The Wings of Morning (8 page)

“Yes, go ahead, Viv, kick up a fuss,” she murmured in a weary voice. “I don’t mind. I feel the same way.”

For a few minutes it was quiet, though Lyyndaya was certain she could hear the Curtiss Jenny’s engine higher up and farther east. Then the drone came back, growing louder and louder, until it snarled over their rooftop once again. A streak of pain shot through her. A week ago she would have been running to the field where Jude was landing. Now she wanted to avoid him at all costs.

“Are you not finished yet?”

Ruth stood in the doorway.

Lyyndaya quickly brushed the back of her hand against both cheeks. “I’m just done.” But she did not stand up.

Ruth waited a moment and then picked up a milk stool and came over and sat beside her sister. Then she took one of Lyyndaya’s hands and held it tightly.

“Listen,” she said in a quiet voice, “you and I and Mother and Sarah are in charge of slicing and serving the pies in an hour. Father and the boys are helping with the games. Everyone in our family is at the Stoltzfus meadow already. As we planned, I have come back for you. The table of pies is under a big tree and far from the Stoltzfus hay field, where Jude is taking off and landing. You will not see him very much.”

“How do you not see an aeroplane buzzing over your head?”

“By keeping your head down—and praying.”

“Where is Emma Zook?”

“She’ll be helping people line up for the plane rides. So she is also far away.”

“What happens when she comes for her piece of pie?”

“I will serve her.”

“
Ja
? You will serve her? Will it be strawberry pie?”

Ruth sighed and closed her eyes a moment. Then she kissed her sister on the head and pulled her against her side.

“Is it that again? People exaggerate. Emma gave Jude one strawberry and Jude gave Emma one strawberry. That was it. No one fed anyone a bowlful of strawberries and there certainly wasn’t any sugar or cream. Emma’s little sister, Annie, told Sarah that her mother would have thrown a fit if Emma hadn’t brought all the strawberries they’d picked into the house.”

“No doubt,” responded Lyyndaya, biting out each word. “After all, Mrs. Zook had
two
suppers to prepare for.”

Ruth exhaled a long and noisy rush of air. “Oh, my dear, what do you expect? If Mama and Papa felt all right about flying then we’d be the ones having Jude and his father in. You can’t ask Jude to become a hermit.”

“I thought he loved me.”

“So that means he should be rude to Emma and her parents?”

“He doesn’t—” Lyyndaya took in a sharp breath and struggled not to begin crying again. “He doesn’t have to enjoy it so much.”

“We don’t know what he enjoys and what he doesn’t, Lyyndy. How could he tell you? He’s forbidden to talk to you or even send a note.”

“I wish—he loved me enough—to break the rules—”

“I know, but that’s asking a lot for an Amish convert who wants to stay on the good side of the colony just as much as Papa does.”

“It is not the colony’s rules I want him to break.”

“No, but the
Ordnung
demands that the wishes of the parents with regard to their children be respected.”

“Then maybe I should leave the colony, maybe Jude and I should both up and leave the colony and live in Philadelphia.”

“Hush. That’s quite enough. I have brought your red book.” Ruth took it out of a pocket in her dress and put it in Lyyndaya’s hand. “You can read it in the buggy if you feel inclined to hearken to your great-grandmother’s words. Now take off your apron and leave it here. Mother has fresh ones for us at the table. We must go.” She pinched Lyyndaya’s cheek. “And last I looked there were no strawberry pies.”

Minutes later, the gelding, Old Oak, trotted happily along the road toward the celebration. Lyyndaya could see ahead that Jude’s plane was on the ground; she could see it turning into the light summer breeze blowing from the south. She put her head down so she wouldn’t have to watch. Her eyes fell on the red book on the seat between her and Ruth and she picked it up, opening it to the page labeled July seventh.

Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty
. The handwriting flowed like water across the page. Lyyndaya gently moved a black-eyed Susan she had pressed when she was twelve. She read,

Lyyndaya closed the book. She could make out Emma waving as Jude took off yet again with, it looked like, Pastor Miller of all people in the front cockpit.

“Well?” asked Ruth, glancing over at Lyyndaya.

“Well, what?”

“Did Great-grandmother Kurtz help you out today?”

“What will help me out today,” replied Lyyndaya, looking straight ahead, “is not to wait for Emma Zook to come for her piece of pie—”

“Lyyndaya—”

“—but to bring it to her instead. Do you have any idea what her favorite kind is?”

Ruth stared at her and then turned back to the road and flicked the reins. “I don’t, but her mother will, and she is standing and talking at the pie table right now.”

Ten minutes later, with Jude still flying south and west with Jacob Miller, Lyyndaya approached Emma, simple and elegant in her light yellow dress, where she was chatting with the next person in line, a boy named Peter King, a good friend of Lynndaya’s brother Luke.

“Emma,” she called cheerfully.

