The Sound of Distant Thunder

by Jan Drexler

  On this Saturday morning, Jonas was changing the bandages on the major’s wound while Hiram prepared their breakfast in the little fireplace on one end of the cabin where they had set up housekeeping only two days earlier.

  “Captain Meredith, you still haven’t told me why we have this spacious cabin to live in,” the major said, grunting as he shifted to a sitting position with Jonas’s help.

  The captain looked up from the report he was writing. “General Jackson selected this cabin for you. It is a former slave’s quarters on the grounds of the plantation.”

  “It is because of your wound, sir.” Hiram turned a spit with slices of bacon skewered on it. “General Jackson wanted you to have the best care.” He muttered to himself as he turned back to the fireplace.

  “What did you say, Private?” The major pulled the blanket up and Jonas draped it over the shoulder of his missing arm.

  Hiram looked pointedly at Jonas. “I said that if General Jackson wanted you to have the best care, he would not have allowed a Yankee to be your attendant.”

  Major MacGregor caught Jonas’s eye and gave him a solemn wink. “I suppose, Private, that General Jackson’s opinion of the best care must come into question doubly then, since he has allowed you to continue to prepare my meals for me.”

  “I’m a good cook, Major,” said the private, pulling his short, slender body to its full height. “The best in the outfit, excepting General Jackson’s own cook. And I can make a tasty meal out of any of the victuals the army provides, whether it’s pork, beef, or shoe leather. Can’t say the same for the other officers’ cooks, now, can you?” He took a step closer to the major, who continued to regard him with an amused expression. Jonas hid his smile as he prepared a mug of shaving soap. “And those victuals may be sparse and wormy, but I can turn them into something fit to eat. You have to admit that, don’t you?”

  “Of course, I do, Hiram. I will agree that you are the best cook in the regiment. Possibly even the brigade.” He held up a finger. “Excepting, of course, General Jackson’s own cook, as you said.”

  As the captain chuckled from his seat at the table, Private Norris calmed down a bit at this compliment, but he still pointed a meat fork in Jonas’s direction. “I ask you, though, sir, what do you think you are doing with this Yankee? He might just cut your throat with that there razor, he might.”

  “I trust Jonas with my life, private. He and I became friends the first day we met.” He tilted his head to look at Jonas.

  “Ja, for sure we did. We saved each other’s lives that day.” Jonas draped a cloth around the major’s shoulders. “I kept him from bleeding to death, and when the major took me captive, I was no longer in danger of getting shot for being behind enemy lines.”

  Norris turned back to the sizzling bacon. “It’s your neck, Major, but don’t come to me when he’s stabbed you in the back.”

  After breakfast, Norris went to scrounge some food for their dinner. Captain Meredith also went out, needing to file his reports while the major rested.

  Before leaving, the captain had stood before the major. “You’re certain you’ll be all right, sir? I feel uneasy leaving you with only this Yankee to care for you.”

  “Don’t worry, Captain,” the major answered. “He isn’t your typical Union prisoner.”

  The captain bowed slightly. “As you say, sir.”

  Once they were alone, Major MacGregor’s expression drooped. “I’m weary to the bone, Jonas,” he said, pulling at his blankets, “and cold too.”

  Jonas took the blanket from his bed in the other corner of the cabin and added it to the major’s coverings. “You’ve had a serious wound and it takes time to heal. I’m glad that we’re not marching every day. This winter camp is just what you need to recover.”

  “You’re a born doctor. Have you had any training?”

  “My father taught me to care for the animals at home, and the medic in our regiment taught me a few things to do to take care of wounds on the battlefield. He saw I was interested.”

  The major waved his hand toward the stool near the fireplace. “Bring that over here and sit for a while. Tell me about your people.”

  As the morning stretched toward noon, Jonas told the major about Weaver’s Creek, his family, the house he was building, and the farm, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything about Katie. He didn’t want to share her with anyone.

