by Linda Byler
Dat held her suitcase, and Mam stood by offering assistance, but Sarah unfolded her stiff joints from the backseat of the car and stood erect on her own. She breathed in deeply, savored the smell of the fresh-cut grass, the mulched flower beds, the cows, and yes, even the manure that had just been spread on the fields.
She was hugged, touched, fussed over, and leaning on her brothers’ arms, taken inside where a huge brunch awaited them.
Her appetite was alarming, and Sarah swallowed as she asked Anna Mae to load up her plate with some of everything, please.
Her blue dress hung on her thin frame, and her black belt apron was pinned too loosely, but Mam said it wouldn’t fit otherwise.
Sarah did not wear a covering. She didn’t have enough hair to pin it to or hardly enough to consider it, her sisters said. Mam told her a dichly (headscarf) would suffice for now, until she had more hair again.
She sat on the recliner in the living room. Ruthie put warm woolen socks on her feet, Priscilla spread a soft blanket over her lap, and Levi brought a table leaf to put across the arms of her chair.
He stopped, looked at her gravely, and said, “My oh, do gooksht different mit kenn hua (Oh my, you look different with no hair).”
His brothers smiled, but they did not laugh, knowing Levi tried his best to say and do the right thing, earnest in his speech.
Sarah smiled up at Levi.
“Yes, Levi, I know. It’s pretty easy to take care of.”
Levi nodded seriously.
“Do gooksht ova shay (You look pretty, though).”
“Thank you, Levi.”
Levi swelled with pride. His sister approved of him, and that meant a great deal. He had done well on the day Sarah came home.
The brunch began. Plates were loaded with egg casseroles, sausages, bacon, waffles and pancakes, home fries, and applesauce. Homemade ketchup glugged from the narrow openings of re-used Heinz ketchup bottles, butter was spread thickly across the pancakes, and syrup was poured liberally over everything. The grandchildren sat at the small plastic picnic table brought in from Levi’s room where it was usually folded and stored.
All except for a few bites of bacon or pancake remained on the children’s paper plates. The eggs had green stuff in them, or tomatoes, so they remained untouched. Scolding mothers scooped up the plates, but they allowed the children their freedom for this one day, this celebration of Sarah’s healing.
The children ran squealing outside to play on the swing at Doddy’s (Grandfather’s). Grown-ups slowly savored the shoofly pie and homemade cinnamon rolls frosted with caramel icing. They finished their coffee and began asking Sarah questions about her experience.
They showed her the newspaper article about Michael Lanvin and were surprised to find tears of sympathy in her eyes. She read the article and shook her head from side to side.
“I can hardly believe he actually is the real arsonist,” she said finally.
Dat looked at Sarah, his gaze piercing.
“Why do you say that?”
“It just seems as if he is a weak, sniveling sort of person. He did not treat Ashley right, I know, but he often seemed scared of his own shadow. He just never struck me as someone who would intentionally kill harmless animals. I think his bullying of his girlfriend was his portrayal of the weak person he is, same as his substance abuse.”
Dat nodded soberly.
“You think they have the wrong person?”
“I don’t know. If I said yes or no, I would only be surmising.”
Levi drained his coffee cup, sat up straight, and said he was the one driving the little, white car though. And he had all that shaggy hair.
Allen said he believed Levi, but Dat said just because he drove the white car did not mean he actually lit the barn, which caused Levi to leap to his feet, one finger held aloft, and shout about another person hiding in the back seat.
This topic was a large, succulent bone for Levi. He’d chew on this subject for days, letting go of his captured suspect and honing in on another. He’d get it figured out eventually, sustained by his own ego, his sense of self-worth.
A serious conversation followed about the process in the court system for a case like this. Would Michael Lanvin be tried in court, and if he was, would any Amish person press charges? Would they testify against him?
David Beiler shook his head, his face grim.
