by Marta Perry
Judith stared at his bent head. If he looked at her, she might know what was in his mind, but he didn’t.
“This wouldn’t be until November, most likely,” she pointed out. “Everything will be put up by then, and the kinder will be well into their school routine. There will just be Noah home during the day.”
Isaac’s fork clacked against the table as he put it down. “That’s another thing. What about the boys? They won’t be in school on the weekends. They still need to be watched and fed and taken care of. I can’t do everything.”
“No, of course not.” Surely he didn’t think she meant for him to take over the house. She hadn’t expected this reaction, and she wasn’t sure how to handle it. “Eli’s wife will be glad to help, I know.”
Her young brother Eli had married his Miriam last wedding season, and they were eager for a family of their own. Miriam loved any opportunity to mind the young ones. It was good practice, she always said.
“Besides, Barbie and I will split the work. I won’t have to be there all the time when there are visitors.”
Since Barbie didn’t have a family yet, it made sense that she would take on more of the responsibility, and after all, she was the one who’d been working with Rebecca all summer. She knew far more about it than Judith did.
“I won’t neglect you and the kinder,” she said softly, putting her hand on Isaac’s shoulder. “Besides, the extra money will—”
“You don’t have to go out and work to support us.” The words came out in a harsh tone that was so unlike Isaac it startled her. His shoulder was a hard knot under her hand. “I can take care of the farm and my family.”
Her heart twisted at his tone. “Ach, Isaac, I know you can. You have always taken gut care of all of us.” Couldn’t he understand her feelings at all? “I just thought I could help a bit, too. And Rebecca does need me.”
He was stiff and silent for another second. Then he let out his breath in a sigh and rubbed his hands down his face as if to wipe something away.
“Rebecca needs you. Of course you must help her if you can.” He planted his hands on the table in front of him—the good, strong hands of a man who worked hard every day. “I just . . . sometimes I wonder if my daad would be pleased with the job I’m doing if he saw the place today.”
Shocked, Judith seized his shoulders and pulled him around to look at his face. “What are you saying? You have done everything anyone could possibly do to make the dairy farm a success. And you said yourself it’s a lot more complicated than it used to be. Your daad would be wonderful happy with all you’ve done. As I am.”
Isaac didn’t respond for a moment. Then his hands went around her waist, and he drew her close, turning his face against her breast. “Denke, Judith. I couldn’t do it without you.”
She held him close, her heart overflowing with her love for him. And with sorrow, too, because he was working so hard to give Joseph something that Joseph didn’t want at all.
• • •
Two weeks later, Judith began to think life was actually returning to an even keel. The boys were both in school, so that she and little Noah spent much of the day alone together. Joseph seemed to be approaching his normal cheerfulness now that his vocational class would start soon, and she was too grateful for his changed attitude to worry unduly about future decisions. After all, he might become disenchanted with his class once he got into it and decide that the dairy farm was best for him after all.
“Mammi, I want to do homework, too.” Noah tugged at her skirt, knowing his brothers would soon be seated at the study table. “Please, can I do homework?”
“That’s silly.” Paul, who was having an after-school snack, spoke from the lofty heights of a brand-new first-grader. “You’re not in school, so you can’t have homework. Homework is schoolwork you do at home.”
Judith put a warning hand on Paul’s shoulder. “We don’t talk that way to each other, Paul Wegler. Your little bruder can have homework if he wants. Finish your snack now, both of you.”
Chastened, he nodded, stuffing a large bite of snickerdoodle into his mouth and then attempting to talk around it. “I know what, Noah. You should practice printing your name. Teacher Sally was happy I could print my name so well.”
Judith wiped up crumbs. Teaching manners to small boys was no easy task, but she’d rather her sons be kind than be neat.
“Levi, will you empty the paper trash in the burn barrel before you start your homework? Joseph will burn it later.” There was no point in calling for him to do it now, since the early September day had turned a bit breezy.
Levi, following his brother’s example and stuffing most of a cookie in his mouth, nodded and slid off his chair. He grabbed the wastebasket and ran out the back door. The screen door slammed, and she heard Levi’s feet pound the steps as he jumped down them. She’d always thought the boys would be tired when they came home from a full day of schoolwork, but she’d been wrong. The kinder always came home from school both ravenous and bursting with energy, it seemed.
“Komm.” She took Noah’s hand. “You sit right up at the study table. You and Paul can start your homework.”
In a few minutes the three boys were seated at the old table, three fair heads bent over the papers in front of them with varying degrees of concentration.
Levi was as conscientious about school as he was about everything he did, but she saw him glance toward the back window now and then, as if wondering what his daadi was doing. Paul, still in the early ages of excitement at being grown up enough to go to school, frowned at his paper, the tip of his tongue showing at the corner of his mouth as he concentrated. Noah seemed to have given up writing his name and become engrossed in drawing a picture of a horse.
How many other young Amish scholars had sat at this table over the years? Judith knew about Mattie’s kinder, feeling close enough to her to be able to envision her bending over her young ones’ work. There had probably been others, both before and after.
