Bride's Flight from Virginia City, Montana

by Murray Pura

  “Why, thank you, Rebecca, I would like that very much. You’re right, Mister Yoder, the soup is full of flavor.”

  “Ah, you see, Rebecca. Now a dumpling—”

  “Augustine, enough. Zephaniah, how was your trip?”

  “Well, the children saw buffalo and a Sioux hunting party, and they met some cavalrymen from Fort Laramie, so I guess for them it was pretty eventful.”

  “It is a lonely land, they tell me.”

  Zeph ate and swallowed and then spoke.

  “Well, there are vast stretches of open country with not a building or a person in sight, Missus Yoder, but some folk like it that way, and I have to admit I’m one of them. The wind and rain are fresh out of the Lord’s kitchen, and you can see the rims of heaven and earth, sitting astride your saddle in the tall mountains.”

  “I am told your Charlotte has a property out there.”

  “That’s true. Her brother Ricky made the purchase, but she has been running it since his death.”

  “Dairy cattle?”

  “Beef.”

  “How long since her brother passed away?” “Only a few years, ma’am.”

  “I remember Ricky well,” said Augustine. “A fine boy. Very loyal to his father. That is why he left us.”

  “Zephaniah, will you have some snitz pie?” asked Rebecca, changing the subject. “It is a pie made with plenty of dried apples and brown sugar and butter.”

  “I’d like a slice very much.”

  “And perhaps some of our vanilla and mint ice cream with that? Augustine makes it.”

  “Thank you.”

  She placed the pie and ice cream before him and waited like a mother waits for a favorite child to eat hearty. “Is it to your liking?”

  “I haven’t tasted a better pie in years, Missus Yoder.” “Now you are making a joke.”

  “Ma’am, I am a bachelor, and I am telling you the plain truth.”

  “But don’t you meet with your Charlotte socially? Surely she would bake a good Amish pie for you now and then.”

  “At the church picnic I generally have a good feed. But no, ma’am, Charlotte and I do not see one another socially. Until this train trip east, I guess I haven’t spoken more than two dozen words to her in the past year.”

  Rebecca frowned, her eyebrows coming together. “Why is that?”

  “Well, I suppose we are both very busy. I have a ranch and she has a bigger one. It takes a lot of hard work, dawn to dusk.”

  “Is it common for a woman out west to run a ranch and a household?”

  “No, Missus Yoder, not common, but Charlotte is very good at it. And her spread is no small enterprise. She has ten men working for her.”

  A sudden chill descended on the table. Zeph felt it at once and looked up from what was left of his pie and ice cream. Rebecca and Augustine were looking at each other with the kind of expression on their faces that Zeph would have translated as, “You see what becomes of our women when they leave the church?”

  Augustine pushed his chair back. “Will you walk with me to the barn, Zephaniah? I want to check on the horses. It will give my Rebecca time to clean up in here and also to prepare your bedroom.”

  Augustine tugged on his overcoat with the cape and Zeph his brown sheepskin jacket. The stars were glittering in the cold night sky like broken glass. Augustine carried a lantern to the barn and looked carefully at all three of his horses, each in its own stable. He rubbed their ears and spoke to them soothingly.

  “Shall I pitch them some hay, Mister Yoder?” “Yah. How many horses do you keep at your farm, Zephaniah?”

  Zeph located the pitchfork and set to work. “Well, if I have a good spring, I hope to have eleven.”

  “Eleven? Yah? And what about your Charlotte? How many horses will she have this spring?”

  “Well, if she has a decent spring, my guess is she will have around ninety-five or so.”

  “What? So many? Is it true?”

  “Some of the spreads down around Texas have remudas that number in the hundreds.” “Remuda?”

  “Spanish for a change of horses. It’s the horse herd the hired hands get their remounts from. We do as much as we can with our horses out west, Mister Yoder. There’s friends of mine who think if you can’t do a job from the back of a horse it ain’t worth doing.”

  Augustine barked his laugh. “So you care very much for your horses in Montana and Texas?”