“We are not supposed to go to court. We are not to take any part in testifying against another person. We are non-resistant people. That means exactly that. We don’t resist. We don’t believe in war. If someone takes your coat, give him your cloak.”
Johnny, the youngest of the three married brothers, pulled at his short beard, his face turning redder by the second. Sarah could see the rebellion rising against their father and hoped the onslaught would remain reasonable.
“Dat, I disagree. What about Abraham Lincoln and the Civil War? He agonized over that, but he knew lives had to be lost for the greater good. Do you believe in slavery?”
“I’m not talking about slavery. I’m talking about someone doing evil against you. We are taught to return good for evil.”
Johnny’s face turned redder still.
“So when that overseer on his horse cracked the whip over the stumbling slaves, exhausted in the 100-degree heat, they were expected to turn the other cheek?”
Dat did not answer. Mam opened her mouth and closed it again.
“So when Michael lit your barn, the Bible instructs you to go out and tell him to light the implement shed as well? I mean, come on, Dat. Get with the program.”
There was a long, tense silence as a gray cloud of discord settled over the happy family celebration. Dat blinked and took his time considering Johnny’s words.
Outside near the swing set, a child was heard, crying in pain. Suzie took one look out the window, then ran outside to assist the victim who had fallen down the slide.
Finally, Dat spoke.
“I am with the program, Johnny. I understand your point of view. No, that would not have been feasible, the way you put it. But think. If a fellow was intent on burning my barn, and I would have gone out and offered the implement shed, he’d thought I was out of my mind. Would he have done it?”
“Of course! Without a doubt!” Johnny exclaimed.
Allen agreed.
Abner waited, leaning back in his chair, picking his teeth with a toothpick, one ankle propped on the other knee, his brown sneakers matching his brown shirt.
“A shot of lead in his britches would get him out of here faster. He’d never return. He’d be GONE!” Johnny continued, bolstered by Allen’s approval.
“Wait a minute, Johnny. He’d be gone, alright, but how would he reciprocate?”
“Talk Dutch,” Johnny growled.
“Respond. Give or take.”
“That would be up to him. At least my barn’s safe.”
Abner added his thoughts to the conversation.
“I can see Dat’s point of view. In the long run, which would serve to make the guy lighting the barn feel as if he was in the wrong? He already knows that it’s wrong, okay? And he doesn’t care. He’s out to hurt someone or something, full of rage and rebellion, just evil inside.
“So what if you shot his hind end full of lead? That’s evil for evil. An eye for an eye, if you will. I think what Dat means is which response will help this person to accept forgiveness, which is, in the long run, the whole point. The person lighting the barn is perhaps a lost soul or someone gone astray, filled with hatred toward someone else.”
“Oh, come on,” Johnny growled.
“Hey, either you’re Amish or you’re not. Many in our generation do not fully understand the old ways. We think nothing of going after what is rightfully ours, in this dog-eat-dog world. But that’s not really what it’s all about.”
“Some English people are kinder than we are,” Johnny said, the wind fast dying out of his sails.
“I agree. Of course, Johnny. Good
people are everywhere, in every walk of life. Dat is just trying to remind us why we as a community shouldn’t be determined to have our own way—to put the arsonist behind bars, the way we members of the younger generation would like.”
“You boys have to understand what I went through when Sarah was burned at Lydia Esh’s fire,” Dat said quietly. “I wanted to literally beat up the person who did this. I am ashamed to tell you what I wanted to do. But there is only one way through this, and it’s forgiveness.
“We don’t need to bekimma (bother) ourselves about this Michael. We’ll leave him in God’s hands. He’ll unwrap everything, and when it comes to the light, it will be done properly.”
Johnny shook his head in disbelief, incredulous now.
“You’re just going against common sense, Dat.”
“We’ll see.”
The days turned warmer as the season progressed into summer. Sarah rested, ate, and slept. The hours of deep, restful slumber restored her spirits as nothing else had.