It gave her such a strong sense of continuity to think of those other mothers and kinder going about their lives in much the same way she and her family did. One day she must show her boys the old exercise notebooks she’d found—
A shout from outside had her head jerking around. What . . . ?
“Fire! Fire!”
The hoarse cry struck her like a lightning bolt, paralyzing her for an instant. Then she was running, praying, her breath catching . . .
Judith bolted out the back door, hearing the children scrambling behind her, their voices frightened. She stumbled and nearly fell down the porch steps in her haste. Flames shot from the top of the burn barrel, and scraps of fiery paper floated on the breeze, a danger to everything in their path.
The grass had already caught. Isaac was beating at the flames with the flat of a shovel. A bit of flaming trash landed on the shed roof, just feet from the burn barrel, and the shingles began to smolder.
Judith started to run, then wheeled around as she realized the boys were hurrying after her. She grabbed Levi by the shoulders, shocked at his white face and frightened eyes. “Run to the phone shanty. Dial nine one one, just like Daadi showed you. Tell them there’s a fire, and give the address. Can you do that?”
“I will.” His voice shook a little, but he seemed to straighten under her hands. He darted toward the phone shanty. Thank goodness they had practiced this very emergency. She caught Paul when he would have followed.
“Paul, go to Onkel Simon’s. Tell him what’s happened. Hurry now. Run!” He raced off, and she turned to her youngest. “Noah, you stand on the porch chair and ring the bell. Loud as you can, and keep ringing it.”
She waited for his nod before she ran to the outside faucet and turned the water full on. The hose wasn’t long enough to get to the burn barrel, because Isaac had used the extension for something a few days earlier. But maybe the spray would b
e strong enough to reach the flames.
Above her head, the dinner bell began its clamor, thanks to Noah’s love of making a noise. Anyone within earshot would know the prolonged sound meant trouble.
Dragging the hose, Judith hurried across the yard. “Isaac, the shed. The roof.”
His head turned, giving her a brief glimpse of his face, which was as white as Levi’s had been. Fire. The word alone must be enough to bring his horrific memories surging back.
He snatched the hose from her hands, trying to concentrate the spray onto the shed roof, so Judith took over beating at the ground fire with the shovel. They could ignore the barrel at the moment, since the fire there was contained and already dying down. But the flames that had caught the grass were moving fast—too fast. They seemed to flatten out at every strike but then spring back up again, shooting higher each time as if they enjoyed the battle with her.
“Never mind that. It’s doing no good.” Isaac grabbed the shovel. “Bring buckets.”
For an instant her mind didn’t seem to work. Feed buckets. The barn. That would be closest. She ran for the barn, the bell still clanging. Someone shouted from a distance, but she didn’t dare stop long enough to look. A moment’s delay could mean the difference between saving or endangering a structure.
Thank God none of the animals were inside. They’d be safe enough in the pasture, even if the flames should get this far. Grabbing the stack of rubber feed pails, she hurried back outside. Please, God, please, God . . . The prayer kept time with the wild beating of her heart.
Fill the buckets, carry them to Isaac, run back for more while Isaac threw the water on the flames, and all the while the fire crept stubbornly along the shed roof and down the walls. The shed, the diesel generator inside—if they lost the generator, what would they do?
Arms aching, she was filling another bucket when someone seized it from her. Onkel Simon pushed her gently away.
“We will do it. Keep the kinder safe.”
She stumbled back a step, realizing that his son Lige was with him, while from the other direction the neighbors came running. Half crying, she grasped Paul and Levi and drew them toward the house.
“I can help.” Levi tried to pull away, but she held him firmly.
“No. You heard what Onkel Simon said. The men will do it.” She took them back to the porch where Noah still stood on his chair, his face red, pulling the bell rope as fast as his little arms could move.
Judith put her arms around him, stilling the sound. “Gut work. It’s enough now. Everyone heard. They’re all helping.”
They were. But the flames ate into the generator shed despite their efforts. By the time the fire truck came screaming down the lane, siren wailing, the shed was little more than a heap of black, smoking rubbish.
Judith had to restrain Paul and Noah from running after the fire truck. “They’ve come to fight the fire. You can watch from here.”
“But, Mammi, it’s the real fire truck,” Paul protested. “I want to see it up close.”
“Ja, but the volunteers have work to do. We mustn’t get in their way. Look, here comes your grossmammi.” It was actually her mamm, daad, and three other relatives, and she couldn’t imagine how they’d heard about the fire so quickly. The young ones’ eyes were mostly for their beloved grossmammi.
Mamm climbed down from the buggy, and the two younger boys hurried to help with the containers she began unloading, while Daad, her brother, and two of her cousins ran toward the fire.
Levi seemed to linger by the porch, and Judith frowned. Normally he would be the first one to rush to his grandmother. What was wrong with the boy?
“I had a coffee cake and some shoofly pie left from my baking, so I brought them.” Mamm carried a gallon jug of lemonade while the boys toted the baked goods. “We’d best get ready to feed the helpers.”
The reminder galvanized Judith. She couldn’t stand here staring. Fighting a fire was hot, dirty work. The least she could do was have some cold drinks ready for the men. “We can set things up on the picnic table. If we all help, I think we can move it closer to the house so it won’t be in anyone’s way.”