  “A man that doesn’t care for his horse is a fool, Mister Yoder.

  They are the difference between life and death when you’re out on the prairie.”

  They walked from the barn to the blacksmith shop. Augustine wanted to make sure the coals were well banked and there would be no danger of a spark starting a fire.

  “You did not mind working with me today, Zephaniah?”

  “I enjoyed it very much, sir.”

  “You would do it again?”

  “I would.”

  “Well, I have meetings in the morning, but I hope to be back in the smithy after lunch. How does that suit you?” “I’ll meet you there.”

  “Or at lunch. Rebecca will certainly be expecting you at our table.”

  “All right.”

  Augustine glanced up at the February stars. “I never tire of God’s handiwork. In my own poor way, I try to do what I can to emulate him in my shop. I try to make everything come together just so.”

  “I know what you mean. But when I look at the Rockies it puts me in my place, Mister Yoder. On moonlit nights, with the peaks glowing with snow, you kind of feel you’ve died and gone to heaven. I do the best I can with my hands, but it’ll never be like the work of the Master.”

  Augustine looked at him. “You think about such things?”

  “When you spend whole days in the saddle, you get to think about a lot of things.”

  Inside the house, Rebecca was waiting with an armful of towels. “Zephaniah, I have your room ready. Here are some towels when you wish to wash up.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” “Now just follow me.”

  He walked after her down a short hall to an open door that looked to be about three inches thick. Inside was a bed; chair; desk; washstand with basin and jug; and a freestanding, full-length mirror. A candle burned beside the bed.

  “Well, that looks mighty cozy, Missus Yoder.”

  “Rebecca. It was our Daniel’s right up until the day he was married. This room has many good memories for Augustine and me.”

  “Thank you for fixing up such a special place for me, ma’am. I could’ve made do in the barn.”

  “The barn!” she snorted and then said something in Pennsylvania Dutch. “You are not a cow.”

  “I sure admire that quilt you put on the bed.”

  “It is the lone star. Those are log cabin blocks around it.”

  “My Rebecca made this only last winter,” Augustine spoke up. “Many hours, many fine stitches sitting by the fire.”

  “Hush, Father, there is no need to say all that.”

  “It will keep me plenty warm, I can see that, just as if I’d made my bed in the stove.”

  Rebecca smiled. “Well, good night then. If you need anything, we are upstairs.”

  “I’ll be fine, Missus Yoder. Good night.”

  “God bless.”

  When they had left, Zeph shut the heavy door and sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress felt pretty firm, and he was glad for that. He watched the candle burn and let what thoughts he had been holding back for a quiet moment come tumbling into his head. He was pleased that the first ones were images of Charlotte—her blue eyes, her golden hair down around her shoulders and uncombed, her lips, her smile.

  What was she doing right now? What would she be doing tomorrow? When would he get a chance to see her again?

  He lay back on the bed, his feet still planted on the floor.

  No way around it. This was her childhood home. Shunned or not, she was an insider; he was an outsider. She fit in; he was like a donkey kickin
g up its heels among palominos.

  It’s Thursday night, another part of his mind cut in, so that gives you the weekend, and then you’d better be gone.

  “I know it,” he said out loud.

  But gone where?

  He thought about the passage from Revelation again. Raber calling himself the Destroyer made sense enough, but what was the Place of Destruction? The first woe was past—the holdup at the train? But what were the second two woes? Especially if Raber only meant to see them one more time and then kill them.

  The Place of Destruction. The two woes. Zeph felt there was a message from Raber for him in those phrases, but he couldn’t figure it out. There was a knock on the door, and he almost jumped.

  “Mister Parker.” It was Augustine’s voice. “I am sorry to disturb you. Could you please come to the front door? There is someone here to see you, and it is urgent.”

  Zeph sprang to his feet. Had something happened to Charlotte or Cheyenne or Cody? He came out of his bedroom. Augustine was gone. The house seemed deserted. He made his way to the front door and stepped outside. A person was standing by the road.

  “Who’s there?” he asked.

