by Linda Byler
Levi sat at his card table, laying out the football cards, the sequence in his head followed to perfection. He looked up, considering his sister.
“Go away, Priscilla. You bother me.”
“Hush, Levi.”
“I mean it.”
Dat looked up from the German Schrift (scripture) he was reading. His glasses were perched on his nose, allowing him to peer over them, and he smiled. This would be interesting, he thought.
Priscilla didn’t answer. She just reached out to ruffle a few cards.
Instantly, Levi’s hand came up, his eyebrows came down, his shoulders straightened, and his voice burst out in one big bellow.
“Ich tzell dich schimacka! (I will smack you!)”
Calmly, Priscilla bent over to retrieve the stack of football cards, holding them at arm’s length, a smile teasing him.
“Give them.”
“Say, ‘Please.’”
“No.”
Priscilla walked away, holding the cards, still teasing.
Levi didn’t feel like getting out of his chair, so he yelled at the top of his lungs for help from Dat.
Dat looked up.
“What, Levi?”
“Priscilla has my cards!”
“She does? Well, I guess you’ll have to come get them.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
“I’m tired.”
Dat thought he heard the wail of sirens in the distance. On a night like this? Surely a fire would not survive this deluge.
When Levi continued his howling, Dat hushed him and curtly told Priscilla to give him his cards. Then he told everyone to listen. He thought he’d heard sirens.
The cards forgotten, Priscilla stood, a statue of fright, the color draining from her face, remembering the fire. She moved slowly, as if in a trance, and placed the cards on Levi’s table, never hearing his resounding “Denke (Thank you).”
In her mind, the barn would soon be burning.
Dat saw Priscilla’s fear, slowly laid his German Bible aside, and went to her. Gripping her arms, he looked into her terror-stricken eyes and gave her a small shake.
“Priscilla!” His voice was kind but firm.
As if roused from a faint, she blinked, looked at Dat, then fell against him. As she sobbed out her pain and anguish, his arms came around her, his head laid on her hair. He sent a prayer to the Father to protect his vulnerable daughter.
Mam came, lifted a hand, and caressed her back, saying the siren was likely only the medic for someone who needed assistance because of the high water.
After she cried, Priscilla could always pull herself together and talk about her fear. Tonight her words came fast and low. She said she missed Dutch so much, she hardly knew what to do. Would she be allowed to get a job somewhere—to save up money for a new horse? She knew it was too much to ask.
“See, Dutch was important to me in a way that even people aren’t. With a pet, like dogs and cats and ducks and chickens, it’s different. They need you. People don’t really, because they have other people.”
Dat listened and nodded, deeply moved.
Then the high insistent wailing grew closer and much more resounding.
Sarah was reading the cousin circle letter, one that circulated among her cousins and kept them all in touch with the news in each other’s lives. She heard the sounds around her in an absentminded way as she sat away from the others. But when the siren’s wails became louder, she laid the circle letter aside, rose to her feet, and asked hurriedly if there was another fire.
“It’s only the twelve o’clock pife (whistle)!” Levi shouted.
Dat said, no, it was after suppertime.
The light was gray, the day heading into evening. The chores were done and the dishes washed. It was the time of day when every member of the family wound down and relaxed.
Mervin and Suzie were playing shuffleboard in the basement, obviously having heard nothing as the game continued with the sound of the thumps from below.
Everyone was ill at ease. Dat put his Bible away, and Mam gripped the countertop as she watched the dreary evening through the kitchen window, wondering, hoping.
Sarah merely paced, slowly moving from window to window, stopping to pick up a magazine, dusting a bookshelf with the hem of her bib apron, filling Levi’s water pitcher for the night—anything to keep from holding still. The wailing, that rising and falling sound, always meant something was wrong—a person was hurt or a building was burning. Or now, with the rain and the creeks overflowing their banks, was someone injured, lost, or worst of all, drowned in the brown roiling, rushing water? At times like this, Sarah wished for a telephone in the house.
