Fire in the Night

by Linda Byler

  In her wisdom, she kept her peace. She knew every Monday morning Sarah had subjected herself again to a useless struggle, like a trapped sparrow beating her wings against a window, when all she had to do was turn away and escape through the wide-open door.

  A small smile played on her lips as she scooped some flour from the container, scattered it on the countertop, pinched off the proper amount of dough, and patted a small addition on top. Taking up her rolling pin, she plied it lightly over the dough in an expert circular motion. Hannah shrewdly observed over her shoulder.

  “You know your dough wouldn’t crack like that if you used lard?”

  “Now, Hannah!”

  Hannah poked an elbow in Mam’s side and laughed.

  “You know, Malinda, Mommy Stoltzfus always said the beginning of the end of all good pies and doughnuts was the exclusion of lard.”

  “Our generation will live longer, thanks to good, clean arteries.”

  Hannah sniffed indignantly.

  “Who wants to live ’til they’re a hundred? Folks caring for you, helping you in and out of a carriage, being a burden to your children. See, that’s another thing. I cannot imagine that piffich (meticulous) Rose taking care of me when I’m old. Matthew always says he would be the one to care for me, and he would, bless his heart. He’s such a sweet boy.”

  Mam discreetly waved a bright warning flag of caution, but Sarah’s eyes turned to pools of yearning, imagining Matthew caring for his aged mother. Mam knew the tightrope that extended between sons and their wives. It was a balancing act to be negotiated with great prudence. And wasn’t that Matthew a spoiled one? Ah, but the consuming jealousy one would battle. How well she remembered those days.

  Many Amish lived double—one might call it. An addition to the house accommodated the son and heir, who would farm the home place. The new bride he brought home would start out optimistic, so in love, convinced her Daniel or John or Sam would love her unconditionally. But she only became bewildered, then hurt, then angry, when she found her young husband visiting with his mother, when his rightful place was with his wife.

  Hadn’t Mam and Dat navigated those treacherous waters themselves and counseled many troubled newlyweds since they were called to the ministry?

  Oh, Sarah.

  Mam rolled her pie dough expertly, her old wooden rolling pin clacking at both ends. She draped the round, flattened orb across the pie plate with the ends hanging unevenly and took up a dinner knife and sliced them off so fast Sarah could hardly see her turning it.

  Sarah finished peeling apples, set aside the peelings, and began cutting the apples in small slices, filling the pastry. Mam stirred the pie filling of brown sugar, butter, milk, vanilla, and water as it bubbled to a caramel-like consistency. Then she poured just the right amount over the freshly sliced apples.

  “That does look good,” Hannah observed. She watched Mam roll out the lid, the pie’s top crust, which had small indentations cut into it to allow the steam to escape. She flipped it neatly on top of the filling, and Sarah’s fingers worked the dough into an even crimp.

  “Boy, Sarah, you sure can petz (pinch) pies, for someone as young as you are.”

  “Thanks,” Sarah murmured.

  “Did you know my sister Emma needs a worker?”

  Sarah’s head came up. “Where?”

  “Her bakery in New Jersey. That farmer’s market there. You should apply. You’d make an excellent worker.”

  “Oh, Mam! Why can’t I? You could manage. Levi is doing really well. Priscilla is home.”

  Her eyes pleaded with her mother. Hannah looked from Mam to Sarah. Mam pursed her lips.

  “Oh, Sarah, I depend on you so much. It’s not just the work. It’s the companionship, the support. You’ve always been here.”

  “Now, Malinda, that’s not fair. Maybe it’s Priscilla’s turn to support her mother. I think Sarah needs to get out and see the world a bit.”

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  At the supper table, Dat ate two hefty slices of warm apple pie with vanilla ice cream, telling Mam between mouthfuls that it was the best pie she’d ever baked. Mam smiled back, and her cheeks flushed slightly. Levi whooped and hollered and raised his fork and said she shouldn’t have sent a pie to Elam’s.

  “Hannah doesn’t need our apple pie. She’s big enough!”

  Dat pushed back his chair, his eyes twinkling merrily at Levi.

