Beacon of Light, page 25
His fingers shook like aspen leaves in a stiff autumnal breeze as he harnessed the dogs, fed them a handful of treats to get them to cooperate, then took off in the direction of the Zusacks’ cabin. It was tough going for the dogs, the way they kept floundering as they broke through the half-frozen crust. It was a thing of beauty, to watch how the remainder of the dogs would hold perfectly still as they waited on the ones who had broken through. The air was cold, sharp beyond belief, the frigid intake of breath leaving him gasping and coughing as he ran. When the going was smooth, he’d swing himself up to ride as long as possible.
Nothing had ever invoked the sense of freedom, the feeling of lightheartedness, as when he clung to the carved wooden handles of the sled, the dogs strung out in front of him, their bodies moving like rippling water, tongues lolling from mouths that seemed to be smiling broadly with the joy of running. Just running headlong with that head-bobbing gait, their feet whispering across the snow like dozens of fingers on white piano keys, creating a chorus only he could hear. He was one with the land, the lovely creatures running ahead, the endless blue sky, and the air as crisp and cold as slivers of ice.
These moments created a sense of destiny, a glimpse of the kind of life he wanted to live, one in tune with nature, without being disturbed by all kinds of people that humbled his thoughts and brought anger and rebellion like a flock of irate blackbirds. Here in the North, there was calm, a vast world without the complication of other human beings.
Except for Sam, who brought a whole Pandora’s box of chaotic thoughts and feelings. So she thought he was dead inside. If she only knew.
More important things to think about now, he kept his thoughts on the business at hand—getting to the cabin to summon help for Jonas.
OBA RETURNED WITH all three of the Zusacks, their faces taut with fear and worry. Rain cried openly when she found Jonas, Brad shook his head, and Sam’s large dark eyes searched for answers in Oba’s face. They shook him awake, shooed Oba and Sam outside till they cleaned him up, bathed the feverish perspiration from his body, dressed him in clean clothes. Rain cooked moose broth with dumplings and tried to spoon some into his mouth, without success.
She nodded to Brad, who set up the two-way radio to get in contact with Alpheus. The crackling sound as they waited to connect with someone so far away seemed like an eternity. Jonas breathed lightly, his chest rising and falling, his mouth open, as if death was imminent.
Sam cried softly. Oba went to her, slipped his fingers into hers, and held them as gently as a fledgling dove.
Brad worked the two-way radio.
Rain sat with Jonas, held his hand, then stroked his shoulder. “Come on, Jonas, speak to me. Help is on the way. Alpheus is coming as soon as Brad connects. I’m going to pray for you now, Jonas. Pray along with me, okay?”
Outside, the dogs set up a chorus, howling and leaping at their chains. Sam lifted questioning eyes to Oba. Together, they tiptoed softly to the door, lifted the wooden latch to slip outside. Immediately, they found the target of the dogs’ agitation, a fast-moving wolverine, low and squat, racing across the river ice without fear of humans or howling dogs.
They stood together, watching the beauty of this elusive creature as he stopped, lifted his wide, jowly face, and sniffed, then dropped on all fours to scuttle into the fir trees at the edge of the riverbank.
“I have a hard time believing they are a vicious animal,” Oba remarked quietly.
“They are. I’m amazed to see one this close in broad daylight.”
After that, an uncomfortable silence lay between them, the air rife with unasked questions and absent answers. They had talked about their feelings only once, but now the prospect of being apart loomed before them both.
“Jonas. You think he’ll . . . ?” Sam began, stepping out on safe ground.
“Kick the bucket? I’m not God.”
The old crackling sarcasm bit into Sam’s delicate psyche. She winced. “I only meant to say, will he survive this, whatever it is?”
“No idea.”
Sam inhaled deeply, rolled her eyes, then kicked at a chunk of hardened snow. “You certainly aren’t God. Not even close.”
“So what is that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what I said. Oba, you do possess a mean streak. A nastiness runs through your veins, and when I think you have changed, it crops up again, like some menacing raven, ready to pick your eyes out.”
