by Linda Byler
Her face crumpled, and she began crying quietly, her head lowered, her hands coming up to her face in one graceful movement.
Her future had been long and cold and barren before. She could take it again. If she just looked at it once and accepted it, gave herself up to it, in Mam’s words, it would be alright.
It was just unfair to have Matthew living in Haiti with his wife, and Lee dating Rose, and Melvin finding far more than he had ever dared to hope, a situation turning into the sweetest love story Sarah ever hoped to attain.
But it was not alright that Lee was here. She grabbed a Kleenex from the box on her desk, turned her back, miserable and ashamed.
Again, she felt him behind her, his hands encircling her shoulders. She could feel his breath, like the wings of a butterfly.
“Sarah, I came to tell you, I broke off my friendship with Rose.”
Sarah remembered seeing the words “broken arrow” on the blackboard, where she’d demonstrated the adjective broken describing the arrow. The feeling of rapture began in her feet, but it all came together, filling her entire being with music, subtle, soft, cymbal-crashing, drum-beating music, all at once.
She couldn’t face him. Not now.
“I can’t forget you, Sarah. I’m not being honest with myself or God if I continue dating Rose. Half the time, I’m thinking of you. It’s been that way since the day I saw you at your barn raising. I know I don’t have much chance. I think you are the kind of girl who loves only once, and you certainly…” His voice faded away.
So Rose had been right! She knew, too.
“Say something, Sarah. Anything.”
The space of a heartbeat, the length of eternity—she didn’t know how long she waited, until, slowly, she turned, her eyes downcast, standing before him, mysteriously unable to tell him everything she wanted to say.
“It’s okay. I’ll give you time. I probably should have waited longer. I know you’re not ready. Maybe you never will be. You have this thing about spinsterhood.”
In spite of herself, Sarah smiled, a small, trembling grin that slid away before she met his eyes.
His gaze was blue, so magnetically blue, and for long moments she was lost in the beauty of meeting his eyes without thoughts of Matthew wedging their way between them.
She understood the meaning of giving herself to a man. It was almost spiritual, the way they stood apart, allowing their eyes to convey what their spirits already knew.
“I’ll wait,” he whispered.
Sarah nodded. “Yes.”
“We need to be sure. We need to….”
Brokenly, still saying words that made no sense, the music in her ears completely erasing any speech, he reached for her, brought her against his chest with a sigh of longing, a repressed love, and held her there, her heart beating against his, an ageless symphony of a love announced, examined, accepted.
“Sarah.”
She was afraid that if she answered, the spell might break, so she said nothing. She wanted to stay in the safety of his arms, her heart beating in unison with his.
“Sarah?”
It was a question now, so she tried to step back to see the question in his blue eyes, that haven of safety, but his arms did not release her.
“Does this…does us being together mean anything to you?”
In answer, she lifted her face, raised herself only slightly, and touched her lips to his, to that wide, kind, perfect mouth.
Her touch was no more than a whisper, a breath, but it was her way of assuring him that, yes, he had a chance, that as long as their hearts beat strongly, she would be there for him.
When she pulled away, his grip tightened. He lowered his face, and his firm mouth sought hers again, until the room spun and she pulled away, a soft laugh breaking them apart, unthinkable to him, but so necessary she knew.
“Does that mean…?” He was smiling, but his eyes were dark with longing, tortured by the years she had always been just beyond his reach because of Matthew Stoltzfus.
“I should not have done that,” she murmured, low and soft. “I don’t know what got into me.”
“Sarah, don’t. Don’t feel guilty.”
“I don’t want you to think I’m bold, or brazen, or…you know.”
“I have never been as close to anything that I imagine heaven to be, as when you kissed me. It was unreal. I still can’t believe you just did that.”
He touched his lips with his fingers, shook his head, and gave a soft laugh, barely loud enough for Sarah to hear.
Softly, her hands rested on his shirtfront, and she asked if it was alright to wait awhile. It wasn’t proper for them to begin dating now.
