by Linda Byler
Sarah wished Ashley had not been so alone when she died. She hoped fervently she had been conscious of nothing after the wreck. Sarah couldn’t eat her supper, couldn’t fall asleep, thinking of Ashley hitting the underside of the unyielding tanker, so small, so innocent, so alone.
She threw back the covers and got down on her knees beside the bed, cupped her face in her hands, and stayed there, praying, even though she knew Ashley had already died. What sense did it make praying for her soul? But it was comforting, instilling a certain peace throughout her.
What had Dat said about Ashley?
God loved her, too. She was important to Him.
Sarah figured God cared very much about Ashley’s soul and would take care of her, fer-sark her.
Who could tell what upbringing the poor girl had had? Her mother living thousands of miles away, her father threatening. Or had he been? Would they ever know?
Three evenings later, the Beiler family dressed in funeral black. Dat and Levi wore blue shirts, crisp, homemade, ironed carefully, their high-topped, black Sunday shoes gleaming, their felt hats placed securely on their heads. Mam wore her black shawl and bonnet, the girls their woolen pea coats.
It seemed like such a short time since Mervin’s viewing had taken place, and now they reached out to whoever had loved Ashley, broken family or not. Death was a universal bond, grief a language everyone understood. No culture was unique at the time of a death, the sorrow keenly felt by those who had experienced it before.
They helped Levi into the van, using a step stool and steadying his shaking legs, Mam’s hand on his back, Dat holding onto the stool in the cold, December wind, his mutsa (Sunday coat) blowing up as he bent over.
Levi grunted, pulled himself up, and sat heavily in the front seat, his eyes alight with bird-like curiosity, before asking, “Who is the driver?”
The name was supplied—Randy Stover, a man who was fairly new in the business of driving the Amish.
“Well, good evening, Randy. I’m glad to meet you. I’m Levi Beiler.”
Randy smiled, politely exchanged pleasantries with Dat, and listened carefully as Levi informed him he was going to the city of Lancaster and not to a dentist or doctor.
“Nothing’s going to hurt this round, Randy,” he announced, giggling jubilantly. Then Levi turned to his father. “Can we stop at McDonald’s, Dat?”
When Dat gave no immediate answer, Levi informed him that the last time he had had a Big Mac it was summertime, hot.
Dat smiled and said alright, Levi, which satisfied his inquiry.
The city of Lancaster was a frightening place on a dark December night, even if lights illuminated every sidewalk and street corner.
The funeral home was a lavish, stone building on King Street, a fancy canopy erected over the front stoop, brick pathways winding between exotic shrubbery and trees.
The parking lot was empty, or almost, and Sarah’s heart felt dark and heavy for her friend. Surely someone was there for her. Someone cared.
They helped Levi down from the high van seat, explaining patiently that this was a viewing, like Mervin’s, and he had to stay nice and quiet. If he obeyed, they would buy him a Big Mac at McDonald’s on the way home.
Silently, they moved as one. A small group of Amish people dressed in black, going to pay their last respects to a new acquaintance.
There was no one standing in line. A handful of people were gathered at the end of a long corridor, an open book on a gleaming wooden stand nearby. Heavy carpeting muted their steps, and Dat stood respectfully aside as Mam bent to sign their names.
He took off his hat then, carrying it by his side, whispering to Levi to do the same. Levi had a steady look of concentration on his face, so Sarah knew he would obey perfectly, his reward a calorie-laden treat.
The coffin was set in a warmly lit alcove, a few bouquets of flowers set at attractive angles around it. Surprisingly, the coffin was opulent, lined with white satin, lavishly carved and decorated, a cascade of white lilies spilling across the top.
Sarah recognized Mike, who appeared extremely nervous, wild-eyed, as they approached.
A handshake from Dat changed that, a hand to his shoulder altered the look completely, as his face crumpled and he turned away, his shoulders heaving.
Instant tears welled up in Sarah’s eyes as Dat stayed with Mike, speaking kind words of condolence to the distraught youth.
