The Roll of the Drums Read online

  Praise for The Sound of Distant Thunder

  “Twenty-year-old Jonas Weaver can’t resist fighting the evil of slavery by joining the War Between the States. Off to the army he goes, despite strong objections by his family, his Amish church, and his sweetheart, Katie Stuckey. When Jonas’s letters stop coming, Katie has to face something from her past she has tried to ignore. Jan Drexler’s The Sound of Distant Thunder combines historical research with compelling characters to create a memorable story of love in the time of war.”

  Suzanne Woods Fisher, bestselling author of Anna’s Crossing

  “In The Sound of Distant Thunder, the sweetness of young love, the conflict and sorrow of the War Between the States, the wisdom of couples long married, and the cost of making a stand for what one believes are blended into a story that kept me turning pages. The way Jan Drexler’s Amish characters spring to life off the page will leave readers wanting to know more about the people in this Amish community. For sure and certain.”

  Ann H. Gabhart, bestselling author of These Healing Hills

  “Faith, family, and freedom are tested by the crucible of war in this haunting love story of a gentle people whose lives—and hearts—are disrupted by the sound of distant thunder. Historically rich and rare, this is a unique glimpse into a nation divided that both captures the mind and nourishes the soul.”

  Julie Lessman, award-winning author of The Daughters of Boston, Winds of Change, and Isle of Hope series

  “In a beautifully woven story, Jan Drexler once again gives her readers a true look at the struggles of faith, hope, and love facing families, churches, communities, and a nation during a time of turbulence.”

  Ruth Logan Herne, award-winning author

  Books by Jan Drexler

  JOURNEY TO PLEASANT PRAIRIE SERIES

  Hannah’s Choice

  Mattie’s Pledge

  Naomi’s Hope

  THE AMISH OF WEAVER’S CREEK SERIES

  The Sound of Distant Thunder

  The Roll of the Drums

  © 2019 by Jan Drexler

  Published by Revell

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  PO Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

  www.revellbooks.com

  Ebook edition created 2019

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  ISBN 978-1-4934-1936-4

  Scripture used in this book, whether quoted or paraphrased by the characters, is taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  The author is represented by WordServe Literary Group.

  To my dear husband.

  Thank you for your constant encouragement.

  Soli Deo Gloria

  Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing: thou hast put off my sackcloth and girded me with gladness; to the end that my glory may sing praise to thee, and not be silent. O LORD my God, I will give thanks unto thee forever.

  Psalm 30:11–12

  Contents

  Cover

  Praise for The Sound of Distant Thunder

  Half Title Page

  Books by Jan Drexler

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  Sneak Peak of the Next Book in the Series

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  1

  MAY 1863

  “What would I do without you?” Ruby Weaver’s sister, Elizabeth Kaufman, sighed as she sat on the edge of her bed.

  “You’d probably sleep until noon.” Ruby propped the door of the old cabin open as she took a deep breath of the morning air.

  She stood in the doorway and threw her shoulders back, taking in the scene that stretched before her. Elizabeth’s dingy cabin stood on a rise above the valley that had been home to the Weavers for more than fifty years. Weaver’s Creek wound through Daed’s fields, sparkling in the morning light. The Berlin road made its way past the cabin before it ran along the slope down toward the creek and the farms beyond.

  Ruby corrected herself. This was Reuben’s cabin, not Elizabeth’s. Once she had married Reuben, Elizabeth had given up everything that she could claim to be her own. Her home, her name, even the clothes she wore belonged to the man who had gone off to fight for the South, leaving his wife and property behind. What was it about men that made some women lose all the sense the Good Lord had blessed them with?

  She paused, the doorframe rough beneath her hand. She knew. She knew all too well.

  Ruby leaned into the cabin and plucked her shawl off the peg by the door. Elizabeth still sat on her bed.

  “I’m going to do chores.” Ruby paused, watching Elizabeth yawn as she rubbed her face. “I’ll bring the eggs in first thing, so you can start breakfast.”

  “I’ll be ready for them.” Elizabeth stretched. “I don’t know how you can be so cheerful this early in the morning. Is the sun even up yet?”

  “I still think you need to ask Daed or Samuel to put a window or two in this old place. Wouldn’t the morning sunlight streaming in make everything more cheerful?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “You know I can’t think about making any changes while Reuben is away. When he comes home, he’s going to want to find everything just the way he left it.”

  Ruby settled her shawl around her shoulders without answering her sister. If Reuben came back from the war, Ruby doubted he would notice any changes that had taken place during his absence. He had left nearly a year ago and Elizabeth hadn’t heard anything from him since that day.

  When Ruby opened the door of the henhouse, the rooster strutted out ahead of his wives and flew to a fence post, ruffling his feathers in the chilly morning air. He crowed a few times, then hopped to the ground to grab his share of the cracked corn Ruby scattered for the chickens.