“I can’t wait. It seems as if the minute you’re gone, this will be one long dream, and I’ll wake up knowing I can never have you. How are we going to see each other? Just not get together, ever?” he asked suddenly.
The raucous honking of a car horn brought them rudely to reality, and Sarah searched wildly for her book bag and the red pen she wanted to take home.
“My driver. Oh my goodness. I wonder how long she’s been out there.”
Lee reached for her again.
“No. Lee, oh, we can’t. Not now.”
“When can I see you?”
“Don’t come to my house. You just broke up with Rose. I…Melvin goes to play…um…Scrabble at the Widow Lydia’s, so…you’re there sometimes, right?”
“Yes! With Omar!”
“Don’t let on.”
“I won’t.”
“Bye.”
“Bye, Sarah.”
She locked the door behind them both, and he untied his cold, impatient horse. She rode away looking straight ahead, and he had an awful time of it getting into his buggy, his horse standing on his hind legs and pawing the air with his front hooves, coming down in a flying leap with Lee only half in the buggy, scraping his shin painfully on the cast iron step.
He decided he needed to spend more time with this crazy horse and less time with Omar Esh and his Belgians, until he remembered what Sarah had told him and his heart swelled with emotion. His head in the clouds, he pulled out in front of a gray Toyota with an irate driver behind the steering wheel, pumping his fist in the general direction of the buggy.
Mam had a fit. Only the second day of school and here was Sarah, her despairing daughter, suddenly bouncing into the house, her eyes alight, pink blossoms in her cheeks, her smile wide and genuine, her face glowing.
“Teaching certainly suits you today,” she commented.
“Yes, Mam. It does. So much has gone better today.”
Sarah began a vivid account of the Bible reading, the quiet, the newly acquired sense of accomplishment, completely pulling the wool over poor Mam’s eyes.
Mam peeled potatoes, slowly gouging out any sprouts or black spots, and thought seriously that Sarah might actually remain an unmarried lady, an old maid, a spinster, choosing to live alone all her life and pour herself into her pupils.
Well, it wouldn’t be too hard on Mam’s pride. After all, single women were a blessing in a community—as schoolteachers, storekeepers, and they often helped out after a new baby arrived. The list went on and on.
Or she could marry a widower. She had a way with children. Imagining that, Mam cried furtive tears into the muddy water in the dishpan.
Wouldn’t that be a touching day? she thought. Sarah so sweet, such a light to the community. Now that Priscilla was different. She liked her boys.
The night of the parent teacher’s meeting arrived, in spite of Sarah’s panic. Most of the parents attended, stepping through the entrance to the classroom with serious expressions, greeting one another gravely, brows furrowed.
This was serious business, a meeting called the first week of Davey Beiler’s Sarah being the new teacher. They’d heard she was a go-getter, not afraid to speak her mind. Well, she’d better watch it.
The school board had come early and heard Sarah’s grievances, which were mostly due to a lack o
f respect from the students. Then they opened the meeting with a moment of silence, stated the reason for the meeting, and allowed Sarah her time.
“I’m sorry for making everyone leave their work just to come here tonight, but I truthfully don’t believe any of you have any idea how bad the attitudes of the students really are.”
She let that statement rest where it might, before plowing through the stares of hostility, disbelief, and some of outright rebellion.
She described her first day in detail, her father’s advice, and her willingness to work with the parents, but if she had no help from them at home, she may as well leave now.
All in all, the meeting was a surprise hit, the men especially agreeing with Sarah and the school board, the women whispering in the cloakroom afterward but coming to tell Sarah they wanted to know if their children were not behaving.
How could a teacher describe students who weren’t really misbehaving but whose characters were soaked with the poison of rebellion and a lack of discipline, enabling them to freely voice their disrespectful opinions without conscience?
But it was a start.