They moved on to greet the man and woman standing at the head of the coffin, shook hands, introduced themselves. Mam was pulled into the elegantly dressed woman’s embrace, then each of the girls in turn.
Dat repeated his kind gestures to the man, who was dressed in an expensive suit, his face openly curious.
Finally, the woman introduced herself as Ashley’s mother from Fresno, California.
“My husband, Andrew.”
Sarah stood and looked at Ashley, lying so still and lifeless, her face patched together and barely recognizable to her.
So young, she thought as tears slipped down her cheeks. As they talked, Sarah was shocked to discover the couple was named Andrew and Caroline Walters, Ashley’s true biological parents.
“You, you aren’t separated?” she asked softly.
“No. Oh no. Ashley came to Pennsylvania for college. She was estranged from Andrew and me.”
Caroline was suddenly overcome with emotion, dabbing daintily at her tears. “I know this sounds lame, but she literally got in with the wrong crowd. We talked sometimes, but the sad part is there wasn’t much we could do.”
They talked for awhile, the Walters longing to learn all they could about their daughter’s last years. Then the Beilers stepped aside as a few people from the farmer’s market made an appearance.
Where was Harold from the leather goods stand? He was the one Ashley had claimed was her father. Confused, Sarah turned to greet Tim, the owner of the farmer’s market.
Tim then said hello to Levi, who watched his face with curious eyes, both hands clutching the brim of his hat. But Levi would not open his mouth to acknowledge Tim’s greeting.
Bewildered, Tim asked Sarah if Levi was mute.
“No. Oh no. He was told to be quiet at the viewing and then he’ll be allowed to go to McDonald’s.”
Levi nodded, his eyes sparkling.
“Big Mac!” he mouthed, then checked hurriedly to see if Dat or Mam had overheard his breach of contract.
Quietly, the Beiler family moved on together, leaving the Walters to greet the handful of well-wishers and acquaintances.
Confused and sorrowful, Sarah walked back to the van.
“I’m just so glad she has parents to take care of her burial. It seems less devastating somehow,” Mam mused quietly.
“But she said her parents were separated,” Sarah said, her voice unsteady, troubled.
Dat was true to his word, and Levi enjoyed his sandwich, complete with the highly-regarded French fries and ketchup and a large Coke to boot, which he enjoyed to the fullest. Then he tossed and turned the remainder of the night, finally getting up and helping himself to a spoonful of Maalox and a long drink of water, keeping Mam awake until three o’clock in the morning.
Even Dat was grouchy at the breakfast table, drinking cup after cup of black coffee, his thoughts a thousand miles away. Finally, he spoke.
“It wouldn’t be so bad, if we could only have obtained more information about these fires. Clearly, Mike is terribly afraid of us.”
“I don’t think he had anything to do with them,” Sarah said.
“What makes you say that?” Dat growled, setting them all a bit on edge.
“Ashley as much as told me. I think he was mischievous about them, enjoyed scaring people, even wanted us to think it was him, but he was too immature, too childish. I don’t think he’d be brave enough to do something like that.”
“But the bottom line is still that our only source for information about the fires is gone.”
“You didn’t want to question her.”
Abruptly, Dat left the table, which was completely unlike him. Sarah knew Ashley’s death troubled him more than he would admit, which proved to Sarah that he struggled the same as everyone else, desperately wanting an end to the danger of yet another fire.
A heavy cloud of oppression hung over the rest of the family. Suzie kicked the table leg, saying she didn’t feel well and asking why she had to go to school if she was sick.
Levi ate oatmeal and bananas, belched loudly, and didn’t ask to be excused until Priscilla reminded him sharply.
He said it was the Maalox.
Sarah went to school with a heavy heart, her face pale, her shoulders drooping.
She told her pupils about the accident, about knowing Ashley, and was gratified when even the older boys seemed interested. It was a small start at building a relationship with them, but it was at least a start.
