The Sound of Distant Thunder Page 3

  Katie tugged at her arm. “Let go of me.”

  Her voice shook, but not as much as her knees. She flinched as Ned set his rifle against a tree and reached for her with his other arm. She swallowed the bitter taste of panic.

  “Don’t . . . don’t do this.”

  “I thought maybe you’d let me have a kiss too.”

  He pulled her closer, and she thrashed, pulling one arm and then the other, but he only laughed and then pushed her away. She stumbled and fell back, her vision clouded. She wouldn’t faint. She couldn’t.

  “You weren’t so squeamish with Jonas.” Ned leaned over her, still laughing. “But I promise, you’d like me better than him.”

  Her sight cleared, and she scooted away from him. He picked up his rifle again, watching her with a leering grin just like Teacher Robinson’s.

  “Leave me alone.” Katie’s ears roared. “Go away and leave me alone.”

  He leaned near again, brushing her cheek with a filthy finger. His eyes smoldered. “I’ll go. But maybe I’ll run across you when I’m hunting again. And maybe you’ll come find me sometime.”

  Ned left her then, disappearing into the trees. Katie sat, drawing her knees up.

  “He didn’t do anything,” she told herself, taking a deep breath. “He didn’t hurt you. He was only teasing you. Nothing happened.”

  She stared at the opening where Ned had disappeared.

  It had happened again. As careful as she had been, she hadn’t expected this. Ned had appeared out of nowhere and she had panicked. She folded her arms on her knees, resting her forehead against them, slowing her breathing. She was cursed, and because of the curse, a man had died.

  She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  But Ned hadn’t hurt her, not like Teacher had. Maybe he wouldn’t die.

  2

  MAY 2

  Abraham Weaver stopped the horses at the end of the upper field for a rest. Harrowing the oat field wasn’t a hard task for the team, but he still gave them a breather after every acre or so. It was good for the horses and, as a result, good for the farm.

  From here, he could see the fields falling away toward Weaver’s Creek at the bottom of the little valley, and the familiar feeling of gratitude filled him as he took in the view. Gratitude for the choice his father had made when he pioneered this land more than fifty years ago. Gratitude to God for the blessing of such rich, fertile farmland. Gratitude for sons who cared for the land as much as he did, and would carry on for another generation. Gratitude for grandsons who would carry on the family name.

  He chuckled to himself at that thought. His Lydia always reminded him that granddaughters were just as precious as grandsons, and he agreed. Ach, the blessing of grandchildren! He and Lydia had nine of them so far. They were blessed. Truly blessed.

  The only shadow on their family was the fate of dear Elizabeth. He tried to ignore the anger that still rose after eight years, but he had to admit it was there. Forgiveness for the pain that Reuben Kaufman had caused their family had been slow in coming. Abraham could say that he had forgiven the man for stealing their young daughter and making her his wife at such an early age. But forgetting was another matter. The pain of a child living outside the faith was like no other. And as the years rolled by and no children came, Abraham wondered about God’s providence. Children were a blessing, but God had not yet chosen to bless the couple.

  Shaking his head to scatter his thoughts to the wind, he rubbed Boss’s nose. The horse was breathing easily and widened his nostrils to take in the scent of Abraham’s shirt. The horses were rested, and it was time to finish this field and head home for dinner.

  After reaching the end of the oat field, Abraham drove the harrow to the edge of the forty acres where he and his sons had planted barley and unhitched the team. The barn and house were nearly a mile from these far fields, and the walk was a pleasant one in the spring air. As he drew near, following the team, he saw Samuel making his way to the same destination. He had been cultivating the cornfield, planted in the eighty acres along the creek in the lower field. His team looked worn and ready for the hour rest they always took at noon. The soil near the creek was heavier than on the upland and taxed the horses’ strength.

  He called to Samuel as soon as he was close enough to be heard. “The corn is done, then?”

  “Not yet. Still a few more acres to go.” Samuel halted his team outside the barn and dropped the traces as Abraham’s team stopped next to him. “I’ll finish it up this afternoon. But as I passed the near end of the field, I saw that I’ll need to start a second round.” He unbuckled the harness as he talked. “Five days since I started cultivating that field, and the weeds are coming back already.”

