The Wings of Morning (34 page)

“I should make coffee,” Lyyndaya heard her mother say.

“There is already some that our young Sarah has brewed,” Lyyndaya’s father spoke up. “Let me get a few cups and pour.”

“Some water for our daughters, Father.”

“
Ja, ja
.”

When a glass of cool well water was placed by Lyyndaya’s hand her mother urged her, “Drink, it will help.”

Lyyndaya felt as if everyone was sitting farther away from her than they should and the sensation disturbed her. “I can’t, Mama.”

The major stirred cream and sugar into his coffee. It was so quiet the clicking of his spoon against the sides of his cup sounded like a harsh ringing of bells in Lyyndaya’s ears. Finally he put the cup to his lips, drank some, then set it down and looked around the table.

“Captain Whetstone was not alone when this happened. He was with his squadron, so there are several witnesses to what occurred. It seems pretty clear that the captain was hit when he put his plane between one of his men and a German attacker. The Hun had the other American pilot dead to rights and was about to fire directly into him, when the captain hurled his plane in the way of the guns and took the bullets. It set his engine on fire, but he would not leave the fight. His men report that he continued to harass and fly circles around the enemy, as was his custom, in order to throw off their aim and separate them from the planes they were attempting to shoot down. Finally he was hit by a burst of machine-gun fire and his craft went into a spin he couldn’t pull out of until the last. He managed to level out just above a field, and then the plane struck the mud and barbed wire and broke up. The other men of the squadron say his craft was smoking badly, but there never was an explosion.”

No one responded. Bishop Zook, as was his habit, began to drum on the table with his fingers.

“So, at the end,” the bishop said, “he gave life back, he did not take it.”

The major cleared his throat. “Well, from what I understand, the way Captain Whetstone went out was the manner in which he usually conducted himself throughout the war.” He reached into a pocket of his uniform and read from a small piece of white paper. “I am directed to express to you the regrets of the United States Army Air Service and to convey the personal condolences of the Vice President of the United States, as well as those of President Wilson. Captain Whetstone is posthumously promoted to the rank of major and awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross. A posthumous Congressional Medal of Honor is under consideration. From France, he is awarded the Croix de Guerre.”

The major handed the paper to Jude’s father and murmured something Lyyndaya couldn’t make out. Mr. Whetstone nodded and held the slip of paper tightly in his hand. Then Major Trenton looked directly at her.

“His men mentioned you, Miss Kurtz. Apparently not a week went by that he didn’t have his orderly mail something to you. I trust you have received the majority of his letters despite the inevitable delay in postal services during a time of war and when great distances are involved.”

Lyyndaya said nothing.

“I am instructed to inform you, in conclusion, that Captain Whetstone served his country, his allies, and—in the words of Vice President Marshall—‘the human race’ in the best traditions of the United States Army, and in doing so represented the best the people of the United States of America have to offer the world. He gave his life for the life and liberty of others.
Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends
. God rest his soul, and God bless his memory to us and the American Republic.”

Lyyndaya remained in her chair while the three men left. Her sister stayed with her while the others accompanied the officers to the door and to their car. She listened to the engine start up and slowly fade in the distance.

“I don’t feel anything,” she said.

Ruth put a hand on her arm. “That’s all right.”

“No, it is not all right. Jude meant a lot to me. Why don’t I feel anything?”

“Because it’s too much, you can’t take it in.”

“God help me, I want to feel something!”

“Shh, shh. In time you will. In time all you feel will come out of you.”

Bishop Zook and the girls’ parents returned and sat back down at the table. Lyyndaya’s mother looked at her daughter with deep and troubled eyes and rested a hand over hers. The bishop ran large fingers through his dark beard and stared at the wall.

“God’s ways are past finding out,” he finally said in a low, unhurried voice. “That an Amish boy should be in the army and fly an aeroplane in a war—and then be honored by his country for fighting in that war and never taking a human life. Who can plumb the depths of these things? Who can comprehend the mysteries and wisdom of God?”

He looked at Lyyndaya. “You will remember that I spoke with you a few days after my son’s funeral, hm? I asked you not to share what I said.”

Lyyndaya nodded, still feeling everyone was sitting far from her and she from them.

“So now I will tell your family.” He looked around him from one person to another as he spoke. “Before Hosea died, once he knew…he was going to die…he takes my shirtfront in his hand, in his fist, and he pulls, you would not think he had such strength left, but it was the strength of a man that drowns.
Jude
, he says to me with what voice he has left,
Jude
. Over and over again. His eyes are desperate for me to understand, but he cannot form all his words, his tongue will no longer help him, and he does not have the breath.
Us
, he says,
us
, and he looks around the room even though we are alone.
All of us, Papa
, he tells me,
all of us
. Then he collapses on his bed and is only able to whisper—
Jude. All of us
.

“Nothing more comes out of him about this again. He dies the next day. Yes, he speaks a few more times, says he loves his mother, asks us to pray for his soul, wants to see Emma, but of course Emma is fighting for her own life and cannot come. What did he mean about Jude, hm? What was it my son wished to convey? I have talked with the pastors, we have prayed and thought and read the Word of God. This is what we understand—that he speaks about the army camp where they were all imprisoned, and that something happened that affected Jude and all of them, something very important. But what? What? The other boys do not know. We do not know. Something needs to be understood, something needs to be revealed. But I myself think that Jude may have been forced to fly. That the others were released on the condition that Jude fly for the army.”

