The Witnesses

by Linda Byler

  He was always so terribly ill at ease, as jumpy and frightened as a newborn colt. Malinda prayed God would fer-sark (care) for his soul, show him the way, the truth, and the light. She wondered if he read the Bible they gave him. She hoped so.

  As for that other one, that older man—she forgot his name—he ought to know better, so he should. At his age, to be hanging onto that silly grudge against Aaron Esh, who was no longer even alive, was simply beyond her grasp.

  It did serve him right to be sitting in jail, at least for a while. She guessed she should pray for his soul, but she wasn’t sure she could just yet, at least not in the right way. Davey was much faster to forgive than she was. Sometimes, it felt pretty good to know that the arsonist was confined to jail. She’d heard the food was nothing to brag about in there.

  Ah, yes, they’d all come through it, God be praised.

  Well, the wedding was about seven weeks away, but she had enough time to manage things. If Levi stayed healthy, and nothing unforeseen came up, they should have everything in top shape by the end of November.

  She lifted her hands, sniffed them, and thought of the skunk spraying her, or very nearly. My goodness, she thought. She could still smell that awful scent and almost feel that choking sensation that had accompanied it. And there went hours of labor, worry, and effort, the celery ruined by that odorous little creature.

  Ach, so gates (it goes), she thought.

  Upstairs, Sarah had showered, her shampooed hair rolled into a towel. She lowered her right shoulder in front of the full-length mirror, the late evening sun slanting across it.

  She bit her lip, and quick tears formed in her eyes, trembled there, and dropped on her cheek for only a second, before sliding off.

  It just wasn’t good. The skin looked too tightly stretched across her neck and shoulders. It was colored pink or white, depending where the lines zigzagged into each other. It was hideous. There was no getting away from it.

  The side of her face was still discolored and uneven, but not like this. This ugliness was shocking.

  The truth of her disfigurement hit her, caught her off guard. She couldn’t marry Lee this way. She was too revolting. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her breathing became shallow as her eyes widened with fear.

  She had to talk to Lee. She had to make him understand that he didn’t want her. He would not be happy to live with an imperfect woman, one that was disfigured with a hideous scar all along her side.

  Oh, he said he loved her, but he didn’t know how bad it was. Perhaps she should show him, to make sure he knew. It would be like purchasing a team of horses. They checked their teeth, their hooves.

  Surely somewhere, there had to be a miraculous cure for scars such as these. She had used so many different homemade salves and lotions, burdock leaves, vitamin E capsules, oils, and all sorts of tinctures. Still, the scars remained, imprinted on her body, the mark of the arsonist.

  Why me, she thought? Why do I have to carry the map of all the Lancaster County barn fires? Truly, it was like a map with all the rural roads and the ashes of barns that had stood for centuries. Like them, her skin was ruined, destroyed.

  Suddenly, she couldn’t understand how Dat could be such an advocate for forgiveness. When she saw her body at times like this, she was glad Harold Walters was in jail. Sometimes people had to reap what they sowed. That was all there was to it.

  Anger churned through her, and self-pity descended, pushing her into the quick sand of despair.

  When Priscilla came home from market, there was a light in Sarah’s room, but by the time she got upstairs, Sarah’s room had been darkened. It was a clear sign that her sister did not want to talk, so she went to her own room and figured she could wait to hear the local gossip till tomorrow evening.

  On Saturday evening, they all loaded into a fifteen-passenger van and traveled to Dauphin County to spend the weekend with the married brothers and their families.

  Abner had complained to Dat that he barely knew Lee. How was he expected to take charge of the wedding if he never met this guy?

  Sarah laughed when Dat told him, and they made immediate plans to go with Sam’s Danny’s freundshaft (family). They packed their bags, and asked Omar Esh to do chores.

  Lee was happy, joking with the men, courteous to Sarah, but only for the first hour of the drive. Sensing Sarah’s detached manner, the tense position of her eyebrows, his stomach turned over with the same sickening flip-flop of former days, when Matthew had come around.

