The Witnesses

by Linda Byler

  Dat nodded.

  “Need any help?”

  “Well, we have one more wagon load. If you want exercise, help yourself.”

  “If Sarah will let me.”

  Sarah jumped down from the wagon in one swift movement, pushed back her hair, and smiled at him.

  “Feel free.”

  “Aren’t you going to help?”

  “I’ll help Dat in the haymow to give Suzie a break.”

  Before he could protest, she scrambled up—up to the top and into the stifling heat under the metal roof, away from the sun and Matthew. She knew it was infinitely better there despite the temperature.

  There was no avoiding him that evening, however. Matthew was determined to have her alone, so she stayed by the wagon in the fading evening light. She was itching all over from the hay, her legs a maze of scratches, her hair a mess, her face red and dusty and scarred.

  Matthew gazed off across the cornfields, the tall stalks rising high above the fertile soil, the yellow ears already formed with the kernels filling out from the heat of the midday sun. He shook his head, solemnly eyeing her with a sad gaze.

  “You know Sarah, it’s times like this that I want to be about 14 again. We were so young, so innocent, so untouched by the world.”

  She pushed her bare foot beneath a small pile of loose hay. She picked it up with her toes and let it drop, but no response came to her mind, so she chose to stay quiet.

  “You’re going to marry Lee, then?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “Why?”

  Why, indeed. Good question, Matthew. Thoughts filled her head, dissolved, reappeared. Some she understood and let go. Others she examined again in a constant shifting of ever-changing emotions and memories. Why do people marry the ones they do?

  All she did was shrug her shoulders.

  They stood beside each other, leaning against the now empty wagon, neither one daring a glance at the other.

  The scene before them had remained greatly unchanged from the time they were teenagers. Seasons had come and gone. Corn and alfalfa and soybeans were rotated. The earth was replenished with manure and lime and fertilizers, and crops planted. Rains came, and the sun coaxed the seeds into high-yielding crops.

  What was the final deciding factor in her choosing Lee over Matthew? Did God reach down from heaven with His great, unseen hand and set Matthew in Haiti with Sarah away from him, now with Lee?

  Matthew cleared his throat, becoming uncomfortable in the quiet that surrounded his question. Taking a deep breath, Sarah lifted her head. She looked out across the cornfields and the trees along the fence rising above the moving sea of green and began to speak.

  “All my life, Matthew, I loved you—a devoted sort of worship, a feeling stronger than any love I have ever experienced. I never doubted we would marry, spend all our days together, always. Then, there was Rose. You chose her. Still I clung to the high ideal of you. You left the Amish—you left us, our way of life. I would have been excommunicated for you. I would have left everything I believe is right, for you. But you didn’t want me.”

  Matthew’s sharp intake of breath stopped her.

  “I did. I was afraid you wouldn’t leave your parents.”

  “I question that, Matthew. You married Hephzibah.”

  “I wanted you first.”

  “If you did, you would have waited, obviously. Still, I loved you. I felt God had taken Hephzibah because of our love, our destiny to be together. I clung to my desire for you, desperately willing us to be together, just the way I had always imagined. Then . . .”

  Sarah spread her hands, palms up.

  “There was the fire. I was burned. I endured pain that I didn’t know a human being could take and live through. I feel now that I literally went through the fire spiritually, as well. My eyes were opened to God’s will. You were my will, my way. You were a magnet that drew me irresistibly.”

  Matthew stood straight, took a few steps, gripped her shoulders, his eyes dark with rekindled passion. Without a word, he drew her roughly toward himself, his face lowered, and placed his lips roughly on hers. There was no gentleness.

  His fingers dug into her shoulders. She threw herself back, away from him. His touch was offensive to her, repugnant in its power, like a charred beam, dead and black, soaked from the fireman’s hose.

  The action left him standing awkwardly, his hands slowly going to his sides.

  “Sarah.”

  “Matthew, you have no right. You never let me finish. I think when a love of such magnitude dies, it is completely dead. Ashes, cold, lifeless. I’m sorry. I really am, but I wish you the best.”