He shook his head. “It may be we will never come to an understanding. In any case, Jude is gone and my Hosea is gone. Perhaps it does not matter now.” He reached inside his black jacket and brought out a packet of letters bound in twine. “These are yours, my dear.” He placed them by her hand. “Jude now faces the Righteous Judge who understands all. The
Meidung
is no longer in force. His words for you belong to you. God bless, my sister. Let me pray.”

His hat already hung from a hook by the door. He bowed his head and prayed in High German for five or six minutes. Lyyndaya bent her head along with everyone else, but later she couldn’t recall much of what the bishop said to God. Then he looked up.

“There is also this, which the major told me when he first came to my house. Jude’s squadron has sworn to avenge him. But how will they do this? As our world would do such a thing, and kill as many Germans as possible? No, they wish to make every effort to honor him by taking German planes from the sky and putting the pilots in prisoner-of-war camps. That is what they intend. The major told me they realize they do not share all of Jude’s convictions, and that many times the only thing they will be able to do is shoot the enemy down in flames. Yet, they want to try to win the bloodless victories Jude won and see their enemies behind walls of wire, not under mounds of earth. So that also is something. That also is the hand of God.”

He finished speaking. Slowly he got to his feet and left, taking his hat and placing it on his head. Slowly Lyyndaya went up the staircase with Ruth, both of them leaning on one another.

In their room, they each sat down on their bed.

Slowly, Lyyndaya untied the twine and opened a letter.

It was dated July seventeenth. She started to read out loud—“
My dear, sweet Lyyndy, how I wish we were up in the air together every day, how I hate flying alone…
” but then she couldn’t continue, and the pain she hadn’t felt, and the tears that wouldn’t come, suddenly swept through her body like a wind and came out of her mouth in a loud cry. Ruth threw her arms around her and rocked her while she wept.

“Oh, Jude, oh, Jude, oh, my friend…I thought…my Lord, I thought…you had promised him to me as a husband—”

Their mother rushed into the room and put her arms around Lyyndaya along with Ruth. They cried out together, heads and bodies touching. In the doorway stood her father, his eyes glistening with tears, watching them. After some time the weeping stopped, and Lyyndaya asked her mother and father to stay in the room and hear some of Jude’s letters. They sat on her bed and sometimes Ruth read out loud, sometimes Mother, and then when Lyyndaya had enough strength and composure, she read the letters to the others herself, though not without tears or sharp stabs of anguish. Even the most intimate dreams Jude shared she read to the others because she wanted them to know who he really was and how real their love had grown until a war had ended it.

There were nineteen letters. After they were done Lyyndaya lay down in the dark alone while her mother and father and Ruth went downstairs to eat supper with the rest of the family. For the longest time she could not close her eyes or sleep. The window faced east, and she watched a small moon rise and scatter drops of silver on the walls and across her bed. She thought of Naomi in the Bible telling others to call her by the name Mara, because God had made her life bitter, but she realized she didn’t feel that way. Millions had lost their sons and husbands and fiancés to the war. Millions had lost their families to the Spanish flu. She was just one among many who were grieving. The letters had filled her to the brim with his love for her. Thank God she had known him, thank God he had written, thank God he had said the things he had said.

Before the moon slipped out of the window frame she prayed a prayer of thanks, despite the ache that went through her whole being. She committed Jude’s soul into the hands of the loving and merciful God. Softly, under her breath, she sang a hymn the English liked, one the Lapp Amish never sang at church, the one called “Amazing Grace.” The non-German words sounded strange on her tongue, but the thoughts the writer expressed, and the melody, comforted her. When there were only stars in the window she finally closed her eyes and slept, the letters carefully folded under her pillow.

M
ay I see your health certificate, please?”

Lyyndaya presented the conductor with the document Dr. Morgan had signed. He nodded and stepped aside to let her board the train. Behind her, a woman protested.

“What’s this? The Spanish flu ended months ago.”

“No, ma’am,” responded the conductor. “We have another outbreak this January and it’s particularly bad in Philadelphia.”

“How can that be?”

“I expect it’s the soldiers returning home now the war’s over. A lot of them could be bringing it with them from Europe. May I see your certificate?”

The woman grew more indignant. She put her hands on her hips and her face reddened in anger. “I need no certificate! My husband has been home for well over a week now, thank you very much. He has no symptoms and neither do I!”

“That’s wonderful. Now if you’ll get a licensed physician to attest to that in writing and fill out one of those medical slips—”

“I’ll do no such thing. Anyone can see I’m fit as a horse. You let me on board, sir. I have important business in Philadelphia.”

“Sorry, ma’am. It wouldn’t be fair to the other travelers. You could be fit at the depot here and be dead on us by lunch.”

The woman’s voice rose. “I have no intention of dropping dead on anyone by lunch. I have too much to do. If you won’t let me on board I’ll find a police officer or introduce you to my attorney, Mr. Eldon Snikkitt…”

Lyyndaya found a seat and settled in. She watched two men shovel snow off the platform, their breath coming in puffs of white. Near them a man and wife and four children were making no effort to board. They must have been waiting for the train that went to Pittsburgh or some other connection. All of them wore white medical masks over their noses and mouths.

I don’t think it will help. But you might as well try
.