  “Ja, ja, ja.” Abraham started unharnessing Boss. “That’s the way it is this time of year.”

  “Where is Jonas this morning?”

  “Helping your mamm with the garden. She wanted him to plow and harrow it so she could get to work with the planting.”

  “Then he can finish the corn after dinner. Anna has been after me to plow her garden too.”

  “Jonas could plow the garden for you.” He put Boss in the pasture and started unfastening Nell’s harness.

  Samuel shook his head. “I’ll do it. Anna wants to expand the garden space this year, and I don’t have the new edges marked. Besides, Jonas has been too flighty lately. Can’t keep his mind on his work.”

  Abraham chuckled. “You were the same when you were his age. It’s the age of dreamers, ja?”

  A snort came from Samuel’s direction. “I was never this bad. His mind is on worldly things.”

  “Ja, ja, ja. And Katie.”

  Samuel started unharnessing Nan, leaving his own team to stand in the shade of the elm tree. “You’re not worried about him?”

  “I’ve learned to give my worries to the Good Lord and keep my head bowed in prayer.” Abraham turned Rocky and Nan into the pasture with the other horses and leaned one hand on the top fence rail next to his son. “You’ll learn that with your own children soon enough.”

  Samuel’s four children, from Bram, his oldest son, to little Dorcas, were growing faster than the weeds in the cornfield.

  “I’m already learning that with Bram. That boy thinks it’s time that he strikes out on his own already.”

  “He’s thirteen. That’s a hard age, caught between childhood and manhood.”

  “Some days he reminds me of a half-trained colt, fighting the harness at every turn.”

  Abraham kept his smile to himself. Samuel had been the same at thirteen, causing grief to his family and everyone around him.

  “You’ll figure out how to handle him. Loosen the reins a bit. As long as you treat him like a child, he’ll act like one.”

  “As long as he acts like a child, I need to discipline him like a child. That’s what a father’s job is.” Samuel shot a glance in his direction. “I remember your discipline quite well when I was his age and older.”

  “When you needed it.” Abraham remembered those times too. “Give Bram some responsibilities. Have him plow the garden for Anna this afternoon.”

  Samuel shook his head. “I’d have to do it all over again.” He started toward his team, ready to go home to his dinner. “But I’ll try. Maybe he’ll surprise me.”

  Abraham’s stomach growled in anticipation of his own dinner. He washed up and went into the house, where Lydia was just setting a dish of mashed potatoes on the table. As he sat, she brushed his shoulder with her hand. He smiled at her as she sat at her place. Jonas sat at the third place, his face still wet from washing.

  “Ruby isn’t joining us today?” Abraham asked.

  Lydia shook her head. “She is spending the day with Elizabeth.”

  Abraham bowed his head for the silent prayer, starting with a petition for Ruby. The daughter who didn’t seem to care if she married or not. Even at the age of twenty-six, she seemed content to live at home, helping Lydia or one of her married sisters
with the housekeeping or child care. As his prayer moved from one child and their family to the next, he ended with Jonas, his thoughts pausing as he remembered Samuel’s comment. Was Jonas caught up in the affairs of the world? Leaving that worry to God once more, he lifted his head, clearing his throat to signal the end of the prayer.

  “Is the garden ready to plant?” Abraham speared a slice of ham from the platter in front of him.

  Jonas reached for his own slice and put it on his plate. “All plowed and harrowed.”

  Abraham glanced at Lydia for her confirming nod. “Good. Then this afternoon you can finish cultivating the corn in the lower field.”

  Jonas paused, his fork in midair. “Can that wait? I had hoped to get started clearing my land this afternoon.”

  Buttering his bread, Abraham felt the surprise of Jonas’s words wash over him. “Your land?”

  “The land you’re planning to give me next year, when I reach legal age. You remember, don’t you? We talked about it a couple weeks ago, before we started planting.”