At recess, the heavy, red-faced little girl named Leah came up to Sarah’s desk, leaned across it, and watched her, the bright, beady gaze never leaving Sarah’s face. Sarah put down the red ballpoint pen she was using and looked at her.
“What can I do for you, Leah?”
“Nothing.”
Quickly, Leah swept away. Sarah raised her eyebrows and went back to work, checking the first grade’s penmanship papers.
Five minutes later, Leah was back, watching Sarah’s face.
“What?” Sarah asked.
“You know Ashley?”
“Yes.”
“She got eggs from us.”
“She did?”
“Yes. Her and Mike.”
“Really?”
“Yes, they did. She gave me some bubble gum.”
Quickly, Leah looked around to make sure no one saw her.
“Here.”
She thrust a small bag containing a very squashed chocolate cupcake in Sarah’s direction. Her small bird-like eyes gazed steadily into her face before she opened her mouth, then closed it again.
“Don’t tell anyone, but I pity you, because Ashley died.”
Then she catapulted her round form away from the desk, shot out the door, and hid her face the remainder of the day.
Every small moment like that was a rosy victory for Sarah, making each day at the teacher’s desk worthwhile. She ate every bite of the chocolate cupcake, finding it delicious, a symbol of the effort she put into each day, a small reward perhaps, but a huge accomplishment. What an angry little girl Leah had been that first day!
They made candy canes from red and white construction paper and hung them from paper chains, planning to stretch them from the center of the classroom to the four corners. Sarah decided to asked the two eighth-grade boys to do it.
“Sam, would you and Joe like to hang these paper chains?”
There was no response. Both boys slouched in their seats, reading tattered copies of old books brought from home, questionable paperbacks Sarah did not have the nerve to discuss.
No use opening that can of worms just yet, she thought wryly.
“Sam?”
Joe raised his hand.
“We usually don’t help the teacher.”
“This isn’t usually.”
No response.
Sighing, Sarah let it go but felt as if everything she’d accomplished had just slipped out of her grasp, leaving an oily residue that she could not wash away.
Teaching school was a trail with so many highs and lows, the highs like Mt. Everest, the lows an unexplainable abyss, a place full of hopelessness.
Six weeks, and what had she accomplished? Worse yet, five barn fires, and they were back to square one with Ashley gone. Sarah folded her arms on her desk, laid her head on them, and closed her eyes.
Sarah spent the following Saturday evening at the Widow Lydia’s, her house cozy and warm, every corner lit with scented candles for Christmas.
There were wrapped presents on the old library table, and homemade bells hung from the window blinds.
They’d cut egg cartons apart, folded aluminum foil over the small cups, strung them on red and green yarn, and tied red ribbon around them.
They had just finished another batch of caramel popcorn, adding pecans to it this time. The house was infused with buttery, sugary smells. Lydia’s face was glowing, her hair gleaming smoothly in the lamplight.
She confided in Sarah, whispering behind a hand raised to her face, that she felt guilty, but this Christmas she was simply going all out.
She had spent almost thirty dollars for a set of Legos for Ben, she confessed. Sarah stepped back, surveyed Lydia’s face, and said that was fine, absolutely, not extravagant at all.
They made a double batch of Rice Krispie treats and decorated them with green and red icing, for Aaron, the toddler.
Sarah was washing dishes, thinking how easily marshmallow succumbed to hot water, when someone spoke, directly behind her.
“Hello, Sarah.”
Turning, her hands still in the dishwater, she found Lee Glick, his blue eyes conveying his gladness at seeing her there. Sarah wanted to fling herself in his arms, right then and there, but she slowly took her hands from the dishwater and dried them on a towel before she said, “Lee.”
“How are you?”
“Oh, I’m okay. You heard about Ashley Walters?”
A great shout went up when Melvin suddenly appeared, his shirt the color of new grass in spring, his balding head shining like a freshly washed egg, his nose as crooked and dear as ever.
“Surprised you, right?”
Sarah laughed but acknowledged that yes, he had, while she blushed furiously. Melvin howled with glee, savoring her embarrassment.
