The Wings of Morning

by Murray Pura

  The pastors all nodded, Jacob Miller more hesitantly than the others.

  “What is this about?” asked Jude, surprised.

  Bishop Zook turned to him, still stroking his beard, but smiling now. “We had wondered if it were possible to bring the flying machine here for our July picnic. The colony would pay for the fuel used, of course. Despite our own debate among the leadership, we recognize that many of our people, especially the children and the youth, find the aeroplane amusing, and we believe a good number would like to have you take them up. It is not just something we do for a family holiday. Those who go up with you will see the world God has made in a beautiful way, a holy way—so I cannot believe God did not intend for us to build a flying invention like this. But time enough in the days ahead to speculate about that. Now, my boy, what are the realistic prospects of you being able to bring an aeroplane to us on the seventh of July, hm?”

  “Why—” Jude thought a moment. “I know some of our members take our planes to all sorts of state fairs or other summer celebrations—the army makes requests for the planes for Independence Day—”

  The bishop held up a hand. “You know the Amish people do not do anything for July Fourth. They dislike the military parades, they see the flag waving as a pride in military might. We only wish for a peaceful summer gathering of families to thank God for the freedoms we have in America. No flags. No marches. No soldiers. No fireworks. Just a thanking of God. For if the Lord had not brought our people to this country, where would we be today? None of this freedom did we have in the places our forefathers left. So we do not ask for the aeroplane as the military men ask for the aeroplane. We ask for it because it flies, and because it flies, it is a symbol to us of being cut loose from the earth, yes? A symbol to us of the freedom God gives us when we obey him—freedom here—” he placed his hand over his heart “—and here—” he tapped his boot on the floor.

  “I’m sure I can do this,” said Jude. “I will talk the club into lending me a Jenny.”

  “Wonderful. Then we are done. Pastor Miller, please pray for us.”

  Pastor Miller made as if to get up, then hesitated, looking at Jude. Suddenly he leaned forward, his hands on the table.

  “Forgive me, young man, forgive,” he said, in an anguished voice, his face broken up with his pain. “I do not mean to put this war on your shoulders because you fly an aeroplane.”

  “It’s all right, Pastor Miller—”

  “No, no, it is not all right. It is never all right to condemn another. I feel so much about the war and I feel it so strongly that sometimes I cannot rein in my emotions. It is like I am a runaway horse.” The pastor looked down at the table, took a deep breath, shook his head, and looked Jude in the eye once more. “So again, I apologize, I repent of my behavior, and I ask you to forgive me. Then I can pray.”

  “I understand what you are saying and what you are feeling, Pastor Miller,” Jude assured the distraught man. “I’m sorry you’re upset and I do forgive you.”

  “Thank you, thank you.” The pastor extended his hand. Jude shook it and the pastor stood up. He prayed for ten minutes in High German, just as Pastor King had done. With his amen the others got to their feet, shook hands, and began to leave by the front door. Jude followed them out.

  “So, then,” Bishop Zook said, taking Jude’s hand on the porch, “tonight, hm? At eight. You and your father will be most welcome.”

  “We’ll be here,” Jude promised and started down the steps just as Emma and her mother walked in off the road, their faces flushed from their walk under the summer sun.

  “Why, Jude Whetstone,” Emma said, “where on earth are you going?”

  Jude took his straw hat off. “Back home, Miss Zook. I have some work at the forge to take care of before we return here for the evening meal with your family.”

  “Well, I don’t wish to keep a man from his employment, but I was hoping for a few minutes of your help in the garden—”

  “Emma,” her mother interrupted, “let the boy alone, you know he will have his hands full at the smithy.”

  “It won’t take but twenty minutes.” Emma’s eyes glittered in the bright July light, small drops of perspiration collecting on her fair skin.

  Jude shrugged. “How can I say no? Lead the way.”

  Emma went ahead of him and up the front steps. “Please go around to the garden. I’ll meet you there after I get some bowls.”

  Minutes later Emma handed Jude a bowl and they began by picking strawberries. “I’m always looking for the dark overripe ones that Mama doesn’t want anyway,” Emma said, crouching among the small green plants. “They taste like jam and are even better when they have been heated up by the sun. Ah, here’s one!”

  She stood with a large dark berry in her fingers. “Open up,” she said to Jude.

  “Oh, no, I’m fine—”

  “Here.” She pushed it against his lips and he had to open his mouth and take it.

  “How was that?”

  “Very good,” Jude responded, still chewing.

  “Now me.”

  Jude knelt and bent back leaves and searched while she waited. He finally found one that was so soft it was almost jelly. Getting back to his feet, he offered it to her with an outstretched palm. “Here you go.”

  “Oh, no, Jude Whetstone. You have to give it to me properly.”

  Awkward, hesitating, Jude put the berry to her mouth and she took it with her perfect white teeth. “Mmm. Good choice. Delicious!”

  After they had filled their bowls Emma dropped into a white chair near the beanpoles, exclaiming, “My goodness, it’s warm.”

  “Shall I fetch you some cool water, Miss Zook?”

  “You don’t need to fetch Miss Zook anything. Remember, you must call me Emma now. Just take a seat beside me here.” She patted another chair.

  “Well—I should be getting back—”

  “Only five minutes. I have something for you.”

  Jude took the seat and she pulled a card out of a pocket in her light green dress. It was covered with lines and her neat hand printing. She gave it to him.

