Abram's Daughters 05 The Revelation (26 page)

>iu|iiility of the house.

11 I i;ul been that sort of afternoon one in which to recover in having overindulged in Lorraine's fine New Year's Day dinner prime rib with all the trimmings. His wife had not gone to all ii I rouble simply for him, however. Robert, Mary Ruth, and their H h ol a baby girl had come to spend a good portion of the day,

11 11 lo both Lorraine's and Henry's delight. I le rose gradually to see who might be stopping by for a visit,

I upon opening the door saw three uniformed men. He instantly

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tensed and thought Peter Mast had decided to press charges, ri;iviii|^ abandoned the nonaggressive posture Leah had been so adain.iw was the Amish way.

So this is it, he thought, imagining how Lorraine would read It) his being handcuffed and arrested today, and just when the two of j them had begun to click far better than they had in many years. No j doubt in his mind, his luck had run out.

"Are you Henry Schwartz, father of Sergeant Major Schwaii/, Derek L.?" one of the men asked. j

His breath caught in his throat. These men were not here in charge him with a crime; they weren't policemen but military pi-i sonnel. "I beg your pardon?"

The man asked again, "Is your son Sergeant Major Schwartz:1" I Henry trembled, realizing at that instant why this man with in j tense gray eyes wore the badge of a military chaplain. He stood like a piteous sage of sorrow right here on the front porch. I

"Yes, Derek is my son," he said as terror filled his soul. j

"On behalf of the U.S. Army, we regret to inform you ..." Henry clutched his chest, scarcely able to breathe. Derek . . . my boy . . . dead.

More words cut through the fog fast descending on him. "Your son's body will be sent home with a full military escort within lour days." It registered in Henry's brain that the military was almuly doing an investigation into Derek's accident, but the thouj'Jii seemed somehow unrelated to him. Henry's sense of things and ilic world as he knew it had utterly changed. j

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' I" Hull frog Inn was smoke-filled and noisy with men making

i m . I Icnry had slipped out of the house some time after breaking

I .i i,line the news of Derek's tragic death at his army base in Ft.

i mi, Colorado, where he had been assisting in conducting

i u il.iwn live-fire exercises. Not at all familiar with the military and

n Wiir panics and drills, Henry could not envision the scenario, and

I it pieces of information the chaplain had given him did nothing to

lUfll (he string of questions from Lorraine's trembling lips. They

iiiltl have to wait two weeks for the official account to understand

i>ir lully hoVfr their son had died.

I Icnry's chest ached now as the devastating knowledge of their

t Nt'i'ped into his mind and soul. Before ever telling Lorraine, he l> id uonc alone to the clinic, grieving there in the privacy of his ofI" c* lor a while, dry heaves shaking him to the core.

When, at last, he was able to return to the house, he found his ile awaking from a nap. He went to her and said the painful words, I ii tilling her near as she wept.

Alter quite some time, they talked a little of Derek's disconneci n)i1 from them in recent years, so complete he had ceased answering even his father's letters. Now they would never know what unforgivable deed they had committed against him, if indeed the fault lay with them at all. When Henry voiced this thought to Lorraine, she

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shook her head and pleaded with him not to say such things. "Derek chose his way... his own path. You mustn't torment yourself for the choices our son made." Yet Henry was shaken in knowing the day of reconciliation for which he had long held out hope would never be.

Even as they talked of funeral plans Henry insisting the service be small, with a private viewing for family members only he was scarcely able to grasp that their long-estranged son was gone from them forever. Henry had felt an urgent need to "breathe some fresh air," and Lorraine kindly encouraged him to do so. His feet had led him here.

Now that he stood inside the door of the local tavern, he was beginning to feel guilty for having left his wife to mourn alone. Nol having any appetite whatsoever, he slipped into a chair at a corner table to order a single beer. His emotions a vast array this night ran deep, and for the first time in his life he was uncertain how to re press his reaction to despair.

Henry sipped beer from a tall glass and recalled the day he and Lorraine had brought their second baby home from the hospital. He allowed himself to remember the joy and his great pride at wel coming another son into the family.

He recalled Derek's childhood days as a curly-haired tot, inquisitive and playful. Derek had always been so clever and bright, though somewhat boastful about his accomplishments as a Tenderfoot in the Boy Scouts.