  The major yawned as Jonas ended. “Your descriptions remind me of my home.”

  “Is your family similar?”

  “In some ways. My mother is a strong woman and loves my sisters. I have no brothers. My father passed away in the last war, when I was just about your age. He fought alongside some of your Yankee generals down in Mexico.”

  “Do you . . .” Jonas wasn’t sure how to phrase his question. “Do you own slaves?”

  The major nodded. “We have a few slaves. Not like the cotton plantations farther west, but we have a family who has been working for us for two generations. My grandfather bought Seth’s grandfather when he first came to America from Scotland. Servant and master worked together to build Tall Pines. They both married, had families, and their descendants and ours still work to keep Tall Pines the place it was, and we hope will always be.”

  “You speak of your slaves as if they are part of your family. I thought . . . I had heard that slaves are all mistreated.”

  “That is a lie the abolitionists tell to bring supporters to their side. A responsible slave master would no more mistreat his slaves than he would his horses.” The major looked at him steadily. “But you are coming near to the main problem of our peculiar institution, as I see it. We in the South are all enslaved, in a way. The slaves belong to the land, but so do the slave owners. We are bound to it, imprisoned by it, and love it as part of our own flesh.” He paused, rubbing his shoulder. “As a Christian man, I would like to set Seth and his family free. But then what would they do with their lives? The only work they know is farming, and the only place they’ve lived is Tall Pines. Part of my responsibility as the owner of Tall Pines is to care for those who call it home.”

  “But home is a place where you choose to belong. Your slaves don’t have that choice.”

  “You suggest that I should turn them out into the world?”

  “Yes. If they were free, they would be their own masters. They could make their own choices. They could live where they want to live and work at the jobs that suit them. They could raise their children in freedom, not slavery. Free to seek an education, if they wish, or to learn a trade. Free to travel, or to remain at home.” Jonas looked into the major’s eyes and wondered if the other man understood what he was trying to say. “They are men and women, not horses, or dogs, or cattle who need you to look after them.”

  Major MacGregor watched the fire for a long minute. “I think I understand what you are saying, Jonas. I know that my people aren’t the same as livestock. But they are people who are in my care as much as you are, or the soldiers in our regiment. According to your government, as of January first, my people are already free. I pray for their safety and well-being as this war continues. If—and I pray that this may not be so—if the Federals win this war and the emancipation proclamation stands, I hope that some of my people would choose to remain at Tall Pines so that it doesn’t fall into ruin. But you have given me much to consider.” He turned his gaze back to Jonas. “In the world’s eyes, you and I are enemies. We have different ideals and different ways of life. But as Christian men, we are also brothers.”

  He reached his right hand to Jonas, who took it in his. “I pledge to you that when this war is over, I will do my best to see that any of Seth’s family who are still with me have the means to leave if they wish or stay with us if that is their choice. I will also pledge that I will seek an exchange for you, so that you are returned to your home. That may not happen until spring, but until then, are you content to stay with me?”

  Jonas shook the major’s hand. “Until then, I
am content.”

  JANUARY 30

  Katie lit her new lamp. Her usual time to rise in the morning was long before dawn, and before she got Jonas’s gift, she would dress by the light of her candle. But now, every morning and evening, her small dark room was filled with light. Katie traced one of the painted flowers with her finger. Beautiful light, warming her with the reminder of Jonas’s love.

  But nearly two months had gone by since his last letter. As much as she tried to remember Lydia’s encouragement that Teacher’s curse had no power over her, there were times in the middle of the night that she could only believe she would never see Jonas again. He was gone, lost to her forever.

  She traced the flower again, then started her day.

  By midmorning, all of the indoor chores were done, and Katie took the opportunity to sit at the big quilting frame in the front room. Elizabeth and Ruby would be over later in the afternoon to quilt with her, and Lydia would be joining them. Mama hadn’t seemed very happy when Katie told her that they were having company in the afternoon, but then she shrugged in agreement. The day was cloudy, with snow threatening, which made the house dim and Mama morose.