Mam had begun her home remedies the first day Sarah had returned, and she continued faithfully with her homemade salves and steeped burdock leaves. She used vitamin C in liquid form, an assortment of herbal capsules, and “body builders,” as she called them, which conjured up visions of men lifting heavy weights, their oiled skin bulging unnaturally with muscles of iron. Sarah just shook her head and laughed and said they were not called body builders.
“What then?” Mam asked simply, slapping on yet another limp green burdock leaf as Priscilla stood by with the bandages.
Sarah did not visit her school, afraid her appearance would shock the pupils. If the healing progressed throughout the summer as well as Mam predicted, she’d be almost completely restored by September and could go back to teaching again then.
It was another lazy day in late June, and Sarah sat in the shade on the porch, shelling the last of the late peas. A bushel basket containing the oblong pods sat on one side of her, an empty box on the other. Her thoughts were dreamlike, resting on nothing in particular as she watched Dat cutting hay in the alfalfa field, the mules’ heads bobbing in rhythm.
Why mules? she wondered.
They were the lowliest of God’s creatures. They had to be. In fact, He hadn’t even thought them up, they said in Dutch. She smiled, heaped another pile of pea pods on her lap, and wondered why Dat didn’t buy a nice pair of Belgians from Omar Esh.
She wondered if Lee Glick had anything to do with the raising of the new colt. Or if he still existed.
She sighed.
Alles gutes nemmt tzeit (Every good thing takes time). It was an old saying, but tried and true.
Over and over, she’d relived Lee’s visit to the burn center. Over and over again, she’d wondered at his mistrust of her. She had no one to blame but herself, obsessed with Matthew for too long.
A rich smell wafted through the kitchen window and circled beneath the porch roof. Sarah lifted her nose, sniffing. Mam was frying chicken. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, new peas, and creamed lettuce with slivers of radish and onion and hardboiled egg. Mmm.
She had never appreciated her home the way she did now. It was so secure, so free from harm and pain and bright lights that hurt the eyes and attacked the senses.
And yet, she was grateful for the burn center. She still remembered to pray for the good doctors and nurses at Crozer-Chester. They had become her friends, mentors, a much-appreciated network of support when she needed it most.
She was surprised to see Hannah hurrying across the yard, her apron pinned with silver safety pins, unnamed bits of food clinging to her dress front, her covering strings flapping with each step.
“Sarah!” she called, throwing up a hand.
“Hannah. It’s good to see you.”
She stumbled up on the porch, fell heavily in a chair, and looked long and hard at Sarah’s right side.
“You look amazing.”
“I do?”
“You really do.”
“Thank you. Mam has steeped tons of burdock and slathered gallons of homemade salve all over me.”
“That’s stretched,” Hannah observed dryly.
Sarah laughed. “Yeah, it is.”
“Ach, Sarah, you’re a girl dear to my heart. I still wish that Matthew was different.” Her voice trailed off, a wistful note suspended and hovering above them, echoing the sad repercussions Sarah knew came from her heart.
“What happened when he visited you in the hospital?”
Sarah told her, sparing nothing, and watched as Hannah bowed her head, then lifted it bravely to face her.
“You know, Sarah, I admire you. You see Matthew in the right way. Perhaps in the way I should. But he’s my son, and a mother’s love is unconditional. We love our boys, no matter what they do or who they become. But you know, I worry. He doesn’t always have a nice way with me, and I’m afraid he’ll treat his wife in much the same way. You know he’s talking to Rose again?”
A familiar pang of jealousy tore through her mind, but she was able to quench it quickly, her new realization of the love she felt for Lee the only form of weaponry she needed to defeat it.
Rose had visited her many times, and she had never mentioned Matthew. Sarah wondered about it now.
“Is he?”
Hannah nodded.
“I’d be happy for him with Rose, but if he’s not Amish, then he’d drag Rose along with him, creating bad feelings between her parents and us. Well, Elam says they’re pretty liberal, so maybe they wouldn’t care as much as we think.”
