Chapter Thirty-Eight
It was a bright spring morning in 1833. Joshua Hershberger drove into what had once been the Village of Peace. The primeval forest that had surrounded the village in silent majesty fifty years before was gone, replaced by spreading fields and farms. A small town had sprung up and a well-traveled road led through the cluster of houses toward the Ohio-Erie Canal that had been built only a few years before. Above Joshua, the Ohio skies were filled with a white rampart of clouds that were slowly moving west, signifying a coming change in the weather.
Joshua pulled the horse to a slow walk and looked around. The Ohio of his boyhood days had slipped into the past. A panorama of faces crowded his memory—his father and mother, his dear sisters and Aaron, his younger brother. He thought of Jonathan, now gone, and Matthew with his wife and children, prospering on the farm in New York, as he had promised Joshua he would. The lives of his own family had been planted in the deep, rich soil of Ohio. His wife was gone and now his sons ran the mill and carried on the trade that he had built over the years. And today, especially, his thoughts lingered on the beautiful White Deer.
As he drove by a house on the outskirts of town, the door opened and a man in simple garb came out with a broom. He saw Joshua and nodded. “Can I help you, sir?”
Joshua brought the buggy to a halt. He climbed out and walked slowly over to the fence that ran around the man’s house. “Yes, my friend. I’m looking for John Heckewelder’s house.”
The man pointed to a sturdy building down the road. “Mr. Heckewelder lived there until he resigned his post and moved to Bethlehem, Pennsylvania in 1810. From what his church people say, he passed away about ten years ago. But many of the Moravians still remain in the village. They tend the grave.”
“The grave?”
“Yes, sir, the grave of the Moravian Indian converts that were killed here.”
“Ah, yes, the grave. That is the reason I’ve come. I was here once in 1783, but everything has changed so much that I’m turned around. Can you direct me?”
“Certainly, sir. It’s not far from the old Heckewelder place. He built the first house here and then spent his days caring for the gravesite, along with the old one.”
“The old one?”
“Yes, sir, that’s what we call the old man who comes and visits here. He’s an Indian and he comes two or three times a year. He cleans the debris away and makes sure the grass is cut and plants fresh flowers. I think he is visiting the village now, sir.” The man pointed. “If you follow the road it will wind around Heckewelder’s place. The grave is just beyond.”
“Thank you, sir. May I tie my horse and buggy up here?”
“Yes, sir. If you wish, I’ll unhitch him, let him roll in my pasture and feed him. He looks like he has come a ways.”
Joshua nodded. “Kind of you, sir, very kind.” Joshua walked slowly toward Heckewelder’s house, putting his weight on the walking stick that had been his companion for the last few years.
So David is gone and now John. Life carries us along and before we know it, we have reached the end.
He walked down the road until he came to a place he remembered. A low mound broke the flat surface of a field. The mound was covered with grass. Around the edges some bright flowers were planted. As Joshua walked up, he saw an old man kneeling and planting some more flowers. Joshua came up behind the man. “Good morning, sir.”
The old man turned and, seeing Joshua, he stood. He looked hard at Joshua and then smiled. “The yellow hair has turned white, but the man is still the same.”
Startled, Joshua came closer. The Indian, though old, was tall and straight of bearing. He wore no shirt but had on trousers and a deerskin vest. Joshua could see the marks of scars and wounds on his arms and chest. He looked long at the face. “Wingenund?”
“The yellow-hair remembers. Wingenund remembers, too, when the one called Scar brought you to our village. Your brother, Black Eagle, wished to be a warrior, but you were the brave one with the true warrior’s heart. You did not change from your ways and you cared for your father. There was much honor in what you did.”
“You come here to tend her grave?”
“Yes.”
“But I thought the Delaware left Ohio after the war.”
“Many of the Lenni Lenape left to go north to Canada. Others went to the Spanish lands. A few remained in Ohio. I stayed”—he pointed to the grave—”to be near my daughter, to pray and to remember the old ways.”
“To pray, Wingenund? Are you—?”
“A believer? Yes, Yellow-hair.” The old chief laid aside his tool and motioned Joshua to a rough bench made of logs beside the mound. They sat quietly, looking at the grave for a long time. Then Wingenund spoke. “When I was a boy, before we left Lenapehoking, a great sachem of the Turtle Clan spoke over my life. He told me of the birth of my daughter, that she would be a princess of her people. He told me that this child would lead me to the greatest truth and, at a time when all seemed dark around me, a great light would shine in my heart.” Wingenund’s head bowed and he began to speak the words of the sachem:
“ ‘The arrow and bow shall fall from his hand and his voice shall be the voice of peace, for he shall speak the words of the greatest one who shines through all the darkness. And then this one shall use the truth as a hunter uses the sight on his gun. He shall aim his life by the truth. But before he knows the truth he will know great pain, sorrow and loss. For he is the ‘willing one’ and in time he will learn to be willing to bear the burden of his people with a true heart.’ ”
“And Ruth…White Deer, she led you?”