Oba clenched his teeth, his mouth a hard slash. Here he was, out in the middle of nowhere, trying to find his way, groping forward, and this girl had just knocked him off course all over again. He took a breath, calmed himself.
“Look, let’s not stand here with these petty disagreements with Jonas in a bad way. I’ll tell you this. I’m going out with him when Alpheus comes. He rescued me when I needed someone, and I can only do that much for him.”
Sam swung the silky curtain of her black hair and lifted a hand to push the heavy mass away from her face, a gesture Oba found mesmerizing.
“You already said that,” Sam said quietly, her large, dark eyes filling with tears.
“I’ll be back,” he promised.
“You probably won’t.”
“I will.”
Sam shook her head. “I honestly don’t think you will. You have never forgotten your sister. What is her name?”
“May.”
“Yes. I don’t think you will ever find true peace until you find her, and I don’t think you are cut out to live this life of isolation. I see the restlessness, the gazing off to the mountains in the south, and I feel your longing. You don’t know it, but going with Jonas is more about you than about him. You want to go.”
Oba shook his head. “I want to stay here with you. If you would accept me the way I am, I would stay.”
“No person is enough to keep someone in the wilderness. I would never be enough. You would always chafe at the restrictions of this great land.”
Oba’s eyes flashed with indignation. “Sam!”
His outburst did not faze her. She looked at him, holding his gaze until he looked away.
ALPHEUS ARRIVED THE following morning.
Jonas had taken almost a cupful of the broth and was speaking with coherence, but he was extremely weak. Oba packed his black satchel, the belongings he would need to accompany Jonas to the hospital in Victoria.
The goodbyes were tearful, heart-wrenching. Jonas, in a weakened state, wept openly, only a thin shadow of the massive man charging into the wilderness with his dogs. The Zusacks would get everything—the dogs, the provisions—until their return, which Jonas told them would only be a few weeks at the most.
Oba hated emotional times such as this. He shifted uncomfortably, put his weight first on one foot, then the other, tried not to watch Rain’s tears as she embraced Jonas. He hated the fact that Brad’s voice was choked with tears as he clapped a hand on Jonas’s shoulder. He held Rain stiffly, his face expressionless as she wept, glad to be released from her clenching hold. He looked away from Brad’s searching gaze, blinked with discomfort.
Sam’s eyes searched his, but it took a long time before he met the dark light in the beauty of hers.
“Goodbye, Oba.”
“Goodbye, Sam.”
He stepped away, turned his back. Her hands fell to her sides as she stood apart from her family, alone, watching Oba’s retreat.
He didn’t look back.
TO CLIMB INTO the small gray airplane beside Alpheus, with Jonas made as comfortable as possible, took a large amount of false bravery. Oba’s insides were quaking at the thought of the plane’s takeoff in these treacherous conditions.
Alpheus assured him there was enough open water ahead, although the conditions were certainly not favorable. If it wasn’t for the fact that Jonas was so ill, he would not have attempted this flight, but a man could not allow his friend to perish without putting his own life on the line for him.
So this was what a cockpit was like. Smaller than he’d thought. Oba distracted himself by observing the dash full of round clocklike dials and numbers. Levers and buttons. A windshield. Not too terribly different from an automobile.
The roar of the engine and the noise of the propeller was much louder than he’d anticipated. He had to calm himself to keep from screaming his panic, to keep from trying to stop this metal bird that flew through the air on gasoline engines and good luck. Sweat broke out on his forehead when the plane began to move. He could sense the concentration of little Alpheus, the skill with which he eased up on one lever, pulled back on another, his small hands dancing across the worn leather tops.
The plane bucked when they hit open water, then skimmed along like a great bird. The trees on the riverbank rushed past, faster and faster, until there was a blur of green and white. He felt as if someone pushed him back into his seat, and became aware of the fact they had lifted off the water, were flying low above the treetops.