  Abraham chewed the delicious bread, fresh from the oven that morning. Ja, he remembered. The quarter section to the east. Jonas had chosen the only part of the farm that hadn’t been cleared yet, agreeing with Abraham that the bulk of it would remain wooded so they would always have a source of timber and firewood.

  “It isn’t yours yet, Son.”

  “Ja, ja, ja, I know. But I want to clear an acre or so.” Jonas paused, looking him in the eye. “I want to start building a house.”

  “A house?” Abraham let this information settle as he piled mashed potatoes on a forkful of ham. “It’s gone that far, has it?”

  “By the time I am twenty-one, I want to live on my own.”

  Abraham considered the boy sitting across the table from him. His youngest. Strong, able, smart. But was he responsible enough, mature enough, to live alone? He was only in his teens . . . no, Jonas was twenty.

  Sitting back in his chair, Abraham whooshed out a breath. Jonas had grown up, and he had missed it. He wasn’t a boy any longer. Twenty years had gone like a wisp of smoke driven before a strong wind.

  His words to Samuel came back to him. As long as he treated Jonas like a child, that’s what he would remain. He couldn’t keep Jonas from manhood any more than he could keep an acorn from growing into an oak tree.

  “Before marriage, you need to join the church. You know that, ja?”

  Jonas turned red and stared at his plate. “I’m not talking about getting married. I only said I wanted to build my house.”

  “But marriage will soon follow, won’t it?”

  The back of Jonas’s neck turned even redder.

  “Do you want me to talk to Bishop about it?”

  “I’ll do it. It’s my responsibility.”

  Abraham took a second piece of ham from the platter and dared to look in Lydia’s direction. Her eyes shone as she smiled at Jonas, then met Abraham’s gaze. She nodded, and he knew she was right. It was time for their boy to grow up.

  After Datt’s reaction at dinner, Jonas wasn’t surprised when he didn’t give permission for him to start clearing the land today. And he had to admit that Datt was right. Cultivating the corn had to be done before the weeds took over the field, but Jonas’s hands itched to start felling the trees on the rise just south of the creek. He could feel the felling axe in his hands, and the solid thunk of the blade cutting into an oak or maple.

  He let his thoughts wander as the horses pulled the cultivator through the heavy soil, between the rows of tiny green shoots of corn. The trees he felled would be used to build the house. He would haul them to Stevenson’s sawmill and have them made into beams and boards. The figuring of how many beams he would need for the house he envisioned took all afternoon. By the time he was done, the cultivating was finished; the horses unharnessed, fed, and watered; and the evening chores done.

  As Jonas left the barn, on his way to the house for supper, a distant sound from the east caught his attention. He stopped, listening. Snatches of music drifted on the early evening breeze, and underneath was a low rumble, as if a swamp full of bullfrogs were muttering their spring chorus.

  Datt joined him. “What is it?”

  “Nothing I’ve heard before.”

  “I’ll tell your mother to hold supper for us while we investigate this.”

  Samuel joined them on the road, and when they reached the Stuckeys’ house, Gustav, Katie’s father, came out his front door, pulling on his coat.

  “Ja, then, you heard it too?” His breath puffed as he hurried to catch up with them.

  The sound was clearer from here, where the Stuckeys’ house sat on a rise before the road went down toward the creek again and on toward the Hyattsville Pike. The bullfrog rumble was more distinct, and Jonas heard men’s voices filtering out of the background of rolling drums and fifes.

  “It’s men,” he said, and the others nodded in agreement.

  “Many of them,” Datt said. “Traveling along the pike, from the sounds of it. They must have stopped to make camp along the creek.”

  “I’ve seen enough,” Samuel said. “We know it’s a group of men, and they aren’t likely to come up this way.”

  “Aren’t you curious about who they are and where they’re going?” Jonas asked.

  Datt and Gustav turned to go back with Samuel.

  “Your brother is right,” Gustav said. “These men don’t concern us. It’s best to leave them be.”

  The three men walked away, Gustav turning toward his house when he reached his farm lane at the top of the hill. Jonas listened to the rise and fall of the humming conversations in the valley behind him. Hatchet strokes punctuated the drone, and the occasional whinny of a horse. How could Datt and the others just walk away without knowing more?