Mam was listening by Priscilla’s side again, and Dat joined her, concern mapping out the love he so plainly felt for his troubled daughter.
The sirens came to an abrupt stop. Should they sigh with relief or hold their breaths for the bad news that might follow?
“We didn’t used to be like this,” Sarah said suddenly.
“What do you mean?” Mam asked.
“Well, look at us! Priscilla crying, Dat too nervous to study, me unable to hold still. We’re just a family of nervous wrecks.”
Dat nodded soberly. “With good reason, Sarah. We’ve just come through a terrifying night, followed by unanswered questions in the weeks that have followed. Now when a vehicle pulls up to the barn, I’m instantly on edge, wondering if the driver will bring harm. I’m suspicious, always alert to unexpected danger. Before the barn burned, it never crossed my mind to be afraid. We have lost an innocence.”
Mam nodded, her agreement evident in her eyes.
“Are you alright, Priscilla?” she asked, her arm sliding across her younger daughter’s shoulders.
“Not as okay as I will be a year from now,” she answered, wisely recognizing her own ability to rise above the frightening circumstances that had assailed her life.
Sarah hoped she was right.
Chapter 7
IN THE MORNING, low clouds hung like dreary curtains, hiding any chance of happy sunshine. The Beiler family woke and went about the morning chores, slogging through the slippery mud and rivulets of water, carrying feed and water to the calves, feeding the rowdy heifers that bounced around stiff-legged, splattering mud and water as they vied for dominance.
In the new cow stable, the cows had created a wet path from the wide, rolling door to their separate stalls, their hides slick from the night’s rain, their legs caked with the slop from the barnyard.
It was Sarah’s turn to milk, so she moved among the cows changing the heavy milkers, listening to the rhythmic chukka-chukka sound from the compressed air pulling the milk from the cows’ udders.
Everything was so new, yet so much the same. The windows tilted open to allow the misty air to circulate. The firm contours of the new cement permitted the brand new feed cart to be pushed around with ease.
Not everything was finished. Some doorways still didn’t have their wooden doors. Some of those that had doors needed a doorknob here or a few hinges there. But all in all, it was overwhelming that, even with the amount of labor involved, so much had been accomplished in such a short time.
Dat lifted an especially heavy milker from one of his best milk cows, his eyes wide with surprise, his muscles bulging against his shirt sleeves. He looked at Sarah and said, “Well, goodness! Looks as if the cows are feeling right at home again. She’s really producing.”
And then, because David Beiler was a man filled with gratitude in all things, his eyes watered and ran over behind his glasses. His mouth wobbled just enough for Sarah to see he was filled with emotion. And she was glad.
In all things, Dat would say, good can come of tragedy, to those that love God. Loving God was elusive, since you couldn’t see Him. You could love God best by loving other people, and this was the one virtue Dat stressed, his family being recipients of his own love and forbearance to his fellow man.
If you
point a finger in accusation, three more on your own hand point straight back at you, he’d say.
No question, God sent disappointments and setbacks to each person, and of all the undeserving people in the world, Dat was the one. But Sarah also knew that His ways are not our ways; His thoughts are not our thoughts.
As he poured the good, rich milk into the gleaming new Sputnik, a stainless steel vat on wheels, he blinked back tears at this undeserved blessing. David Beiler knew his view of God and the church had been illuminated by a higher and better light.
Surely, God had dug, mulched, and applied fertilizer so his fruits would multiply. This barn fire had been painful, indeed. But hadn’t He designed the agony that separates the dross from the gold?
The family sat at the breakfast table. The propane gas lamp, hissing softly, cast a cozy light into every corner of the kitchen in spite of the low-hanging clouds outside. The rain had stopped for now, but as the water drained from hills and slopes, the creeks and rivers continued to rise, filling them with a brown, butterscotch color, swirling and churning, murky and threatening.
Mam brought a platter of fried eggs and set it between her plate and her husband’s. She sighed and looked to Dat. He nodded, and they all bowed their heads for the silent prayer, Levi’s loud whispers rising and falling as he thanked God for what he was about to receive.
