sin, but what if it is not? What if it is from you? How do I know you are not telling me to do something, to try to make a difference when this world is at war? I’m sorry I hurt my sister, but I’m not sorry I said what I said. Why aren’t the Lapp Amish driving ambulances on the front? Why aren’t they putting bandages on wounds? At least Jude is trying to bring some boys back to their mothers. Who are the Amish bringing back to their mothers and fathers and families?

A whistle blew and brought her out of her prayer. The man driving the locomotive that was hauling freight through the summer fields was sitting on the edge of the open window and waving, a red bandana tied around his throat.

She smiled and waved back. Mr. Clements—“Cannonball” everyone called him—was in his seventies, but looked no older than fifty. On the few trips she had taken to Philadelphia he had twice been the engineer. One time he had sat and spoken with her at a stop where the locomotive needed to take on water. Mr. Clements had delighted her with the story of how he had driven his first steam engine back in 1869 when he was twenty-three, and supplied her with tales of the Old West and running locomotives through places like Montana, Nebraska, New Mexico, and even Dodge City, Kansas.

She watched now as the train steamed east for Philadelphia and then New York. As she stood still in the August sun, new ideas tumbled into her head just as bright orange butterflies tumbled past to touch down on purple, pink, and crimson flowers. A light breeze brought smoke and cinders her way, but it didn’t bother her. In her mind, she was on the train traveling toward the Atlantic.

All right, my dear Jude, I am going to do as you are doing. Save lives from death. We will both be in it together, you on your side of the ocean, I on mine
.

She reached the road and began to march along it with the fast stride of someone who has made up their mind about a matter and is determined to do something about it.

As she walked along lost in her plans, a buggy came along at a good clip, stirring dust and causing birds hunting insects in the ditches to rise in clusters of grey and brown. As it came alongside her the driver reined in the horse.

“Why, Miss Kurtz,” Pastor Stoltzfus greeted her, actually raising his straw hat from his head, something Lyyndaya had seen few Amish men do. She felt she ought to curtsy in response, as an old-fashioned
English
girl might, but only inclined her head.

“Good afternoon, Pastor.”

“It’s a hot time of the day to be walking.”

“I was out in the fields and under some shade trees most of the time.”

“Perhaps you have had your full measure of steps for the day.”

She laughed. “Perhaps.”

“May I drop you off anywhere, hm?”

“Well—” Lyyndaya hesitated. “I thought I might stop by Bishop Zook’s.”

“I must go past there.” He extended a hand. “Climb up.”

Lyyndaya knew the Zook farm was not on Pastor Stoltzfus’s way, but she stepped up into the seat beside him just the same.

“Thank you,” she said.

“I am happy to rescue you.”

After a few minutes of quiet, the horse trotting at a steady pace, the pastor asked, “You are going to see Emma, maybe? I know it is none of my business.”

“Actually, I want to speak with the bishop.”

“
Ja
?”

Lyyndaya smiled at his gentle prodding. “You are one of the pastors. It will come before you soon enough. I would like permission to travel to Philadelphia and offer my services as a volunteer with one of the hospitals to aid those stricken with the influenza. What would you say to that?”

Pastor Stoltzfus gave a low whistle.

When he didn’t immediately respond, Lyyndaya decided to practice the short version of her speech on him. “Think how hard the doctors and nurses are working during this influenza epidemic. They must be run off their feet. And think how the poor people are suffering—men and women and children. What would Jesus have us do, Pastor Stoltzfus? Watch from a safe distance? Or express the love of God in real, practical ways? How do you read the Scriptures on this?”

They traveled another minute before he cleared his throat. “The people will say,
How do we know she does not bring this terrible disease to us?
”

“I’ve thought of that. They require people to have certificates of good health from a physician before they can travel on passenger trains now. I could not move back and forth between Philadelphia without such a piece of paper. Dr. Morgan in Paradise could provide it. Wouldn’t that be sufficient to guarantee my good health?”

He grunted. “Still, you could carry the bug in you.”

“So could anyone. So could you.”

“I am not back and forth to the big city.”

“But the people you sell your grain to are. Didn’t one of your buyers come in from New York just last Monday?”

The pastor let out another low whistle. “I argue with you and the head aches.”

She leaned forward and looked into his face. “But truly, Pastor, isn’t the question a simple one? How do we live out the love of God in the midst of this crisis?”