Alpheus breathed in, then let out a long, slow breath. “Well, sonny, God was with us back there. No doubt about that. Now look to your right. A sight you will always remember, even if you live to be a hundred years old.”
The sight below him was breathtaking. Absolutely picture perfect. Mountain ranges, forests blanketed in pristine white, trails like the outline of jigsaw puzzle pieces, glistening rivers, with no indication any man had ever been there to ruin anything. As they climbed higher, the scope of his vision widened and broadened until he could barely fathom the immensity of this unequaled territory. And to think he had made his way into the interior running, climbing, sliding, learning about sled dogs and danger. And thrived on it.
He was aware of being surrounded by clouds, the scenery below enveloped for a short time. He wondered vaguely if his parents’ souls had taken flight in this way.
What happened when someone died? He knew they did not simply turn into nothing, no matter how he had disputed God’s existence for much of his life. God was real, he knew that now. He had always known it, if he was honest, but it had been easier to deny God so he didn’t have to rely on anyone but himself.
And there was this thing about Jesus, in Rain’s words. Well, if anyone carried any clout in that department, it was her. She was the most real of any person he had ever met. Good from the inside out. She took the saving power of Jesus Christ as her reason to be glad about many things in her life. He wondered if she’d ever said or felt a bad word about anyone. If ever anyone would convince him to be a devout Christian, a real one, it was her.
Oba heard a moan from the back.
Oba turned. “You okay, old man?” he shouted about the roar.
“My back aches is all.”
Oba could barely make out the words over the sound of the plane.
The clouds outside the window had thickened, but now that they were in the air Oba felt confident in Alpheus’s abilities. As long as Alpheus seemed relaxed, he would try to stay relaxed too.
“So where in Victoria do we land?” Oba asked, his words light, casual, though he had to shout to be heard.
“An airport.”
“Oh, yeah. Of course.”
Conversation was limited, with the roar of the engine, so Oba fell silent. The radio crackled with bits of static and jumbled voices. Alpheus reached over, lifted a black oval attached to the radio, spoke into it, words Oba couldn’t understand. When he replaced it, he turned to the left and watched out the window as the light turned a shade darker, as if a thin veil had been thrown across the window.
His thoughts kept returning to his parents, for reasons he could not tell. If their souls were in flight, did they know they were going to another place? Was a soul aware of the transaction from earth to Heaven?
He guessed he would never know, until it was his own time to die. And he didn’t have to know. Wasn’t that what this thing called faith was all about? Not knowing, but having enough belief that you could count on things turning out all right?
His parents seemed very close, the image of them quite vivid. His father’s old straw hat in summer, the way the brim was broken along the edge from his lifting it to allow the breeze to dry his perspiring head. The hat was actually blackened around the crown, from the sweat of his brow, but then, that was the way every farmer was when the temperature reached almost a hundred. “Mercury’s gonna bust that thing,” his father would say, laughing, as he examined the outdoor thermometer.
Those were the days they spent at the creek swimming, splashing, watching the bugs walking on top of the water. His father called them Jesus bugs because Jesus walked on the water himself. Did he really, he had wondered, then decided, yes, if his father said so it had to be true.
It was so easy back then. No complications, living in the cocoon of the Amish world. Every person was good, or so he thought. Everyone looked the same in church—white shirts, black vests and trousers, hair cut in the bowl fashion, cut off evenly around the ears and neck. Every girl or woman was dressed in the pleated skirt dress, a white bowl covering on her head, and everyone traveled in a horse and surrey. Occasionally an English person would arrive in an automobile, but they, too, were friendly, nice to him. School was a safe haven, with friends he loved, who got into mischief and were quickly reprimanded by the strict teacher he loved as well.
It was after his parents died that his world turned upside down. His mouth drew down in a straight line, his eyes darkened. Could he forgive the Amish relatives who had pawned him and May off to the Amstutzes, or would he always struggle with that? Suddenly, he was tired, so tired. He no longer wanted to face the battle of life. If he lived to be a hundred, would he ever find rest in his soul?
