Fire in the Night

by Linda Byler

  Mam opened her mouth, a sharp reprimand on her tongue. But she knew Sarah was right, and she knew she’d been caught red-handed trying to steal the small amount of courage Sarah had outfitted for herself by wearing the Sunday covering.

  Wisely, Mam turned away, swallowing the sharp retort. She said no more, allowing Sarah the upper hand. She wisely guarded the open door that led to the complicated world of mother-daughter relationships, viewing the days that stretched both behind her and ahead of her.

  How could daughters see right through you like that? How? It was annoying and maddening, all at once. Of course she didn’t want Sarah to go with Matthew. She didn’t trust him, didn’t trust him one bit.

  Then, because she was tired from having lain awake until all hours of the morning with her thoughts whirling about her—tormenting her, rendering her unable even to say a decent prayer, the state she was in—she waited till the girls ran out the door. Then she sat down on the old hickory rocker and covered her face with her apron and had a good long cry.

  The string of barn fires, the insecurity they had brought, her Davey being so troubled, the loss of Mervin, her worries about Sarah and Matthew—suddenly and unexpectedly it all took its toll on Mam.

  The ride with Matthew was less than comfortable. The buggy had no back seat, the way Matthew had it filled with sports equipment and clothes and all kinds of other stuff. Priscilla had to perch on the door ledge, leaving the cold wind pouring in the open door.

  Matthew said if Sarah sat back, Priscilla could fit on the seat between them. But she refused, so she was cold the whole way. Matthew teased Priscilla and spoke only to her, looking at her entirely too much.

  Sarah may as well have been a log or a length of stove pipe propped up in the corner, for all the attention he paid her. To make everything much worse, Priscilla continually giggled and smiled but also responded with an intelligence that seemed to intrigue Matthew.

  After a few miles of this, he seemed to notice Sarah’s lack of input, so he said, “Why so quiet, Sarah?” illuminating her world with the power of his kind, dark eyes.

  Oh, Matthew. His eyes made her knees weak with the knowledge of her love. Never would she leave him. Never. She would always be here for him, waiting, hoping, and yes, praying that God would allow her to be his wife someday. His eyes were pools of kindness, of uplifting, of support, a wonderful boost to her faltering hope.

  Could she help it, the waves of longing, the repressed love and devotion that held her in its unwavering grip? When she was with him, there was no doubt in her mind: It was always Matthew, and it would always be.

  “I wasn’t quiet,” she said now, breathlessly, in spite of herself.

  “Yeah, you were. But that’s just you, anyhow. You’re not as talkative as your sister. Hey, Pris, when will you be sixteen? When’s your birthday?”

  “November.”

  “Really? Wow! You’ll be sixteen this month?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Aw, come on. You mean I have a whole year to wait?”

  Priscilla blushed and became flustered. She looked into Sarah’s eyes. Finding misery so raw, she did exactly the right thing and asked Matthew what he was thinking. He was way too old for her, seriously. And she no longer giggled.

  Cold, disenchanted, her hopes dashed for the thousandth time, Sarah waited until Priscilla stepped down from the buggy before following her.

  “Hey, don’t I at least deserve a thank you?” he called after them.

  “Oh, of course.”

  Sarah stopped, walked back, and thanked him, looking directly into the deep brown of his eyes, shoring up her resolve for the uncertain days and weeks and months ahead.

  As if in another world, she heard the truck engines and the shouting voices, smelled the sharp odor of the new yellow lumber, as the many men dressed in black trousers and coats swarmed around the building site. They had already erected the main beams.

  She guessed her love for Matthew was a lot like the barn fires, wasn’t it? Dashed hopes destroyed by something so much larger than herself, only to be rebuilt, started anew, and continued on. But there was a growing uneasiness, a cold and dreadful realization, circling, circling, like wary wolves intent on their prey. She was keenly aware of Matthew’s disinterest. She just couldn’t let that control her hope. She had to keep moving. Fresh courage was her shield, her weapon, against the circling doubt. All was not lost.