  “What’s this?” he asked, turning the card over.

  “Among the English, the girls have a card when they attend a dance,” she explained, “and the boys fill in their names so they are sure to have the opportunity to dance with the girls they like the best. So this is your card for your dance—in the clouds.”

  “My dance? You mean taking people up in the aeroplane?”

  He looked so surprised she laughed. “Of course.”

  “How did you know about that?”

  “Oh, my goodness, I live in the same house as my father.”

  “But we only just discussed it. How did you know I’d say yes?”

  “Why wouldn’t you say yes? You love to fly, don’t you?”

  “Sure, but suppose there were no planes available?”

  “My Jude would find a way, he’d always find a way.”

  Jude was quiet.

  “I’m sorry, Jude,” she said. “Am I being forward?”

  “It’s all right. I should go.”

  “How are things with you and the Kurtz family?” she said teasingly. “Is it true you’re not able to see Lyyndaya anymore?”

  Jude stared at her, his lips in a straight line.

  “Well,” he answered, “the whole colony knows her mother and father do not approve of flying, so she is forbidden to meet with me.”

  “It must be very difficult.”

  “Yes, and confusing. Lyyndaya is a pleasant young woman.”

  “Of course, a very pleasant girl, we were great friends when we were younger.”

  “But we cannot be together, we cannot exchange notes, so—so I don’t know what will happen now.”

  Emma nodded. “God will open a door.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “He always opens a door. It’s just we don’t always recognize right away which door it is he has opened.” She touched him
gently on the arm. “Do you pray up there?”

  Jude half-smiled. “No one’s ever asked me that.”

  “My father said it made him feel closer to God to be so high in the sky with the wind in his face.”

  Jude had been making the motions to rise, but now he sat back. “I do pray. Yes, I do.” He gave a small laugh and his eyes fastened on the horizon between sky and earth. “Sometimes it’s in my head. Then I might mumble out loud. Or just move my lips.”

  “What do you pray about?”

  “Well—it’s not prayer like when you’re asking for things or for help. I guess it’s mostly—happiness. It’s too big and bright and beautiful up there to be thinking of any problems you might have on earth.”

  Emma gave Jude a slow, gentle smile. “I like to listen to you talk.”

  Jude felt a warmth in his face and chest. She touched him on the arm and got up. “I suppose your father will be wondering what happened to you. He’ll think the pastors had you for dinner. Which reminds me. Don’t be late for supper. I look forward to seeing you tonight and chatting some more.”

  Jude stood. “So do I.”

  “Would you like a ride?”

  “No, no. It’s not far. I’d like to stretch my legs.”

  She walked with him as far as the road. “Don’t lose the July seventh ‘dance’ card. I spent a half hour getting it just right.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I hope you don’t mind, but my father was so enthusiastic, I had to make sure I got up at least twice. So I signed myself in at the top and at the bottom. The first and the last.”

  She was at his eye-level again. He still couldn’t get used to it. Smiling, he planted his hat firmly on his head. “Sounds like a great idea to me. So long.”

  He started along the dirt road baked hard and dry from the sun. Glancing back once, he saw she was still standing, watching him go. He gave a small wave and she waved back. As he continued on he saw the Kurtz home far to the east and a stab went through him. Slowing his pace, he gazed at it and wondered if he might catch a glimpse of Lyyndaya. Her hair would give her away. But he only noticed two children playing with a dog.

  All sorts of feelings streamed through him. Emma’s eyes, Lyyndaya’s face, the note he’d written to Lyyndaya, the words he’d spoken to Emma. He shook his head to clear it, but that didn’t help much. He’d as much as told Lyyndaya that he loved her. And he did. But he doubted her parents would ever change their minds. Whereas Emma had a way of getting into his thoughts and sticking there, like a rose’s thorn, and Emma’s parents believed in him and what he was doing with his aeroplane. It was as if a new path had suddenly opened for him in the forest and the way forward was obvious.

  He put his hands in his pockets. The old path had looked so good too…until it had become blocked by vines and brambles and deadfall.

  SIX

  Lyyndaya was milking Vivianne as she listened to the sound of the aeroplane passing by the house for the third time. The cow began to fidget and moan and Lyyndaya leaned her head against the Holstein’s flank and closed her eyes.

  “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,

  I am not thinking about the liberty wrought by armies or frigates, but that which is brought about by God’s Spirit. It has nothing to do with soldiers and guns and killing and death. Instead, it has everything to do with peace and life: the freedom to love thy neighbor as thyself; the freedom to forgive and be liberated from hate; the freedom to come to the Lord in any mood or state of despair and find acceptance, reconciliation, and a new beginning; the freedom to find light in the darkness, hope in hopelessness, one promise kept when a hundred others are broken; the freedom to h
ave God even when you have no one and nothing else.

  Find something on this summer day that sets you free to believe in God’s ways and God’s plan and thank him for it. Such liberation is the great road to happiness and a deep, unending joy. Oh, but so few find their way to it. Do not count thyself among the numbers who miss the signposts and spend a lifetime meandering in the wilderness or charging along, pigheaded, in the wrong direction. Find God’s way, take it, and secure thy emancipation in Christ. Have faith, trust in God, love and forgive; oh, forever forgive; and in return you will never lack the sweetness of God’s own forgiveness and will receive complete and utter liberty to rise above all life’s tangles and snares and pitfalls. You will never be less, you will always be more.

  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.”