Chapter Six

Sons of Thunder, Daughter of Peace

It was late spring in 1753. Jonas Hershberger paced back and forth in front of the plain log cabin. From inside came the shrieks of his wife. Jonas’ face was pale and sweat ran down from his brow. His brother, Amos, took him by the arm. “Für ängstlich sein, nichts aber in allem, was mit Danksagung…”

Jonas shook him off. “Ja, ja, ich weiß, Amos. Be anxious for nothing but in all things with thanksgiving… Well, that’s not your wife in there screaming!”

Amos laughed. “They all sound like that. It’s the curse of God on women to have trouble in childbirth. Eve should have left that fruit well enough alone. Now we men have to stand outside and hear them yell as they bring our children into the world.” Amos pushed Jonas away from the house. “Would you please go milk your cow or tend your crops—anything to keep your mind off this. I promise you it will be over soon.”

Jonas wiped his brow with a cloth from his pocket and smiled. “Ja, Amos, du hast Recht. It’s just that it’s my first child, and I am worried for Martha.”

Just then there was a great howl of anguish from inside the house and then silence. Jonas rushed toward the door, but Amos grabbed him. Suddenly, the silence was broken by the cry of a baby. Amos slapped Jonas on the back. “You see, brother, all is…”

Before he could finish, Martha cried out again. This time Jonas pulled himself away from Amos and ran into the house. The midwife was standing by the bed with a screaming baby wrapped in a blanket. “My baby…my wife…what has happened?”

“Your babies, husband.”

Jonas turned to Martha. She too had a bundle, but this baby lay quietly in Martha’s arms.

Jonas stared in amazement. “Two babies? Was ist denn hier los? ”

The midwife brought the screaming child to Jonas. “Yes, Brother Hershberger, you have two fine sons.”

Jonas took the baby into his arms, but his son continued to yell lustily. The midwife shook her head. “This baby was born first, but it was very strange what happened.”

Jonas looked at her. “Tell me what happened.”

The midwife pointed to the other baby in Martha’s arms. She walked over to the bed and lifted the baby’s arm. There was a piece of string tied around it. “I have been watching Martha these past weeks, and I noticed a struggle in Martha’s womb, but I did not know there were twins. I just thought the baby was restless, but it was the two babies fighting. When Martha was about to deliver, one of the babies put out a hand. I was reminded of the story of Pharez in the Bible so I tied a string around the baby’s wrist. Then the baby pulled back and the other baby with no string on it came out first.” The midwife picked up the quiet one. “This baby should have been the first born of your sons, but the other usurped his place.”

Jonas puzzled over the woman’s story. He knelt down by the bed and laid the crying baby beside Martha. Then he took his wife’s hand. “Wie fühlen Sie sich, Frau? ”

His wife was pale and her hair was plastered to the sides of her face, but she squeezed his hand. “I am fine, Jonas—very tired, but fine. The midwife did a good job. Your sons are born and they are strong.” She held out her arms and the midwife placed the quiet son back into them. Martha pulled the crying baby close to her, and he began to quiet. She looked at both her boys and held them close. “Now, we must choose names for them.”

Jonas looked at his sons. He thought for a moment and then he spoke. “The quiet one shall be named Joshua after he who came first into the Promised Land. The unruly one shall be named Jonathan, after the bold son of Saul. It was Jonathan who climbed the cliff and won the battle against the Philistines with only his armor-bearer to help. This one has already proved that he is impetuous and headstrong. I pray that his brother shall be a guide to him in the days to come, for I feel that Joshua will live in wisdom and peace. It was Joshua who told the people, ‘as for me and my house, we shall serve the Lord.”’

Martha smiled her approval. “Yes, husband, those are fine names. Now go about your chores while I feed them.”

Jonas left the house and began to walk down the path, looking up at the heavens. His brother caught up with him. “And so, brother, the baby is fine?”

“Not baby, Amos, babies, for there are two fine sons.”

Amos’ mouth opened in surprise and then he laughed. “Two fine sons to help in the fields.”

Jonas frowned. “I am the youngest son, brother. There will be no fields for me here, for Papa cannot divide his land among all five of us. No, I must go west.”

Amos grabbed his brother’s arm and stopped him. “Surely you will not go now. The border is aflame. The Delaware have joined with the French and already they bring fire and death on the settlements to the west of us. No, you cannot take your family there.”

Jonas looked toward the pass, over the mountain. He could see the place where Wingenund had taken the cow from him all those years ago. “I know I must wait, brother, but all wars end. At some point the British will defeat the French and the Delaware will be forced further west.”

“How do you know this, Jonas?”

Jonas shrugged. “There are only 75,000 French in all of the colonies. The British supporters number over two million, from New York to the Carolinas. No, the French cannot win this struggle.”