  A resounding crack came from the front yard. Suzie dashed to the window and gasped when she saw the heavy limb lying across the driveway.

  “It must be terribly windy out there.”

  Dat’s face became sober.

  “I certainly hope there is no fire tonight. A barn would be gutted almost immediately, with the power of this wind. It seems that once you’ve gone through it yourself, you’re just never quite the same. I shiver to think of a fire tonight. I have half a notion to sleep in the barn, just to be safe.”

  “You’ll do no such thing!” Mam’s voice was terrible, and they all turned to stare at her, shocked.

  “Davey, you know what a sound sleeper you are. You’d never wake up. You know better!”

  Dat nodded. “Perhaps you’re right.”

  Silence remained after that, its presence calming, comfortable, as each member of the family remembered the night of the fire, the storm, the horror, the grieving, as if it had all happened yesterday. Only a short summer season had passed since then, but they had all learned so much. Like gleaning sheaves of wheat, the knowledge of others’ suffering and loss felt ten times keener now.

  Dat’s hardest trial had been the laymen’s bickering, each one convinced his opinion was the one with which Dat should agree. The disturbance over the newspaper story had subsided to wary muttering about Davey Beiler protecting that girl. It was, after all, only a horse.

  Sammy Stoltzfus called his brother in Wisconsin and left a message telling him that if Levi Esh dealt with him in this manner one more time, he may as well start looking for a farm out there. After all, the closer the end times came, the worse people would become, and if Davey Beiler knew what was good for him, he’d take that daughter firmly in hand.

  After the second barn fire, a decided change had blown in. An unwelcome fog of suspicion shrouded the congregation. Dat desperately tried to turn a blind eye to it, but it was there nonetheless. On one hand, the fires had united them in love and brotherly concern. On the other hand, unsound theories pervaded the community that had formerly been innocent and childlike in its trust.

  Mannie Beiler put padlocks on all his barn doors, and Roman Zook bought a Rottweiler, a huge slobbering beast with a massive head and wide paws. It barked and growled and muttered to himself all day. Eli Miller slapped his knee and laughed uproariously, thinking of an arsonist caught by the seat of his pants by that dog.

  And David Beiler was saddened by all of it. There was no use being touted and admired by the world if the truth was decaying, a spoiling mold growing unobtrusively within two members of the church and spreading among the others as the weeks went by. Where was true forgiveness?

  Each and every time he stood up to minister to his people, David exhorted the truth. “In our hearts we are a peaceful people, so let us be very careful, not boasting of revenge, not assuming something we are not truly sure has occurred.”

  He also knew human beings were often doing the best of their ability, and he overlooked many things, measuring each person through eyes of love.

  The story of John Stoltzfus’s Ivan was repeated time after time and never failed to bring a smile to Dat’s face. Ivan was only eight years old, but he was determined to protect the family farm and his small flock of sheep. He unfolded his sleeping bag in the haymow, a powerful Makita flashlight beside him, a Thermos bottle of water, and the latest Bobbsey Twins book.

  Why his parents allowed the courageous little third-grader to sleep there in the first place was beyond Dat’s comprehension, but that was beside the point. The poor little chap had been
awakened by the cruel wail of fire sirens. He panicked and ran through the sheep pen in his underwear, terrifying the creatures to the point that one of them got hung up on the barbed wire, and they had to call the veterinarian.

  Other stories and questions—and the attitudes behind them—were not so humorous. There were those who believed the Amish way of forgiving did not apply when one’s livelihood was in danger.

  “Yes,” David said, “Yes. You’re right. But what will you do? Does unforgiveness and threat bring back the barns, cows, and horses? The balers and wagons and bulk tanks?”

  Each evening he prayed for wisdom to weave a thread of unity and peace in a world that was slowly unraveling through suspicion and fear.

  That evening, Sarah said evenly, “Dat, Hannah’s sister, Emma, has a bakery at a farmer’s market in New Jersey. She needs help. May I go if they ask me?”

  “I guess that would be up to Mam.”

  Priscilla looked up, her eyes alight. If Sarah was allowed to go, perhaps she would be too eventually.

