Sarah's Orphans

by Vannetta Chapman

  He needn’t have worried about being caught. Sarah was staring at the overflowing pile of dishes in the sink. When he walked up next to her, she’d snapped out of some reverie and said, “Right. I’ll check the fridge.”

  “I think I have crackers and maybe a few cans of soda.”

  “I found some sausage and cheese.”

  She turned to him holding both in her hands, a triumphant smile again on her face.

  “I’m afraid that cheese is a bit old.”

  “Ya, but we can cut off the molded portion. It will be fine.”

  He found a cutting board and sharp knife, grabbed a crate off the bottom of his pantry shelves, and dumped the items into it along with two cans of warm soda.

  Sarah added the sausage and cheese.

  “Oh. There is one more thing.” He opened his refrigerator and reached in the tiny freezer section. Holding up a Snickers bar, he said, “Dessert.”

  Sarah was quiet as he carried the crate back toward their picnic quilt. He thought her silence said a lot—how disappointed she was, what a terrible idea this had been, and that she wished the afternoon was already over.

  They had very little left to talk about, and soon Sarah admitted that she was worried about Mammi and the kids. He offered to give her a ride home, but she waved him away. “It will do me gut to walk. I ate more than half of the Snickers bar, and you know how packed with calories those are.”

  She smiled and thanked him for the picnic, but as she walked away Paul understood that he had blown it. He wished she had just laughed about it, but that look on her face when she’d seen the disaster of his small living space…it said a lot. He folded up the blanket and went back inside. Shaking his head, seeing his place as she had seen it, he set about cleaning out the sink, adding hot water and dish soap, and washing the last week’s worth of dishes.

  He could plow and plant a field by himself. He’d learned to work on forty-year-old tractors. He knew that his barn was in tip-top shape. He’d personally mended the holes in the siding and roof and shined the windows. He was a good farmer. Those were all things he’d learned from his father.

  But he was a terrible housekeeper. He didn’t know what to pack for a picnic lunch.

  And he was clueless about how to court a girl.

  Somewhere along the way, he’d missed those lessons.

  CHAPTER 63

  Sarah was still awake when Andy came home later that evening.

  “Where is everyone?” he asked.

  “Asleep already.”

  “Oh. I didn’t realize it was so late.”

  “Out with Emma?”

  “Ya. Is there anything to eat? I’m starving.”

  “Mammi made snickerdoodle cookies. There’s a container of them on the counter near the stove.”

  “Want me to bring you any?”

  “Nein.” Some days it was all Sarah could do not to revert back to her old ways. When something was bothering her, when she felt nervous at all, it was tempting to choose not to eat. She understood that for what it was—an unhealthy coping mechanism. Control what you eat and you at least control something. But she also understood that such behavior was self-destructive. A better idea would be to pray about the things bothering her.

  “I’ll take a half glass of milk.” It was a small concession, but she felt proud of herself nonetheless.

  “Tell me about your picnic.” Andy collapsed onto the couch, pulling off his shoes and dropping his socks on the floor.

  It reminded Sarah of Paul’s place, and she nearly started laughing.

  “Making fun of my feet again?”

  “Nein. It’s only that…well, you reminded me of Paul for a moment.”

  “How so?”

  She told him about the tiny area he lived in and the complete chaos there. “Mateo and Isaac keep a room cleaner.”

  “Huh.”

  “Huh, what?”

  “Well, it’s only that picking up your socks isn’t the first thing on your mind when a person is worried about crops or pigs or neighbors.”

  “I guess. But how does he even eat? If you’d seen the dishes in the kitchen. I didn’t know he owned that many plates and bowls. The sink was full and even overflowing.”

  “It’s not a sin to forget to wash dishes a few times.”

  Sarah didn’t know how to respond to that. Had she been adding up Paul’s sins and assigning him a score? That was a terrible thing to do. More confused than ever, she changed the subject. “And what of the house on his property? When is he going to work on it? Or is he going to live in a corner of the barn the rest of his life?”

