The Wings of Morning

by Murray Pura

  “The wound in my mouth had broken open again and made it difficult for me to speak clearly, so they put me down as Jules Witsun. I didn’t find this out for a long time. I think it was in England an officer kept bellowing for Captain Jules Witsun, U.S. Army Air Service, and I ignored him until someone said, ‘That’s him over there,’ and he was pointing at me. I tried to correct the error, but it just made the spit-and-polish military types suspicious so I let it go and stayed Jules Witsun. I knew that if I could just get someone to believe me, the news would reach you and my father and the church. But I never had the chance and then I came down with a bad fever.

  “I didn’t have the Spanish flu. How could I? I was still alive three weeks later. But they wouldn’t put me on a steamer until late January. Lost my appetite on those winter seas—how I wish they would have let me try to fly a plane across the Atlantic! With almost no food I lost the strength I’d built up and I was as weak as a kitten when we disembarked in New York. They sorted us out and of course anyone from Pennsylvania or further south got shunted by rail to Philadelphia. Doctors examined me and decided I might be showing symptoms so into the hospital I went. Still Jules Witsun. I made one final effort to get it straightened out, I tried to tell them my serial number, but no one was interested. They all thought I was off my head.”

  “And then what?” Lyyndaya always asked, knowing the answer.

  He smiled at her. “Then I heard the voice of der Engel and woke up. I looked over and saw that, ja, it was the angel with golden hair and eyes green as sunlight on emeralds. You left, but I was certain you would be back. So I pushed myself to my feet. I knew you had no idea I was in the room, no idea I was behind all that hair. I had just enough strength to hold on until you noticed me. Then—I was in heaven—oh yes, heaven, for the angel was holding me and kissing me, something this angel had never done. And it was better than all the daydreams that had sustained me for so long. Much better.” He sighed. “I thank God the epidemic is over.”

  “Ah, no.” Lyyndaya stroked his face. “How I wish that were true, my love. The disease has come and gone many times and I’m certain we’ll see more of it before it’s finished with us.” Then she hugged him. “But the war is over, that is true, and for that I’m very grateful.”

  Jude’s father and Lyyndaya’s father both met them at the station in Paradise. Jude had sent a telegram ahead. Mr. Whetstone was standing by his horse and buggy. When Jude and Lyyndaya stepped off the train he did something he had not done for twenty years or more. He ran.

  Pulling the mask off his son he kissed him and hugged him with a strength that shouldn’t have been possible. Tears poured down his cheeks. He kept murmuring praise to God in Pennsylvania Dutch. Then he held his son at arm’s length.

  “Jude,” he said.

  Quietly waiting his turn, Mr. Kurtz also took Jude in his arms and held him a long time. “Welcome. Welcome home.”

  They took the buggy back to the Whetstone house. It was a crisp, bright January day with snow glistening on the fields and the sky a deep luminous blue over their heads. Jude had not thought he would experience any strong emotions other than what he knew he would feel upon seeing his father. But once he stepped down from the carriage and walked around back to look at the smithy he found it difficult to control himself. He placed a hand on his father’s face and another on Lyyndaya’s and said, “I was certain I would never see either of you again—or you, Mr. Kurtz. When the plane was going down, never, never did I think I would survive.”

  At the kitchen table Jude and his father and Mr. Kurtz had coffee while Lyyndaya sipped a cup of hot cocoa. Jude told the two men what it had been like in England and France and talked about his Aero Squadron, things he had already told Lyyndaya in greater detail. He didn’t go into what had happened on various sorties or dogfights, but the men did want to know about the plane crash so Jude explained how he had pulled himself from the wreckage and evaded capture.

  Knowing he would be telling all this many times over, he sketched out what happened with the family that had taken him in and how he had wound up back across the Channel and eventually on a steamer bound for New York.

  “You come out of a war alive,” his father said, “yet this terrible influenza, this little germ, could have taken you from me as easily as a bullet.”

