Missing Your Smile

by Jerry S. Eicher

  Water! He needed more water—and he needed help. He could run into the fields and call down to Ada’s place, but help would never arrive in time.

  Menno jerked the barn door open, his blackened straw hat flying into the yard.

  “Anna!” he yelled. “Anna! The barn is on fire!”

  She will hear! he thought. Surely she will hear! He left his hat on the ground and raced for the water in the milk house, grabbing two more buckets. Trembling, he waited while they both filled.

  There was no sound from Anna. But then…yah…there she came, her soft footsteps running across the yard.

  With a great cry of alarm Anna burst into the barn. “Menno, where are you?”

  “Here! I’m in the milk house. There are more buckets, and you can fill them with water.”

  He heard nothing from her, only silence. Grabbing the two buckets he ran, letting the water splash wildly. She was still at the barn door, her eyes wide.

  “Menno, are you okay?” she asked, her arms full of quilts.

  “I’m fine,” he said, getting ready to toss the first bucket on the flames.

  The fire was hungry, seeking more fuel. If it reached the hay mow above, all would be lost. Once there they would never be able to stop the fire.

  “Throw your water!” she said.

  “We need more water—and quick!” he gasped. “The buckets are in the old milk house.”

  “Menno!” Her voice was sharp. “Throw your water—both of the buckets.”

  What is the woman’s problem? he thought. Then he saw what she planned to do. She had her quilts ready—some of her best ones, obviously just grabbed from the cedar chest.

  “But…” He stood there, looking at the fire.

  “Throw, Menno! Throw your water. Now!”

  He bent over and threw. One bucket right after the other. She dropped the stack of quilts on the floor, grabbing one, flaring it out with both hands, bringing the whole quilt over the sizzling fire. Without hesitation she followed with another one and then another.

  His hands shook as he watched.

  “Throw one on!” She ordered as she bent over to grab another quilt.

  He placed his hand on her arm. “It’s out, Anna. The fire is out. Don’t damage another of your quilts.”

  “The fire is out?” She paused.

  “Those were your best quilts.” He walked over, lifting them off the smoking straw and laying them aside. He ran his shoe through the black ash, searching for sparks.

  “We had to save the barn,” Anna said. “It’s Susan and Thomas’s barn.”

  “You smothered the fire with your quilts.” He pointed at the blackened pile.

  Anna looked at him. “Well, you threw the water on. I think that helped as much as anything. How did the fire start?”

  He hung his head, his hair in his eyes. “I guess I’m getting old. I wasn’t careful enough putting the match out.” He ran his fingers through his hair.

  She touched his hand, “It could happen to anyone, old or not. Don’t give me a scare like this again, okay? I thought something had happened to you.”

  He drew her tight into his embrace. Releasing her he said, “Let me go get some more water. I’ll make sure the fire is out.”

  “It’s out,” she said. “But I’ll watch it until you get back.”

  He walked to the milk house, coming back slower, two buckets of water in his hands. Empting them where the fire had been, he stirred the ashes with his shoe again. For good measure he retrieved his hay fork, and dug around in the straw.

  Menno helped Anna carry the damaged quilts out to the front lawn. They spread them out on the grass, where the first rays of the sun streaking across the lawn could reach them.

  “I hope that’s not a sign of what lies ahead for the day,” Menno said.

  Anna shrugged. “I’ll have your breakfast warm when you’re ready. I imagine we’ll be late now.”

  Menno nodded and turned to walk back toward the barn. It was hard growing old. He’d nearly burned down his own barn! His mind quickly turned to his even graver concern. But it was worse having a daughter he loved living out in the Englisha world.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The smell of breakfast filled the room. Anna was bending over the stove, bringing out the biscuits she’d been keeping warm.

  “Now we’ll be late for sure,” Menno said, sitting down at the kitchen table. “And I still have the hog to load onto the spring wagon.”

  “At least the barn didn’t burn down,” Anna said. “Be thankful for that.” She placed the biscuits on the table and then sat down.