  Andy ate two more cookies and drained his glass of milk. Finally he said, “I admire Paul. Most single Amish men wouldn’t take on such a big project as the Fisher place, and he doesn’t have any family in the area to help.”

  “There’s Joseph and Rebecca.”

  “True, but they aren’t farmers.” Andy picked up his dirty socks and shook them at her. “Don’t judge a man by how he keeps his house.”

  “Do you judge Emma that way?”

  “It’s different with a woman.”

  “Andy Yoder, I can’t believe you just said that to me.”

  Now he was grinning at her. “So…what? Have you ever heard of an Amish man who keeps the house and an Amish woman who works in the barn?”

  “It’s not so clear-cut. We both know many women who help with harvest and the animals, and I’ve seen the bishop himself help with the dishes.”

  “I suppose.” He flopped back onto the couch and covered his eyes for a moment. When he looked at her again, he said, “Do you fancy him?”

  “Paul?”

  “Unless there’s someone else you went on a picnic with recently.”

  “I hardly know how I feel.”

  “Well, don’t let your idea of what a perfect man looks like stand in the way of your feelings or your common sense.” He stood and stretched. “And next time you’re over there, check out the fences around his fields and the pigpens and the crops. You might understand why he hasn’t had time to wash dishes.”

  He was halfway up the stairs when she called out, “You didn’t tell me about Emma.”

  But Andy only waved good night and kept going.

  Her brother had never been one to talk about his feelings. How serious was his relationship with Emma? Was he thinking about marrying? And if he did, where would they live? No doubt Emma would move in with them. Andy hardly had the money to buy his own place, and why would he want to? The fields, the house, the barn—they all depended on him and his success or failure with the crops.

  Certainly Emma would come and live with them if they were to marry.

  How would it feel to have another woman around the house?

  Sarah had thought she wanted their house to herself when her mother had left. She’d thought she was better off handling everything on her own. Now she couldn’t imagine life without Mammi. Perhaps she wouldn’t spend the energy worrying about her brother and Emma. When had worrying changed even one thing?

  Instead she rinsed out their cups, placed them in the drainer, and made sure the kitchen was clean. Her mind flashed back on what the house had looked like before Mammi came. It had been nearly as bad as Paul’s. How could she have so easily forgotten?

  The quilt under the tree had been a nice touch, though. She turned off both gas lanterns and made her way through the darkened room, up the stairs, and to her bed. Her last thought as she drifted off to sleep was that if Paul Byler invited her on a picnic again, she’d be sure to pack a basket of food.

  CHAPTER 64

  Mateo and Isaac were often the last to leave the small one-room schoolhouse. The first Friday in April, they had been searching through Brian’s books looking up the diet for an owl. The night before they had found an injured one in the barn loft. Isaac had quickly fashioned a cage of sorts, and they had added a dish of water along with some hay. Mammi had shown them how to bind the damaged wing to the bird’s body. �
��Give it time to heal,” she explained, but she hadn’t known exactly what owls eat.

  Mateo didn’t know anything about keeping owls. He was a little afraid the bird would peck him, but it hadn’t. Instead, it looked at him with large, sorrowful eyes before turning its head in the opposite direction.

  “Strange how owls can do that,” Mateo said, which caused Isaac to burst out laughing.

  He slapped his leg and pretended to fall over holding his stomach. “Some days I forget you weren’t raised in the country.”

  On Fridays they didn’t have to check on the pigs because they generally spent several hours over there Saturday morning. Instead, they liked to stay late and hang around the schoolhouse. So they’d spent the last half hour looking through Brian’s nature books as he graded papers.

  Finally their teacher stood and said, “Let’s call it a day, boys. It’s a special night at the Walker house.”

  “Special how?” Mateo asked.

  “It’s his wife’s birthday. Remember when we saw him in town buying her gift?”