  No, it couldn’t be that. Not now. Not less than two months before their wedding. In spite of trying to reassure himself, he became increasingly skeptical until the evening stretched before him like an unattainable height, a slippery slope of doubt and fear.

  They both laid their troubles aside when they arrived at Abner’s home, a palatial one that spoke of well-managed finances. The yard was cut to perfection, the garden and flower beds immaculate.

  Abner and his wife, Maryann, greeted them warmly, their curiosity shining through their polite smiles of welcome. Their two small children were already in their pajamas, peeping shyly from the folds of their mother’s dress.

  The evening flew by with board games and delicious food. It was late when they were shown to their rooms, and quiet settled over the house.

  Almost as soon as Maryann went back downstairs, there was a soft sound on Sarah’s door, a tapping.

  “Yes?”

  “Come. We’ll go for a walk,” Lee whispered.

  She hadn’t undressed, so she said, yes, she’d go. She followed him down the stairway and out the door, closing it softly behind them.

  They walked down the drive and turned left onto the road. Lee’s hand sought hers, and when he found it, he held it lightly in his own.

  The night air was cool but not uncomfortably so. There was a woods, fields. Beyond them was the dark indigo color of the mountain. Overhead shone stars and a crescent moon, the same ones shining above Lancaster County.

  Here, though, the houses were far apart, the farms dotting the countryside across much wider spaces. It was a younger settlement and smaller, but the ways and lifestyles were much the same.

  Lee stopped. “Can we find someplace to talk?”

  His voice was strained, the words short and almost clipped, lacking his usual warmth. Lee was terribly afraid, desperately sick at heart, but there was no use trying to avoid Sarah’s pitiful attempt at covering up her feelings, so he plunged ahead.

  “Here. We may as well sit on this little hill. There’s a lot of soft grass.”

  He led her to a comfortable spot, then sank down beside her. She could feel the moisture forming on the grass, the dew that would be sparkling by morning. Her skirt felt damp already.

  Headlights approached, the tires of the car making a dull whooshing sound as it passed by, the lights stabbing into the darkness as it continued on its way.

  “What’s wrong, Sarah?”

  “Why? Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Don’t lie.”

  “Lee! What do you mean? I seriously do not understand.”

  “You’re not being your usual carefree self.”

  “Of course I am.”

  She couldn’t speak to him now. Courage failed her.

  “It’s Matthew, right?”

  “What?”

  “Matthew. I know it’s him. Our relationship has always ended like this before. You’re just in too deep this time. It’s okay, Sarah, if you can’t go ahead with the wedding. I mean, it’s not okay, but I won’t make it hard for you. If you want to be set free, just say it. Don’t marry me if your heart belongs to Matthew.”

  His voice was choked now, a near sob in his throat. In the darkness of the night, Sarah could plainly see the outline of his head, dropped low on his chest, a picture of abject misery.

  She took her time, pondered her words.

  “It’s not Matthew.”

  His sharp intake of breath almost scared her.

  “What e
lse? What single thing on earth can make you feel so far away from me? Sarah, I do not want you to become my wife if you cannot love me. I’ve been selfish, inconsiderate, demanding. But I think I honestly love you so much that I want only your happiness. If I have to give you up for you to find true happiness, I will. It won’t be easy, but I’ll do it. For you.”

  Sarah had never been bold, certainly not with Lee, but now there was only one thing to do. Words were inadequate. Slowly, her hands gripped his arms, went around his shoulders. She lifted her face to his, found his lips, and conveyed her deepest feelings with the touch of her mouth to his.

  The night became magical. The stars seemed to applaud and cast bright little sparkles all over them. The moon fairly skipped and whirled, before settling back into place with a happy sigh.

  The Creator made this wonder, the love of a man for a woman. He created the ties that bind them until death parts the union ordained from the beginning.

  She whispered, then, her deepest fears to him, and Lee listened in total disbelief.

  Shocked, he shook his head, over and over.