“Hannah, I didn’t know you were here.” Mam came out on the porch, wiping her clean, wet hands on her black apron.
“It’s just me, Malinda. Just me. I was chatting with Sarah.”
“Doesn’t she look good?”
“Oh my goodness! Yes!”
“Except for my hair,” Sarah laughed.
Hannah laughed with her.
“You know what it looks like? I cleaned a house for an English lady once, and the hair on her poodle looked exactly like yours!”
Hannah shrieked with laughter after that remark, and Mam chuckled quietly, her rounded stomach shaking with mirth.
“Yes, Hannah. Just call me ‘Poodle.’”
“Give me a handful of peas.”
“Shell your own.”
Hannah laughed again.
“They spoiled you at Crozer-Chester, didn’t they? Your meals brought on trays, your bed changed every day.”
“Her skin scraped off,” Mam added wryly.
They joked, exchanged pleasantries, and laughed plenty. Sarah soaked up the camaraderie, keenly aware of the fact that all the ill feelings between them had gone away, proving their true friendship. The hurt was swallowed by the past, time healed the rift, forgiveness worked its magic, and life resumed its safe, comfortable routine of days past.
Here she was, exchanging barbs with Hannah. She could even joke about her horrific experience at the burn center, and she was glad. She was happy to be alive, grateful for her health.
Only God would have to know about her future.
That Sunday, Dat pronounced Sarah fit to go to church. She no longer needed visible bandaging, although parts of her right shoulder were bandaged, covered by a white t-shirt beneath her dress.
Mam said she could wear a colored halsduch (cape), as the stiff white organdy was too irritating against the tender new skin on her neck.
Sarah demurred at first, but Mam assured her everyone would understand. Sometimes the rules had to be bent to allow what was merely common sense in a case such as this.
Her hair was every bit as hopeless as she knew it would be. She plastered it down with gel as her hair spray was much too harsh for the delicate skin on her scalp.
She wore a new white covering and was pleased with the results, grateful her hair was now long enough to wear a covering. A navy blue dress and halsduch, and a black apron, shoes, and stockings, and she was ready to attend church services once again.
Sarah sat in the back seat of the carriage with Priscilla, who was making all sorts of snorting sounds, trying to keep her white organdy apron from getting wrinkled.
“Things never change much, do they?” she observed, picking at her mouth to rid it of loose horse hair.
“Didn’t you brush Fred?” Suzie shrieked, sticking out her tongue as she raked her handkerchief across it.
“Yes.”
Dat never said much on the way to church, especially when he was prepared to preach the sermon. He remained stoic, spoke only when he was spoken to, and Mam sat devoutly by his side, as traditional as the special open-front carriage the preachers drove.
Sometimes the carriage seemed holy, or something close to it, and Sarah felt guilty for complaining or talking nonsense on Sunday morning.
“It will be warm today,” Mam said, worrying about Sarah’s bandage and the t-shirt beneath her dress.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if we have a thunderstorm later in the day,” Dat remarked.
Sarah took stock of their surroundings. Why were they going to Ben Zook’s? She swallowed nervously but could not collect enough nerve to mention it. She was relieved when Priscilla spoke up.
“Why are we going to Ben’s? I thought church was at Joe Fisher’s.”
“We were asked to come here. One of their ministers went to Indiana.”
Sarah’s heart beat harder, and she felt the color leave her face. Would Lee be at Ben’s, at his sister Anna’s house? Did he attend church services at all?
Well, she was being conveyed there at an alarming pace, with no alternative, and her face was as multi-colored and pieced together as a jigsaw puzzle, but so be it.
“What’s wrong with you?” Suzie asked loudly.
“Me?”
Priscilla turned to check out her sister’s face, grinned cheekily at Suzie, and whispered, “It’s called Lee Glick Syndrome.”
Suzie giggled, put her hand across her mouth, and hid her smile. They rode solemnly up to the shop on the Ben Zook farm, neat and prim and proper.
