The Wings of Morning (6 page)

“Tomorrow.” Lyyndaya looked confused. “Would they really have decided about the aeroplanes and the Amish so soon?”

Ruth shrugged her broad shoulders. “I don’t know. I just know this—tomorrow at one o’clock, you and I, no matter what we are doing, need to be praying for Jude, for the colony, for the bishop and the ministers—and for everything that is to come.”

J
ude.”

“Yes, Papa?”

“It is time.”

“Just this one last shoe—could you pump the bellows for me?”

“All right.”

Jude, stripped to what was once a brown work shirt, but which now was streaked with black and grey, hammered at a red-hot horseshoe, pinning it to an anvil with iron tongs. His father, in black pants and jacket and straw hat, came and stood near him. Removing his hat and jacket, he worked the bellows with his slender arms, vigorously, so that the forge suddenly glowed orange. Jude thrust the shoe into the heat for half a minute, placed the shoe on the anvil, banged at it again, put it back in the fire, returned it to the large anvil, hit it three or four more times, grunted and nodded as he examined the shoe, then plunged it into a large tub of cold water so that steam hissed and spurted into the air.

“Done,” he announced.

“I’m sure Mr. Fisher will be pleased,” said his father. “We can drop the set off when I take you to the Zooks’.”

“I’ll wash up quickly.”

“The buggy is in the drive and ready. I’ll pack up the shoes after this one cools off. Go ahead. We are still early.” Then Jude’s father added, “Son, are you prepared for what might come of this meeting?”

Jude looked his father in the eye. “God has prepared me, Papa. I’m ready.”

Mr. Whetstone nodded in silent satisfaction in his boy’s confidence and headed out to wait in the buggy.

At a washbasin at the back of the smithy Jude took off his shirt and scrubbed his chest and arms with a bar of soap and a rough brush. Then he cleaned his face and neck and hands. By the time he had gone into the house for a fresh shirt and pants, his skin was tingling, making him feel alive and hopeful, no longer apprehensive. It was amazing how God could use hard work to clear a man’s mind and heart.

When they arrived at the Zooks’, the bishop stood on the porch with his hands in his pockets, his suspenders’ black strips over his white summer shirt, a large pipe slowly smoking at one side of his mouth. He greeted the Whetstones warmly, taking the pipe from between his lips, and waving as Jude’s father drove off. Once Jude had walked up the steps, he said hello to Mrs. Zook who, round and sturdy as an apple, sat in a rocking chair at the far corner of the porch.

“The others are inside,” explained the bishop, putting one arm around Jude.

Just as they walked through the front door Emma Zook was coming out.

“Why, hello, Master Whetstone,” she said brightly, her green eyes lighting up at his presence. Jude took off his straw hat. He was not used to having a woman’s eyes at the same level as his own and it took a moment to untwist his tongue.

“Good afternoon, Miss Zook. How are you?”

“Perfect. God’s in his heaven and all’s right with the world. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Jude couldn’t help but return the smile as she stood there, tanned and cheerful in a light green dress that went with her eyes.

“I would, Miss—”

“Oh, stop,” she laughed. “Haven’t we known each other since we were ten? You know my name. Make him use my name, Papa.”

Bishop Zook took his pipe from his mouth and nodded. “It’s quite all right to call her by her Christian name, Master Whetstone.”

“All right, then,” Jude said. “I’m glad you’re feeling on top of the world—Emma—”

She lightly swatted his arm. “Oh, the great aviator. You may be on top of the world when you’re up in your aeroplane—I’m just content to be on top of my day.” She started down the steps and then looked back at him. “Would you like to join Mother and myself for a nice long walk? We are heading in the direction that has the most shade trees.”

“Emma—” her father began.

Emma pouted. “Oh, yes, of course, you men have such serious business to discuss.”

Her father frowned. “Emma—”

“Never mind.” Her mother had joined Emma on the bottom step and they linked arms. “Perhaps another day—Jude.” Smiling, Emma glanced up at her father. “Papa, couldn’t we have Jude and Mr. Whetstone for supper sometime?”

“Of course, we could, my dear—”

“Tonight?”

“Well, tonight—”

“Please, Papa?” She was looking at Jude as she pleaded.

Bishop Zook nodded. “Very well. Is that acceptable to you, Master Whetstone?”

“I’m sure my father and I would be most happy to share your table this evening, if it’s not too much trouble, Mrs. Zook—”

“Trouble? Nonsense.” Mrs. Zook patted her daughter’s arm. “You will make our day.”

Emma’s eyes were at their brightest and greenest. “We will see you tonight—my pilot.”

“Hush, Emma,” said her mother as they began to walk out to the road. “How you carry on sometimes.”

Bishop Zook brought Jude into the parlor and closed the door behind them. Seeing the three pastors seated at a table and nodding their welcomes as he sat down, a twinge of the old apprehension sought to reassert itself in Jude’s mind. He rebuffed the fear and glanced out a window facing the road and saw Emma and her mother making their way at a good pace.

“You know, of course, Pastor King, Pastor Stoltzfus, Pastor Miller,” the bishop said, taking a seat across the table from Jude.

Jude had his hat in his hands and inclined his head. “Hello.”

“Good afternoon, young man,” responded Pastor Stoltzfus. “Thank you for coming.”