  The sound of hammers ringing against steel, the high whine of the chainsaws, the voices calling to one another—was it really happening again? The only thing that seemed real to her was the sound of the women, talking and laughing as they bent over the folding table with the dishpans containing potatoes and water, paring knives flashing as they peeled.

  A stainless steel bucket piled full of potatoes fed a hundred, wasn’t that right? Or was it two? And the same old spirited argument, paring knifes versus those Tupperware peelers. Or were the Pampered Chef ones best?

  Aaron Zook sei Mary said what did it matter, a peeler is a peeler, and none of them work. A great clamoring of voices ensued, and Sarah smiled. She began cutting peeled potatoes and put her troubled thoughts to rest.

  Here she was at home.

  Chapter 21

  THE ACTUAL SPEED WITH WHICH the barn took shape was unbelievable this time. The women stopped midmorning to observe. There were more men than usual, they decided.

  This third barn fire was attracting a lot of attention. Concerned members of the Old Order from as far away as Ohio and Indiana wanted to help, share their views, extend their charities.

  The house was cleared away for the most part, but Reuby and Bena were still planning, knowing that if they rushed through that stage, it would spite them later on, Bena said.

  The barn must be rebuilt first; Reuby’s livelihood came from milking a herd of cows. By the time dinner was served, the metal sheets were being screwed into place on the lower end of the forebay.

  “My oh,” Grandmother Miller said from her vantage point at the stove, waving the great wooden spoon and causing quite a stir among the women and girls.

  Someone observed flatly that it was no wonder the new barn was going up so fast, with all the practice they’d had since early spring. It was sobering, all agreed.

  Grandmother Miller shook her head, saying, “Die lenga, die arriga (The longer it goes, the worse things get).”

  They made dire predictions. The end of the world coming any day now, according to the Bible. Mankind was going awry, and evil was prevailing. Mind you, the world is in such a state of sinful activity.

  Sarah drew into herself. Yes, there was a certain truth in their words, of course. But what about the overwhelming response among the Plain people when tragedies did occur? Didn’t that count for something? But she stayed quiet, being only a young single girl and outnumbered by her older peers.

  Amid their prophesying, the women mashed the potatoes, which they kept warm and ready to serve along with gravy, ham, meatloaf, and chicken.

  Kentucky Fried Chicken in Lancaster had donated twenty large containers of their chicken, with its distinctive taste—the best, in Dat’s opinion. He called it Lucky Fried Chicken because he felt lucky every time someone brought some home or he got to eat at one of the restaurants. Sarah smiled, thinking of Dat.

  No doubt, all the Amish would be touched by this generous gesture from the English people. The support from die ausrie (the outsiders) was indeed phenomenal, and it humbled the Plain people.

  At a time like this, Sarah thought, the line between the English and the Amish was blurry. There really was no line. All over the world, every culture, every religion, understood loss and tragedy, horror and fear. There was always the good in man to combat the evil of men, and so it was this time. After a triple dose of disaster, the good poured in over and over, endlessly. It was truly an indescribable feeling.

  Wolf Furniture brought two La-Z-Boy recliners with brown upholstery. Poor Reuby sei Bena told the driver he had the wrong place
. He showed her the address on the delivery sheet, but she said, no, he had it all wrong, and he may as well take them back; they couldn’t afford them.

  He said, “Ma’am, I think they’re donated.”

  She burst into tears and wiped her eyes with the corners of her kopp-duch (head scarf). Reuby came on the scene and shook the driver’s hand so powerfully that the man had to keep taking it off the steering wheel and flexing his fingers the whole way back to Reading.

  After dinner, they washed kettles and bowls and cleaned up as best they could. The temporary living quarters in the shed were almost impossible to keep clean, with the mud and the cold and the number of people stomping around.

  The girls grabbed their coats and sat on the sunny side of the corncrib to watch the men, refilling the water jugs whenever it was necessary. The frame of the barn was all but completed, rising like a yellow skeleton into the blue November sky.