One late-summer evening when Derek had begged permission to spend the night in the highest crook of a towering tree in their backyard, Henry had taken Derek's side against the more protective Lorraine, and in the end the boy had gotten his way. Their son had hoisted an old pillow and a blanket to the uppermost branches, where he had slept blissfully beneath the leaves.

Henry wondered what sort of relationship they might have had if Derek had made even the slightest attempt to keep in touch as an adult. What if his son had responded to letters from home instead of ignoring them since the Christmas of 1949, the last time either Henry or Lorraine had seen him? Henry had continued to write, only to be pierced afresh by Derek's indifferent silence.

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The Revelation

I \w i Ibipluin had indicated Derek had never married, his next M\ I ii In iup, his parents. Henry had no reason to doubt it, but this m ijlinpNi4 into his son's life had come as a surprise, especially bell u| I )prrk's previous fondness for the ladies. W 't thought of Lorraine again. Not wanting to leave her alone M up,, lit- was rising to leave when he noticed Peter Mast sitting g I. mom, the only Amishman present. Wandering over somej i ,nn ly, he offered a greeting. "Happy New Year, Peter."

K i'i only partially convinced Peter had motioned for him to

I i hit1, but Henry pulled out a chair to do so and the bearded

j ied. "I wouldn't have expected to see you here, Doctor."

B^ vi.se, yon." Henry nodded, eyeing Peter's nearly empty

ohol appears to be the drug of choice. Folk delaying their i nhis lor one more day."

1 iliticNiiy you carry enough guilt around for two or three men."

lined his tumbler.

!i my stared at this man, incredulous at his contempt. He re-

1 that Derek had actually worked for him as a teenager, often up, home l;annie's excellent jams to Lorraine at her request. Pe-

11 handed for the worse over the years; his rudeness was unlike I lie, even dignified manner of the Plain folk Henry treated up mwii i he Georgetown Road and beyond. "I'm here because I ,u lirr is said to be dead," he muttered at last. iti leaned back in his chair and let out an odd chuckle. "I I n i he surpSsed . . . there are prob'ly more than a few who tic an early end."

iinnetl, Henry looked at him. "Notyou. My son Derek . . . the lake never knew. Nor, scarcely, did I." He formed the last with difficulty, veil, then, we've both lost sons, seems to me. Mine's as gut as

I |t-iii y shook his head. "You and Fannie raised Jake as your own. : U h yours."

"I'm no fool, Doctor. Jake's got your blood in his veins ' miii'i, too. He ain't mine at all."

I leiwy was appalled. "Jake has your values ... he accepts your |iiliu j pics as his own. What more could a man want?" He wished

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the same could be said of Derek. If only he had embraced a sense of family loyalty, if nothing else. . . .

"I was deceived and my family's in shambles for it." Peter got up and stood at the table, fire in his eyes. "I don't know who to blame more you or that scoundrel Abram." He planted his fists on the tabletop, his head lunging forward, but he did not utter another word; the look in his eyes made plain his utter disdain.

"What are you talking about?" Henry shot back. "Abram is as innocent as you were. And as ignorant of Sadie's pregnancy as you were to Jake and Lydiann Ebersol's courtship."

Peter deliberately turned and walked to the bar, apparently snubbing him. Henry stayed seated, reflecting on their blunt conversation. Peter was clearly a wounded and angry man, and when Henry saw him returning with a shot glass of whiskey, he decided he cared for not an ounce more of either Peter's company or strong drink.

Getting up from the table, Henry left without offering even a good-night.

News of Derek's death swept through the village from the west end to the eastern side of Gobbler's Knob. Friends and neighbors of the family and schoolmates of Derek who remembered him from before he enlisted called the Schwartzes or sent their condolences in the form of flowers, cards, and hot dishes. Even the Ebersols sent a sympathy card, signed by Leah on behalf of the family, and both Leah and Sadie dropped by for a short visit with a large fruit basket, not saying much more than how sorry they were.

On the day of the family viewing, Robert and Mary Ruth accompanied Henry and Lorraine to the Strasburg funeral home, along with, at Henry's personal invitation, Jake Mast. Now, as Henry stood in the portal to the visitation room, his eyes focused on the open, flag-draped coffin. His breath caught in his throat and his chest felt as if it might cave in.