  “Sarah, you don’t understand,” he choked. “When I say I love you, that means you, exactly the way you are.”

  She broke in, quickly, desperately.

  “No. But you don’t know how bad it is. I panic, Lee. I look at my shoulder, and it’s so hideous. You can’t know how bad it really is. It will disgust you.”

  “But Sarah. That has nothing to do with love. If a man truly loves a woman, he accepts her just the way she is. Her size, her looks, what she wears, scars, whatever—it’s all insignificant.”

  “Lee, I simply can’t believe that.”

  A moment passed, as Lee pondered her response.

  “I guess I’ll just have to tell you that after we’re married. Maybe then you’ll be convinced. Look at my sister Anna. She’s not every man’s ideal of the perfect woman, but to Ben, she was. He deeply loved every pound of her.”

  Sarah took a deep breath, inhaling all the happiness she could hold, greedily grasping it.

  “You see, Sarah, I can’t look at your scars now. But I imagine what they look like. And I’ve told you before. For me, they represent God’s will for our lives. And if you really do love me, and. . . .”

  He broke off as a deep rumbling laugh emerged, and he said, “I really think you do, Sarah, and I almost can’t contain my happiness.”

  “I do. Matthew is just simply no longer there for me. I can talk to him, and everything’s changed. He has begged me twice now to marry him. Can you imagine?”

  Lee shook his head. She heard a deep breath as he jumped up from the hill. Suddenly, she was lifted to her feet in a crushing embrace. Then he held her tenderly, for so long, time was forgotten, until another pair of headlights appeared behind them. They sank back on the grass, giggling like schoolchildren as the car rumbled past, its headlights slicing through the night.

  Sarah slept a deep and restful sleep, blinking awake to find brilliant sunlight shining through the sheer burgundy panels. The curtains made the whole room cozy. It was like wearing rose-colored glasses. Well, her world was not just viewed through those glasses. It was rose-colored without them.

  She stretched, smiled to herself, and flung her arm across the pillow beside her, imagining being married to Lee, waking with her husband beside her, in his rightful place.

  What had he said? Was that really how it was?

  She thought of Anna’s wide back, the ample legs, the rounded arms, her full stomach. Yes, she probably weighed more than 200 pounds, but to be with her, her weight was not what counted. Her pretty face, her neat hair, and her white, always ironed covering along with the energy, the quick smiles, and ready sense of humor—that’s what made up the whole aura that was Anna. And her off-the-wall humor as well.

  Sarah grinned and looked around at her brother Abner’s wife’s guest room with the neat bed and dresser, handmade, no doubt, but burgundy curtains? Pink artificial roses in cut glass vases?

  A plastic cat stared at her from a pink doily, and two red roses protruded from a pink ceramic urn. My goodness.

  She sat up and pulled the quilt up to examine it. She saw it was a Lone Star pattern done in brilliant red, white, and pink.

  On the floor, lying on a decidedly magenta rug, were two pink crocheted accent pillows that had tumbled off the bed. Definitely rose-colored—her whole world, literally.

  Maryann cooked them a huge breakfast with many different dishes to taste. And each one was delicious.

  Abner made waffles, perfect ones, which Lee raved about. He wrote down the name of the heavy cast iron waffle maker, followed by instructions, step by step. He folded the paper and gave it to Sarah, saying that was one of the things that was a requirement for their marriage.

  They sat around the breakfast table with second and third cups of coffee, talking comfortably, like old friends. In fact, it was as if they’d always known each other. Abner even tried to persuade Lee to buy a farm in Dauphin County.

  “Look at what your place is worth!” he finished.

  That was the moment when Sarah saw Lee’s genuine humble attitude.

  “Nah. Not more than this beautiful home.”

  He continued, saying Abner must have a special talent, the way this house was built. He diverted all attention away from himself, focusing on Abner instead. Sarah knew full well the farm Lee had purchased was worth three or four times the amount of this home, but Abner was very happy to accept Lee’s praise.