  The person did not answer. Zeph walked up to them in his shirtsleeves. A woman in a bonnet turned to face him.

  “Charlotte.” He wanted to hug her, but her face was like rock, and he hung back. “I thought I wouldn’t see you for days. What’s wrong?”

  She reached out and took one of his hands in hers. Her fingers were like ice, and her eyes like dark pits.

  “I thought I could keep my secrets forever. But I realize it cannot be done. God will not have it.”

  Fear tore down the track of his heart like a wild horse.

  “Charlotte. What is it?”

  “You call me Charlotte. No one else here does, do they? Why is that, Zephaniah?”

  “I thought it was because they know you by another name, a childhood name.”

  “Oh, yes. They know me by another name.” She reached a hand to his cheek. “Thank you for all your gallantry and kindness. And now it is finished between us.”

  “What are you talking about? What have I done?”

  “No, it is nothing you have done. It is I. My hair should be sheared in shame. You know me by the name Charlotte Spence. But that is not who I am. I have another name I thought I could leave buried in Pennsylvania, but I find I cannot. Now everything in my life has caught up with me, and you will see I am nothing more than one great lie.”

  “Charlotte—”

  She put her fingers to his mouth. “Hush. No more of that. My real name is Lynndae Raber. The Angel of Death is my brother.”

  Chapter 23

  Lynndae finished buttoning her sky-blue dress and then put the long light-blue apron over it, fastening the apron at the back with pins. She looked in the mirror and placed the white prayer covering on her head—her blond hair had been pinned up as tightly as she could manage. Perhaps too tightly, she thought, I am going to get a headache.

  The tabby with the coffee-colored fur on her tummy rubbed against Lynndae’s legs, purring like some sort of small train engine. She smiled, bent down, picked the cat up, and cuddled her.

  “Guten morgan, Snitz,” she cooed. “It would be nice if they would let you into the meeting with me.” The cat pushed her head against Lynndae’s face.

  There was a tap at the door. “Lynndae, the pastors are ready.”

  “Thank you. I will be right out.”

  Lord, please be with me at this hour. Help me to be honest with them and also with myself.

  She opened the door with the cat still in her arms. Mary Beachey, Sarah’s mother, smiled. She took the cat from Lynndae and handed it off to her daughter, who stood nearby. “Sarah, please take care of our little Princess Snitz.”

  “Yes, but she will be on the loose once I leave to teach school, Mama.”

  Mary came with Lynndae into the room where four men were waiting, closed the door, and sat beside Lynndae in the center of the room. Augustine Yoder nodded and stood up. He prayed for several minutes and then sat down again.

  “Do you know all the pastors, Miss Raber?” he asked in Pennsylvania Dutch. “Here to my right is David Lapp. On my left, Malachi Kauffman. And Moses Beachey you know.”

  Lynndae inclined her head.

  “We wanted first of all to offer thanks to you for bringing Samuel Troyer and Elizabeth Kauffman back to us. It is our understanding that your journey was not without its hazards. We are grateful God’s hand of protection was upon you.”

  “Thank you, Pastor Yoder, but I must tell you that God worked through the person of Mister Zephaniah Parker in a very great way—”

  Augustine held up a hand. “We will speak of your young man later, Miss Raber.”

  “Pastor Yoder, I would not call him ‘my’ young man, but I would be happy to speak about him later and at great length.”

  Mary Beachey squeezed Lynndae’s hand as a warning, but did not look at her.

  Augustine looked to Moses Beachey. The older man spread his hands. “Miss Raber, let us come right to the heart of the matter. Your family was asked to leave the church because your father and brothers insisted on going to war. Some of our people do not think it is right that the sins of the father were visited upon his womenfolk. Nevertheless, we must ask you, do you support your father’s actions, or are you opposed to them?”

  Lynndae looked calmly at Moses. “I respect my father, as God has taught all children to respect their parents. But I look at that war, and I see only pain and bloodshed and the loss of life. I hate war, Pastor Beachey. I hate what it does, and I hate what it takes away from God’s earth. My father and brothers were wrong to take up arms.”