  Mam shook her head ruefully, then admitted to her own selfishness, wanting Sarah with her. “But, of course, she may go. Let’s wait and see first if Emma actually needs someone. You know Hannah.”

  It was said fondly as her friend’s fussing and stewing about life was a great source of humor in her life. Dat nodded, understanding softening his eyes.

  “Oh!” Priscilla gasped.

  “What?”

  “I forgot. Ben sei Anna left a message last night. She needs you to help with applesauce on Wednesday, which is tomorrow. Sorry, Sarah.”

  “It’s okay. I guess I can go. Right, Mam?”

  Mam nodded, already gathering the dirty dishes and drawing the hot water to wash them.

  “Wouldn’t know why not.”

  Through all of this, Levi sat somberly, making no effort to include his own opinion, which was highly unusual. He remained hunched over his card table, shuffling his Rook cards, his large head swinging from side to side as he talked to himself. Finally tears began to roll down his cheeks, and he dug in his pocket for a red handkerchief, which he used to blow his nose repeatedly.

  At bedtime, as Mam helped him with his pajamas, he told her that she’d likely never have to do it again.

  “Levi!” she said, shocked.

  “No, you won’t. I’ll just pass away now. I’ll go to heaven to be with Jesus and Mervin.”

  “Don’t talk like that, Levi. We’d miss you too much. We couldn’t bear it, after losing Mervin.”

  “Well, my time’s about up—especially if Sarah goes to market. That will be hard for me to bear.”

  “Ach, Levi.”

  Mam patted his shoulder. She made a big fuss about his ability to dress himself and brush his teeth and said they’d be just fine without Sarah.

  The next morning, Sarah scootered the mile and a half to Ben Zook’s and was shocked to find ten bushels of Smokehouse apples in the washhouse. Anna had her breakfast dishes already washed, the Victoria strainer attached firmly to the tabletop, and the first apples cut and on the stove.

  “Morning, Sarah!”

  “Morning!”

  “Didn’t you get cold, scootering?”

  “I dressed warmly.”

  “Did you have breakfast? I saved some casserole for you. Let’s have a cup of coffee before those first kettles are ready to put through the strainer.”

  “You put your kettles through?”

  Anna laughed, her stomach shaking. She moved with surprising speed, her round form fairly bouncing with energy as she poured two mugs of coffee, lifted the creamer bottle, and raised her eyebrows. Sarah nodded.

  She set a glass dish between them, steam rising from a deep, delicious looking casserole that was covered in buttered corn-flake crumbs. Taking up a spatula, she cut a huge square, slid it expertly on a small plate, and handed it to Sarah.

  “Oh, I had breakfast, but it’s been an hour. I can always eat some more.”

  She laughed, helped herself to a generous serving, and took a hefty bite. She rolled her eyes and said this recipe could not be beat, now could it?

  Little Mary climbed on her mother’s lap and promptly became the recipient of a nice sized mouthful of breakfast casserole.

  “Gute, gel?” Anna chortled happily.

  The door banged shut, and in walked Anna’s brother, Lee, who was taken completely by surprise, his reaction to Sarah’s presence a complete giveaway. He was holding his forearm firmly as he nodded in her direction.

  “What’s wrong with you? You look terrible!”

  Anna rose to her feet, dumping Mary unceremoniously onto the floor.

  “Cut myself. It’s pretty deep.”

  “Let me see.”

  As he slowly lifted the clamped hand, blood spurted from a wide cut on the underside of his arm. Immediately, Anna’s face blanched. She made small mewling sounds and sagged back into her chair, then slid to the floor below.

  “She’s fainting!”

  Sarah stood, helpless. Lee said she’d be alright, she always did that. He seemed completely at ease with his sister crumpled to the floor.

  Sarah looked from him to his sister, then moved quickly to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. She found all kinds of salves, gauze, and adhesive tape. She grabbed them all and hurried back to the kitchen.

  “I think the most important thing would be to get the bleeding stopped. You sure you didn’t cut a vein?”

  “No. Just wrap it tightly.”

  “With what?”

  “A small towel would work.”