  “Yah,” Menno said, bowing his head.

  They prayed silently until Menno raised his head. Silence was the easiest way to pray now with Susan gone. It seemed like so much of their lives had grown silent with her departure.

  Menno piled the eggs and bacon onto his plate. “Do you think a whole hog will be too much meat for us this year?” he asked.

  “I’d rather not cut back,” Anna said.

  “Susan might come home” is what she really means, Menno thought, but he was unwilling to say it aloud. He couldn’t say the words either, even though he was the one who usually said, “Susan will be coming back.” Instead, Menno said, “Meat’s always an easy item to get rid of.” He poured milk into his granola.

  Anna made the best granola in the community, baked fresh every few months—or more often if needed. She hadn’t needed to since Susan left.

  When Menno finished, Anna asked, “Can we pray right away? I need to get the utensils ready.”

  Menno nodded, laying down his spoon and bowing his head. After they were done, Anna left the table. Menno got up and took his bowl and plate to the counter. He usually left them on the table, but his wife deserved the kind gesture. She had, after all, saved the barn for him.

  “I’ll be out soon to help you load the hog,” Anna called from the washroom.

  “I can do it myself!” Menno hollered back. “Since when can’t I load hogs by myself?”

  “Since you’re old,” she said. “And since Susan is gone.”

  “I’m going to try,” he said, going toward the door.

  “You better wait for me!” she called after him.

  He ignored her. The Hostetler women do have a way with hogs, he had to admit. Anna usually got them loaded much quicker than he could. Butchering days brought her out to the barnyard—usually her and one of the girls, when they had still been at home. Together the two could load a hog in no time. When he tried, the hogs turned into squealing monsters, refusing to go anywhere…except where he didn’t want them to. He could plow all day or walk behind a disk till dusk, but there were some things on the farm he couldn’t do very efficiently. Hog loading was one of them.

  But he was going to try! The fire had injured his dignity, and perhaps hog loading would go differently this morning. It was worth a try and would certainly impress Anna. This morning he could use something going right. Menno pulled the spring wagon up to the chute behind the barn and loaded the crate. He aligned the door of the crate with the opening where the animal would run up. A lot of good this will do, he thought darkly. With a squeal and a toss of the hog’s nose all my planning can be undone. But I’m going to try!

  Now, which one had Anna said was to go? Yah, the mean one. She was also the fattest one who had never borne a litter. Menno found a stick and beat on the side of the pen, stirring up the trio by adding a simultaneous “Woof.” They looked at him as if he had just landed from another planet. Taking one more look at him, they ran around the enclosure before settling down again in the mud.

  “Get going there,” he hollered, jumping inside the pen and attempting to guide the mean sow with his stick.

  She grunted and headed in the right direction.

  So far so gut!

  At the bottom of the chute the hog stopped, studying the landscape around her. When Menno hollered at her, she lunged sideways toward Menno, nearly upending him into the mud. She
turned around to stare at him before rejoining the others.

  All three of them now stood looking at him, their snouts in the air.

  “Now who’s the boss?” Menno was sure he heard one of them ask. He pushed the thought away. The morning had been stressful enough. He didn’t need to hear hogs talking to him.

  “Now, get going!” Menno hollered again, prodding the sow with his stick. The hog moved one step at a time, taking her time before arriving at the bottom of the chute again. This time she went up a few steps before making a mad dash back to the others. Menno stayed out of her way. This is not going well, he decided. And here comes Anna, catching me in the middle of my feeble effort.

  “I told you to wait for me, Menno,” Anna said as she laughed. “Before long they’ll throw you in the mud and totally ruin your clothing. You remember that happened a few years ago?”

  “That was a long time ago.” Menno scowled.

  Anna entered the pen, patting the sow on the back and scratching her ears. “Now, right up there we go, big girl. And don’t even be thinking of doing anything else.”

  With a push on its behind, the sow moved, grunting as she went. She stopped to sniff around at the bottom of the chute.

  “Keep moving!” Anna continued to push.