Lydia stood shyly in the background, her eyes giving away the beating of her heart.
Melvin turned to her, and the look they exchanged needed no words, a rare and beautiful thing.
Omar had gone with his friends for the weekend, so Anna Mae and Rachel were thrilled to have company, making coffee, serving pretzels and cheese, obviously enamored with Melvin.
He held court with a kingly air, seated on a throne of his own imagination. To say he was in his element was an understatement, and Sarah watched him, marveling at the change in her cousin.
The candles flickered, the coal stove glowed, the smell of freshly-brewed coffee mixed with sweet smells from the kitchen. Sarah’s happiness was complete when Lee turned and smiled at her, his face warm and filled with more than a welcome.
When they discussed the latest event pertaining to the barn fires, Melvin said there was no doubt in his mind that they had missed their chance by taking Dat’s advice instead of allowing the police to interrogate that girl, and now look, she was dead.
Sarah mentioned the fact that Mike was still around. Lydia agreed. It might be worth a try.
Lee became somber, slouched in his chair only a bit, saying nothing as Melvin waved his hands for emphasis, explaining in his ringing voice why he thought the law should know about Ashley and Mike.
“You know, the police are a lot more intelligent than we are. They’ll know which steps to take, which way to go. I don’t know why your dat can’t see that.”
Sarah shrugged. “I thought he put you in your place.”
“He did for awhile, but I got so upset at Enos Miller’s it wasn’t funny. They are the nicest couple, so simple and humble and God-fearing.”
“About the opposite of you,” Sarah teased.
Melvin made a face, while Lydia’s eyes worshipped him.
Far into the night, they sat around Lydia’s table, playing board games as the candles burned low in their glass jars. The coal fire needed stoking, and the children dropped off to sleep, one by one making their way upstairs to their soft beds to snuggle beneath thick comforters.
Melvin suggested they stay awake till four o’clock, then all do chores together. He didn’t have church this Sunday. Lee did, but he said it was alright to skip services, because he had other important matters to attend to—milking Lydia’s cows.
M
elvin really laughed about that, winking broadly, and Sarah slapped him, just for fun. The cousins exchanged a knowing look, and Sarah was rewarded by the warmth, the approval of Lee, in Melvin’s eyes.
In the month of January, all of Lancaster County turned into a vast, arctic landscape dotted with white barns, farmhouses, and clusters of multi-colored homes forming quaint, homey villages.
Farm wives stoked the fires. Cornmeal mush sizzled in cast iron frying pans, liverwurst heated beside it in sturdy saucepans, fuel for shivering, hungry men when chores were finished.
In some of the new, more modern Amish homes, the husbands grabbed their lunch pails and thermoses, said good-bye to their wives, and were whisked away in diesel-powered pickup trucks, going their ways with framing or roofing crews to build townhomes, offices, garages, homes for a steadily-growing population centered around the Garden Spot of America.
It was called progress.
Others hurried off to welding shops or cabinets shops, manufacturers, builders of fine, timeless furniture or farm equipment. They wolfed down quick breakfasts of bagels or cold cereal, while the hungry farmers ate their fried mush and liverwurst, eggs and stewed crackers, and home cured bacon.
When the sun rose, spreading light and a thin warmth across the land, hundreds of Amish households were up and moving, making a living however they could, blessed to be dwelling in a land where freedom of religion was practiced and respected.
Almost every Sunday morning, a minister somewhere would mention the fact that the congregation could travel to church with their horses and buggies, freely and openly, worshiping without fear. Their forefathers in Switzerland had crept through dark fields at night, worshipped secretly in caves, were hounded, jailed, burned at the stake for this. This freedom.
And what were we doing with this wonderful, God-given thing?
That was the question that clung to David Beiler’s conscience, wrapped tightly around it, never quite allowing him to let go in the face of a persistent adversary—the towering flames that had devoured too many Amish barns in Lancaster County over the past few years.