  Lyynadya nodded. “That’s what is so sad. A boy makes it home from the trenches and dies in Boston or Philadelphia. It doesn’t seem right.”

  “No, no,” murmured Mr. Kurtz, “all is not as it should be until Christ returns.”

  Sunlight drenched the room and made Lyyndaya’s hair sparkle like the snow. Jude found he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. It seemed to him he was seeing her for the first time—not on a train, not in a hospital setting, not as a girl of eighteen but a young woman now almost twenty who had grown up a great deal in his absence, whose beauty was fuller and richer and more dazzling.

  Lyyndaya was acutely aware of his gaze. She kept on quietly drinking her cocoa, but let the sensation of his undisguised attraction for her run like warm water through her body. At one point, as they sat making conversation, she decided they had been through too much, including almost losing one another forever, for her to play the modest Amish woman who pretends the man’s eyes are not upon her. So she met his gaze, her green eyes colored with the light from the windows, held it, and smiled with all the love for him she had within her. He didn’t break eye contact and they sat smiling and staring at one another, leaving Mr. Whetstone and her father to toy with their coffee cups, glance out the windows, and finally clear their throats almost in unison.

  “Perhaps, my boy, you are wondering why we two were the only ones at the station?” asked Jude’s father.

  Jude broke his gaze with Lyyndaya and looked at his father like a man who has just woken up. “I did expect to see the bishop or pastors. And all of Lyyndaya’s family.”

  His father nodded. “They will be here. The leadership first. Then anyone from the church who wishes. It was arranged this way so that we might have time alone together.”

  “That’s very kind of them.”

  “It was our good bishop’s idea. If it were up to Pastor Miller or Pastor King they’d have been here an hour ago.”

  Jude raised his eyebrows. “Lyyndy told me the Meidung had been lifted.”

  “Only because they thought you were dead. Now it is a different matter.”

  “So they will want me to confess and repent?”

  “I think so, ja.”

  Jude sighed and leaned back in his chair with his coffee, looking at the three of them. “It’s the big mystery, isn’t it? Why did a good Amish boy go to war? Even my commanding officer didn’t understand it. Well, I can’t explain it beyond this: it was necessary that I enlist. That’s all I can say. I did it to save lives. There is no more to it than that.”

  His father was listening closely to his son’s words. He half-smiled. “It is enough for me. It will not be enough for Pastor Miller.”

  Lyyndaya leaned forward. “But why not, Papa?” She had taken to calling him that since Jude had been arrested and taken from them in September of 1917. “Everyone knows the news stories. Even Pastor Miller. How Jude did not kill. How he took Germans prisoner and didn’t shoot them. How—”

  Mr. Whetstone put up a hand. “It doesn’t matter. He put on a uniform and went to fight. That’s all they will see.”

  “If he had not put on the uniform and gone to fight,” Lyynadya argued, “he would not have been able to save the lives he saved. Men would be dead who now shall live.”

  Mr. Whetstone shook his head and stood up. “Your fight is not with me, my dear. It’s with the leadership. And they are here now. I will fetch more cups.”

  Lyyndaya craned her neck to look out a window. “All four of them at the same time?”

  “They were already meeting together and praying at the bishop’s.” He stopped a moment and watched them climb down from their buggies.

  The bishop w
as first through the door. He swept Jude into his massive embrace and laughed. “My boy, my boy, praise God, Gelobt sei Gott, such miracles he bestows. You look well, very well.”

  “The longer I’m here in Paradise,” Jude replied, “the better I feel.”

  “Wonderful, this is wonderful, how good is our God.”

  “Danke,” said Jude. “I’m sorry, truly sorry, for your loss of Hosea and John and Annie.”

  A shadow flitted in and out of the bishop’s eyes. “Thank God, they are both safe in the arms of Jesus.”

  Pastor Stoltzfus hugged him as well. “Alle Dinge sind möglich bei Gott. All things are possible with God, huh? Welcome home. Willkommen. God bless you.”