The other two smiled and murmured their greetings, They all wore summer vests instead of jackets. Bishop Zook rubbed his hands together.

“I like a good talk,” he said. “Pastor King, would you get us started, please?”

Pastor King got to his feet and began to pray in High German. After about five minutes, he sat down and without a pause, Pastor Miller asked Jude, “How have you liked living with the people in Paradise?”

“My father and I like living among the families here very much,” Jude replied.

“You like the work you do?”

“Yes. I enjoy making things of iron, useful things.”

“It is hot, dirty work,” Pastor Stoltzfus spoke up, “eh?”

“The work makes me feel good,” Jude said. “I like the heat and I like to use my muscles.”

Pastor Miller leaned forward. “Your handiwork is good,
ja. Danke
for repairing my carriage so promptly last month.”

“
Bitte
, Pastor Miller.”

“You approve of our way of life, then, Master Whetstone?”

“Very much.”

“There are perhaps some—young ladies—who catch your eye, huh?” asked Pastor Stoltzfus. “You hope to marry, settle in, raise children among us?”

“I do.”

“I will not ask which young ladies.”

The men laughed. Then Bishop Zook stood up, loosened his suspenders, and, still standing, asked, “Are you old enough to remember when we had telephones?”

“Yes,” Jude replied. “My mother used one all the time when we were first accepted into the church and the colony.”

“We had them from, I think—1893—until 1908. You are twenty, am I correct in saying this?”

“Just twenty.”

“You were eleven when we take them out. It took us that long to discuss and debate the matter. All seemed well…until some of the women were caught gossiping with the invention, hm?” The bishop sat back down. “Those who mock our way of life say we are against change and innovation. This is not true. When my youngest, John, took sick last winter, you may recall we traveled by train to Philadelphia because we could do nothing for him here. We use modern medicines and modern surgeries and hospitals if we need to. What we are concerned about is preserving community, relationships, family—the Amish way, the God-given way. After all, we have never refused a ride on the railroad, whether we are eight or eighty.”

The pastors smiled. Pastor King tapped his fingers on the table. Then he flicked his head toward the window to the road. Jude looked too, expecting to see Emma. The road was empty. Pastor King only said, “They will put up poles to carry electricity to us in a few years.”

“It is doubtful we will hook up to the wires,” the bishop carried on, picking up from Pastor King. “All the Amish are talking about it. I will be meeting with the other bishops in August or September and we must go over the arguments for and against. It is not because it is electricity. After all, God made electricity—hm? Every thunderstorm we see it. But—if it makes things happen too quickly, if it brings in devices and contrivances that complicate life, that force our lives to speed up, things that chop our community into small, isolated little parts—it is not a good thing if it makes our world hectic and—divided. Do you understand?”

Jude nodded. “I think so.”

“So we say, yes, get into someone’s motorcar, one of our neighbors who isn’t Amish, get into their Ford and go to Harrisburg if you must—but we do not allow the Amish to own one because then some have, some don’t have, and there is division, disunity, haves and have-nots,
ja
?”

Jude began turning his straw hat about in his hands. “I understand.”

Pastor King made a circle in the air with his finger. “This is a roundabout way to get to the gate. But we wanted to see how the crops and fields were faring first. You know we must talk about the aeroplane.”

“Yes,” said Jude, turning his hat a bit faster.

“Most in the colony like it, huh?” blurted Pastor Stoltzfus. “Sure, some ask: Are we angels? Are we birds? But the people like to see the flying—”

“Yet there is the same problem as with the motorcar,” interrupted Pastor Miller. “Shall people buy planes and put them in their hay fields? So two or three have them, and what about everyone else?”

Pastor King shrugged. “And really, what are they good for? Yes, yes, they are fun, and there is a place for good fun, but what do you do with them except play around in the sky?”

“What do they use them for?” frowned Pastor Miller, lines crossing his face. “We hear they are used to kill, to make war, all over Europe they shoot one another down, that is all they do with them.”

“But—” Jude suddenly spoke up, “it’s the same as the train, isn’t it? It gets you from one place to another more swiftly. One day they will be flying dozens of people from Pittsburgh to New York and from Boston to Chicago—”

“One day, one day,” mocked Pastor Miller, “but today they are only killing people. Railroads don’t kill people.”

“Railroads take troops to the front lines to fight,” responded Jude.

“That is not the same thing—”

“Now, now,” Bishop Zook broke in, “we are not talking about war. Young Jude is below the conscription age and, in any case, our young men are exempt from serving in the American army. We do not take up arms. You agree with this stance, do you not, Master Whetstone?”

“I do.”

“So it is not a problem, this war, it is not a problem for our young man. We are talking about flying, about aeroplanes without guns, about machines that bring delight and wonder—and believe me, if you men found yourselves up there with the swallows, you would see God’s creation in such a marvelous way as would bring you to worship, to prayer, to praise. And I don’t doubt Master Whetstone is right, someday there will be aeroplanes going back and forth across the country the way trains do now.”

“But you are opposed to the conflict?” Pastor Miller pressed, his eyes fastened tightly on Jude.

“Yes.”

“You would not go over there to fly, to fight in an aeroplane, even if the government insisted?”

“No.”

“And you are sure of this?”

“I will not fly an aeroplane to kill.”

“How many no’s from the boy do you want, Jacob, huh?” demanded Pastor Stoltzfus.