Emma looked toward her with surprise, and even, Lyyndaya noticed, a dash of guilt. “Oh, hello, Lyyndaya,” she said, working up a smile that didn’t include her eyes.

“How are you?” asked Lyyndaya.

“Perfect,” she chirped, widening her smile. “And you?”

“I’m perfect also.” She extended the slice of pie she was carrying on a white plate. “This is for you.”

Emma flushed and stammered. “For
me
? I thought—I thought surely you had brought it for young Peter—”

“Oh, no,” Lyyndaya said with a smile, reaching over and giving Peter a playful shove, “he’ll have to come down to the table himself and bring me some daisies if he wants a piece of pie.”

Peter grinned. “But after my aeroplane ride.”

“If there’s any pie left by then,” Lyyndaya teased.

“I don’t see why—” Emma was still struggling. “You—didn’t need to go to this trouble.”

“It was my pleasure.” Lyyndaya plucked a fork from a pocket under her large white apron. “Here you go. It’s cherry, your favorite.”

“Yes.” Emma still looked bewildered. “My favorite.”

“Not just any cherry pie either. This is from Mrs. Beachy’s oven.”

“Oh, Mrs. Beachy—do you mean this is from one of those big ones she makes?”

“Twenty-nine inches across.”

Emma laughed and began to regain her composure. “I don’t know how she does it.”

“Neither do I,” said Lyyndaya. “If I tried to bake a pie that size I’m sure one side would be raw and the other side burnt.”

“Yes,” Emma said, plunging her fork through the crust, “that would be me also. Do you and Peter mind? I haven’t had anything all day and I’m starved.”

“Go ahead,” coaxed Lyyndaya. “How many people have gone flying so far?”

Cherry juice stained one side of Emma’s mouth. “Oh, I have the card here—people write their names in—six, seven,
ja
, Pastor Miller is number eight. Jude is stopping at twenty. But if you wanted to go up, we could squeeze you in right after Peter.”

Lyyndaya shook her head and forced herself to laugh. “No, no, I’ve had my flying adventures. How about yourself?”

“Oh, I’ve been up already, it was
marvelous
.”

Lyyndaya felt the stab of pain again, but was determined to push on with the conversation and the forgiveness. “Did you—did you do anything different?”

Emma was chewing smoothly as she finished the pie. “What do you mean—different?”

“Well, did you do any crazy things, like go faster or—do a barrel roll?” Lyyndaya hated herself for asking, bracing for the added pain of finding out what she did not want to know.

“Heavens, no. I’m not like you, Lyyndy. You were always the tomboy, I was always the lady. Remember our games? You ran through the mud puddles, I went around them. You jumped into the creek to swim, I waded at the edge.” She handed the now empty plate and fork back to Lyyndy. “Thank you so much for the pie, that was so sweet of you. Would you like to say hello to Jude? He’ll be landing in a few minutes.” She pointed toward the sun where Lyyndaya noticed the Canuck was fast approaching the hay field, dropping lower and lower.

Lyyndaya began to move away. “No, I have to get back—I’ve left Mother and my sisters alone long enough.”

“Perhaps someone should bring Jude some pie,” Emma suggested. “Do you know what he likes, Lyyndaya?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll send Sarah over with one apple and one blueberry,” Lyyndaya said over her shoulder.

“What if he likes what I like?” smiled Emma.

“I’ll send cherry and peach too. Our aviator can have a feast.”

“He’ll get too fat to fit in the cockpit.”

When Jude landed with Pastor Miller a couple of minutes later, Sarah was arriving with the four slices of pie.

“That seems too much for one man,” Mrs. Kurtz grumbled, watching Sarah from the pie stand. “Even a healthy strapping one.”

“Mama,” said Lyyndaya, “he’s been flying for hours with only the time to swallow a mouthful of coffee. It’s the least we can do.”

Her mother waved a hand in the air as if her daughter were a fly. “
Ja, ja
.”

Ruth was cutting a raisin pie for Annie Zook. “There you are, you little drop of sunshine. Large enough?”

Annie grinned. “So large. I will have to find someone to share it with.”

“Sharing, yes, that is something you love to do, Annie. Try and save a bite for yourself.”

Annie spun and danced away. “All right. But no one likes to eat alone.”

Ruth glanced up at Lyyndaya. “So, how was your chat with Emma?”

“Perfect.”

“Perfect? Speaking with Emma Zook was perfect?”

“It couldn’t have been better.”

“What does that mean?” Ruth had her hands on her hips.

Lyyndaya poked at a slice of rhubarb pie, licked her finger, then picked up a fork and began to eat the whole slice. “It means,” she said between mouthfuls, “that I will let Emma be Emma, and Lyyndaya will be Lyyndaya, and God can determine the outcome.”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” muttered her mother as she set out three new pies at the approach of one of the Fisher families, with twelve children in tow.

But Ruth would not let go of it. “Is this something Great-grandmother said?”

“And something Emma Zook said.” She laughed and changed the subject. “This pie is so good!”