  “Shut up!”

  Sarah gasped as his words rang out, feeling as if he had slapped her. She was caught completely off guard.

  Trembling, his breath coming in spurts, he spat out, “If you were any sort of Christian, you would see I am the one you want. But since you’re not born again, all spirituality makes no sense to you. You’re as blind as you always were.”

  When Sarah faced him, her green eyes were tempestuous, churning with feeling. The dark colors surfaced, then receded, leaving a yellowish light, a gladness.

  “Yes, Matthew, oh yes! I was blind. That’s one thing we agree on.”

  He began to cry, his face crumpling, his features twisting, as he begged her forgiveness. He hadn’t meant to lose his temper.

  “Just go. Goodbye, Matthew.”

  Quietly, her words sank in, and with wide-eyed disbelief, he backed away.

  “You really mean it, don’t you?”

  Sarah nodded, her eyes on his, and he could not bear to look at the victory in hers.

  He lowered his head.

  “Sarah, I’ll come back. I’ll be Amish for you. I love you. I always have, just like you have loved me. We are meant to be together. You knew that. You still know it.”

  In response, she turned and walked slowly down the slope, away from the empty hay wagon, away from the power she felt and knew she must resist.

  He may do that—return for her sake—but that was pathetic. What a pitiful attempt at redeeming the years of treating her as second best, which is what she would always be in his eyes.

  Suddenly, she could see the future with Matthew. She would have to take the blame for everything that went wrong, accept the responsibility as fact. She envisioned a houseful of babies, little children, and her attempting the impossible, trying to keep him happy, be perfect, be what he wanted her to be. He would always expect absolute devotion and perfection, without taking any responsibility of his own.

  She slammed the kesslehaus door, causing a few clay flowerpots to rattle on the shelf above the sink. She washed her hands and lowered her head to wipe her mouth, erasing any trace of Matthew’s presumptuous moves.

  Mam was in the kitchen as usual, looking hot, tired, and short-tempered. Her face was a brilliant shade of pink, her nostrils distended, her mouth a straight, thin line.

  “Where were you?” she burst out.

  “Unloading hay.”

  “No. No, you weren’t. I watched Matthew walk right past this kitchen window on his way to see you, and here you’re getting married, and that man is going to mislead you.”

  “We talked, Mam. He wants to come back to the Amish now. He says he wants me.”

  Mam’s eyes were fiery with disdain.

  “He won’t.”

  “Mam, please don’t get upset. I am marrying Lee. I love him with all my heart, truly, with the real love that God gives. I’m going to be a farmer’s wife, Mam, just like you. And I was never happier, never more sure of anything in my life. Lee is a special and absolutely amazing person.”

  Mam was not an emotional person. Her feelings were always well contained, her demeanor stoic, as reserved as anyone Sarah had ever encountered. Now, she threw her apron over her head and burst into tears. She let out little girl sobs of fear and worry, catching Sarah completely off guard.

  “Mam!”

  Sarah was inc
redulous.

  From behind the apron came a muffled wail, as the rounded shoulders shook. A hysterical laugh emerged, and the apron was lowered, producing a red, sheepish face changed by the force of her feelings.

  “Sarah, I’m only a human being, and a silly mother, at that. But I think if you would run off with that spoiled . . .”

  She clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes round with shock.

  “I almost said brat.”

  Sarah threw back her head and laughed uproariously. It was an unladylike, belly laugh that was so infectious, it caught Mam and tugged her along. Mam lamented her total lack of restraint but finally conceded to it, sitting down and laughing till she had to remove her glasses, wipe her eyes, and take a deep breath.

  “Ach Sarah, ach my. We mothers are a pitiful lot. We only want what is best for our children, and so often we see it long before they do.”

  Darkness was falling rapidly, but Mam said it was too hot to light the gas lamp, so they’d sit on the porch. Dat would be in, and he’d want his mint tea and pretzel.

  Sarah hadn’t seen Levi in the house, so she asked Mam about him. Mam shook her head, saying the warm temperatures were hard for Levi. He had gone to bed.