“Still, Jonas, it will take the British a while. It is reported the governor is sending George Washington to demand that the French give up their claims and their forts. We will see what happens then.”

“I think you are right, Amos. I do not think the French will give up so easily. And the Indians hate us so. But still, one day the British will be victorious, and then I will go.”

“Well, until then, we should give thanks for the birth of your sons and the health of your good wife.”

The two men knelt by the path to pray for Jonas’ sons. As they knelt, Jonas had a strange feeling, like a voice in his spirit. “Your house will be divided, and your two sons will each find a different path.” Jonas looked around but only his brother was there. He returned to prayer, but his heart was troubled.

A soft rain muted the sounds of the forest and a hush was on the valley. The first rays of the sun broke through the morning fog and lit the woods with a golden light. Streams of mist rose from the beaver pond and the vapor was cool and refreshing upon Wingenund’s skin as he made his silent way between the trees. Above him, a black squirrel barked a warning and the warrior stopped and held still. In the soft ground before him were the clear outlines of a deer’s hooves. Fresh droppings still steamed, and Wingenund knew he was close behind his prey. The squirrel ceased his chattering and leapt away among the branches. The birds were singing their songs, and peace lay upon the land. Wingenund walked on until he came to a glade. The majestic oaks mingled with the tall pines and spread a wonderful canopy over the small meadow. The freshness of spring filled the air, and Wingenund’s heart was unburdened for the moment. As he stepped into the glade, he looked ahead and then stopped in amazement. At the end of the grassy swale stood the deer he had been tracking. But this deer was not the tawny brown of the deer he hunted so often in the wilderness of the Ohio. The deer was a doe and it was pure white, from the tip of its nose to the white tail, raised like a flag. As Wingenund watched, unmoving, the deer looked up, then slowly picked its way across the glade until it stood directly in front of the warrior. A great stillness came upon the woods as Wingenund stood staring into the deep pools of the white deer’s eyes. The bow and arrow dropped from his hands. The lovely animal looked up at Wingenund without fear, almost as if she were speaking to him.

They stood that way for a long time. Then the deer turned and stepped off the trail into the woods and slowly moved away among the trees. A small breeze sprang up and the sun burst over the horizon, directly into Wingenund’s eyes. He was blinded for a moment, and when he recovered, the birds were singing brightly; the mist had fled before the wind, and the white deer had vanished. Wingenund stooped to pick up his bow. On the ground was a tuft of white hair. He picked it up and stared at it in awe. Then he gathered up his weapons and hurried back toward the village.

As he made his way toward his lodge, one of the women came to him. “It is Spring of Water’s time. The baby is coming.”

Wingenund shook his head. “But she is early. The old women said she was not due until the coming of the full moon.”

The woman smiled. “Be that as it may, my chief, the baby is coming now.”

Wingenund felt a strange chill pass over him. He walked quickly into the village with the woman trailing behind. At the door of his lodge, Glickhican, the great sachem of the Lenape, stood with his arms crossed. The old man stopped Wingenund. “There are great portents in the air today, my son. Your daughter is being born on a very auspicious day. I had a dream last night. A white deer came to me and told me of a princess who would bring the way of peace to her people.”

Wingenund stared at the sachem. “A white deer? I saw a white deer in the forest this morning, and she had no fear. When I saw her I knew that something of great importance would happen today.”

Glickhican nodded. “Did the white deer speak to you?”

“No, but somehow I knew her coming was about my daughter.”

The old man sighed. “Yes, that is what the deer in my dreams said. Your daughter has come to us at a great junction in the trail of the Lenape. Her own life will be difficult, but she will show the way of peace to our people, and she will answer the question the story of our people asks of the whites.”

“What question, my sachem?”

“The Wallum Olum, the book of our people, ends with the coming of the whites to Lenapehoking and asks, ‘Who are they?’ It is said in the book that the men with pale skin will offer two paths to the Lenape—the way of life, or the way of death. If the Lenape will not listen to the way of life, then our people will be uprooted and sent to a far land by the pale skinned people. It is your daughter who will see both faces of the white man—the way of life and the way of death, and it is she who will offer this choice to our people.”

Glickhican turned and walked away, leaving Wingenund at the door of his lodge. Suddenly from within, came a woman’s scream and then a baby cried. But the little one cried only for a moment. Wingenund entered. His wife lay on the bed of boughs and skins, the baby by her side. The old women of the village began a chant of greeting to the new one.  Spring of Water held up the baby, and Wingenund took her. The baby was perfect, and already a crown of raven-black hair covered her head. But the baby’s most striking feature was her eyes. They were the same dark pools that Wingenund had looked into that morning when he met the white deer. He held the baby up, offering her to the Great Spirit. “Her name shall be Opahtuhwe, the White Deer of her people. She will help us to find the true path of peace. She will show us who the white man really is. And her people will love her.”