  In the east, a wall of gray was building, rolling across the blue, changing the atmosphere slightly, as if the sun wasn’t quite sure of itself. A wedge of geese honked their tardy way across the sky, like schoolchildren who knew they were late but kept hurrying along. Inexplicably, the hammering slowed as the men and boys watched the formation of Canadian geese, then pounding resumed.

  Matthew walked by with Amos “Amy” King, one of his friends, and asked Sarah when they’d be ready to go.

  “Whenever you are.”

  “In an hour or so? I have to feed heifers tonight.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Matthew smiled at her, then at Priscilla.

  “How are you?” Amos asked.

  “Good. I’m good.”

  “This your sister?”

  “Yes. Priscilla, this is Amos.”

  “Hi.”

  Clearly flustered, Priscilla smiled up at Amos before quickly and shyly averting her eyes, as most fourteen-year-old girls do when introduced to a young man who was old enough to be rumspringing.

  Sarah was glad to see this shyness in Priscilla. It spoke well for her character, and Sarah hoped she’d keep that sweet trait, even when she was sixteen. Too many pretty girls lost their shyness after receiving too much attention from the young men. And Priscilla was certainly noticeable, with her blond-streaked honey-colored hair, blue-green eyes, and round features.

  She had a calming quality about her, an aloofness actually, that seemed attractive to some, like Matthew, Sarah admitted in spite of herself.

  Watching Amos now, she could see the admiration, the way his eyes lingered on her face. And Sarah was glad—for a short time, anyway, until Matthew stepped over to Priscilla, reached down, and tweaked her ear.

  “Yeah, Amy. Sarah’s little sister, huh? She’s not even fifteen yet. Not quite.”

  He lowered himself beside her, as close as possible, turning his head to watch her face. Amos smiled and watched Matthew, wondering what Sarah would say.

  She said nothing, just stared straight ahead, her features inscrutable, as the November sun took on a dim quality and the gray bank of clouds moved in from the east.

  The men were moving in double quick time now. Some pulled out cell phones and checked the weather. Yes sir, ice coming. Ice and rain and about anything you could expect, they said. Well, they’d have this barn under roof by tonight.

  There was quite a buzz about the weather. With renewed effort, friendly banter, bets called on and off, the men quickened the work pace.

  Sarah watched and saw Dat, proud of his ability to straddle a beam with the best of them. Then she saw Uncle Elam and Paul Stoltzfus, the roofer, pulling steadily on a sheet of metal.

  A gray truck pulled up to the barn, dispatching two young men who hurried to the side of the truck, extracted leather tool belts, buckled them on, and adjusted them, looking steadily up at the barn the whole time. Sarah guessed that men buckled tool belts the same way women put on aprons—easily, without really looking, having done it so many times.

  One young man threw his cap into the truck, his blond hair gleaming in the cold sunshine. She wasn’t aware she’d drawn a breath sharply. It was Lee.

  He had no time to look around, intent on getting up on a beam and helping. Together, the two young men sprinted to the back of the barn, ran up the ladder, and were lost among the dozens, the hundred other men. Sarah sighed.

  Matthew was still busy showing off his knowledge of Priscilla to his friend, Amos, with absolutely no help from her. Suddenly, a bolt of anger shot through Sarah, and just as suddenly, she concealed it.

  What was Matthew doing, sitting right there like a spoiled school boy, flirting shamelessly with poor Priscilla, who by now looked as if she didn’t really know what to do with him? Why didn’t he get up on that roof and help? Or why didn’t he go over and offer help to the men on the ground? There was so much he could be doing.

  But, of course, when he was attentive and charming on the way home, Sarah’s heart melted within her all over again. Her love for him was real and steadfast. Priscilla stayed in the background, quiet, watching their faces, wondering if Sarah would ever attain the love of her life. Only time would tell. But with the wisdom of her fourteen years, almost fifteen, Priscilla decided she wouldn’t waste a week’s worth of Fridays on that loser. He was a charmer, and she’d almost been under his spell that day, but no longer.

  How could she help Sarah best? She couldn’t believe her ears when she heard Matthew ask Sarah if she wanted to go along to Ervin Lapp’s on Saturday evening.