  “So you are opposed to your father’s actions?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are opposed to his defiance of the Ordnung and his dismissal of the teachings of our pastors and bishops?”

  “Yes.”

  “We must also ask about your brother; I am sorry.” “I understand perfectly, Pastor Beachey. It is a necessary question.”

  “Bishop Schrock wished to be absolutely clear on this and on the matter of the children. He is on a business trip to Philadelphia and New York. Otherwise, he would have been here this morning.”

  “What about the children?”

  “First we must discuss your brother Seraphim.”

  “No, first we must discuss the children.”

  Mary Beachey hissed under her breath, but Lynndae was in no mood to listen to her warnings.

  Moses considered Lynndae for a few long moments. “Very well. It is only that with their parents dead, we feel it is best Samuel and Elizabeth remain here with their relatives and their church. Bishop Schrock was quite determined about that. As are all of us. We know they have grown attached to you. But if you choose to return to the Montana Territory, we want you to understand we believe they belong with us.”

  “Perhaps if you had not excommunicated their parents, we would not need to be discussing their fate this morning.”

  “They violated the Ordnung. They were warned on several occasions. The matter was handled properly. It is none of your concern.”

  “Excuse me, Pastor Beachey, but it is my duty, my Christian duty, to be concerned. You punished my mother and sister and me, as well as my youngest brother, for something our father did, not us. Then you punished Ricky and me for something our brother continued to do. Has it occurred to any of you that there might not have ever been an Angel of Death if you had shown love to my family instead of judgment?”

  “We are a church who love one another.”

  “Yes, you love those who are like you. Everyone does that. You do not need Jesus Christ to help you do that.”

  “We do not need to be lectured by you, Miss Raber.” Malachi Kauffman spoke up. “Take care.”

  Lynndae turned on him. “Those were your own relatives you sent to their deaths, Pastor Kauffman.”

  Malachi reddened. “It w
as their choice to travel west. I did not want them to do that.”

  “What did you expect them to do? You shunned them to such an extent they could not live here anymore. Where would they be able to find land where they could afford to start over again except by going into the Territories? The terrible irony is, they were excommunicated Amish who were murdered by another Amish man who had been excommunicated. All from the same community and the same church.”

  “That is enough, Miss Raber,” said David Lapp softly.

  “You sit and speak of judgment and shunning so calmly and easily, even though many have died due to your decisions. I wonder what you will do when God faces each of you on your own day of judgment and passes sentence on your lives?

  What will you do if He has as little pity on your souls as you have had on the souls of others?”

  Mary had her head down and her eyes closed, but Lynndae could see that her lips were moving. Across from her the men were stone-faced and silent. Then Augustine cleared his throat.

  “Miss Raber, still we must clear up the matter of your brother Seraphim.”

  “Pastor Yoder, with all due respect, what do you expect me to say? That Ricky and I believed in what Seraph has done for the past ten years? You must know we have never condoned any of the terrible killings he has participated in.”

  “Seraphim Raber was ushered into the presence of his Maker only last week. There he will receive a just judgment for the deeds he committed while in the flesh. But we must hear from your own lips how you felt about those deeds.”

  “I have told you how I feel.”

  “Did you ever encourage or assist him in his activities?” “How can you ask this?”

  “Do you know about John Wesley Hardin?” said David Lapp.

  Lynndae felt confused. “The outlaw from Texas?”

  “We read in the New York and Philadelphia papers about the men he has killed, more than forty, and this despite the fact his father is a Methodist preacher and that he was named after the founder of Methodism, John Wesley, a God-fearing minister.”

  Lynndae waited.

  Malachi Kauffman spoke. “We read how his brother helped him, how even his father, a Christian man and a minister, assisted him in eluding the law. Time after time family and relatives kept him out of jail and hid him, and time after time he killed more men because of this. Today he is still on the loose and will destroy more lives. So we ask, did you or Ricky assist your brother Seraph in his crimes?”