Struggling, he made an attempt to compose himself lest his233

I'.ricf overtake him. He looked at Lorraine, slumped in one of the lormal-looking wingback chairs, with Mary Ruth hovering near. Yet In-fore he could make his way to her, Robert motioned to him. His son was standing next to Jake, whose usually ruddy complexion was now as pale as a white sheet, and the two spoke quietly to each other.

Henry went to them, and the three moved slowly to stand before i he casket together. Henry's throat closed at the sight of Derek's I.ice. How much older he looks, he thought, recalling the youthful days before Derek's enlistment.

Jake stood silently, hands folded. "I daresay I didn't expect to meet him . . . like this," he said, his voice cracking.

Robert put his hand on Jake's shoulder. "None of us could have imagined it." He gave a slight smile. "Your being here today is a gift io our family."

"I wish I might've known Derek . . . somehow or other." Then, clearly shaken, Jake stepped away, going to sit by Lorraine.

Henry followed him. "I want you to know . . . your natural fai her was a fun-loving young man."

Robert pulled out a folded handkerchief from the inside pocket of his suit coat, coming to Jake's side again. "My brother had a real spirit of adventure, too. You would've enjoyed that."

Henry suddenly realized they were attempting to offer thoughthil comments even going overboard somewhat largely for Jake's benefit. He felt sorry the boy had been placed in such an awkward position, attending a viewing for a father he'd never known. Making the best of it, Henry encouraged Jake to go with him to the small alcove, where a guest book lay open on a marble podium.

Henry picked up the plumed pen and handed it to Jake. "Why don't you sign your name first?"

After Jake did so, Henry scrawled his and Lorraine's names on the line beneath. Dr. and Mrs. Henry Schwartz. His hand shook slightly as he returned the pen to its holder.

His heart sank as he watched Robert and Mary Ruth encircle Lorraine, who was crying softly. Dear Lorraine. She had taken the startling news about Jake in her stride. But now, here in this hushed, floral-laden place, she had completely lost her composure over Derek.

234Beverly Lewis '. , ,

He felt torn between wanting to comfort his beloved wife and ;i sense of duty to remain with Jake. Henry was, after all, responsible for bringing the boy here a day to say hello and good-bye in a sin gle, overwhelming breath.

Sadie needed time to think, but she didn't want either Leah or Aunt Lizzie to know what was bothering her. She paced in front of her bedroom window, wondering why she felt numb when she thought of Derek Schwartz's death. He was my first love. Shouldn't Ifeel sad?

She recalled the unspeakable grief she'd suffered when Harvey had died, how she'd fallen into a deep pit of despair but concealed it as best she could.

Not so now. With Derek she felt only the sadness one might when hearing of a stranger's death. In all truth, it had seemed as if Derek had already been dead to her for years on end, his abandonment had been so complete.

And now he was dead, never to reconcile the loose ends of his life here at home, or to know his son, which, as she pondered it, might be better for Jake. At the same time, though, Derek would never have the opportunity to make amends with her nor his parents, whom he had continually rejected, according to Leah, who'd on several occasions lent a sympathetic ear to a dismayed Lorraine.

No, Derek's time to make peace has simply run out.

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/All of Gobbler's Knob experienced winter's brazen settling in, and i here wasn't anything anyone could do to stop it. Often from Janu.iiy through early March, the dark and distant hills would be shrouded in banks of haze nearly every dawn. The People would endure frigid temperatures and howling winds, warming themselves I >y drinking hot apple cider and cocoa, or black coffee, the brew of c lioice, and taking comfort in cobblers, apple dumplings and crisps, .ind the ever-popular creamed, chipped beef served at church gatherings.

Leah would long, as she did every winter, for the fairest season or all. This year the spring thaw would precede the solemn period of fasting and prayer as baptized church members examined their

I i ves and motives in hopes of finding blessed unity. Then, and only i hen, would the spirit be right for the ordination of another bishop. Everyone knew that disharmony and friction during these days would mean postponing an ordination. Only once it was determined the People of Gobbler's Knob were in one accord could