With her improvised crew, she edged the heavy wooden picnic table away from the path of the fire hoses and then hurried into the house to start a pot of coffee and slice the loaves of nut bread she’d made earlier. The young ones trotted along to help, jabbering away about the fire and stopping to exclaim when the stream of water arced from the pumper’s hose to put out the flames that had survived the determined assault of the men.
“The flames went so high, Grossmammi,” Noah said, lifting his fingers above his head. “It was scary.”
“I wasn’t scared,” Paul said quickly. “I ran as fast as I could to get Onkel Simon.”
“Well, I rang the bell.” Noah was determined to claim his grandmother’s attention.
“You were all gut helpers,” Judith said firmly.
“That’s right,” Mamm said, smiling at her grandsons. “I know you all did everything you could to help.”
“Levi used the phone to call for the fire truck.” Judith glanced at her oldest, feeling a little surprised that he hadn’t chimed in with his own claim.
Levi was looking out the back door, hands pressed against the screen. Something about his rigid figure made Judith’s heart twist.
“Levi?” She went to put her hand gently on his shoulder.
He tensed. “If the barn burns, what will we do?”
Judith tried to hug him against her, but his small body was stiff. She exchanged a worried look with her mamm. “It won’t.” She put all the confidence she could find into the words. “The men had the grass fire almost out even before the fire truck arrived. Look, you can see that they are wetting down the barn with the big hose now. They won’t let it burn.”
Levi seemed to strain against the door for another moment, but then he nodded. “They won’t let it burn,” he repeated, as if it were a promise.
Was he worrying about the animals? But he knew as well as she did that they’d all been turned out to pasture already.
“Komm and help with the food,” she urged. “You can carry things out to the picnic table. The men will be glad of a drink and something to eat.”
Rejoining her mother, Judith took a tray from the cupboard and began putting glasses on it, keeping a wary eye on Levi. But he took the plate his grossmammi had ready and carried it carefully out the back door.
“He’s worried,” Judith murmured.
“Ach, it’s scary for sure,” Mamm said. “Fire always is. How did it start? Do you know?”
“I’m not sure.” It was the first moment she’d been able to think about it, and she realized how strange it was. “I heard Isaac shout and ran out to see the burn barrel blazing. Bits of paper flew out and touched off the fire on the grass and the shed roof.”
Mamm turned a disapproving glance on her. “Don’t you use a screen on the barrel?”
“Ja, of course we do.”
Mamm seemed about to argue, but she glanced at the kinder. “Best we don’t talk about it now, ain’t so? They might think . . .” She let the sentence trail off, but Judith knew where it had been going.
The young ones knew something about the fire that had destroyed their daadi’s home when he was young. It was impossible to keep the story from them. But they seldom mentioned it, and she wasn’t sure how much that might be a part of Levi’s upset.
Luckily the cookie jar was full. Judith arranged snickerdoodles and chocolate chip cookies on a large tray and sent the boys out with it. She and her mother followed, carrying glasses and beverages.
A few trips were enough to get everything out on the table, and by then one or two of the volunteer firemen were ready for a break.
“Fire’s out now.” Jim Reilly, head of the local volunteers, nodded with satisfaction. “We’l
l wet it down a bit more, just so you won’t have to worry, but it’s out.”
“I don’t know what we’d do without you and the other firemen.” Isaac was a member of the volunteer fire company, and Joseph soon would be. That was how Isaac had known exactly how to fight the blaze.
Jim shrugged, mopping his red face. “It wasn’t much of a fire, but enough to give the boys a little practice. Sorry about the shed. If we’d gotten here a bit faster—”
“Don’t think that,” Judith said quickly. “It burned so fast no one could have done anything.”
“Yeah, those old planks go up like tinder when they catch a spark,” he said. “Sorry. Anything valuable in there?” Jim, knowing the Amish, would realize they didn’t have insurance on anything.
Her throat tightened. “The diesel generator was there. It’s gone completely.”
And without a generator, they couldn’t run the automatic milking machine or the bulk milk tank. The dairy they sold their milk to would have to be told. Isaac would be terribly upset.
“Mighty sorry for the loss.” Jim’s bluff, hearty face expressed regret even as she sensed he’d enjoyed the small excitement of putting out the fire. “We’ll make sure there’s no sparks left before we take off.”
“Denke.” Her worried gaze sought out Isaac. When she spotted him, the breath caught in her throat. He stood glaring at Joseph, clutching him by the shoulder, fury in every line of his body.
Fairly running across the lawn, she reached him in time to hear his angry words. “. . . trust you with a simple job like burning the trash, and you can’t even do that right. You realize what you did? Without the generator, we’ll lose the contract with the dairy.”
Onkel Simon put a restraining hand on his shoulder, but Isaac shook it off, probably not even realizing who it was. Joseph’s face twisted. “I didn’t. You blame me for everything, but I didn’t do it.”
He hadn’t, she realized. He hadn’t even been here. The scooter lay by the porch where he’d dropped it, but he hadn’t been anywhere around when the fire must have started.
