The Roll of the Drums

by Jan Drexler

  “I can’t.” The words blurted out. “I can’t face them now.” He ran his fingers through his hair, his hands shaking. “I can’t face anyone right now.”

  Ruby put an arm around his shoulders and he found himself in her arms, finally crying. The depths of his sadness clawed at him, chewing him up inside. He had never felt so alone. Sob followed sob, wrenching him away from Ruby’s comfort, the shame at showing his vulnerability at war with the longing to surrender to the peace of another person’s presence.

  Finally, Ruby handed him one of Lovinia’s soft towels, and he sat up, wiping his face and beard. He looked at her, her tear-filled eyes meeting his.

  “I’m sorry.” He blew his nose. “I shouldn’t have wept like that in front of you.”

  “There is no need to be sorry.” She blinked as another tear slid down her cheek. “It’s a sad day for all of us, but especially for you.”

  Gideon took her hand. “Lovinia said I would need you. You have been a great comfort for me already today.”

  Her face was red and splotchy. She had been crying too.

  “We both love her, so we have something in common, like we’ve said before.” Ruby’s smile trembled. “You can come to me any time. And if I think you’ve cried enough tears, I’ll let you know.”

  Gideon smiled back, clasping her hand in his. He took in a shuddering breath, looking in Lovinia’s face for what he felt was the last time. “She told me that she felt like she was standing at the edge of a river.”

  “And on the other side was a meadow of soft grass and shade trees. A cool and pleasant place.” Ruby squeezed his hand. “She told me about it too. It makes me glad to think of her there in that meadow.”

  “In the presence of our Lord. Light and warmth all around.” Gideon sighed again. Mein Herr, what do I do now?

  “It is time to tell the others. I’ll tell the children, but would you tell your folks?”

  “Ja, for sure.” She rose to her feet. “I’ll tell the family and anyone else who needs to know.”

  As Ruby opened the door, Gideon glanced at Lovinia’s body once more. She was no longer there. She had left him to grieve alone.

  Lovinia’s passing left a wound in Ruby’s heart that nothing else seemed to fill. The funeral had been held on Tuesday, the third day after her death, and somehow, they had gotten through it. Ruby hadn’t seen Gideon weep since the morning his wife died. At the funeral service he had looked resigned, standing in a quiet group with the children. Even Ezra leaned against his father, his thumb in his mouth, not understanding this great change in their lives.

  During that first week, Ruby had spent her days with the children, either at Mamm’s house or at Elizabeth’s, while Gideon worked with Daed in the fields. The children seemed to adapt to their new routine, but whenever Gideon came in for dinner or at the end of the day, he didn’t meet Ruby’s gaze. He kept his red-rimmed eyes down, and she only saw his sunburned cheeks above his beard.

  On Saturday, a week to the day after they lost Lovinia, she and Elizabeth took the children berry picking in the clearing where the old salt lick attracted deer and all kinds of wildlife. The girls skipped down the dusty road ahead of Ruby and her sister with Ezra running behind them, empty pails swinging in their hands. Ruby and Elizabeth carried the rest of the pails. They had left Daniel in Mamm’s eager care.

  “It’s going to be a hot day, ain’t?” Elizabeth asked, borrowing the Englisch phrase from Mrs. Lawrence, the postmistress in Farmerstown.

  “It’s a scorcher,” Ruby answered, using Mr. Lawrence’s answer to his wife. They had heard the couple exchange the same phrases on every summer visit to the store and post office as long as they could remember.

  “At least it’s cool this morning.” Elizabeth switched back to Deitsch. “And perfect for picking berries.”

  “We should take the children to play in the creek this afternoon,” Ruby said. “That will be fun in the afternoon heat.”

  “You can do that while I help Mamm lay the berries out to dry.”

  They crossed the creek on the bridge their brother Jonas had made last year, walked past the foundation of the house he had been building for Katie before he joined the army, and took the trail leading to the clearing. Ruby walked behind the children and her sister. She hated this spot in the woods, even though it was a place of beauty all through the year. It reminded her too much of Ned Hamlin and the stolen moments she had spent here with him so many summers ago.

