“I see your point.”
Greenly sighed, and ran his hand through his hair. He was a veteran of two tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan.
“Jake, I’ve got forty-five days of leave time accrued. If you have no objections to it, I think this might be a good time to take leave.”
“Why burn your leave time?” Jake asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Why don’t you just take off? Check in with me every week or so and let me know how to get ahold of you if anything comes up.”
“You think that would be all right? I mean, to just leave without leave papers?”
“I don’t know where all this is going, Len, but I seriously doubt that the Army will even know you are gone. I’m certainly not going to tell them.”
Greenly smiled. “All right,” he said. “Maybe I’ll just do that. Drop in on the folks back in Kansas, unannounced.” Greenly started toward the door; then he stopped and looked back toward Jake. “Jake, what would you say if I told you I’ve been thinking about resigning my commission?”
“You’re a good man, Len. You’ve been a fine officer and an asset to Environmental Flight. I hate to say it, but, with the way things are, I would say that I can understand why you might.”
Greenly stepped back into the room, then reached out to shake Jake’s hand. “Good-bye, Jake,” he said.
“Good-bye, Len.”
Greenly came to attention and snapped a sharp salute. Jake returned it, then Greenly did a crisp about-face and left the room.
Jake stared at the empty doorframe for a moment; then he sat down and looked up at the wall. It was filled with photographs of Army helicopters from the H-13s and H-19s of Korea, to the Hueys, Chinooks, and Cobras of Vietnam, to the Blackhawks and Apaches of Iraq and Afghanistan. There was also a picture of a CH-47 Chinook in Afghanistan, and under it was a caption:
Yes, the Chinook is still here.
Nothing can ground this bird.
“Nothing except a dumbass president,” Jake said aloud.
CHAPTER FOUR
Raised in the Amish community, Jake had no reason to believe that he would not be a farmer like his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather. Like all Amish boys, he had learned the skills necessary to live in a world that shunned modern conveniences. He was a good carpenter, he knew farming, he understood nature and knew what wild plants could be eaten and what plants would have medicinal value.
But even as a child he used to watch airplanes pass overhead and wonder about them. One day an Army helicopter landed in a field nearby. The occupants got out, opened the engine cowl, and made few adjustments, then closed the cowl, got back in, and took off. Jake knew, on that day, that he wanted to fly a helicopter. He also knew that such an ambition was not for an Amish boy.
When he was eighteen years old, Jake, like all other eighteen-year-old Amish, went through rumspringa, a period of time in which they were exposed to the modern world. Once this coming-of-age experience was over, the Amish youth would face a stark dilemma: commit to the Amish church—or choose to leave, which meant severing all ties with their community and family forever. Jake made the gut-wrenching decision to sever those ties.
Because of that, he was excommunicated from the church. Being expelled meant being shunned by everyone, including his own family. When he went back home, in uniform, after graduating from Officer Candidate School, his mother and father turned their backs and refused to speak to him. His sister shunned him also, but he saw tears streaming down her face and he knew it was not something she wanted to do.
After OCS, Jake went to college on the Servicemen’s Opportunity College program, getting his BA degree from the College of William and Mary in two and a half years. After that, Jake attended flight school, fulfilling his ambition to be a pilot. His love for flying was not diminished even though he had three combat tours: one to Iraq and two in Afghanistan. There he flew the Apache armed helicopter and was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross as well as the Air Medal with “V” device for heroic action against the enemy. He also received a Purple Heart when a shoulder-launched missile burst just in front of the helicopter, killing his gunner/copilot and opening up gaping wounds in Jake’s face, side, and leg. He managed to return to his base, but had lost so much blood that when he landed he passed out in the helicopter, not regaining consciousness until he was in the hospital. That was where he met the nurse, Karin Dawes, who was then a first lieutenant.
Jake had never married, partly because before he met Karin, he had never met anyone he wanted to marry. He had been giving a lot of thought to asking Karin to marry him, but with the nation in turmoil, he wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do.
Lancaster, Pennsylvania—Wednesday, March 14
It was the first leave Jake had taken in almost two years and because of that he had well over fifty days of leave time accrued. He took fifteen days, convinced Karin to take leave with him, but told her that the first thing he wanted to do was look in on his family if they would receive him. They flew to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, and there, Jake rented a car for the drive to Lancaster.
“How long since you have been home?” Karin asked as they drove east on I-78.
“Twelve years.”
“Twelve years? That’s a very long time,” Karin said.
“Yes, it is. Even longer when you realize that the last time I was home my parents wouldn’t even speak to me.”
“Oh, that’s awful,” Karin said. “What makes you think they will have anything to do with you now, if they didn’t before?”
“Over the last couple of years, my sister and I have exchanged a few letters,” Jake said. “She said that my dad has mellowed some.”
“What about your mother?”
“I’m my mother’s son,” Jake said. “I think she was as hurt by my father’s shunning of me as I was. But she must do what he says, so she had no other choice. Otherwise she would have accepted me back the very first day.”
“That brings up another question. Why are you going back now?”
Jake was silent for a long moment.