Should he go back to the life Jonas had shown him? If he returned to an Amish community, would he survive in the old ways and rules? Either way, the specter of his past would always bring a hot rush of terrible anger, the kind of fury that threatened his spiritual and emotional well-being.
Jonas moaned, then cried out above the roar of the engine. Oba turned, reached out a hand to console the suffering man, felt the heat through the plaid blanket. He glanced over at Alpheus, who was glaring through the windshield, the light decreasing as the plane roared on. Alpheus kept grabbing the oblong black object, which he supposed was his channel to the rest of the world through radio.
Oba felt no fear, only a sense of calm, knowing he was in capable hands with Alpheus transporting them. He realized that he liked being in the clouds, above the turmoil of his life. Too soon they would land in Victoria, accosted on all sides by humanity, a city teeming with all sorts of businesses and buildings, cement sidewalks, and streets humming with trucks and automobiles. He shrugged his shoulders to loosen them, imagined himself taking charge, staying with Jonas as he was put in a bed, doctors and nurses tending to him. He’d never been to a hospital, had no idea what to expect.
Oba berated himself for his lack of confidence. He was a man, after all. He was an adult and should be capable of handling a situation such as this. If he had conquered so much in the wilderness, he could figure this one out, too.
Alpheus reached up, yanked at the radio. He spoke a rapid-fire volley of words, words Oba couldn’t make out. He peered at the one round clocklike dial, then the other. Alpheus’s right hand clenched the throttle, the left stayed on the control wheel. He seemed more intense, took no time to shift attention to Oba.
Oba looked out to the right, found the blurred outline of mountain peaks, snow covered, the gray sky appearing to blend with the landscape until they became one. He thought maybe the gray sky was not a good sign, but surely Alpheus had flown through bad weather plenty of times.
The light plane bucked as Oba became aware of flying bits of hard snow pinging against the windshield. He looked at Alpheus, who was concentrating on the flight instruments, muttering to himself. He turned to Oba, his small eyes giving nothing away, except a shout accompanied by a grin that eased Oba’s concern.
“We’re in for a wild ride!”
Oba grinned back, but gave no indication of the sickening fear he felt suddenly, as if he was yanked to reality, made to see the dragon of danger as the small plane roared through the increasing wind.
After that shared grin, one to give a sense of security, another to cover up the dread, the situation became increasingly more frightening. The air pressure must have increased, the way his ears popped and jangled the sides of his temples as if pressed by two hands. Alpheus worked the throttle, his foot easing up on the rudder pedals, his eyes constantly going to the control dials.
Oba knew fear then, a real all-consuming fear gnawing at his insides till he felt wave after wave of nausea. He fought to keep from gagging. The smooth ride turned into a pitching roller coaster, the wings dipping one way, then another.
Jonas cried out in fear and misery.
Alpheus worked the throttle, tried to keep the plane steady as best he could. Snow attacked the windshield like millions of tiny bullets, hurled against the small plane by the force of a tremendous gale, a freak winter storm with furious intent. It was as if a giant hand kept pushing them in the opposite direction they were trying to go. The plane lost speed, was turned from side to side.
The outspread of the wing on his side pitched violently. Oba grabbed for the control board, the edge of his seat. He braced the soles of his feet, but felt as if he was being tossed like a pebble in a tin can.
“We’re going down,” Alpheus shouted.
“You mean . . . ?” Oba felt the color drain from his face, felt his upper lip stiffen and turn dry as the horror of death overtook him. So this was how his sad life would end, plummeting to earth, his skull crunched like . . . He swallowed back his shrill cry of fear.
“No, get below the worst. Control dials don’t tell me much. Watch for the mountains.”
Oba strained to see, searched desperately for signs of jagged peaks, but the only thing in his view was the gray void of hurled snow and the wind behind it.
The small plane pitched and bucked. The radio was useless. Alpheus pulled back on the throttle and his feet worked the rudders as he clung to the control wheel.