  “I haven’t come here to pick berries for years,” Elizabeth said. She hurried along the path, following the children.

  “Remember when Miriam and Rachel used to bring us? We were probably the same ages as Roseanna and Sophia.”

  “I remember how frustrated they got with us when we kept eating berries instead of dropping them in our pails.” Elizabeth stopped and faced Ruby, her voice low. “Do you remember the time we saw the bear? You don’t think we’ll see one today, do you?”

  “Daed says there haven’t been bears in these woods for years. There are too many farmers around.” She looked around the clearing as her sister turned and kept walking. “It would be nice to see a deer, but I’m afraid we’re too noisy. We’ll chase all the animals away.”

  When they emerged from the cover of the trees into the sunny clearing, Elizabeth and the children turned to the right, toward the largest stand of black raspberry bushes. It had grown and spread over the past few years until it covered nearly a third of the acre-sized clearing. Ruby turned to the left, toward a much smaller clump of brambles, as far away from old memories as she could get.

  “Ruby!” Elizabeth called to her from the prickly bushes. “Come over here with us. Ezra needs help picking, and so does Sophia.”

  Dropping a handful of berries into her pail, Ruby walked toward the others. She held her hand out toward the little boy. “Ezra, come and pick with me, over here.”

  “I want to stay by Sophia.” Ezra’s voice was muffled, his mouth full of berries.

  “Bring her with you.”

  Sophia plucked a thorny raspberry cane from her skirt. “I want to stay by Roseanna.”

  Elizabeth shaded her eyes as she looked at Ruby. “Why don’t you just join us? There are a lot of berries here.”

  Ruby took a step closer to the giant bramble patch. She eyed the raspberry canes. Too well she knew of the bare center in the berry patch, a fine hiding place. She shuddered, pushing the memories back.

  Elizabeth needed her to help with the children. She closed her eyes. The memories were old, from years ago. Ned was gone and wasn’t going to return. He had died last year while in Mississippi with the Confederate army, with Elizabeth’s husband Reuben at his side.

  Reuben. If it wasn’t for her, Elizabeth would never have made the mistake of marrying him.

  “Ruby? Can you hold my pail?”

  Little Sophia was standing by her, one hand balancing her pail and the other full of crushed black raspberries. The thoughts of the past flew out of her mind as she bent to hold Sophia’s pail and help her scrape the raspberry mess off her palm.

  “I don’t like the juice,” Sophia said, her voice trembling a little. “I don’t want my hands to be purple.”

  “Don’t worry. The stain will wear off in a few days.” She went around the brambles to a fresh bunch of canes, Sophia following. “I’ll hold your pail and mine, and we’ll both pick the berries.”

  Roseanna moved closer to them, picking almost as quickly as Elizabeth.

  “Do you like picking berries, Roseanna?” Ruby asked.

  The girl looked at her, then held up her arm. “The prickers scratch, but I like to eat the berries.”

  Elizabeth looked up from the lower canes where she was helping Ezra find berries for his pail. “Just like everything else, we learn to take a bit of bad with the good.”

  “I don’t like the prickers,” Sophia said, gingerly grasping a berry and dropping it in her pail. “Why do berries have them?”

  Ruby had n
ever considered the question. “Maybe it’s to protect the berries from the animals who would eat all of them.”

  “We’re going to eat all of them,” Roseanna said. “The prickers won’t stop us.”

  “We’ll only pick until our pails are full. There will still be a lot of berries left.”

  Sophia dropped another berry in her pail. “Does God like it when we eat the berries?”

  “Remember what Mamm said?” Roseanna stopped picking. “She said that God made them specially for us to enjoy. She said he made the whole world for us.” She turned to Ruby, a frown on her face. “Is that right? Was Mamm right?”

  “Your mamm was right.” Ruby smiled. She could almost hear her friend’s voice imparting those words of wisdom to her daughters. “Did you pick berries with her when you lived in Maryland?”

  The frown on Roseanna’s face deepened as she nodded. “We’ll never do it again, though. We’ll never get to do anything with Mamm again.”