They lifted their heads after Dat. Some reached for their glasses of orange juice, and a few began buttering toast as they passed the egg plate from one to the other. They spooned stewed saltine crackers, slathered with generous portions of homemade ketchup, onto their plates alongside small sections of rich sausage. It was a bountiful breakfast for a hungry family that had already done a few hours of work.
Mam’s eyes twinkled as she set a cake pan in the middle of the table, waiting for the praise that would surely come.
“Overnight French toast!” Levi yelled, his eyes alight with anticipation.
“Yum!” Mervin shouted simultaneously.
Levi turned to his youngest brother, lifted a heavy hand, and cocked his head to one side like an overgrown bird. Mervin caught his eye, grinned, and slammed Levi’s hand with one of his own in a cracking high five. Levi laughed out loud. His day was starting out right.
Dat said it was getting late to plant corn, but he guessed it would clear up and dry out. It always did.
Mam poured his coffee and asked what his plans were. Dat smiled and said he’d been thinking during the night that a very important thing had not yet been accomplished since the fire. When Dat said something in that tone of voice, everyone listened, knowing it would be good.
Looking at Priscilla, he announced, “I think it’s time we replace Dutch, if you’re willing to accompany me.”
The only way she knew to express herself was to clap her hands and let her eyes shine into the light of Dat’s.
“Can I go?” Suzie asked, hopefully, already knowing the answer.
“Sorry, Suzie. You have school.”
Mervin cried and kicked his chair. Levi told him he could go along, but in the end he had to go to school. However, he went with the promise of a waterer for his rabbit pen, which was sold with other pet supplies at the New Holland Sales Stables.
“A good day to go!” Sarah said, enthusiastic as ever. She loved a good horse sale, and today’s would be doubly exciting, helping Priscilla try to bond with another horse.
Mam opted to stay home, saying an empty house and her sewing machine were a wonderful way to relax and catch up on her much needed sewing.
Levi didn’t ask if he could go. He just took for granted that he would. He hurried to his room to choose a brightly colored shirt, so he wouldn’t get lost. His muttering was punctuated by loud bursts of happy laughter, followed by serious admonishments to himself.
“Now Levi, you are not allowed to have ice cream first. You have to eat a cheeseburger. Or maybe a hoagie. See what Dat says.”
When Dat brought the carriage and the new horse, named Fred, to the sidewalk, Sarah was ready and helping Levi into his “gumshoes.” Priscilla dashed out and clambered into the back seat, a flash of blue and black and a whirl of eagerness after the fear and heartache of losing her beloved pet.
Levi needed help to get into the buggy, so they tilted the front seat forward the whole way, allowing easy access to the back one.
Dat helped Levi, steadying him, encouraging, as Sarah held the bridle. The new horse had a good look about him. His eyes were calm and sensible, with no white showing in them. A steady flicking of his ears was the only sign of his mindfulness.
The buggy tilted to the side as Levi lifted his bulk up one step, with Dat supporting his waist. He lifted the other leg up and into the buggy, gripping the silver handle on the side.
He plunked down heavily beside Priscilla and said loudly, “Cheez Whiz!”
“You’re too fat, Levi!” Priscilla said, laughing at his expression.
“I am not. I’m a big man.”
“Yes, you are, Levi. You’re a big man,” Dat said, grinning.
“I can smack hard too, Priscilla,” Levi said soberly.
“You better not.”
“Then you have to be nice to me.”
“Come on, Fred,” Dat said as he clucked and pulled gently on the reins. The new horse moved off as if he’d done this thousands of times, trotting nicely past the maple trees dripping wet with morning moisture. He turned left on the macadam road, perfectly obedient, the picture of a good sensible horse.
“Boy, must be that Samuel Zook knows his driving horses. I think we got ourselves a winner.”
Dat closed the front window carefully over the nylon reins, protecting them from the cold, swirling mists. He had no more than clicked it into place when a feed truck came around a bend in the road with its slick blue tarp flapping on top and its engine revving after maneuvering the turn.
