by Linda Byler
The man turned his head and looked at the house. Levi’s breath came quick and fast. He could not tell who it was. Better tell Dat.
He had just opened his mouth to call Dat when a pair of headlights came slowly in the drive beneath the maple trees, their trunks inky black, lined up like sturdy sentries but allowing the car access to Davey Beiler’s farm, the tires crunching quietly on the frozen snow.
Good, Levi thought. Now he’ll be afraid and run across the field. Instead, the man turned, waiting beside the driveway, as the vehicle pulled up slowly. He looked toward the house.
Levi did his best, peering intently through the lenses of his thick spectacles, his breathing accelerated now. He looked like that other man. Not the man from California, the other one. That night they’d gone to Ashley’s viewing, there where she had lain so dead in that great big fancy casket, with all those flowers.
Levi watched as the man opened the passenger door and lowered himself into the car. It moved off slowly, the crunching of the snow audible to Levi’s ears.
Well, they were taking their time, he reasoned, so they weren’t going to stick the barn on. And the car was not white. Levi couldn’t really tell what color it was in the darkness.
When it turned around out by the implement shed, Dat lifted his head, coughed, and looked toward the window above the kitchen sink, as if he thought he heard something, but then he lowered his head and resumed reading.
Levi kept his eyes on the car as it drove slowly out the drive, turned left, and continued down the rural road.
Quietly, Levi replaced the geraniums, picked up the withered brown geranium leaf, and placed it carefully in the trash before shuffling out to the kitchen with his empty water pitcher.
David Beiler looked up as Levi approached, smiling at him absentmindedly, his thoughts on the verses he had read.
“Bet zeit (Bed time)?”
Levi nodded.
“Brauch vassa (Need water)?”
Levi nodded again.
“Did you take your garlic and echinacea?”
“No.”
“You better would.”
“Garlic stinks.”
Dat chuckled.
“It does you a lot of good in winter, Levi.”
“It still stinks.”
Muttering to himself about his plans to hide the plastic bottle of garlic capsules, Levi took a tray of ice from the freezer, twisted it, and shook the cubes into the small plastic water pitcher. Then he opened the tap and filled the tray with water.
Mam emerged from the steaming bathroom, her face rosy from the heat, her navy blue bathrobe belted securely, a white dichly (head scarf) knotted around her head.
“Ready for bed, Levi?”
“Ya. Vett an snack ovva (I would like a snack).”
Mam’s eyes twinkled. “We have good oranges.”
Levi gave her a baleful look and shook his head from side to side.
“Vill (I want) shoofly.”
“No, Levi, shoofly pie tomorrow morning, for breakfast. Oranges tonight.”
“I don’t like oranges. They’re sour. Hard to peel.”
“How about an apple?”
“Apple pie?”
His face was so hopeful, his expression so woebegone, Mam’s heart melted like soft butter, and she went to the pantry, got down the freshly-baked apple pie, and cut a sizable wedge for her perpetually hungry son.
Wreathed in smiles, Levi thanked her profusely, grabbed a fork, and enjoyed every bite to the fullest, then sat back and wiped his face very carefully.
“Denke, Mam,” he said.
“You’re welcome, Levi.”
He thought he should tell Dat, the apple pie suddenly escalating his goodwill toward his beloved parents.
“Davey.”
“Hmm?”
“There was a man standing by the barnyard tonight.”
“Aw, come on, Levi.”
“There was. I saw him.”
Dat shook his head, “No, Levi.”
Levi nodded. “A car came and picked him up. He looked at the house, then he looked at the barn.”
“After he was in the car?”
Dat was fully alert now. He picked up his German Bible and took it to his desk with the rest of his German books, coughing again.
“No,” Levi said slowly.
“Before?”
“Ya.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t I see or hear anything?”
“You were reading.”
“Hmm.”
Mam watched Levi’s face intently.
Suzie rolled over, sat up, yawned, and said Levi told schnitzas (fibs) if he felt like it. She hadn’t heard anything.
Levi said the man did not want to stick their barn on, and he was not driving a white car. He looked like that other man.
“What other man?” Dat asked sharply.
“Not the one from California. The other one.”
“See? He’s just making this all up,” Suzie yelped.
“Hush, Suzie.”
“Which man from California? When? Where?” Mam asked, bewildered now, hurriedly placing the apple pie back into the Zip-loc bag, keeping order in her kitchen even if other events in the world appeared unsolvable and disorderly.
“That dead girl. When we ate at McDonald’s.”
Dat looked hard at Levi, glanced hurriedly at Mam, went to the window, and looked toward the barn for a very long time without saying anything.
When he turned, his face appeared pale, and he spoke tersely, “Time for bed, Suzie, Levi. Where’s Sarah and Priscilla?”
Going to the stairs, Mam called the girls, who appeared obediently soon afterward. They sat on the couch quietly as Dat reached from the German prayer book, nodding his head.
In perfect unison, they turned, kneeling as Dat read the old prayer, the evening prayer from the same Gebet Buch (prayer book) his father had read at the close of each day, his voice rising and falling as he pronounced the words, so dear to his heart, so comforting to Mam’s.