  Again, she reminded herself that she was not worthy of Lee.

  Back home, Anna burst into tears the minute they walked into the house. She laid her head on the table and cried so heartbrokenly, they both rushed to comfort her. Sarah rubbed her back, Lee patted her shoulder. Then they made her a cup of tea and talked far into the night.

  Her buddies, the married couples that she and Ben had run around with, had all visited. She knew they meant well, but the awful ache of missing Ben had only intensified as the day wore on.

  She mopped up her tears and blew her nose, honking loud and long, then started shaking her head.

  Omar had brought Priscilla to do the chores. Anna had watched them with so much longing. She could see the intensity of their attraction, the easy way they could talk about any subject. They were simply so cute.

  “Don’t ever go to Dauphin County again,” she concluded. “I can’t handle it. You have to realize you have a dependent, fat, widowed sister who is going to be the biggest pain in your lives.”

  Sarah could only hug her soft, lonely body.

  CHAPTER 20

  AND THEN, WHEN EVERYONE HAD FINALLY relaxed, glad to be free from the fear of another barn burning, the fire sirens wailed from every direction. The undulating, deafening whistles rose and dropped off, only to have another, sharper one pierce the air.

  Windows were closed that night, warding off the fall’s chill. The call came towards dawn, when the bright October moon hung low in the sky. The same sickening, quaking feeling rudely roused slumbering households. Men stumbled around in the dark, shouting questions that made no sense.

  Voss in die velt (What in the world)? Had they let him out of jail?

  Half of them didn’t even know his name.

  Old Danny Dienner said to his wife, “Grund da lieva (grounds of love), Mam!”

  She said it was grounds for love. Somebody was going to have to come up with some forgiveness again, if that man was out of jail and back to his umleidlich ways.

  “Unleidlich (mischievous),” Danny corrected her, but she was bent over, searching under the couch for her slippers. She was holding a flashlight that was barely usable, the batteries were so low, and she didn’t hear what he said.

  Sure enough, another barn was on fire.

  Now what?

  In stunned disbelief, families huddled on couches in the early morning hours, little ones wrapped in blankets, their eyes huge and dark in their faces. School-aged children cried like babies, imagining
the devil himself breaking out of jail and lighting every barn in Lancaster County.

  No one was safe. Locks on door were laughable. Someone was out there and would certainly come to get them. They quoted little German prayers, climbed up on their fathers’ laps. Surely Dat would not let “the man” get them.

  But where was the fire?

  Men dressed hastily, held goose pimply vigils in phone shanties and unheated shops. The disobedient who owned cell phones talked plenty. Word spread rapidly, crackling through the air. The fire was close to the Vintage Sale Stables, at Aaron Zook’s.

  Ach, poor man. Poor family. But relief also flowed like a healing wind, a veritable chinook of comfort.

  Aaron had been out at 3:30, helping a cow with a difficult birth. He saw he really needed a veterinarian’s assistance, so he left his naptha gas lantern on the hay-strewn walkway and ran to the phone shanty. He had forgotten the LED flashlight, so he got it from the kesslehaus, and called Dr. Simms. He smelled the smoke the minute he opened the door and remembered the lantern.

  Evidently, one of the barn cats had been chasing a mouse or another cat—who could tell? The lantern was knocked over, the mantles broke, and the little jets of blue flame continued to spurt out, igniting the hay. The gas leaked out, the flames roaring to life in seconds.

  Aaron had tried bravely to beat out the flames with plastic feed sacks, but he saw he was only worsening a dire situation. He ran for the hose from the milk house, saw it was futile, and started loosening cows before he remembered to dial 911.

  Poor Aaron, everyone said. He always had a struggle, scrambling to meet each monthly mortgage payment on his small farm. His crops were always a bit inferior, his thin mules working the fields until they all but collapsed. The animal rights people had turned him in once. He had borrowed money to pay his fine and then humbly paid it all back in weekly twenty-dollar installments. But he continued to feed the same poor quality hay and meager amounts of grain to his mules.