  Relaxing on the wooden porch rockers in the still evening air, a companionable silence settled between them. They watched the bats emerge from under the eaves of the old shed by the corncrib. They wheeled and darted on their wide wings, snatching up the night’s winged delicacies.

  Finally Mam asked, “Have you decided on the color of your wedding dress?”

  “I’d love to wear a rich green—a sage color, because of my eyes. Or maybe brown.”

  “You know that isn’t traditional.”

  “I know.”

  “I suppose some girls would wear it.”

  “Yes.”

  “But I would like for you to remain traditional. Blue or purple.”

  “Do you think a dark gray, a charcoal, would be alright?”

  “I wouldn’t know why not.”

  “Too dull?”

  “I think very neat and very in the ordnung (rules).”

  “Oh, good. Is it too fancy to have the little girls wear a light shade of teal? Sort of aqua?”

  “Plain fabric, no. That would be alright.”

  Dat came up to the porch, lowered himself on the porch swing, and sighed contentedly. When the silence continued, he spoke softly.

  “You didn’t have to stop talking because of me.”

  “Oh, we didn’t. Just making sewing plans.”

  “Sewing? That’s right, Sarah. You’re getting married! We’ll be making a wedding. Is that what Matthew wanted this evening?”

  Shamefaced, Sarah nodded.

  “I saw everything,” her father stated calmly.

  Horrified, Sarah glanced at him.

  “You didn’t!”

  “Not everything, but enough.”

  Sarah was so ashamed. She stared at the floor of the porch, noticed the way the evening shadows painted the floorboards black.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry about. He owes you an apology.”

  “Dat, it’s okay. I can live the rest of my life without his apology, or anything at all from him, for that matter.”

  “Good girl, Sarah. I’m proud of you.”

  Then he asked, “How is Anna holding up? We should visit her again.”

  “She has her times. She had a close relationship with Ben and can hardly bear the zeit-lang (missing him).”

  “And the children?”

  “They miss him, of course, but children are so resilient. They accept things, without question, much easier than we do. Anna is an outstanding mother, providing so much for them. It’s hard, but she’s doing her best.”

  Dat nodded.

  Priscilla and Suzie joined them, freshly showered and in their pajamas, chattering happily about mundane, teenage affairs. They plopped down on the porch steps, comfortable being with their parents on the farm on a warm late summer’s evening.

  “Is Levi in bed?” Dat asked

  Mam nodded.

  “He’s just not himself. I can’t put my finger on it. He hardly says a word, walks around muttering to himself. I think he suffers because of the heat.”

  “Could be.”

  From the opened window, Levi’s voice bellowed out from the confines of his bed, “You’re discussing me. Don’t you know we’re not supposed to talk about other people?”

  “Ach Levi, we were just worried about you.”

  “Well, I’m coming out there. I have my pajamas on. Did you make something to eat?”

  “Just pretzels.”

  Levi shuffled out on the porch, his flat, white feet glowing in the semidarkness, his blue cotton pajamas hanging loosely on his great body.

  His hair was still damp, and he smelled of medicated body powder. He loved it, saying it made his skin feel cool and slippy when it was warm. He settled himself on the porch swing beside Dat, his hulking figure dwarfing Dat’s thin frame.

  Reaching over, Dat slapped Levi’s wide knee.

  “How’s it going, Buddy?”

  “Not so good.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, how do you expect me to get a good night’s sleep if I have to have kalte sup (cold soup) for supper?”

  “Ach Levi. We go through this every summer. We also had fried chicken. Did you forget?”

  “But nothing for dessert.”

  Mam patiently explained how it was better to abstain from overeating when it was so hot, saying he would stay more comfortable when he ate less.

  “We need air conditioning.”

  Dat’s frame shook silently, as he tried to hide his laughter from Levi.

  “Now, Levi, if we had air conditioning, you might not hear things—like strange cars coming in the driveway at night. It was a brave thing you did, watching, remembering. And now, you helped catch Michael Lanvin. That was also a courageous thing to do.”