  Last year when Reuben left to fight for the South in this terrible war, Ruby had volunteered to move in with her sister. At the time, it was to protect Elizabeth from having to put up with Ned Hamlin. Reuben had asked his friend to look in on Elizabeth and take care of her in his absence, but Ruby knew Ned and his ways. No woman was safe with him around. Two women, especially one who was experienced enough to see through his schemes, could keep him at bay, though.

  Ruby closed her eyes. Had it been wrong of her to rejoice when Ned followed Reuben off to war? Had it been wrong of her to feel relieved when they got the news that Ned had died in faraway Mississippi? She pulled in her bottom lip and bit it to keep her thoughts from running to the next thing, but it was too late. She couldn’t pray that Reuben would meet a similar fate, but she could wish it, couldn’t she? Glancing toward the cabin that squatted into the sloping ground like a gray toad, Ruby hoped Elizabeth didn’t guess her thoughts. But perhaps Elizabeth had her own dark hopes concerni
ng Reuben. In the past year, she had returned to acting like the little sister Ruby loved rather than the dim shadow she became whenever Reuben was present. Ruby feared the change wouldn’t last once Reuben showed up again.

  By the time Ruby returned to the cabin, Elizabeth was dressed and coaxing a fire to life in the smoking stove. Leaving the basket of eggs, she went to find the cow their brother Samuel had loaned to them. Without the milk and eggs, they would have had a hard time during the winter, even with Mamm’s canned goods to help stretch things. But the spring greens were already plentiful, and soon the garden would be giving them fresh vegetables. In a few weeks they could start picking berries along the creek bank and filling the root cellar with the summer’s bounty. In spite of what the women in the church said, a woman didn’t need a man around the house. For sure, sometimes it was handy for Samuel to stop by when they needed the garden plowed or the well cleaned out, but that didn’t mean she and Elizabeth couldn’t get by on their own.

  When Ruby reached the cabin with the pail of milk, Elizabeth had the eggs cooked and a loaf of bread on the table. After their silent prayer, Elizabeth put her elbows on the table and leaned toward Ruby.

  “Are you planning to go to Farmerstown today?”

  Ruby dished half the pan of scrambled eggs onto her plate. “I wasn’t planning to. I told Katie I’d stop by and help her with some sewing this morning. Why?”

  “Harm Bontreger drove by while you were out milking the cow. He stopped and said he was on his way to the store if we needed anything.”

  “If Harm is making the trip, I don’t see any reason why I would need to go.” Ruby looked at her sister, suddenly suspicious. “What are you up to?”

  Elizabeth moved the eggs around on her plate. “Nothing.”

  “You told him I was going to town, didn’t you?”

  “I said you might go to see if there is any mail for us.”

  Ruby laid her fork down on the table. “We’ve talked about this before. I don’t want you trying to find a husband for me.”

  “Harm is a good man, and only a few years older than you are.”

  “Harm is a simpleton.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “You know Mamm doesn’t like it when you talk like that.”

  “I only tell the truth.”

  “But you could tell the truth with . . .” Elizabeth took a sip of her coffee as she searched for the right words. “With gentleness and humility. Harm may not be the smartest man around, but he’s very nice. And he likes you.”

  Ruby glared at her sister. “For the last time, I am not going to marry Harm Bontreger.”

  Elizabeth met her defiance. “Then who will you marry? He’s the only unmarried man in the community that’s close to your age, and you’re not getting any younger.”

  Ruby ignored the stab. Her sister meant well. “If I never marry, it won’t be the worst thing that could happen to me. Sometimes being alone is better than—” She broke off, realizing where her words were taking her.

  Elizabeth’s eyes brimmed with tears. “You’re right,” she said in a flat, quiet voice. “There aren’t many things worse than marrying the wrong man.”

  Ruby grasped her hand across the table. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I wasn’t thinking about what I was saying.”

  “I’m sorry too. I don’t want to push you into anything, but I want you to be happy.”

  “I’m happy.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “You’re a lot of things, but you’re not happy. You’re hard. You seem to be trying to prove something to me, to the family, to yourself, and you don’t have to. We love you the way you are.”

  Ruby laughed. “With my red hair sticking out all over the place? With my stubborn ways?”

  “Even with all that.” Elizabeth smiled. “You wouldn’t be our Ruby without those things.”

  “Sometimes I wish I was more like you.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “You don’t want to be like me.”

  “You’re kind and gentle. You would never call Harm a simpleton, no matter how much of one he is.”

  Ever since Elizabeth had been born, she had been the perfect Amish girl, exhibiting all the virtues Mamm tried in vain to instill in her red-haired daughter. Even the sad circumstances of her marriage had only made Elizabeth purer, as if she were gold being refined over a fire.

  Ruby suppressed a sigh. “I don’t know if the Good Lord intends for me to marry. Perhaps that is why he made me the way he did.”

  Elizabeth squeezed her hand. “Perhaps he has the perfect man for you, but you just haven’t met him yet.”