  Brian opened his desk drawer. “I asked two of the girls to wrap it up today.” He pulled out a package the size of a small book, now wrapped in colorfully decorated notebook paper.

  “Awfully small present,” Mateo noted.

  “Sure she’ll like it?” Isaac asked.

  “I think she will. It’s a journal with her name inscribed on the outside.”

  “Sounds like homework.”

  “To you maybe, but Katie likes to write a little every day.”

  They walked out of the schoolhouse together. The morning rain had caused water to run in the small creek, so Isaac and Mateo stopped to crouch by it and look for food for their owl. The book had said insects, worms, spiders, and frogs. There was other, bigger stuff too, but they had decided things on the ground would be easier to catch.

  Isaac was already calling the owl Icarus, something they’d learned about the week before. Brian had read them a story about Icarus and Daedalus and how they had tried to fly to the sun. Mateo was thinking about that as Isaac looked for owl food.

  Brian waved goodbye and started walking down the road. He often walked to and from school, leaving the tractor for his wife in case she needed it. Their home was only a mile away, and Brian said that the walk home helped to clear his head—whatever that meant.

  Mateo heard the squeal of brakes and looked up to see a black truck speeding away. His mind couldn’t process what had happened. He stood up as the truck faded from view, and his eyes tracked back the way it had come.

  “Must have hit something,” he muttered.

  The words were barely out of his mouth when he realized he could just make out a man’s hat—Brian’s hat, lying in the ditch beside the road.

  Grabbing Isaac’s arm, he pointed toward the ditch. “It’s Brian. I think he’s—”

  And then he took off running. By the time he knelt next to his teacher, Isaac had caught up with him.

  Brian’s leg was bent at an awkward angle, and he seemed to be asleep.

  Blood gushed from a wound on his head.

  He didn’t speak or moan or move in any way, even when they shook him gently.

  “What do we do?” Isaac dropped to the ground beside him.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is he…is he dead?”

  “He can’t be.” The words were a prayer more than a fact. Mateo shrugged out of his backpack and slipped it under his teacher’s head. It seemed the right thing to do, though he realized it probably didn’t help very much.

  “Is he breathing?”

  “Can’t tell.” Mateo put his hands on his teacher’s shoulders and shook him again.

  “Nothing.”

  “He could be…maybe, sleeping.” Mateo put his face close to Brian’s. “Wake up. Brian, are you okay? Open your eyes.”

  “I don’t think he can hear you.”

  “He has to hear us. He has to wake up.”

  “We need something to put around his head.”

  Mateo shrugged out of his shirt and they wrapped it gently around Brian’s head. Blood seeped through instantly, staining the white cloth red.

  “Should we move him? What if someone else hits us?”

  “We’re well off the road—the truck must have thrown him.” Mateo glanced behind and in front of them. There were tire marks where the truck had sped away, but no other traffic. “Anyone would have to drive off the road to hit us.”

  “That’s exactly what happened, though.”

  “Probably wouldn’t happen twice in the same day.” Mateo sat back on his heels, suddenly sick to his stomach. “I heard brakes squealing and looked up and saw a black truck. Did you see it?”

  “Uh-uh. I was staring down in the creek.” Isaac looked as if he might cry. He looked like Mateo felt.

  “We can’t just leave him here,” Mateo said.

  “I’ll stay with him. Go to the phone shack.”

  “Maybe we should get Mammi.”

  “I don’t think Mammi can fix this.”

  It felt like they’d been talking forever, but Mateo thought it had only been a few minutes. He leaned closer to Brian, put his ear over the man’s heart, careful not to put any weight on him. “I think he’s breathing.”

  “You need to run for help.”

  “Me?”

  “You run faster than I do, Mateo. Run to the phone shack and call the emergency people. Then stop and tell Paul. He’ll bring you back. Hurry, though. He’s bleeding bad.”

  “Okay.” Mateo glanced around one last time, and then he was off—running faster than he’d ever run. Running and praying as tears coursed down his cheeks.

  But he couldn’t outrun the questions.