  Levi shot his father a contemptuous glance.

  “That didn’t make a difference. I heard Melvin talking to Ez Beiler on Sunday. He said if no one charges Michael, he’ll go free. So there are going to be more fires. And don’t blame me, Davey Beiler. I did all I’m going to do.”

  “You did a lot. That was the beginning of the end, mark my words.”

  “Vee maynshnt (What do you mean), Davey?”

  “To me, it seems insignificant whether or not Michael is jailed. If he did start the fires and he’s living in anger, he’ll try it again. Eventually, he’ll be caught. They always are. But we really don’t have enough evidence now.”

  “I caught him, though.”

  “Oh yes, Levi. You did.”

  Satisfied, Levi squared his shoulders, leaned back. The chain on the porch swing creaked as he pushed one foot against the porch floor to set it in motion.

  Priscilla smacked Suzie’s shoulder playfully, and Suzie leaped off the porch steps. Priscilla chased her across the dark lawn, caught the tail of her pajama top, and yanked. They fell in a helpless heap of girlish laughter by the petunia bed.

  Sarah smiled, remembering to cherish this last summer at home as one of Davey Beiler’s girls. Soon she would be Mrs. Levi Glick. His name was Levi, a traditional name from the Bible, just like hers. A generation before them, there had been a Levi and a Sarah. Would they continue the tradition, or would there be a Justin or an Abigail or a Caitlyn, a “fancy” name?

  Sarah wanted a whole houseful of children to run up and down the stairs, swing on a rope swing in the haymow. They would play with calves and kittens and baby goats and run barefoot along field lanes lugging a red and white Rubbermaid thermos filled with the spearmint tea she had learned to make from her mother. They would take it to their dat, who was mowing hay in the alfalfa field, hot and thirsty, just like her dat.

  She wrapped her hands around her knees, rocked back, suddenly ecstatic now.

  She didn’t hear the first part of Levi
’s unhurried speech, but his words penetrated her thoughts eventually.

  “That Michael Lanvin needs a haircut. He’ll have to get one when he goes to jail, right?”

  Absentmindedly, Dat said he would likely get one.

  “Yeah, Michael told me that night. He told me he’s not the one starting the fires. He told me that. He said he knows who it is, but he was afraid of him.

  “He said the real arsonist is not him, but if he told me, and I told someone, he could get shot. What did he mean by that?

  “Then he said this. He said that years ago that man of Widow Lydia’s, what was his name? Her husband?

  “Michael said he didn’t pay this man for a lot of money. Did he mean Lydia’s husband didn’t pay? Or what?”

  Dat stopped the porch swing, his body tense as his breath whooshed out.

  “Levi.”

  “Hm?”

  “Are you positive you’re not making this up?”

  “Why would I? Michael would not want me to do that. He said he thinks Ashley Walter’s father is the arsonist.”

  Dat gasped, and Mam said sharply, “Levi!”

  “Well, what?”

  Sarah said very quietly, “Harold. Harold Walters.”

  The man at the leather goods store, the stand at the farmer’s market. He had been in a dispute about money. Apparently with Lydia’s husband, who had not been a stable person. He had struggled with old grudges and a mental instability and sometimes became quite violent.

  Sarah knew Harold Walters as a friendly man though brusque, a good business person. But then, there was the suspicious mistreatment of Ashley.

  Dat said, “We’ll wait and see what happens, alright?”

  “Why?”

  “We have no proof. Even if we summoned the police and Michael spilled everything, they could both deny all of it. There were never any fingerprints.”

  Levi shook his head and said Michael hadn’t spilled a thing. He drank the whole glass of water Levi had given him.

  CHAPTER 14

  WHEN LEE CAME TO PICK SARAH UP AND WHISK her away to Anna’s house, in Suzie’s words, she was ready, her cheeks flushed with anticipation, wearing a new green dress the color of a cornstalk. She remained barefoot, the heat stubbornly draped across Lancaster County, a stifling bubble of high humidity creating uncomfortably warm nights and sending daytime temperatures to a high of 95 degrees or more.