  Just as Katie was thinking it was time to start fixing dinner, Hans opened the kitchen door, calling for Mama, his voice sharp. When they got to the kitchen, Hans grabbed Mama’s shoulders, forcing her to sit at the table.

  “Hans, what’s wrong?” Katie asked.

  “You sit, also.” Hans, who never showed emotion, was trembling. He knelt in front of Mama. “I have something to tell you.”

  “What is it?” Mama started to stand. “Is something wrong with one of the children?”

  Hans shook his head. “Papa . . .” His head dropped as Katie’s fingers grew cold.

  “What about Papa?”

  “He had an attack.” He looked at Mama, and now Katie saw tears on his cheeks. “He’s gone, Mama. He just fell, and he was gone.”

  Katie sat back in the chair, stunned. Mama covered her mouth with one hand, seeming to shrink as she turned away from Hans.

  “Ne,” Mama said, whispering. “Ne, it can’t be true. Not Gustav.”

  “Where, Hans?” Katie said. “How did it happen?”

  “We were working in my barn. Papa was helping me build a new pen for the cow. I was working on one side and he was on the other. I heard him make a sound, and I turned. He . . . was just lying there.”

  “Did he say anything?” Mama asked, clutching Hans’s arm.

  He shook his head. “He was already gone. It happened so fast . . .”

  Katie was numb. Papa was gone?

  “Take me to him,” Mama said, rising to her feet. “I must see him.”

  While Hans helped Mama put on her outdoor wraps, Katie still sat in her chair. They were gone then, leaving Katie alone in the house.

  Papa was gone.

  Suddenly Katie couldn’t remain there any longer. She grabbed her cloak and ran out the door, down the lane, and all the way to the Weavers’ house. She pounded on the door until Lydia answered.

  She caught Katie in her arms and brought her into the warm, bright kitchen. “Katie, what has happened?”

  Wrapped in Lydia’s strong arms, Katie told Lydia about Papa. At some point, she realized Abraham was in the kitchen also, but she didn’t care. She clung to Lydia, her head throbbing and her eyes burning. Papa was gone. Jonas was gone. Everyone had abandoned her and left her alone, so alone.

  Lydia sat her down on a chair and brought a cool wet cloth. Katie held it against her forehead, and then her cheeks. Abraham left the house, on his way to spread the news.

  “I’m so sorry, Katie,” Lydia said. “I wish there was something I could do to help you.”

  “You’re here,” Katie said, her voice catching. “I c-couldn’t be alone any longer.”

  “I understand.” Lydia patted her arm. “We all need to be with our loved ones at a time like this. Our church will gather around and help your family in any way we need to.” She gathered Katie into her arms once more. “Your poor mother. Her heart must be broken. Gustav was a good man, and we will miss him.”

  Katie stayed with Lydia for the rest of the day, and at suppertime, the two of them carried the dishes of food Lydia had prepared through the afternoon to the Stuckeys’ house. Every member of the family was there, gathered in the kitchen or in the front room where Katie’s quilt had been pushed to the side to lay Papa’s body on a table.

  She glanced into the room, but that figure wasn’t Papa. Papa was warm and gentle. Big and sometimes noisy. Laughing, his cheeks red above his beard. His hug tight and strong. Papa was . . . life. Not that silent form with his hands folded on his breast.

  Lydia took the dishes of food to the stove and set them at the back to keep warm. She had made chicken and noodles in one pot, and potato filling in the other, dishes that would keep well through the evening and be available whenever anyone was hungry. Katie looked around at the faces of her family. How could any of them be hungry again?

  Mama sat in the front room, in her chair. Hans sat next to her, in Papa’s chair, holding her hand. No one told him he didn’t belong there. He was Mama’s oldest son, so perhaps that was his place. Mama’s face was stony and cold, watching Papa’s body as if she could will him to rise up and ask for his dinner. But Hans only stared at the floor, his eyes wide and unseeing.