  Pastor King shook his hand warmly. “Such a blessing, such a surprise, God continues to astonish us all. It is good to see you, Jude.”

  Pastor Miller shook Jude’s hand briefly and nodded. “God is beyond our comprehension. That is why we honor Him.”

  “Yes,” Jude responded.

  At the table Bishop Zook and Pastor Stoltzfus asked Jude all sorts of questions about his health and his journey back from Europe. In time, Jude recounted what had happened on his final flight; how he had crashed, crawled free, and made it to the farmhouse in Lorraine. Pastor King listened attentively, but Pastor Miller sat stiffly in his chair, looking past Jude to the wall and windows. When Jude brought the story to Philadelphia and Lyyndaya and how she had found him, Bishop Zook nodded and drummed his fingers on the table.

  “What was meant to be, God has brought to pass,” he said. “Clearly, you two will be together.” He smiled at Lyyndaya and Jude. “So you and your father may remain in the room, Lyyndaya.” He looked at Mr. Whetstone. “You must also stay.” He sat up. “There are important things to discuss. We should pray. Pastor Stoltzfus?”

  Pastor Stoltzfus got to his feet and prayed for several minutes. Then he sat down and before anyone else could say a word Pastor Miller pointed at Jude with his finger. “You told us once you would never use a plane in war. That you would never bear arms. Was this not a lie?”

  “Gently, gently,” said Bishop Zook in a reproving tone. “Remember he is only this day out of the hospital.”

  But Pastor Miller appeared not to have heard the bishop. “My Samuel didn’t feel he had to enlist to get out of that army camp. And his trust in God was rewarded for he was released only hours after you made a decision that flew in the face of everything you said you believed, ja, and in the face of the Lord Jesus Christ and the Amish people. Think if you have waited, think if you had relied on Him who alone can move heaven and earth. You would not have had to put on a uniform. Or go into combat. Or kill others.”

  “He did not kill others,” Mr. Whetsone spoke up softly. There was iron underneath his words.

  Pastor Miller ignored him and raced on. “All of our boys were released. God did not overlook one of them. They returned to Paradise and their church. You were meant to return with them. Why did you not wait on God, Jude Whetstone?”

  Jude paused before speaking, then said, “Certainly I prayed before I did what I did, Pastor Miller. You can believe that.”

  “Ja? And what kind of prayer was it? The other boys pray and they come home and live in peace. You pray and leave us to make war thousands of miles away. What kind of prayer leads you to do this?”

  “I felt…I must do it.”

  “Why?”

  “Lives were at stake—souls were at stake.”

  “So you pick up a gun and bombs and suddenly you have saved these souls? Our Lord dies on the cross, but you wield a gun and bring salvation?”

  Bishop Zook raised a large hand. “Excuse me. I have some thoughts on this. Jude, tell me, tell us—did the army force you to fly? Is that what happened?”

  Jude met the bishop’s gaze. “I can’t answer that.”

  “Why? Why can you not answer?”

  “I’m sorry, Bishop Zook.”

  “Then I will ask one of your friends who was there.” The bishop looked up and gestured to Samuel Miller who he had spotted through a window. The young man hesitated, looking at his father, and finally entered the house and came to the table.

  “Hello, Sam,” smiled Jude, getting up and extending his hand.

  Sam gave Jude a small smile and shook his hand. “Welcome back. I’m glad you’re safe and well.”

  “For months some thoughts have been turning over and over in my head, Samuel,” the bishop spoke up. “I wonder if you cannot help me clear up some matters concerning Jude?”

  Sam stood stiffly as all their eyes fell upon him. “Of course. If I can help.”

  “It is a simple question. At the camp where you were all detained was Jude approached by the army and ordered to enlist? Was your release based on whether or not he complied with the army’s demand?”

  Sam stumbled. “I—I—”

  “Come, my son,” his father, Pastor Miller, said. “You have nothing to fear. Before God and before us, speak the truth. Was Jude ordered to fly a warplane as a condition of your release and the release of the others?”