As the rest of the family slept through the cold wintry night, David Beiler could find no rest. He paced the kitchen floor, turning repeatedly to stare out the window, the one above the sink, gripping the countertop unknowingly, his shoulders tense, his mind tumbling with unanswered questions.
Was he putting the community at risk with his refusal to talk to the media and allow better coverage? What if Levi really had seen a suspicious person on their property that night?
Over and over, his anxiety led him to the window, his mind reliving the horror of his own barn fire, the terror, and poor Priscilla, losing Dutch, now not even caring whether she had a horse or not.
Cruel. It was all so cruel. And Priscilla had been just one victim of the arsonist. Still, it didn’t hurt for children to give up their own wills. That was old knowledge passed down for generations, and it never failed to amaze him. Discipline served as a boundary of love, producing caring adults for society, over and over.
As long as there was love to balance the discipline, it worked. Traditions were dependable, safe. But always? Even now?
In the face of this fiery adversary, who was he to say? Old John Zook exhorted them over and over to forgive. God had allowed the barn fires to take place, so he would provide a way, if they stuck to their beliefs.
Christ had suffered so much more, and He without sin, and here they were, ordinary sinners, beset with flesh and blood, and they couldn’t forgive without rising up in anger, insisting on vengeance.
In his heart and soul, he knew it was wrong.
Upstairs, lying beneath the heavy comforters, Sarah struggled with her own private battle, without confiding her fears to Priscilla, who had flounced out of her room after asking what was up with her sour mood and telling her she was crazy yet again.
Jagged edges of fear taunted her, restricted her from looking forward with a clear gaze, unable to decipher an uncertain future.
Torn between a great love for Matthew and
an unexplainable misery about Lee, sleep eluded her completely. She lay on her back, staring wide-eyed at the dark ceiling as her thoughts chased away every last shred of peace.
What if Matthew did return and refused to acknowledge her? What if he denied the fact that he had ever cared for her?
He wouldn’t. Would he?
Hannah told Mam he’d likely be home in the spring. Six more weeks! Not even two months.
Would he appear different? Older? Wiser? Ready to admit his mistakes? Would he grieve for his poor, deceased wife?
Suddenly, she remembered the Widow Lydia’s words, a precise pinprick inserted into the magical bubble she had built around herself. She had bowed her head, Lydia had, in that way of hers when she was contemplating a weighty matter, as Sarah’s words had rained around her, happy little dashes of anticipation, exclamation marks of joy punctuating every sentence. Matthew was coming home! That seemingly was all Sarah knew or cared about.
When Lydia finally spoke, she simply said, “Hopefully, Lee is an extraordinary man and understands this.”
Sarah’s face had flamed. Reaching up now, she touched the tips of her ears, remembering the searing heat of her discomfort. There had been no words to justify her anticipation of Matthew’s return.
Melvin, of course, had his usual lack of tact, bluntly telling Sarah that he wanted nothing to do with Matthew, and he certainly hoped she felt the same. He said that if she didn’t watch it, she’d be left high and dry, turning 40 and not being able to figure out what had happened.
“I can’t think of it, but there’s a word for girls like you,” he finished.
Sarah looked up sharply.
“Fickle?” Lydia asked shyly.
“That’s it. You can’t be trusted, Sarah.”
But what did Melvin know? He was one to talk. Going on 30 years old, unmarried, and now, by all appearances, completely enamored by Lydia. If he was a bit off the beaten track, why couldn’t she be?
Besides, he didn’t know if Matthew would return to the fold or not. Opinionated troublemaker.
Flipping onto her side, she peered at the numbers on her battery-operated alarm clock. 12:42.
Sighing, she resigned herself to a day of tired irritation at school. She began breathing slowly in and out, relaxing her shoulders, cleansing her mind of troubling thoughts about Matthew.
Just before she fell asleep, she thought she heard Lee say, “See you, Sarah.”
Startled, she jerked awake, her heart hammering. Was she really losing her mind? When all else failed, she prayed fervently, asking God to direct her path and help her lean not on her own understanding.
She prayed for guidance, prayed for her pupils at school, for her ability to teach them with wisdom and understanding. Peace enveloped her, covering her softly as she fell into a deep sleep.
In the morning, a soft temperate wind moaned around the house, whistling along the eaves, gently tossing the small branches of the bare maple trees in an undulating dance of promised spring.
Water dripped off the roof’s edges, and icicles broke loose and crashed to the ground, burying themselves in the dirty snow. Everything melted together in a sluice of water, creating a fine, sticky mud anywhere there was bare earth.
Brown grasses huddled in sodden little heaps as the white snow around them dissolved into frigid water, slowly moving in little rivulets to join the large stream of water gushing from the downspout on the implement shed’s corner.
Sarah jutted her chin comfortably into the confines of her dark head scarf, tying it securely as she walked to the barn to join Dat for the morning milking.
Ah. She lifted her face, felt the soft wind, heard the melting snow running along the eaves, and thought how lovely, how absolutely deliciously lovely, it was that spring was on its way.