  Would the accident have happened if they hadn’t kept him after school late? What if Brian had been driving the tractor instead of walking? Why had the person who hit him sped away? And above those, pressing down on his heart was the only question that mattered—was their teacher going to die?

  CHAPTER 65

  Paul was checking the field closest to the road when he glanced up and saw a small dot appear. It took him a moment to realize the dot was a boy, and he was running. By the time he realized the boy had no shirt on, he jumped onto his tractor and began driving toward the road. He reached the end of the lane at the same instant that Mateo did.

  It was only when he’d climbed off the tractor and walked toward Mateo that he noticed the blood on his hands.

  “What happened?”

  “Can’t…stop! Phone shack!”

  Paul shrugged out of his shirt and insisted Mateo put it on. Though the boy was sweating, he’d begun to shiver. “Look at me. What happened?”

  Mateo was pulling in great gulps of air. He bent over, his hands on his knees. “It’s Brian. A truck hit him. They hit him and sped away.”

  “Climb on the tractor.”

  “Phone shack first!” Mateo hollered over the roar of the engine.

  Paul didn’t shut the engine off when they reached the little shack by the side of the road. It wasn’t much more than a lean-to with a phone in it. No stool, though there was a counter with an answering machine and a jar to put money in.

  He dialed nine-one-one.

  “State your emergency.”

  “A man has been hit by a…by a truck…” He glanced at Mateo, who was waiting in the doorway. Covering the mouthpiece, he asked, “Where did it happen?”

  “In front of the schoolhouse, just a little this side of it.”

  Paul relayed the information as well as the crossroads.

  He dropped the phone back into the cradle as the woman was advising him to stay on the line.

  They jogged back to the tractor, and once more Mateo climbed up behind him. It wasn’t the safest way for the boy to travel, but they had less than a mile to go. He didn’t feel good about leaving Mateo alone, though he could have dropped him off at the end of Sarah’s lane.

  Get to Brian first and see just how bad the
situation was.

  Later he wouldn’t remember pulling over to the side of the road, kneeling, and feeling for a pulse. He knew next to nothing about first aid, but his mother had taught him a few things over the years—though she’d been more concerned with birth than death.

  “His heart is beating. You two did well. You did the right thing.”

  He knelt on one side of Brian. Mateo and Isaac were on the other side. Twice Mateo reached forward to wipe blood off his teacher’s face, staining the cuff of Paul’s shirt. There was nothing else they could do as they sat in the waning light. It was two minutes, maybe three when they heard a siren, and then they were being pushed back as emergency personnel took over.

  Paul stood with the boys, one arm around each of them, as the paramedics took Brian’s blood pressure, set his leg, started an IV, and transferred him to a backboard. One of the workers relayed all of this into a radio, and Paul could understand about half of what he said. It didn’t sound good.

  A police car arrived, and Sheriff Bynum stepped out. He spoke with the paramedics before walking over to question the boys. Their story came out in bits and pieces, what little of it there was.

  “We’ll take him to Tulsa,” the taller of the two paramedics told them. He named a hospital on the west side of town that the sheriff seemed to know of. “Can you contact the family?”

  “I’ll go myself to tell the bishop,” Bynum said. “He’ll want to go with us to contact Brian’s wife.”

  It was a small community in a small town. Paul shouldn’t have been surprised that the sheriff knew the teacher, but he was. What surprised him more was the look of grief on the man’s face.

  The paramedic nodded once, climbed up into the back of the vehicle, and slammed the door shut.

  They sped away, lights blaring and siren screaming.

  Sheriff Bynum took down their names, though he knew everyone well enough. He’d sat with them when Mateo was missing. It occurred to Paul that he was doing a good job of questioning the boys, keeping them calm and not scaring them with the facts of Brian’s condition.

  They were interrupted by a second squad car that arrived. Bynum walked over to the officer and said, “I want photos and dirt samples of the tire tracks. That’s about all we’re going to have to go on for this one.”