  “Then he had better hurry. I’m getting too old to even be called an old maid. The children will start calling me Granny soon.”

  Now Elizabeth laughed, a sound so rare that it brought tears to Ruby’s eyes. “No child would dare call you Granny! Auntie Rue, maybe, but never Granny!”

  “How much farther, Daed?”

  Gideon Fischer kept his eyes on his team’s ears rather than answering his daughter immediately. At eight years old, Roseanna had taken on a burden much too heavy for her fragile shoulders, but hearing him admit that he wasn’t sure where they were wouldn’t help ease her mind. Clearing his throat, hoping a bit of cheer would be conveyed through his voice, he turned and smiled at the children.

  “It can’t be too far now.” His smile faltered when he saw Lovinia lying on her cot in the back of the wagon, her face pale. If he didn’t find a safe place for his family soon, his wife might not survive this illness. He forced the smile to return. “The folks at the store back there said that we’d find quite a few Amish families up ahead, along Weaver’s Creek.”

  Three-year-old Ezra stepped over his sisters in the wagon bed to join Gideon on the seat. Grasping his son’s trousers, Gideon helped him climb up. He smiled at six-year-old Sophia as Ezra’s bare feet narrowly missed kicking her. She worried more than the others about her mother’s illness. While Roseanna cared for the baby, Sophia had kept Ezra occupied on the long journey from Maryland. But her little face showed the strain of the last few months, with a pinching tension around her mouth that made her look much older than her years.

  As Gideon urged the horses toward the crossroad ahead, he tucked Ezra close to his side. That must be the road the Englisch woman at the store in Farmerstown had spoken of. The ford through the wide, shallow creek was just as she had described, and the road on the other side would take them to their destination. After crossing the ford and making the turn onto the smaller road, Gideon halted the exhausted horses.

  “Just resting Samson and Delilah for a few minutes,” Gideon told the children.

  “Down?” Ezra asked, peering up at him.

  At the same time, Sophia stood and plucked his sleeve. “There are flowers in the meadow, Daed. Can we pick some?”

  Gideon wrapped the reins around the brake handle. “Ja, for sure. All of you should get out and run for a little. I’ll stay with Mamm and the baby.”

  While the children ran through the meadow, Gideon sat next to Lovinia in the wagon bed, eight-month-old Daniel on his lap. His dear wife smiled at him and patted his arm.

  “We’re almost there?” Her voice was nearly a whisper.

  When he clasped her hand, it was hot and dry. “I hope so. The woman who gave me the directions wasn’t very clear about exactly where the Amish community is.”

  “Once we stop traveling . . .” She coughed, turning on her side as he supported her.

  When the coughing spell ended, he finished her sentence. “We’ll find a place to stay and good food to eat. And then you’ll get better.”

  The children’s laughter made Lovinia smile. “You’ll make a new home for us, husband.”

  He touched her cheek with the back of his hand. It was still hot. “We’ll make a new home together, far from the war.”

  As Lovinia’s eyes closed, Gideon stroked her cheek. How long could she go on like this, with every bit of her strength consumed by fever? Daniel fussed, rubbing his eyes.
He was hungry again. They were all hungry.

  Mein Herr . . .

  Gideon faltered. The words wouldn’t come. What could he pray that he hadn’t already said?

  During the weeks he had been held captive by the army, forced to transport their supplies in his wagon, he had worried about the family and the church he had left at home. Then when the company he had been with was defeated in their last battle and the few survivors taken captive by the opposing force, their commander had released him.

  When he returned home, he found that his family had fared worse than he had imagined. While their neighbors had moved on, away from the constant presence of the armies and their insatiable appetites, Lovinia had stayed on the farm, unwilling to leave until she knew what had happened to him. But with only a few supplies overlooked by the hungry soldiers, she had succumbed to worry and illness. By the time he had arrived home after six weeks away, there was nothing to hold them there, even if the scavenging soldiers had overlooked something they could survive on. All that was left was the worn-out team and his wagon.

  Even his flock had scattered, leaving him a minister without a church. The young Amish community he had worked for ten years to help establish was gone.

  Mein Herr . . .

  Knowing that the army had intended to move north, into Pennsylvania, Gideon had loaded his family and a few possessions into the wagon and set out for the west. To the large Amish communities in Ohio. There, they would be safe. There, Lovinia could recover from this sickness. There, they could be a family again.

  But would he . . . could he . . . fulfill his calling as a minister again? Would God use a broken man?

  Gideon rocked Daniel in his arms until the baby fell asleep, and he laid him on the cot next to Lovinia. Roseanna and Sophia were bent over in the middle of the meadow along the road, looking at something on the ground. He climbed out of the wagon, careful not to wake Lovinia.

  “Daed.” Roseanna waved to him. “Look what we found!”

  She held something in her hand. Something shiny and metal. Gideon broke into a jog.