Ben and Anna Zook stayed long after the last parent had gone through the door. They sat in the upper grade desks and shared their thoughts and opinions, the frade (joy) they’d felt when they heard Sarah would teach and the hopelessness of poor Martha Riehl, which hadn’t been entirely her fault.
Anna was as little and round as ever, barely fitting into a school desk, her hair and covering neat as a pin as always, Ben smiling and nodding at all his wife’s antics.
They were slowly coming to grips with the fire that had destroyed their old barn and were accepting of it now, although Ben had to see a doctor and take a good antidepressant for more than a year.
“He just couldn’t handle some of the things, the financial part, mostly,” Anna concluded, clucking like a protective little biddy hen.
“I couldn’t have pulled through without Lee. Her brother. He’s something else. He has a talent for planning ahead, then seeing that the work gets done. He was a real pillar of strength for me.”
Sarah acknowledged this bit of information with a dip of her head.
“Well, such is life,” Anna remarked. “It goes on, gets better with time. Barn fires aren’t fun, but you get a new barn in the end. It looks nice, our barn does. I like the color of the metal siding. It’s cool.”
She smiled a genuine smile of pleasure, including her husband in its brilliance, then announced the fact that she was hungry. Why didn’t Sarah go along home with them and she’d make stromboli?
“At ten o’clock?” Sarah was incredulous.
“Shoot. I could eat stromboli, easily,” Anna announced happily.
“Come along home, Sarah,” Ben urged.
“No, I can’t. Mam would worry. I’d have to call my driver, and there’s no telephone here. No. Maybe some other time.”
After they’d gone, Sarah was vastly relieved, in spite of the temptation. How could she and Lee have hidden their feelings from Ben and Anna? Could she have pulled it off?
She had asked the driver to pick her up at ten thirty, which meant she had another half hour to wait.
The night was warmer than the previous ones, so she turned off the propane lamp, locked the door, and sat on the cement porch steps listening to the night sounds, watching the half moon in the star-filled sky, listening to the whispering of the wind in the willow tree down by the fence.
She heard singing, didn’t she? Or was it the willow tree playing tricks with her senses? There it was again. High, a bit reedy, but a voice singing.
Headlights loomed of the darkness, putting the fence, the privy, the willow tree in plain sight. The singing stopped as the car slowed.
There were voices, a car door slammed. Then a high shriek, followed by a man’s angry voice.
The wail of despair that followed tore at Sarah’s heart, and she rose from her seat immediately and walked toward the sound before deciding it wasn’t worth the risk. It would be foolhardy, putting her life in jeopardy.
A car door slammed again.
Sarah cowered by the brick wall of the school as a figure hurtled through the night, feet pounding the pavement, followed by desperate shrieks.
“No! No!”
How could she just stand against the wall and listen to that?
Sarah ran toward the open gate, calling, “Does anyone need help?”
The vehicle sped up again and then screeched to a stop. A dark figure leapt out and grabbed the fugitive, hauling him or her into the car as Sarah stood, afraid to intervene, afraid to step outside the boundaries of the schoolyard.
The small white car was not a Volkswagen. That was all Sarah knew for sure as it careened past, tires squealing, leaving her standing along the rural road watching it speed away.
It could have been Ashley. Who else would be in trouble around here, followed by a small, white car?
Another barn had burned to the ground, and the Amish still just sat, taking all the hatred and violence, bowing down, and saying, “Thy will be done.”
Sarah was so upset when she walked into the kitchen at home that she strode purposefully to her parents’ bedroom door and rapped smartly, her heart thudding in her chest until she heard her mother’s muffled voice.
“Can we talk?” she hissed.
“Of course.”
Bed springs creaked as her parents left their warm bed and appeared at the kitchen table where Sarah sat, the lamp lit, the teakettle heating on the gas burner.
Her parents slid into kitchen chairs, their eyes wide with worry, and Sarah immediately launched into a vivid account of the runaway person, the small white car, and the fact that they never did mention Ashley Walters to the police. What if she was in grave danger?