Down went Fred’s haunches, and up came his head. With a swift, fluid motion borne of raw fear, the horse reared, shied to the right, came down running, and galloped off across a neighbor’s soggy alfalfa field. The buggy swayed and teetered as Dat fought for control. Levi yelled and yelled and wouldn’t stop, increasing the horse’s fear.
They came to a stop in the middle of the squishy alfalfa field with Fred snorting and quivering. Everyone was thoroughly shaken up. Levi’s yells changed to incoherent babbles of fear.
“Well, here we are,” Dat said calmly. They all burst out laughing except Levi, who said it wasn’t one bit funny and Dat should not be so schputlich (mocking).
So there they sat, the steel wheels of the buggy firmly entrenched in the sodden earth. Fred decided this was the end of his journey and refused to move.
Patiently, Dat shook out the reins, clucked, chirped, and spoke in well-modulated tones. It did absolutely no good. The horse stood as firm as a statue carved in stone, the only sign of life the flicking of his ears and an occasional lifting or lowering of his head.
Dat opened the door of the buggy and leaned out to evaluate the situation. The wheels were partially sunken into the muck and sprouting alfalfa.
“He’s probably balking because it’s hard to pull if he lunges against the collar. It could be too tight.”
Sarah glanced down at Dat’s shoes.
“No boots?”
“So we just sit here?” asked Priscilla.
“Probably.”
Levi said they wanted to go to the horse sale, not sit here, and Dat better start smacking this crazy horse.
Dat said, “No, Levi, sometimes that only makes it worse. He’ll go when he’s ready. Horses that balk are often confused.”
Priscilla made no comment but then said, “Let me out, Dat.”
“It’s too muddy, Priscilla.”
“I can clean my shoes when we get there.”
“Alright.”
Dat got out and stood tentatively in the soft field. Sarah sat forward, allowing the back of her seat to lower, so Priscilla could scramble over it.
> Going to Fred’s head, Priscilla rubbed his nose and spoke to him like a petulant child. She told Dat to get in, then tugged lightly on the bit. Her answer was an angry toss of Fred’s head. She kept up the repetitive stroking, adjusted the collar, and loosened a buckle on one side of the bridle, her fingers searching expertly for any discomfort from the harness or the bridle.
“Alright, Fred. Come on now. We have to buy a horse to live with you.”
Priscilla coaxed, tugging gently, and Fred decided it was time to go. He veered to the left, almost knocking her off her feet, before gathering his hind legs into a lunge and taking off in great leaps, mud flying from his hooves as well as the buggy wheels.
Inside the buggy, Dat lifted a forearm to protect himself from the chunks of mud that found their way through the window as he struggled to control the horse. Then he slid back the door of the buggy to see what had happened to Priscilla. He was rewarded by the sight of her dashing across the soggy alfalfa field.
Sarah breathed a sigh of relief when the buggy clunked over a small embankment and down onto the welcome macadam where Dat pulled Fred off to the side, waiting for Priscilla. She lost no time running to the parked buggy, her breath coming in gasps.
Pricilla’s hair curled every which way from the moisture in the air. Her covering sagged and slid off the back of her head. She didn’t look at her shoes; she just slid them off, put them under the front seat, and plopped down beside Levi.
“You’re wet!” he yelped
Priscilla grinned, gasped for breath, and rubbed a wet hand against Levi’s cheek. She was rewarded with a resounding smack, his favorite way of dealing with life’s outrages.
His famous smacks were never hard, never hurtful. His nature was much too affable to be taken seriously, so they were accepted without reprimand and just considered a part of their good-humored Levi.
Fred stepped out and trotted willingly the remainder of the way to New Holland, stopping at the one red light obediently, stepping out when asked.
When they arrived, Sarah helped Priscilla clean up in the large well-lit bathroom, supplying a fine toothed comb for her hair, pressing and shaping her organdy covering as best she could.