“Jake?” Karin repeated, not certain that he heard her.
“I don’t know that I can answer that question,” Jake said. “It is just something that I feel I must do. Especially now, with our nation on the brink of disaster.”
“I can understand that,” Karin said. “I hope things go well for you.”
“Karin, you understand why I can’t take you with me to meet them, don’t you? It would be . . .”
“Very awkward, I know. You don’t have to explain, Jake. I understand.” Karin reached her hand toward him and Jake moved his left hand to the steering wheel, then took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips.
They checked into a motel in Lancaster, and Jake brought their suitcases into the room. From his suitcase he removed a pair of gray, drop-front trousers, work boots, a blue shirt, a pair of suspenders, and a flat-brim hat. He stepped into the bathroom, and when he came out a moment later, the difference in his appearance was startling.
“What are you wearing?”
“Plain clothes,” Jake said.
“You look—very handsome,” Karin said.
“This is going to be hard enough without you teasing me,” Jake said.
“I’m not teasing,” Karin insisted. “You look very masculine and, I don’t know how to explain it, but, very sexy, in an earthy way.” She stepped up to him, then put her arms around his neck and pulled his lips down to hers for a deep kiss.
“You’ve got me all hot and bothered,” she said.
“Can you hold on to that feeling until I get back?”
“It’ll be hard,” Karin said.
“I promise you, it will be,” Jake replied with a bawdy grin.
Karin laughed out loud. “That was a statement, not a question. But go on, do what you must do. I’ll find something to watch on television while you are gone.”
Jake held up his cell phone. “I’ve got
my phone,” he said. “I’ll call you when I can.”
“I’ll be fine,” Karin said. “Don’t worry about me.”
Leaving the motel, Jake drove east on Old Philadelphia Pike; then, crossing the railroad, he turned left on Beachdale Road. Just before he reached the farm of his parents, he saw a large gathering of buggies and wagons parked at the Yoder farm. At first he wondered what was going on; then he saw that they were building a barn.
Jake stopped his car, and walked over toward the barn. They had just finished assembling the frame for one end and several were in position to lift it up.
“Wir brauchen jemanden, hier heraufzukommen und eine Hand zu verleihen,” someone called from the bare eaves of the barn.
It was the language of Jake’s youth, a request that someone come up to lend a hand.
“Ich komme,” Jake answered, and he scurried up one of the ladders, then got into position. Half a dozen ropes were thrown to the men on top of the barn frame, and Jake grabbed one of them, and pulled with the others as the end frame was raised into position.
Soon the framework of the barn was all in place and now the only thing that remained was to fill in the siding and the roof. There were at least twenty men working, so the barn was erected with amazing speed. After all the siding and roofing was completed, everyone grabbed a paintbrush and bucket of paint and, within three hours after Jake arrived, the barn had been erected and painted, and all the scrap lumber around it picked up and thrown into the back of the wagons.
During the time the barn was being erected, the women were preparing a meal, and now one of the women began ringing a bell. It was still too cold to eat outside so everyone tromped into the house, where tables had been set up in the dining room, the living room, and in the big, central hall.
It had been more than fifteen years since Jake was last in this house, but it could have been yesterday. Every piece of furniture, every wall hanging, was exactly as it had been the last time Jake was here. He remembered that he had been here for the funeral of the elder Yoder.
Moses Yoder gave the blessing.
“ Unser himmlischer Vater, I ask that you bless these wonderful people today for their generous hearts, helping hands, and loving souls. And we thank you for the women who prepared the meal that will sustain us through this day of toil. Segnen Sie dieses Essen zu unserer Verwendung, und wir zu Ihrem Dienst. Amen.”
There had been very little conversation among the men during the work, except for that which was required to do the work. Nobody had called Jake by name, which meant they either didn’t recognize him, or were continuing the shunning. As Jake passed the mashed potatoes to the man on his left, he saw his father sitting across the table at the far end. He had seen his father earlier while they were working, and he was sure that his father had seen him, but his father had made no sign of recognition. Now his father was looking directly at him. Jake nodded at his father, but his father didn’t acknowledge the greeting.
After the meal, Moses Yoder stood at the front door and shook the hand of every man as he left, thanking each of them for helping him replace the barn that had been destroyed by fire.
“You have come from another order?” Yoder asked as Jake was leaving. “I thank you for your help.” Yoder did not recognize him.
“It is the way of the Christian,” Jake said, implying, though not saying, that he was from another order.
“Indeed it is, brother, indeed it is,” Yoder said, putting his other hand on top of Jake’s to add emphasis to his greeting.
When Jake stepped outside he saw his father standing under a tree, obviously waiting for him.
“Jacob,” Solomon Lantz said. “Have you returned to the Life?”
“I have not, Father,” Jake said. “Too many things have happened; I am too far removed to return to the Life now.”
“But you are wearing plain clothes, and you helped with the labor.”
“These are things you taught me, Father. I may have abandoned the Life, but I have not abandoned your teachings.”
“Das ist gut,” Solomon said.
“Father, I have been writing to Martha, and she has written me back,” Jake said, speaking of his sister. “Did she tell you that I wanted to come and visit?”
