The Face of Heaven (10 page)

“He was in Virginia only a few days ago. The 19th Indiana is camped on a creek called Cedar Run at Catlett’s Station. The men are relaxed and in good spirits.”

“Did he see Nathaniel?”

“No.”

“Where is Catlett’s Station?”

“Not far from Manassas Junction.”

“Isn’t Manassas where the great battle was fought last summer?”

“
Ja
.”

“Is there going to be another fight there?”

Levi shrugged. “Who can say? For now the Rebels have fled, leaving a trail of knapsacks and food and dead horses. Nathaniel’s regiment is less than a mile from the Hargrove Plantation.”

Lyndel’s eyes became a dark blue. “Are they going to march on the plantation?”

“They have no reason to do so.”

“Thank you, brother. Are you still with me as far as our plans go?”

He nodded. “I am. But…it does not feel right slipping away without a word to mother and father.”

She smiled in a halfhearted way. “I know. Every time I pray, the Lord touches on that very thing. I will tell them, brother. Just before we leave. It would be wrong to act as if we were abandoning them.”

“I would like to be there when you speak with them.”

“Of course.”

He played with the brim of his hat. “It can’t be until after spring planting.”

She gave a short laugh. “Every April it is the same. Nothing can happen until after spring planting. Perhaps the war will end at spring planting.”

“I pray to God it would.”

“So are you thinking of June?”

“I am. The seventh. A Saturday.”

“Nathaniel’s regiment will no longer be encamped near Manassas, will it?”

“I think it’s unlikely. They move them around like knights and rooks on a chessboard. But my friend will find the regiment. The Philadelphia paper has assigned him to the Virginia theater of operations permanently.”

Lyndel put her arm through her brother’s. “See me home, would you? One day I should like to meet this newspaperman of yours and thank him. Now that I can’t send Nathaniel mail or receive his letters, your friend’s information will be more important than ever.”

“Once we’re in Virginia I will introduce you.”

“Has he gone ahead and tried to make the arrangements I—we—requested?”

“He has. He has spoken with a Mrs. McKean, who is a matron at the Armory Square Hospital in Washington. She seems inclined to take you on as a nurse.”

“Without ever meeting me? Why?”

“Oh, I suppose I have talked you up to my friend. And being a writer, he has embellished everything I have said.”

“Levi! How will I live up to whatever nonsense you have told her? She probably thinks I am ten feet tall!”

“To tell you the truth, my friend mentioned Mrs. McKean was impressed by the fact you were a farm girl. I guess she expects that means you are strong and hardworking. And that is so. I believe you will have no trouble being hired as a nurse.”

“If God wills, then may it come to be.”

Lyndel had scarcely entered her bedroom and washed her face,
pouring fresh rainwater from a pitcher into a basin on the washstand, than her little sister Becky tapped on the door and called to her.

“What is it?” asked Lyndel. “I’m cleaning up.”

“Papa wants to see you in the kitchen.”

“Do you know what it’s about?”

“Well, I see he has a letter on the table by his cup of coffee.”

Lyndel quickly dried her face and went down the staircase with Becky. When they reached the kitchen, their father smiled, caught Becky’s eye, and nodded his head in the direction of the door to the porch.

“Your sisters need someone to hold the other end of the big skipping rope.”

“All right, Papa.”

When she had gone out the door he looked at Lyndel. “Sit with me, please. Would you like something to drink?”

“Not right now, Papa, thank you.” She sat down next to him and saw that his eyes were dark and swollen just as hers had been.

“You understand how difficult a day this has been for me as well as you?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“It is hard on the entire community. Please understand that.”

“I do understand it.”

His longer fingers tapped against a white envelope on the tabletop. It was stained with dirt and splotches of ink.

“This came yesterday. I did not tell you. I wondered if there should be any mail passed on to you. I knew the
Meidung
would be coming into force. But as the day has worn on, as I have prayed and listened and worshipped, it has become clear to me this is your letter and you are meant to have it. There can be no others after this.”