  Sarah grabbed a towel and pulled it as tight as possible, watching his face for any sign of discomfort.

  “Still okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  But he sat down, his face contorting.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “A little.”

  Mary began crying, so Sarah scooped her up and sat facing Lee, who lifted the towel and peered underneath.

  “Shouldn’t you go have that stitched?” Sarah asked.

  “I doubt it. We’ll stop the bleeding, put butterfly bandages on it. That should fix it right up.”

  Sarah was relieved when Anna muttered and coughed, and raised herself to a sitting position, still mumbling to herself.

  “She’s coming around.”

  “You sure don’t worry about it,” Sarah said.

  “It’s normal. I told you.”

  Fully awake now, Anna said, “Shoot, I passed out. Boy, I hate that. It happens so easy. Ach, my. Now I’m sick to my stomach. Shoot.”

  She lifted herself from the floor and wobbled dizzily to the bathroom. Lee shook his head.

  Sarah bent and removed the towel, astounded by the size of the cut.

  “You’d better go have that taken care of,” she said.

  “You think?”

  “I do.”

  “Ah, just stick a few of these on. It’ll heal.” He grabbed several butterfly bandages.

  “It’s going to leave a scar.”

  “That’s alright. It’s just my arm. No problem.”

  So as he held the cut together, Sarah concentrated on applying the bandages just right, holding the edges of the cut uniformly. She held her breath and bit her tongue as she did the best she could, then straightened.

  She looked at him fully for the first time ever, the blue of his eyes taking her completely off guard. His eyebrows were perfect, like wings. His nose was stubby and wide but somehow also just right.

  He looked back and saw clear eyes of green flecked with gold and gray and bits of brown. At the lowering of her eyebrows, her eyes clouded over with a hint of bewilderment. Her breath came in soft puffs as her heart beat a notch faster.

  Over and over, she relived that moment and chided herself. What was God trying to show her? That she was simply swayed by close proximity to any available man? Or was it the beginning of the end of her whole world being wrapped up in Matthew Stoltzfus? Would Lee provide the freedom she so desperately needed
?

  Ten bushels of apples later, she still had no clue.

  Chapter 16

  THE COOLING OCTOBER WINDS must have been host to a serious virus. Levi came down hard with a temperature of 102 degrees, his large body lying as still as death, his breath coming in great gasps.

  The rasping sound from his bed in the enclosed porch aggravated Sarah’s nerves as she did the Saturday morning breakfast dishes. Her arms covered in suds, she scrubbed the black cast iron pan that was caked with bits of cornmeal mush and grease.

  The wind had died down, but scattered puffs still blew leaves half-heartedly across the driveway. The strong winds left a residue of straw, bits of hay, a Ziploc bag, bits of paper, plastic, and cardboard strewn around the yard. The day would be busy with the weekly cleaning, Mam hanging out two days’ laundry, and cleaning up the messy yard.

  Already Priscilla was upstairs, wielding the broom and dust mop. By the sounds from above, Sarah hoped she was cleaning underneath the beds. Priscilla was only fourteen years old, so her cleaning was done only well enough to get away with. This usually meant that Sarah had to spray the bathtub again or remove every object on a hastily swiped dresser and dust it again.

  Today, with Levi breathing like that, Sarah became impatient. She whirled away from the dishwater, took up her apron, and dried her hands. Going to the stairs, she told Priscilla to clean the bathtub right this time and let the cleaner on the tub walls while she did the rest of the bathroom.

  Priscilla mumbled a reply, the banging resumed, and Sarah could picture the few jabs of the dust mop, leaving disorderly trails underneath the beds.

  Turning, she approached Levi’s bed and bent to crank his head a bit higher to ease his breathing. He started, his swollen brown eyes opened to a slit. He coughed painfully then asked for a drink. Sarah checked the pitcher on his nightstand and found it empty. She took it to the kitchen to refill it, adding mostly ice cubes.

  She lifted the blue straw to his mouth, watched as he swallowed a small amount, and then set the tumbler back on the nightstand. She arranged his pillows to keep his head from sliding to the side, put a hand on his feverish head, and asked if he was alright. Wearily, Levi shook his head.