  Sam stared down at his father. “No. Jude was not ordered to join the army. It was what he wanted to do.”

  “Are you certain?” pressed Bishop Zook. “Speak freely.”

  “I am certain. Our release had nothing to do with Jude. He joined the army and fought in the war because it was what he desired. That is what he told me.”

  “Enough.” Pastor Miller glared at the men seated at the table and at Jude. “It is not my son who is on trial here. We have heard all we need to hear. It is just as we thought all along.”

  “Pastor Miller, if I may,” intervened Pastor Stoltzfus. “Jude, this need not be drawn-out, huh? You did what you did for reasons I don’t think any of us will ever understand. So, all right, but here is what I want to know—do you see what you have done as a sin? Is this something you wish you had never said yes to, this soldier thing? Do you repent of your actions in joining the United States military? Tell us.”

  Jude drew a circle in some spilled sugar near his hand. “I wish I had not had to do what I did. I wish there had never been a war. If I’d had the choice, I would have returned to Paradise and never put on a uniform.”

  “Of course you had the choice!” snapped Pastor Miller. “Just like the others did!”

  “Shh,” admonished Bishop Zook, putting a finger to his lips.

  “But joining the army felt like the right choice before God,” Jude said. He took a breath, then added, “If I had to do it again I would not change a thing.”

  The room was silent at Jude’s words. There would be no repentance.

  “Before God!” Pastor Miller finally snarled, slapping his hand loudly on the table.

  Jude looked at him. “You must think I like war. You must think I wanted to be an ace. That I desired the glory of it all. Nothing is further from the truth. I did not want attention and I did not ask for acclaim. But I wasn’t wrong to follow the course of action I did.”

  “Not wrong?” repeated Pastor King. “War is not wrong? You, an Amish boy, taking up arms and violence, this is not wrong? Conflict between nations—this is a great thing?”

  Jude shook his head. “War, combat, burning aircraft—no, it is not right. I felt led to go into something bad, very bad, in order to do something good. That is as simply as I can put it.”

  “Do you mean this?” demanded Pastor King. “You felt you should step into the carnage of human warfare and act as some sort of redeemer?”

  “I only wished to obey God and follow in the footsteps of Jesus, as the Scripture commands us. He went about doing good and healing all who were oppressed by the devil. So I thought I could bring some light, some holiness, into what was bleak and godless and destructive—”

  “You dare.” Pastor Miller had risen to his feet, face dark, his hat in his hand. “You dare to call upon Jesus as an example to justify your wicked deeds? He comes in peace and dies for us. You come clothed in war that kills. You dar
e!” He pushed his hat firmly on his head and looked at Bishop Zook. “You know what my feelings are about this. I’m glad young Jude has survived to return to his father. But I will not tolerate his presence in our church until he is made pure. The Meidung must be reinstated until he confesses and repents. I have nothing more to say. Nor do I wish to be here when the other families come to welcome him back. Good day.”

  He didn’t slam the door as he left, but closed it with a firmness that continued to express his anger. Sam left with him. Lyyndaya sat in a stupor, upset by Pastor Miller’s obvious dislike of Jude, but also turning Jude’s answers over in her head. Could she agree with him? If he didn’t repent and was not permitted to live freely among them again, would she be willing to leave her family and her people to go with him wherever the Lord led? Did she believe that God was at work in Jude’s life despite his having gone to war? Did she honestly think he was a good Christian man?

  “So, so, so,” murmured Bishop Zook. “We discussed this possibility before we came to the Whetstones’, hm? Did we not say that if Jude did not immediately repent we would wait fourteen days and ask him again? We came to this decision due to the fact he is only recently returned from the grimness of war and a dreadful disease. We wanted to give him more time to think matters over.” He looked at the two remaining pastors. “Shall we abide by that decision?”

  Pastor Stoltzfus grunted. Pastor King ran his fingers over his beard and finally nodded.