The Wings of Morning

by Murray Pura

  I am standing on holy ground.

  Only a few people saw the barn door open, and only a few heard Lyyndaya’s brother Daniel, now eleven, say to Bishop Zook, “Sir, the whole yard is full of soldiers.”

  A few heads turned in shock and sudden fear even as men and women farther from the door gathered around Jude with tears and prayers. The bishop put his large hand on Daniel’s shoulder and said, “I know, my boy. I have been watching them gather for the past ten minutes from that window there.”

  His face was grim. “Open the door, Daniel. We will not be afraid of what man may do to us. Our hope is in the Lord God who made heaven and earth. Yes, go ahead, open it wide, let them in, there has been enough fear and trembling among our people for the past two years. It is time to put it to rest once and for all. There are many ways of fighting for your country, Daniel. Today we will show the soldiers our way.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Lyyndaya watched with apprehension as dozens of men in brown uniforms entered the barn. They fanned out and filled the space at the front, where the bishop was standing and David Hostetler, Jacob Beiler, and Jonathan Harshberger were still kneeling. Behind them came a tall lean man with a dark tan and sharp features. A gold star glittered on each side of his collar.

  “Which one of you is Bishop Zook?” he asked.

  The bishop stepped forward. “I am.”

  “Bishop, I fear we are interrupting your religious ceremonies.”

  “That is so.”

  “However, I was given to understand you had meetings to deal with church issues twice a year and this is one of those days.”

  “That is also true.”

  “Then I ask permission to speak at this meeting. Does it by any chance have to do with Jude Whetstone and whether or not Amish boys should serve their country in a combat role during a time of war?”

  “Among other things, yes.”

  The man removed his large, broad-brimmed hat. “I’m General Omar Jackson, U.S. Army Air Service. I’ve been ordered to bear a message to you and your people from the government of the United States of America.”

  All the crying and talking in the barn had stopped and every head was turned toward the officer and his men. He tugged a folded sheet of paper from a breast pocket and began to read. But, after only a few seconds, he raised his eyes to his listeners and never returned them to the paper. Lyyndaya realized he had the document memorized. Or perhaps he was simply saying what he felt must be said.

  “Some of your young men were refused the religious exemption from military service guaranteed the Amish people by act of Congress and the President of the United States. It was your constitutional right, one of the reasons our men fought in Europe in 1917 and 1918. Yet it was violated and your young men were harmed. The command to arrest your young men was undertaken without the authority or knowledge of the highest branches of the United States Army or the White House or the Congress of the United States. Nevertheless—”

  The general paused, his eyes running over the Amish people clustered in front of him, the children, the women, the men. Then he folded up the paper and tucked it away in his pocket again. His eyes remain fixed on the faces before him, young and old.

  “Nevertheless,” he resumed, “it happened on our watch. It happened on my watch. Major Whetstone!”

  Jude came forward and stood at attention in front of the general. He saluted and the salute was returned.

  “Stand easy, Whetstone.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It was so arranged by various officers in the United States Army that your friends and neighbors, other young men your age, be arrested and detained at a military base until such time as you agreed to fly in a combat role for the United States and her allies. To that end you and your friends were denied food and proper clothing, and were beaten and subjected to abuse until you turned your back on your religious convictions to save your men’s lives. No man willingly goes against what makes him tick, Whetstone—no man easily goes against what he believes in his heart and soul.”

  “No, sir.”

  “You and your men were then threatened that if word of this act of coercion on the part of certain officers in the United States Army became common knowledge, your families and community would be at risk. Taking the bit in your teeth, Whetstone, you said nothing, but chose to serve in France and take to the skies to fight the German Empire.

  “You were an Amish boy and you had no business being there. Frankly, I didn’t think you could cut it. I thought you would turn tail and run. Then I could have court-martialed you and sent you home in disgrace. But you fooled me, Whetstone. Me, America, and the whole German Empire. You flew like the wind and you fought in your own fashion and in so doing you proved not only the courage and faith of the Amish people, but brought a peculiar distinction to American arms they had scarcely known before—bloodless victories. For a second time, you saved the lives of men you had with you. You made me into a believer, Whetstone. And a general.”