Her eyes were dry and itchy, so Dat found her standing in the milk house, rubbing them with two fingers, blinking, then yawning.
“Didn’t sleep?” he asked as his morning greeting. Just then a yawn caught him, his mouth gaping open tremendously, followed by a shaking of his head, a bleary look, and a grin of humility.
“No.”
“Me either. What was bothering you?”
“Not much.”
Time to start milking, Sarah thought wryly. Subject closed.
They worked together in silence, the cows munching their silage, the milking machines chugging with a homey sound, just the way they always had.
Sarah fed the calves, her gloved hands getting wet as she laughed ruefully at the strength of the day-old calf’s jaws as the little animal bucked and fought, ravenously hungry, willing the calf starter to come faster.
Stars twinkled overhead, and a thin streak of dawn appeared in the east, the promise of a beautiful day.
She rubbed the stubby black head of the last calf, withdrew the plastic bottle from its greedy little mouth, leaving it standing bewildered, wondering why the milk was already gone.
She washed the milkers and scrubbed the gleaming sinks, finishing just as Dat entered, hanging up an extra lantern for her.
“So, you didn’t say why you weren’t able to sleep,” he said, leaning against the bulk tank, eyeing her quizzically from beneath his tattered chore hat.
Sarah lifted her hands from the hot water and wiped them on her bib apron before turning to face her father, shrugging her shoulders helplessly.
“Oh, just, you know, stuff.”
“Same here. Stuff.”
She caught the twinkle in her father’s eye, and they laughed softly together.
Dat said, “Matthew?”
Sarah nodded, shamefaced.
Dat thought of all the things he would like to tell her to keep her from having to learn the hard way. Oh, how he longed for her to see!
“Just remember to pray each day, Sarah. Read your Bible, for in those inspired words lie wisdom. Remember that God comes first, and then earthly joys—guys, you call them, romance, whatever.”
Did his face take on a reddish glow?
Sarah smiled genuinely at her father, encouraging him, knowing he was awkward when discussing matters of the heart.
“I’ll be alright, Dat. I really will. Matthew will return in about six weeks, and then I guess I’ll figure it out, don’t you think?”
Dat nodded, placed a hand on her shoulder. “I think you will.”
They walked together, splashed through the rivulets of icy water, the softness of the dawn caressing their faces, waiting for the first rays of the morning sun. They knew that each day is new, God’s mercies as fresh as the dawn, renewed all over again as if each day was the very first day of creation.
Whatever lay before both of them—decisions, crossroads, events, mountains that seemed immovable—they knew their faith would somehow sustain them.
Sarah bent swiftly, picked up a handful of snow, and squeezed it into a snowball of sorts. She drew her arm back, took aim, and fired a hefty shot at her father’s broad, denim overcoat.
The resounding splat brought a surprised yell from her father, followed by a grand swoop, and a pile of snow landing directly in her face.
Spluttering, laughing, Sarah bent for another solid handful but was stopped by the sound of a window opening. Levi appeared, clearly delighted by Davey’s antics, and he was yelling at the top of his lungs.
“Grick an, Sare (Get him, Sarah)!”
Dat cried, “Uncle! Uncle!” and Levi bounced up and down with genuine glee.
Laughing, they entered the kesslehaus, where the smell of frying mush greeted them, warm and crisp and cozy, the smell of home, tradition, and genuine happiness.
Ausre gmayna—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect phrase meaning “other churches.”
Bann—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect word meaning “excommunication” or “ban.” The Amish practice this when they believe someone in their community has violated the Amish understanding of faith and the practices that flow from it.
Bet zeit—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect phrase meaning “bed
time.”
Dat—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect word used to address or refer to one’s father.
Dichly—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect word meaning “head scarf.”
Die alte—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect phrase meaning “forefathers.”
Doch veggley—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect phrase meaning “carriage.”
Englishe leid—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect phrase meaning “English people.”
Ess mocht sich—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect phrase meaning “it will be alright.”
Fa-fearish—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect word meaning “misleading.”
Fa-schput—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect word meaning “mocking.”
Fer-sark—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect word meaning “to take care of.”
Frade—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect word meaning “joy.”
Ga-fuss—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect word meaning “fuss.”
Ga-pick— A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect word meaning “picking,” as in picking on someone.
Ga-mach—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect word meaning “to do.”
Gebet Buch—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect phrase meaning “prayer book.”
Geduldich—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect word meaning “patient.”
Gepp—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect word meaning “give it.”
Gros-feelich—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect word meaning “vain” or “proud.”
Ivver vile—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect phrase meaning “soon.”
Kalte sup—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect phrase meaning “cold soup.”
kesslehaus—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect word meaning “wash house.”
Kindish—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect word meaning “childish.”
Mam—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect word used to address or refer to one’s mother.
Mitt leidas—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect phrase meaning “sympathy.”
Mutsa—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect word meaning “Sunday coat.”
Naits—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect word meaning “thread.”
Nay—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect word meaning “no.”