“I think you are not asking. I think you know and want to tell everyone in Paradise what it is God wants them to do—this work for Philadelphia.”

Their eyes met and they both burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He shrugged. “For what? It is the question the Lapp Amish need to ask.”

The horse turned up the Zooks’ drive at the pastor’s urging. As Lyyndaya stepped down, Pastor Stoltzfus said, “I will wait a moment and say hello.”

“Of course. Thank you again.”

“
Bitte
.”

She knocked several times before she heard a man’s footsteps coming slowly to answer the door.
Had he been napping? Have I gotten him out of bed?
She panicked a little, wondering if this was going to create a difficult environment in which to ask her question. Perhaps it would be best if she just up and stated her business without any of the customary small talk and then he could go lie down again and think about it. He might appreciate that if he was weary.

The door opened and the usually cheerful bishop did look weary. There were bags under his eyes and a sunken look to his face. She was a bit startled by his appearance, but smiled and inclined her head regardless.

“Good afternoon, Bishop Zook. I’m sorry, I think I have disturbed you.”

“I was up,” he said in a quiet voice. “Have you come to see Emma?”

“I would like to see Emma, but my reason for dropping by was actually to speak with you. Very quickly.”

“Very quickly?” Despite his haggard features, Lyyndaya saw a breath of a smile form.

“Well, I will just out with it and you can…pray…and tell me what you think.”

“All right.”

“I’ve been wondering how we—or
I—
might best show the love of God to the people who are suffering from that terrible disease in Philadelphia. I had a mind to ask the leadership if I might be allowed to travel to the city and volunteer to help the nurses and physicians. They must be exhausted, wouldn’t you think, Bishop Zook? This is something I believe Jesus would have me do. There is so much illness. We must try to help. Dr. Morgan would ensure I was healthy, I could ask him to examine me every week so that everyone might be sure I was not sick or carrying the germs into Paradise or into the church—”

The bishop glanced beyond her. “Is that Pastor Stoltzfus with you?”

She turned and looked at the buggy. “
Ja
. I was walking and he offered me a ride.”

Pastor Stoltzfus waved and began to flick the reins to move on.

“You should wait,” the bishop called, but his voice was not strong. At first the pastor did not hear him. “Please, you should wait, I wish to speak with you.”

Finally the pastor brought his horse to a stop.

The bishop nodded and then turned his eyes back to Lyyndaya. “You wish to help the sick and dying. As Jesus would.”

“
Ja
.”

“There is no need to worry about carrying the disease into Paradise. It is already here. And there is no need to go to the city to nurse the sick. We have the sick here now who you can take care of.”

Lyyndaya’s mind was in a whirl. “What—what are you saying?”

The bishop opened the door wide. “If you mean what you have said, then please make yourself a mask, or whatever it is you need, and come in and help me. They are all sick, Lyyndaya. The papers say the disease can come to you in just a few hours and take your life. My whole family has become ill since church this morning. And Emma—Emma—” He swayed and leaned his hands against the doorframe for support. “I think my daughter is dying.”

K
nowing it was the last letter he would receive from Lyyndy, Jude kept the one dated April 1918 on him at all times. He would be embarrassed to admit that it had become almost as Scripture to him, so precious it was.

And yet as he read it yet again, its message took root in his heart.

Jude sat in his cockpit high over France and the German lines, mulling over Lyyndy’s words. He knew they were true, but his own burning desire to avenge the deaths caused by Heinrich Schleiermacher tore at him daily.

Now he waited, looked, even prayed, as he had every day since young Jack Zatt’s death, that he would have a chance to fight the Fokker D.VII flown by Schleiermacher and end his reign of terror. For the killing of members of Jude’s squadron had not ended with Jack. Another new recruit had been shot down by Schleiermacher only a few days after Zatt’s death, and then he had brought down Flapjack, who was now in a German prison camp. Worst of all, and still hard for Jude to bear, only the day before on August twenty-second, the Blue 9 had tangled with Frank Sharples over St. Mihiel, and the squadron leader’s Nieuport had exploded in mid-air, killing him instantly. Now Jude ached all the more for a moment of reckoning with the Hun. He had no intention of sparing the man. In his imagination, he could see himself coming at the Fokker head on. He could see his bullets tear the murderer apart before the blue aircraft erupted in flames and fell into its death spin.