“When I was badly wounded, my warriors brought me here. I was near death and the people of this village brought me back to life. My daughter and my grandson watched over me. As I learned of her ways and talked with Glickhican, a great peace came into my heart. I could see that Opahtuhwe walked in a great light. The long years of battle had wounded my spirit, and I knew that I could no longer remain on the path of war. A few weeks after I left, White Deer and Matthew were killed. My heart was heavy with sorrow, but I knew that her life had meant something, for I returned to my tribe and shared the way of peace. Many came to know this Jesus and we laid down our arms.”
“But Matthew is not dead, Wingenund.”
The old man turned with surprise on his face. “My grandson is not dead?”
“No, he lives. He went back to New York and cared for Jonathan until he died. It was his greatest wish that he could see you again.”
Wingenund smiled. “And so my seed lives on after me, and I am not the last of my line.
Black Eagle is dead?”
“Jonathan died three years ago. Matthew took care of him to the end.”
“Did Black Eagle ever come back to your way?”
Joshua shook his head. “No, great Chief. Sadly, my brother never returned to the Amish faith. Matthew followed his father and closed his heart when I spoke of Jesus.”
“So even in joy there is sorrow. And thus has it been since I was very young. The sachem also told me that through my daughter I would see both faces of the white man—the way of life and the way of death. Black Eagle showed my daughter the way of death, but you showed her the way of life, and in her heart, I think she loved you best.” He paused and then spoke again. “I would go to see my grandson before I die. Eighty-nine winters have I walked upon the earth-mother and the end of my trail is soon upon me.”
“I can arrange that. These days, with the canal and stagecoaches, it is only a few days’ journey. When you are ready, I will let him know you are coming.”
The breeze picked up a bit and Joshua looked up. The white clouds had turned to gray. Rolling storm ramparts moved across the sky. There was a flash of lightning and a distant roll of thunder. “It looks like we are in for a shower, Chief.”
Wingenund smiled. “Yes, they come often here. Let us stand under the chestnut tree until it passes.”
The two men stood up and walked over to a large chestnut tree that spread its many branches in a leafy bower beside the grave mound. In a moment, there was a thunderclap, much closer this time. A bright flash of lightning lit the sky followed by darkness and wind. And then the storm broke. Water poured from the sky in a torrent; the wind picked up and Joshua’s cloak whipped around him as he held his hat to keep it from blowing away. For a few more moments, the storm raged and then the wind began to die. The rain, which had been coming down in sheets, turned to a soft shower and then the storm clouds rolled through. Behind them came a blue sky laced with high, white clouds. Bright sunlight streamed through the leaves of the trees, bathing the fields with a mystic radiance. As the two men watched, the sky above them was filled with a rainbow. To their amazement, it seemed to touch the ground right before them on the mound. It stayed for a moment and then, like a momentary vision, it faded and was gone.
Wingenund stepped out from beneath the tree. “Opahtuhwe walks the rainbow path. She comes from the distant forest to speak to us.”
Joshua paused and then slowly reached into his pocket. “Perhaps she does, Chief, perhaps she does.” He pulled out the letter that White Deer had written to him the night before she died. “I have had this letter for over thirty years. The man who rescued Matthew gave it to me. It is from White Deer, from Ruth. I have never opened it because my sorrow was too great. Today seems like a good day to read it.” Joshua pulled a penknife from his pocket and slit open the envelope. Wingenund’s eyes were fixed on the sky. Joshua began to read.
My dearest Joshua,
I am writing this letter because tomorrow I will be with Jesus. I will never see you again in this world, but do not sorrow, for I know that I will see you when we meet at the throne of our great God.
If you ever see my father again, I ask you to give him this message for me. I love you, Father, with a daughter’s great love. I love you even more because when you left the Village of Peace the last time I saw you, the truth of Jesus was in your eyes. You did not have to tell me, but I knew that the prophecy had come true and that you had seen the way of peace. I will look for you in the early morning sun at first light, when the mist rises in the forest and the earth spreads its life before us. Until then, may your trail be a trail of joy, not sorrow, for you are the willing one, the greatest chief of the Lenape and your people will know life through you.
And as for you, Joshua, I love you with the love a woman has for the man who saved her. For surely you saved me. I was lost in bitterness and doubt, and you told me the words of peace. I turned from the path of death to follow your ways. I know you loved me, too, and that love held me in its embrace and kept me safe and warm when all else was hidden in shadows.
I can tell you that I love you without shame, because I will rest in the peace that comes from knowing that I passed the test of honor and never defiled my marriage. I have you to thank for that.
And so Joshua, my dearest one, I say this to you in parting; always remember the pure, holy love we shared. Hold it before you like a banner; let it guide you through the darkest night. Never forget your Amish Princess.
Until we meet again,
Ruth
Joshua folded the letter and put it back into his pocket. A great silence gripped the world. Had anyone come down the lane they would have only seen two old men standing by a grave. They would not have seen the great battle being fought in the hearts of Joshua and Wingenund—a battle between sorrow and joy, anguish and peace. And, in the end, the memory of the Amish Princess, her beauty and her joy, her loving spirit and her great wisdom—that memory brought the tranquility to their hearts that only comes from knowing that God has worked all things together for good, once again.