  He would find out, even if the others didn’t care. Setting out, he covered the half mile to the crossroads in a few minutes. As he drew closer, he saw men erecting tents in the meadow that spread on either side of the pike, along the north side of Weaver’s Creek. Campfires dotted the meadow and glowed in the mist that rose from the creek as the sun’s warmth disappeared from the land. He counted more than twenty of the campfires on this side of the pike alone. Wagons had been parked along the road, and horses had been put out in a rope corral a few yards downstream from the camp.

  A man came toward the tent closest to Jonas, carrying a steaming pail from the campfire.

  “Hey, brother.” He grinned and waved at Jonas. “Where did you come from? Are you with the Company?”

  Jonas shook his head, walking toward the man. “I’m Jonas Weaver. We heard the commotion and I came to see what was going on. I never thought I’d see so many men at our crossroads at one time.”

  “Tom Porter.” The man’s mustache was bushy and black, but the face behind it was young, no older than Jonas himself. “You live up that way?” He gestured up the road with his chin as he took a seat on an upturned log.

  “Our farm is up the road a bit, along Weaver’s Creek.”

  Tom regarded him with a frank gaze, taking in his Plain clothes. “You’re Amish? We have a lot of you folk up in Wayne County.”

  “That’s where you’re from? All of you?”

  “Most of us. Some from Holmesville area, in Holmes County. We’re Company K.” He waved his arm behind him, to the campfires on the other side of the pike. “Company H is from up by the Black Swamp, and we joined with them as they came by our camp on the way to the rail station in Hyattsville. I’m from Wooster, myself.” He set the steaming pail on the ground at his feet and pulled a spoon from his back pocket. Polishing the spoon on his trouser leg, he nodded at the container. “Want some stew? I’d be glad to share.”

  Jonas waved the offer away. “Thanks, but my supper is waiting for me at home.” He sat on one heel, next to Tom. “Where are you going?”

  Tom leaned forward, his face lit with excitement. “There’s a whole regiment gathering in Hyattsville. A thousand men, under Co
lonel Westcott from Columbus. We’re meeting up with Wilson’s Brigade in Baltimore, and then on to the next battle.”

  “In Tennessee?”

  Tom shrugged, his mouth full of stew. He swallowed. “Or Virginia. We’re gonna whip those rebels and end this war for good.” His spoon scraped the side of the can. “You should join up. The more soldiers we’ve got, the sooner this war will be over.” His spoonful of stew paused in midair. “But you Amish don’t fight, do you? At least, that’s what I heard.”

  Jonas shook his head. “Not usually.” Not ever. But as a rat-a-tat of drums sounded, Jonas’s heart beat faster. It must be exciting to be part of a regiment.

  “Do you think you’ll see any fighting?”

  Tom made a face that pulled his mustache to one side. “It could all be over by the time we get there, but I hope I get to do my part. Some of us have been drilling for weeks, up in Wooster, waiting to get enough volunteers to form a company. But I’m sick of pretending. I want to get in the real thing. Be in a real battle.”

  Jonas pulled at a stalk of grass. A battle. He had read about the battles King David had been part of. The stories in the Bible pulled him in as he read them by candlelight in his bedroom at night. Datt said those battles were part of the past, and that God’s people lived under a new law, the law of love that Christ taught. But perhaps God still worked through wars. Wars like this one, where the result could be freedom for the slaves. But men also were killed and wounded in battles.

  “Are you scared?” He searched Tom’s eyes.

  The other man grinned. “Naw. None of us are scared. Those rebels will take one look at us and turn tail.”

  But Jonas saw a flicker of something in Tom’s eyes. “How about shooting another man? Are you scared of that?”

  Tom shook his head, but some of his confidence had fallen away. He looked at the neighboring tents, then lowered his voice. “I’m not scared of that, either. At least, not much I ain’t.” He leaned closer to Jonas. “But some of the boys, well, I heard that in battle some will get so scared that they forget to fire their guns. Can’t kill the enemy that way, can you?”