  Jude smiled a quiet smile at this.

  “You people,” the general said, looking out over the church again. “Your courage is one of the reasons for the greatness of America. I know you don’t care for the military man or his duties. Nevertheless I salute you. Whether you believe it or not, every time our army fights it fights so you can say no to warfare on behalf of America.”

  General Jackson came to attention and held a salute, Lyyndaya estimated, for a full minute. She knew the Amish should feel nothing at being saluted by an American soldier, certainly not excitement or pride, yet she felt both.

  Still holding the salute, the general continued, “I apologize for the way your boys were treated. I apologize for the threat leveled against your community’s religious freedoms and right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I apologize for the coercion of one of your finest men, Jude Whetstone. On behalf of the army and government of the United States of America—I am sorry.” He dropped his salute smartly, and Lyyndaya finally took in a big breath of air.

  “One more thing, Bishop Zook, before we go, if I may,” the general said.

  The bishop, Lyyndaya could see, was as stunned by the way events had unfolded as everyone else in the barn. “Of course.”

  Jackson turned around and nodded. “Invite them in, Sergeant.”

  In a moment more men in uniform came into the barn, but along with them were women and children. These persons were no sooner inside where Jude could see their faces clearly than she heard him utter a cry and watched him fight to resist an impulse to rush forward. The general saw this. A smile flickered over his lips.

  “Go to your men, Major,” he said.

  And Jude ran. Immediately the men in uniform clustered around him, hugging him, thumping him on the back, pumping his hand, laughing, shouting. Lyyndaya felt the tears come, put a hand to her mouth, and stopped breathing again. Oh, my goodness. It is his men. The men from his squadron. I know it is.

  In a minute, Jude confirmed this. His face flushed, smiling as broadly as she had ever seen him smile, he turned to the church and announced, “These are the men who flew with me. These are the men who saved my life.”

  “What?” One of his men stepped forward. “We are here to set something straight today—who saved who.” The men cheered.

  “The guys call me Flapjack. I’m always the joker, but right now I don’t have any jokes to pull out of my hat. I just want to thank you for Jude.” Then an impish grin came onto his young face. “Thank you for Lover Boy.” The men in the squadron laughed. “Can we finally see the gal you fought the whole German Empire for, Jude? Which one is she?” Then his roving eyes rested on Lyyndaya. “I’ll bet it’s you. Am I right? Am I right, Jude?” He smiled at her. She felt her face burning up as all the men in the squadron gawked at her and two of them gave low whistles. “It is you, isn’t it, honey? You’re the one he wrote a million letters to.”

  Lyyndaya dropped her eyes. “Ja.”

  “Wow. What a beauty. Now
I know why Jude stayed up half the night with his pen and paper.”

  The men laughed again and began to come forward one after another. “I’m Billy Skipp,” said a boy hardly older than Luke. “Thank you for Jude Whetstone. He really did save my life.”

  Another with a strong body and dark mustache brought a woman up with him and two children, both girls with black hair like their father. “I’m Zed. This is my wife, Charlotte, and my girls, Betty and Sal. The gals have got a husband and father today because of Jude Whetstone. Thank you.”

  A tall man walked to the front, holding a pretty blonde woman’s hand. “I won’t bother with my other name,” he drawled in his distinctive accent. “The boys call me Tex and I guess that’s my real one. This is my fiancée, Peg. We’re getting married in April. In Austin. Y’all are welcome to come.” Then his long face grew serious. “I’m alive today because I had a squadron leader by the name of Jude Whetstone. Thanks a million.”

  Every man in Jude’s squadron stood before them and expressed his thanks, often with a wife or girlfriend or one or both parents in tow—a few, like Zed, with their children. The depth of emotion was so great Lyyndaya found she was constantly having to tell herself to take a breath, she was holding it so much without realizing it. Muffled sobs made her glance back to see Pastor Miller seated on a bench with his hands over his face. He kept groaning, “Ah, God, ah, God.”