“Dat, you know she is!” Sarah burst out.
Dat nodded, listening, stroking his beard with a large calloused hand.
“But you don’t know if it was Ashley, do you?”
“No. But I have a feeling.”
“So you suggest we call the police and tell them everything we know?” he asked.
“Yes. Ashley knows something that bothers her terribly. I really do think she knows who is starting the barn fires. It’s just an intuition, a hunch, but as time goes on, it becomes more clear. You know that rude guy who came to the door? When we were canning pumpkin? He warned us to stay away from Ashley. Her father, the man at the leather goods stand at market, said the same thing.”
Dat pondered Sarah’s words.
Mam rose when the teakettle’s whistle pieced the air, unhooked three mugs from the wall, dropped a tea bag into each of them, and poured the hot water.
Long into the night, they reasoned among themselves, Dat pulling in the direction of passivity, Mam steering toward finding out more of Ashley Walter’s lifestyle, and Sarah leaning heavily toward Melvin’s way of thinking.
“You know, Dat, someone is going to get hurt, or even killed. At first, everyone in the whole Amish community was afraid. After a while, we relaxed. Then there was another fire, we rebuilt, and the rage and fear and everything else just flooded in again. It’s a vicious circle without an end. The barn fires are not going to stop until this person is caught. And I feel as if we know enough to try and do something about it.”
“But is it right?” Dat asked, after a long pause.
“What do you mean, is it right?” Sarah asked.
“Our forefathers would not have fought in a war, neither would they have gone to court, or hired a lawyer to defend themselves. We are a nonresistant people. If a man smites one cheek, give him the other. If he asks you to go with him one mile, go with him twain,” Dat quoted quietly.
“And if a man burns your barn, give him a bunch more to burn!” Sarah exploded.
Mam burst out laughing, and Dat smiled hesitantly.
“It’s only common sense, Dat. This last fire just got my blood boiling. I mean, here is this humble couple, never hurt a flea, live thei
r lives as best they know how, deny themselves anything wasteful or frivolous. You’d think God would smile on them always, but some lunatic creeps through the night and lights their barn. Why wouldn’t we want to help them, Dat?”
“It’s not our way, Sarah.”
Mam raised her eyebrows, watched her husband’s face, and kept her peace.
“I’m afraid if we try to put the law on Ashley, we’ll be raking in a whole load of trouble we didn’t bargain for. We surely don’t have much evidence.”
Defeated, Sarah bade her parents goodnight and went to bed, frustrated, still committed to finding out what she could about Ashley. Dat was too old-fashioned, always bringing up that old forefathers thing.
Remembering Lee, she touched her fingers to her mouth, smiled softly, let the light of his eyes soothe her, and fell into a sweet and restful slumber.
A few days later, Sarah was shocked to see Ashley Walters when her school driver stopped at a Turkey Hill market for gas, the needle on the gauge of her old Chevy hovering just above empty.
Sarah’s lips were chapped, a brand new cold sore popping up, so she ran into the small store to purchase a tube of Blistex. She stopped short when she saw the unmistakable profile of the thin, tormented girl behind the cash register, her hair falling forward as always, a curtain to shield her from the harsh realities of life.
Should she reveal herself? Or turn and leave?
Ashley was as shy as a wild deer, and Sarah desperately wanted to avoid spooking her. She didn’t have much time, so she found the Blistex and walked boldly toward Ashley with what she hoped was a welcoming expression. Ashley’s eyes met Sarah’s before a wave of fright opened them wider, but she struggled to calm herself and remain professional.
“Hi.”
“Hi, Ashley. How are you?”
“I’m okay. Back with Mike. We’re good.”
“I’m just so glad to see you. To know you’re okay.”
“Yeah. Well, that’ll be a dollar and seventy-nine cents.”
Sarah handed her two dollars, accepted the change, and was dismissed coolly when Ashley said, “Next,” to the customer behind her.