  “You have your memories with her.”

  Roseanna didn’t look at her but went back to her picking. “I’d rather have her. I wish she hadn’t died.”

  Putting an arm around the girl’s narrow shoulders, Ruby tried to give her a reassuring hug, but Roseanna pulled away. Ruby let her go, wondering what Mamm would have done.

  Elizabeth had been watching their conversation and came closer to Ruby. “Don’t worry. She’ll get over her mother’s passing in time. You’re doing your best.” She kept her voice low so the children wouldn’t hear her.

  Ruby shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to take their mother’s place. Lovinia chose the wrong person.”

  “Why? I think you’re just the person those children need right now.”

  “They need someone who can help them grieve. Someone who can be a good influence as they grow. I’m not that person.”

  “You might not think so, but I do, and so does Mamm. But most important, Lovinia and Gideon thought you were the right person. Rely on the Lord and he will help you.”

  “But I’ve made so many mistakes in my life.” Ruby bit her lip. She had never talked to Elizabeth about how she had misled her when they were both younger. Why would anyone think she wouldn’t do the same for these children?

  Elizabeth looked at her, her gaze steady. “Past mistakes are something we live with, but that doesn’t mean we have to continue to make the same decisions over again. We learn from our mistakes and move on.” She was silent for a moment, watching the children. “If I could live my life over, I wouldn’t marry Reuben. Marrying against Mamm and Daed’s wishes was bad enough, but marrying a non-Amish man has been harder as the years have gone by. I would like to be baptized and join the church, but Reuben won’t hear of it.” She laid a hand on Ruby’s arm. “If I had the opportunity to do it again, I wouldn’t make the same decision. But I made my decision and I have to live with it.”

  Ruby’s thoughts went to Reuben. Elizabeth hadn’t heard from him in almost a year, ever since he left to join the Confederate army. “What if he never comes home?”

  “I’ve thought of that. Worse than that, sometimes I wish it was true, and then I have to ask for the Good Lord’s forgiveness for even thinking such a thing.”

  “Would you marry again?”

  Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed and her voice was steady. “If I ever marry again, I will marry an Amish man. I wouldn’t consider anyone who wasn’t Amish.”

  At a call from Sophia, Ruby went back to helping her pick the berries, but her thoughts were still with Elizabeth. Even though Ruby was older by two years, it seemed that Elizabeth was much wiser than she was. Even after knowing she had made a mistake when she married Reuben, Elizabeth still believed that God was with her. Still believed that God would accept her as a member of the church.

  Ruby turned a berry over in her fingers. One little round part was hard and dark, a single flaw in an otherwise perfect fruit. The berry blurred, and Ruby dropped it into the pail, blinking her eyes against the threatening tears as she reached for the next one. Her sin was hidden. No one but Elizabeth knew about Ned, and she only knew part of what had happened. Even when Ruby had joined the church, she had never confessed her sin.

  She dropped more berries into the pail, covering the flawed one.

  But nothing would cover the memory of the mistake . . . the lie she lived with.

  6

  Gideon wiped the sweat off his forehead and grasped the scythe handles again. Abraham’s fields were large, filling the rolling land along the creek for a half mile or more beyond the house and barn, and on this hot Monday in late June, it was time to cut the lush grass of the hay meadows.

  He leaned into the rhythm of the scythe, letting the monotonous action free his mind for other thoughts.

  Gideon had once hoped his land in Maryland would be this fruitful someday. Ten years ago, when he and Lovinia were first married and joined the settlers seeking to establish a new Amish community south of Somerset County, Pennsylvania, he had been full of plans. Young, strong, and never a thought his life would be other than good.

  Good?

  Gideon shifted his grip on the handles once more.

  Could he call his life good now that Lovinia was no longer with him?

  He swung the scythe, watching the swath of tall grass fall like water over a dam.

  Ja. Good. The children were all healthy, he had work to keep him busy, and they were away from the war.

  As he stopped to sharpen the scythe’s blade, the war crowded in on his thoughts. The cries of the dying haunted him, drowning out the song of the meadowlarks at the hayfield’s edge.