  Sarah’s face turned from its normal color to a pasty white before a spot of color reappeared on each cheekbone. She stammered a bit but said, “Why, yes, I’d be glad to go with you,” and he said, “Good, good.”

  When they walked into the warm kitchen, Levi was coughing, and Mam’s eyebrows were arched at a 45-degree angle, the tension heavy enough to cut with a knife.

  Priscilla was dismayed to hear Sarah tell Mam about going with Matthew on Saturday evening, cringing as Mam gave her a tight smile and said, “Oh, did he?” Mam then turned away and began folding clothes with a vengeance. Sarah ran upstairs as fast as she could and flung herself on her bed and breathed a deep sigh of complete happiness that could only come from a dream fulfilled, at long last.

  Yes, it was not a real date. And yes, he was just offering her a ride. But it proved to Sarah that he enjoyed her company, wanted to spend time with her, and would just maybe show Rose, who was bound to be there, that this was what he’d wanted all along.

  The heights she rode on wings of joy! Over and over, she thanked God for His deliverance from the river of misery. He set her feet firmly on higher ground, where the view was infused with stardust and the birds sang in harmony with the praise that poured from her soul.

  She read her Bible in English, the words of comfort and praise in the Psalms more meaningful than ever. God was so good, so kind, to help her rise above the doubts that had been her constant companions for far too long.

  Her elevated reverie was broken by her mother’s voice, calling her rather urgently, saying there was someone on the phone for her.

  Instantly, Sarah slammed her Bible onto the nightstand, slid off the bed, and raced downstairs. Shoving her feet into a pair of boots, she grabbed a sweater off the hook, and kicked open the screen door as she pushed her arms into the sleeves before racing across the lawn to the phone shanty.

  The black receiver lay on its side beside the telephone, and she picked it up swiftly and breathed, “Hello?”

  “Hey, watcha doin’?”

  Melvin.

  “Oh, not much. I just got home from the barn raising at Reuby’s.”

  “Oh, you were there? How’d that go?”

  “Really amazing this time. It’s like the women were saying—it’s sad to have to admit it, but practice is in good supply. I mean, think about it, Melvin. Three barns since April.”

  Melvin’s voice was serious, intense.

  “Well, since no one seems to care about the arsonist, he’ll just keep it up, thinkin
g he’s doing something right. We need to do something, get organized, get moving.”

  “How Melvin? Do you have a legitimate plan?”

  “Sure. If you have a barn full of expensive milk cows, then sleep out there. Every night. Equip the barn with some first class smoke detectors. Call the police every time anything out of the ordinary happens. Anything at all. Whatever happened to Levi seeing that white car the night your barn burned. Did anyone ever see another one? Did anyone think to ask?”

  Sarah sat down on the cracked vinyl seat of the old steel desk chair, tipped it back, and gazed at the ceiling as Melvin rambled on.

  She had to admit, he was a mover and a shaker, and he got things done. He was smart and ambitious—too much so, Dat said.

  When she could finally get a word in edgewise, she said she’d ask Dat to invite him to the meeting that would be held the following Monday evening. Instantly, Melvin drew back, saying he was the youngest in the bunch, unmarried, and his theory would mean nothing.

  But Sarah would hear nothing of his attempt at being modest. He wasn’t humble, and she knew it. Any effort of modesty was completely invalid, where Sarah was concerned. She knew Melvin well, and humility was not one of his attributes. He knew he wanted to be at that meeting, and he also knew the thought of speaking out there was extremely challenging.

  So she let him talk, adding an mm-hm, okay, or yes, whenever she felt they were needed. She got down a lined tablet from the shelf, crossed her legs, and wrote “Matthew Ray Stoltzfus” over and over, with hearts and daisies and other doodles portraying her happiness.

  Finally Melvin’s subject of the barn fires ran dry, and he quickly asked what she was doing Saturday night.

  “Matthew is taking me to Ervin’s.”

  The line went silent with his inability to respond appropriately, so Sarah waited, her lips curved prettily with the victory that was so securely in her possession.