  When the men had finished expressing their thanks to the community, Flapjack stepped forward with a huge black book in his hands. He offered it to Jude. “This is the Squadron Bible. Lord knows we got strength from it often enough. The boys wanted you to have it. They’ve signed their names in the flyleaf.”

  Now, Lyyndaya knew, my man will not be able to hold back his own tears.

  And she was right. His eyes glistening, Jude thanked Flapjack and took the heavy book from him and held it to his chest like the precious thing it was. Then Zed came with a large and weathered American flag folded into the military triangle.

  “We know the Amish don’t fly the flag,” Zed began. “But we know they love America as much as we do. It’s the squadron flag, Jude. We saved it when they closed the aerodrome and we hauled the Stars and Stripes down for the last time. We don’t expect you to fly it. But we want you to keep it safe somewhere in that house your little lady and you will be making a home in. Just to remind you of us and the months in France. And that God sometimes moves in mysterious ways his wonders to perform.”

  Jude took the flag. “It’s an honor. A great honor.”

  Lyyndaya heard Bishop Zook murmur Amen.

  “Squadron, ten-hut!” The men formed up behind Zed, stood at attention, and saluted Jude. He came to attention and returned the salute.

  “God bless you…God bless all of you,” Jude said, his voice tight with feeling. “I thank God no more of you were lost…after I left you so unexpectedly.”

  “That is a story we would like to hear, sir,” Flapjack said.

  “Some other time,” General Jackson cut in. “We have to let these people get back to their service. Their prayers make a better America, I think we can all agree on that.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Flapjack.

  “Wait.” The bishop stepped toward the general. “It is true we have other things to say and do, other prayers to pray, as you say. But I think it is time to eat a bit, hm?” He looked at his congregation. “Shall we not have lunch with our friends? Shall we not ask them to stay? Is their coming not the hand of God?”

  Lyyndaya heard the people voice their consent.

  “You will not have enough food for my men and myself,” General Jackson protested. “Just host Jude’s squadron. The rest of us will head back to base.”

  “But that will be army food at the base, General,” the bishop pointed out.

  “Yes.”

  “So unless the army has changed a great deal because you had an Amish pilot, I think it is better your men have some, what you English call, home cooking. Yes?”

  “We have plenty of food.” Rachel Miller was on her feet and smiling. “It will only make us fat if we try to eat it by ourselves. There is plenty to share. Please remain with us, General.”

  “Well—”

  The bishop, towering over General Jackson, placed a hand on his shoulder. “I look at your men and their faces say home cooking.”

  The soldiers and the Amish laughed. Even, to Jude’s astonishment, General Jackson.

  “Very well,” the general said. “Just tell us where to line up.” He turned to his men. “Fall out for chow!” he barked.

  So they ate together, Amish and soldiers and pilots side by side, men in uniform and men in Amish jackets and shirts setting up wooden tables in the barn together. One after another Jude’s men found an excuse to sit with Lyyndaya and chat, plates of potatoes and meat and fresh bread in their hands.

  To her surprise, many of the young men clustered around her older sister, Ruth, and kept her talking so much she hardly ate. How her sister was laughing! And Billy Skipp was obviously fascinated by her younger sister’s sandy brown hair and red lips and was doing all he could to engage Sarah and get her to laugh as well. He seemed to be succeeding. Well, thought Lyyndaya with a shrug as she glanced their way now and then, why not? There couldn’t be more than a year between them. Looking around she saw that a number of the soldiers had found their way to a smiling, jade-eyed Emma Zook. That was no surprise at all.

  I am glad for you, Emma. You have suffered enough and lost enough. It is good to see your green eyes dance again.