  He pushed against the memories, applying the scythe to the lush grass once again.

  Echoes of the past assailed him, and he sorted through them until he found ones he could dwell on. Lovinia. Their early days, and the joy of Roseanna’s birth. He couldn’t stop a chuckle as he thought of the troubles she had caused them as a toddler, inexperienced parents that they were. Lovinia’s face, lit by joy as she placed his dinner on the table in the cabin that smelled of roast pork and freshly sawn lumber. The weariness of falling into bed at night after a day of hard, satisfying labor.

  The scythe caught in a tangle of thick grass, throwing off Gideon’s rhythm. At the same time, Abraham hailed him from the other end of the field.

  “It’s nearly noon,” the older man called. “Time to head to the house for dinner.”

  Gideon glanced at the position of the sun. The morning had passed quickly, but they were more than halfway through the field. Abraham’s son Samuel and grandsons Bram and Henry had been working across the creek through the morning, and they met at the end of the fields where a single-board bridge spanned the creek. Then the five of them walked along the narrow lane toward the house, their scythes over their shoulders.

  “It’s a good day for haying,” Samuel said, taking Henry’s scythe and carrying it along with his own. “What do you think, Henry?”

  “I think it is hard work.”

  Gideon grinned. “Is this your first time in the hayfield?”

  The boy shook his head. “I started when I was eight years old.”

  “This is his first year with the scythe, though.” Samuel gripped the boy’s shoulder.

  Abraham chuckled. “I noticed you had a few wild swings before you figured out how to handle it. Reminded me of Bram’s first time.”

  “I can work all day now, though.” Bram was a tall, quiet young man. “As long as there is a dinner break.”

  Laughing, Samuel and his boys turned toward their house across the road. Abraham’s barnyard was quiet. The children were with Ruby at Elizabeth’s cabin for the day.

  “Bram and Henry are good workers,” Gideon said as he and Abraham continued toward the house.

  “They are. Samuel has taught them well. They remind me of my boys when they were young.”

  “You have two sons?” Gideon hadn’t tried to keep Abraham and Lydia’s extended family straight in his
mind while Lovinia was ill. “I haven’t met your other son, have I?”

  Abraham led the way to the barn where they cleaned the scythe blades before hanging them on the wall. Abraham gave a last swipe to the wooden handle that was damp with sweat.

  “Jonas is in the army.” The older man’s words were clipped. He sighed. “I’m thankful that he works in the hospital rather than fighting on the field.”

  Gideon couldn’t speak. An Amish man in the army?

  “I don’t understand. Was he forced to join?”

  “Samuel was on the conscription list and Jonas took his place.” Abraham’s eyes were troubled. Gideon waited for him to continue. “Jonas hasn’t joined the church yet, but Samuel has, of course. When Samuel chose to object to the conscription by not cooperating with the authorities, Jonas took his place to keep him from being arrested or suffering other consequences of his decision.”

  “So he volunteered, and yet he avoided the fighting?”

  “Not at first. He doesn’t speak of the fighting he saw, only the medical training he received. His transfer to the hospital corps was a relief to all of us.”

  “He will be safer there.”

  Abraham’s eyes met his. “I pray for his safety, but before he was transferred, I worried more about the possibility that he would take a life. Where he is now, he shouldn’t be called upon to do any fighting, but rather extend mercy to the wounded and dying.”

  Mercy. Where was mercy in war? Gideon pushed his thoughts to the side and brought himself back to the conversation. “Will he come home when the war is over?”

  “That is our hope.” Abraham started toward the house. “He plans on getting married when he returns and will need to join the church.”

  “Joining the church may be a problem for a soldier.” Gideon’s gut twisted. Even though he hadn’t been a soldier, the guilt of the weeks he spent with the army still weighed on him. “I hope I’m here to meet him when he comes back.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about that.”

  They had reached the washing porch where a basin and towel were waiting for them. Gideon hung his hat on a nearby nail and splashed the cool water over his head. Abraham did the same, then reached for the towel.