  Lena and Mary got food for the children and sat them at the kitchen table. The room was crowded, and Katie pressed against the walls.

  “I’ll leave you with your family,” Lydia said, wrapping her cloak around her. “I’ve spoken to Margaretta, but I’m not sure she even realized I was here.” Lydia glanced toward Mama in the front room, then turned to Katie with a reassuring smile. “Everything will be all right, even though it looks so bleak right now. I will be back in the morning with breakfast.”

  “Denki, Lydia.” Katie grasped the older woman in a quick hug. She felt like Lydia was leaving her with a house full of strangers. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Lydia pressed Katie’s cheeks between her hands. “If you need anything, no matter what time of the night or day, you can always come to me. You know that’s true, don’t you?”

  Katie nodded, and Lydia left. Slipping out the door after her, Katie stood on the porch watching as she hurried home in the cold twilight. Lydia waved to someone in a sleigh. Katie recognized the rig. It was Preacher Amos, and behind him was the bishop’s sleigh. Abraham had gotten the word out to the church. Four figures were in Preacher Amos’s sleigh. The Beiler family was coming to keep watch through the long night with Mama and the others.

  Shrinking back into the shadows, Katie wished she could be anywhere else. Anywhere but in the house with Mama’s grief, the family’s pain, and Preacher Beiler taking over for Papa . . . She had to leave. She reached into the mud porch for her heavy cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. Before the Beilers’ sleigh turned into the farm lane from the road, Katie slipped around the corner of the house and waited.

  She heard Preacher Amos’s booming voice and Salome’s cheerful one, and shuddered. She heard Levi asking about her, and Millie talking to one of the children. Bishop finally came, and after he tied his horse, she heard his slow footsteps going to the door and then into the house.

  Then leaving all the grief and pain behind, she ran down the lane, across the road, and over the bridge to her house. Jonas’s house. She crept into the sheltered space and sat on the seat she had made for herself there. Here she could be alone, with no one watching her. Here she didn’t have to speak to anyone, or think, or . . . see that silent form in the front room.

  A shudder ran through her. Papa was dead. She pressed her lips together. If she let herself cry now, she was afraid that the tears would never end. The twilight was turning to darkness as the minutes passed. The end of this horrible day. She leaned against the wall behind her and looked up to where the two walls met as one had fallen crookedly against the other.

  In a small gap be
tween them, she saw a star. One star. Could Jonas see that star too? Was he out there, somewhere, thinking of her?

  “Come home, Jonas.”

  No one heard. No one answered.

  18

  FEBRUARY 17

  In the three weeks since Gustav’s passing, Levi couldn’t stop thinking about Katie. When he saw her at church, she acknowledged him with a slight smile, but the life in her was gone. He had been to Farmerstown twice to see if there might be a letter from Jonas, but both times she had refused to go with him. Today she had met him at the door, the kitchen behind her dark and shadowed.

  “I can’t go with you.” Katie had glanced behind her. “Mama’s not well, and I can’t leave her. Besides, do you really think you’ll find a letter from Jonas after all these weeks?”

  Then she had shut the door without a farewell.

  “It hasn’t been that long,” he told Champ as the horse trotted down the familiar road to Farmerstown. “She’s given up hope. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. We’ll hear from Jonas again. I’m sure of it.”

  But when he got to the general store, Mrs. Lawrence saw him come in the door. She caught his eye and beckoned him to follow her to the post office window.

  “There’s a letter here for the Weaver’s Creek folks, but it isn’t from your friend. It looks official.”

  She passed it to him through the opening in the wire gate. It was addressed to Abraham, and the return address was from Washington City. Levi took it, trying to stop his hand from trembling. This could only be bad news. The worst news.

  On the way home, he let Champ choose his own pace, but the horse had no reason to dread getting to their destination, and he covered the few miles to the Weavers’ farm before Levi was ready. Abraham saw him driving over the bridge and met him at the house.