  The goodbyes were long. But Lyyndaya had the strongest sense she would see many of the men from Jude’s squadron again so she didn’t feel she was saying farewell for all eternity. The whole community waited outside in the warm March afternoon to see the soldiers and pilots off. General Jackson was the last one to leave. Climbing into his Dodge Brothers staff car he looked back at Jude.

  “How are you feeling, Major?”

  “You made my day, sir.”

  “Did I? I don’t think I’ve heard too many of my men say that during my military career. It took a lot of work getting that crew of yours together again. Half of them had mustered out.”

  “I appreciate the effort you put into it, sir.”

  “I could see that you did. The work was my pleasure, Whetstone. And my duty. It was necessary that an apology be extended toward your people for what the army did. But it was also necessary that the Amish not reject and exclude you because you fought for your country. It was important to me that I make it clear to them the manner in which you fought and who it was you saved because you bit the bullet and enlisted and flew into harm’s way.”

  He put out his hand. “It’s been an honor, Whetstone. If you’re ever out Pima County way I’d like your help working my cattle. You can even bring your Appaloosa. I think I noticed him on the way in.”

  Jude shook his hand. “Thank you, sir. That was Grit, all right. The only Appie in Paradise. Perhaps if I fly into your ranch you can rustle another one up for me.”

  “An Appie? Among my paints?” He barked a laugh. “Don’t hold your breath.”

  “I won’t, sir. It would be a privilege to ride one of your paints, sir.”

  The car began to drive off, following the convoy of trucks and vehicles ahead of it. The general gave a quick salute. “Stand easy, Whetstone.”

  Then the church returned to the barn and sang hymns. Bishop Zook gave a short message about Christ’s sacrifice on the cross for the human race. After that the leadership drew straws to see who would preach the second and longer sermon. The lot fell to Pastor Miller. Lyyndaya had never heard him speak with more gentleness, love, and depth. Everything that had happened that day went into his message, everything that had happened since Jude had returned from the dead, everything that had happened over the past two years.

  When he was done, the bishop said more time would now be granted to those who felt they needed to make things right with Jude or with anyone else. Another
hour was spent with people grouped around Jude, praying and hugging and weeping. Then Pastor Stoltzfus and Pastor King brought out a large round loaf of white bread, cut it up, and gave pieces to the bishop and Pastor Miller as well as taking portions for themselves. Following this, they brought the bread to everyone. Lyyndaya took her piece when they made their way to the women. Standing when she received it, she sat to eat, praying to Jesus. A large pewter cup of red wine was then brought to the congregation and she stood with the others once more, took a sip when it came to her, and sat down.

  The women began to wash each other’s feet among each other and the men did the same among themselves. Lyyndaya bent and removed her shoes and socks. Glancing over, she saw Bishop Zook wash Pastor King’s feet and Pastor King wash the bishop’s. “The Lord be with us,” they said to one another and kissed each other on the cheek.

  It was expected that Pastor Miller would then wash Pastor Stoltzfus’s feet, but he made his way to Jude instead. Pastor Stoltzfus nodded at the gesture. After the pastor had dried Jude’s feet, Jude asked him to sit down. Jude then washed and dried Pastor Miller’s feet and the two embraced, kissing one another and murmuring, “The Lord be with us. Amen.” Lyyndaya felt a great peace settling down over the Lapp Amish of Paradise, as if a dove had descended on soft white wings from the sky above the town.

  “Please. Let me wash your feet, sister.”

  It was Rachel Miller. “I can never forget that you held my child tightly in your arms as you flew over the earth. Christ be with you.” She slowly washed Lyyndaya’s feet, wringing out the cloth in a wooden bucket. Then she dried each foot carefully, even between the toes, as if Lyyndaya were one of her own children. Lyyndaya then knelt and did the same for her. When they embraced, Rachel whispered, “Marry that boy. And do not take forever.”

  Once the foot washing was finished and a final hymn sung, once there had been the last hugs and handshakes and kisses, it was Lyyndaya Kurtz and Jude Whetstone who stood alone in front of the Zook barn amid the mud and wheel ruts.