“Ja.”
“I do not wish to make you uncomfortable. If you want me to leave, tell me, and I will go away now.”
“You come,” Solomon said. “Your mother will want to see you. And your sister too.”
Jake drove behind his father’s carriage, following him very slowly for the two miles that separated the Yoder farm from his ancestral home. This was where he was born and where he grew up. As a child, the big white house, the barn, and the workshop had seemed quite normal to him. Now he viewed them with the eyes of an outsider, and recognized, for the first time, how beautiful they really were.
He parked under a big oak tree and got out of the car, waiting until his father went into the barn to unhitch the horse from the closed buggy. Solomon walked quickly from the barn to the house; then, after a couple of moments, his father stepped back out onto the wide front porch.
“Come, Jacob. Your mother waits,” Solomon called.
As soon as Jake stepped in through the front door his mother greeted him with a great hug, pulling him as close to her as she could. Jake could smell cinnamon and flour during the embrace—aromas of his childhood—and it was almost as if he had never left.
“Jacob, Jacob, mein Lieblingskind, willkommene Heimat, willkommene Heimat,” she said, weeping with joy as she welcomed him home.
Looking up, Jake saw his sister, Martha, and when he finished his embrace with his mother, Martha came into his arms. There was a small boy standing in the doorway that led from the entry hall into the parlor.
“And who is this?” Jake asked.
Shyly, the boy stepped behind the wall, and peeked around the corner of the door.
“This is my son, Jacob,” Martha said.
“I did not know that you were married and had a child,” Jake said. “How wonderful for you.”
“Jacob, this is your Uncle Jacob,” Martha said.
“His name is just like mine,” young Jacob said.
Martha laughed. “That is because you are named after him.”
“Where is his father?” Jake asked. “I would like to meet him.”
Tears came to Martha’s eyes. “He took sick and died, last year,” she said.
“Oh, Martha, I am so sorry. Who was the father?”
“It was Emile Zook.”
“Emile!” Jake said. “Emile is dead?”
Emile had been Jake’s best friend as he was growing up.
“Yes.”
“But, Martha, in your letters to me you said nothing of this. You did not tell me you were married, you did not tell me that it was to Emile, or that Emile had died.”
“I did not want to trouble you with tales of your old life,” Martha said. “If you decided to come to see us, I wanted it to be because you wanted to, not because you felt that you should.”
Jake put his arms around Martha again, and pulled her to him. “I am sorry for your loss, my sister,” he said. “Emile was a very good man. I have missed him these many years, and I will miss him the more, now that I know he is gone.”
Although Jake had eaten an enormous meal at the Yoder farm, his mother insisted that he have a piece of apple pie and a cup of coffee. She served the pie hot, with a slab of melted cheese on top.
“Father, you have spoken little,” Jake said.
“There is a reason God gave us two ears and one mouth,” Solomon said. “It is because we should listen twice and speak once.”
“Yes,” Jake said. “I remember this is one of the things you taught me.”
“Why have you come home?” Solomon asked.
“To see you, and mother, and my sister,” Jake said. Then, looking over toward young Jacob he added, “And my nephew.”
“You come home, but you do not stay. Sie sehen nic
ht, dass diese Mittel mehr Schmerz für Ihre Mutter?”
“It was not my intention to bring more pain to my mother,” Jake said, answering his father’s charge.
“Are you still in the Army?” Solomon asked.
“Yes,” Jake answered. “Such as it is. The way things are going in the country now, this new president we have is doing everything he can to destroy the Army.”
“Who is the new president?” Solomon asked.
“Father, I can’t believe . . .” Jake started, but he stopped in midsentence. There was no television in this house, no radio, and no electricity. There was no news beyond Lancaster that could possibly be of any importance to Solomon Lantz.
“His name is Ohmshidi,” Jake said.
“Ohmshidi? What sort of name is that for an English?”
Jake knew that by the term English, Solomon was referring only to those people who are not Amish. It really had no bearing on nationality.
“He is Pakistani,” Jake said. “He has an American mother, but he was born in Pakistan and is a naturalized American.”
For the next half hour Jake explained the condition of the country to his parents, sharing his fears that the president was only making matters much worse.
“It is not our concern,” Solomon said.
“I hope you are right, Father. Believe me; I have never envied the Life more strongly than I do now. How I wish I could live here like everyone else in total ignorance to the world outside.”
“Have you been to war, Jacob?” Solomon asked.
“Yes.”
“Have you killed?”
“Father, that’s not a fair question. Wars are fought as a matter of executive decisions. The men who fight them, men such as I, have absolutely no input into the decisions.”
“Have you killed?” Solomon asked again.
Jake was quiet for a long moment. “Yes,” he finally said. “I have killed. It was not something I wanted to do, but it was something I had to do.”
Solomon got up and walked over to a long table that sat under the window and stared outside, as if trying to come to terms with the fact that his son had killed. Jake looked at the table and remembered how, as a child, when it would rain outside, his mother would sometimes drape a quilt over the table and make a tent. That way Jake could camp in the rain without ever getting wet.
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