Lyndel sat up. “Do you mean to let me have that letter, Papa?”

“I do. And it is right that you must be permitted to respond. Then there must be no further correspondence until he has laid down his weapons and repented.”

“I may write him back once more?”

“
Ja
.”

Impulsively, she got up from her chair and threw her arms around her father, the chair clattering backward onto the floor, her father surprised by the strength of her hug and the two kisses on his cheek and beard.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” she cried.

“Hey, hey, my girl, it is only a letter.”

“Papa, you know it’s not
only
a letter.”

“So you love him?”

Clutching the envelope she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I don’t say that I love him. But I care about him so much. He is so sweet. And he has declared his love for me.”

“Has he?”

“
Ja
,
ja
.”

“Well, perhaps the day will come when he weds you in the way a good Amish man takes a good Amish wife to himself.” His eyes strayed to a window that overlooked the pasture. “It started with Charlie Preston. And in a way I cannot blame him—I too cut Charlie from the tree—no, I cannot blame him. He must lay down his whip, he must lay down the musket and bayonet, but God knows he saw great evil and wanted to right it. His intent is pure even if his path is violent and dark.”

She sat back down and took one of his hands in hers. “Papa, may I ask you something?”

“
Ja
?”

“You said in your sermon the Amish are people who bless. Who heal.”

“I did say it.”

“Would it be wrong to nurse a wounded soldier back to health?”

“What is this?”

“You read in the papers how Clara Barton and other women helped tend the wounded in Washington after the battle last summer.”

“After Manassas? Yes, I read that. They did good work.”

“Holy work?”

“Holy work?” Her father ran a hand over his dark beard. “Inasmuch
as you did it to the least of these you did it unto me. Yes, I would have to say—holy work, the work of love.”

“If I…if I were to do such work…someday…would I find favor… in your eyes?”

He stared at her. “Is this what you are thinking? Will you also leave us for this terrible war?”

“Not for the war, Papa, for the healing, to minister to the sick—”

“Still. You are involved in the war. Clara Barton is not Amish. You are. Your calling is different.”

“If we are both called upon by God to heal, it is not so different.”

Her father shook his head and waved his hand, standing up from his chair. “The church would not approve. I would be called on to order the shunning of my own daughter. Would you take me to such a place?”

Heat came to Lyndel’s face. “Why may I not heal others in the name of God?”

“There are always sick here. You can nurse the sick of the church or Elizabethtown. You do not need a war.”

“But the war is where I’m needed most. Here a few are ill with fever or stomach cramps. There young men are torn to pieces. Balls of lead are in their arms and chests. Their blood is pouring out onto the ground. They cry out for their mothers while the doctors saw off their legs. Tens of thousands, you said. There are not enough nurses to help. I could make a difference, Papa.”

“You would be part of the war. The Amish are never part of a war, never—not in any way are they part of a war.”

“Not even in a good way?”

He shook his head again, slowly and forcefully. “There is no good way.”

“Not even if it is Christ I nurse? Not even if it is Christ whose skin is burnt black from the explosion? Not even if it is Christ who is crying out as the life flies from his mangled body? ‘And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’”

Her father did not move, listening, thinking. Then he turned away.
“If this is what you will do, please say goodbye to your mother and me first. Will you do that?” He stopped at the door, partly opening it so that the laughter of his three younger daughters filled the kitchen. He looked back at Lyndel. “Do you find it in yourself to at least give us that?”

She wiped at her eyes with her fingers. “Of course, Papa.”

He gazed at her, nodding. There was a very faint, faraway smile. “I am grateful to the Lord for you.” Then he went out and closed the door gently behind him.

Lyndel made it to her room, threw herself full length on her bed, and wept. It took more than ten minutes before she was able to prop herself on an elbow, her eyes red, tears still running across her face, and open the envelope with Nathaniel’s letter inside.