  Menno swung his legs over the fence. The least he could do was guard the door to the crate. Perhaps a quick whack on the ears might persuade the sow to not charge sideways.

  “You stay away, Menno!” Anna called. “You’ll scare her.”

  He stopped short, waiting. The sow marched up the chute, stopping for a few sniffs at the door before going in. Anna pushed the door shut and clicked the latch.

  “She must have been tired from all the chasing I did,” Menno hedged.

  “Just get the horse,” Anna told him. “There are some things you aren’t gut at. And hog loading is one of them.”

  Menno mumbled as he left, bringing back the harnessed horse a few minutes later.

  Anna helped him hitch, climbing into the open seat and holding the lines as Menno hopped up.

  “Get-up!” Menno said after taking the reins. He slapped the lines against the horse’s back.

  They drove down the blacktop in the spring wagon, the hog crate secure behind them. Every once in a while the hog smell crept up to the front seat when the wind changed. Anna’s bowls and knives clattered under the seat when Menno turned onto the gravel road, swerving to avoid a rut in the road but hitting two more.

  The hog grunted.

  She seems satisfied enough with herself, Menno thought. Even with her precarious future, clueless of what lies ahead.

  Turning into John and Betsy’s driveway, Menno stopped by the sidewalk.

  Anna climbed down from the open buggy. She dug her bowls and knives out from under the seat.

  “Do you think you can get the sow off without my help?” Anna teased.

  “John’s here,” Menno shot back.

  But Anna was already heading up the sidewalk, both hands wrapped around her utensils.

  Menno pulled in front of the barn and left the hog grunting in the crate. Let her contemplate her fate in peace, Menno thought. Likely the sow had it figured out by now.

  Other buggies were pulling in, and Menno went over to help unhitch.

  “Gut morning,” he said with a fatherly smile.

  Miriam climbed down first, reaching back to bring the baby out. Her husband, Joe, was already out on the other side, pulling off the tugs.

  “It’s a beautiful morning,” Miriam said. “I see you still have your hog on the wagon. Is that the mean one?”

  Menno laughed. “Your mamm made sure that one came!”

  That Anna had also loaded the sow wasn’t worth mentioning, although from the twinkle in her eye Miriam looked like she probably knew.

  “We brought ours over yesterday,” Joe said. “I think everyone else did too.”

  “Now go and play,” Miriam said to her two youngest sons. “Go out in the barn, but stay away from the sow in grandpa’s spring wagon. Okay?”

  They both nodded solemnly and took off running.

  Joe led his horse forward as Menno held the shafts to keep them from slamming into the ground.

  Menno put them down and turned to help Esther and her husband who had just driven in. “Gut morning,” he said again, nodding to the children as they tumbled out. Esther had five children, all well behaved. His daughters except one were all doing fine. That made it even harder to accept that Susan was acting the way she was. She had always been his favorite, which might explain her actions. Wasn’t that how children became spoiled?

  “Gut morning,” Esther replied, the last one out of the buggy. Her husband nodded to him, not saying anything. Henry was a gut man for Esther, he just didn’t talk much.

  “Anyone else coming?” Menno asked.

  “It’s just the five families,” Esther said. “I think everyone’s here.”

  “I’ve only helped unhitch two buggies,” Menno commented.

  “Edna and Jacob’s buggy is out by the barn,” Esther said, motioning.

  “So it is,” Menno replied after turning to look.

  As Henry led the horse forward, the banging of metal on metal in the yard drew Menno’s attention. John was getting the water trough ready to heat in the yard. He had the trough turned upside down, dumping out the dried debris he had knocked loose. He set the trough back up, this time on supporting metal I-beams. The beams held the trough off the ground, the wood for a fire piled near the old oak tree. John shook the trough into place, dropping the water hose in as Menno walked up.

  “Gut morning,” Menno said. “Looks like you’re ready to go.”

  “Just about.” John shouted toward the barn, “Turn on the hose!”

  Water suddenly spurted, jerking the hose in the trough. John fed more hose inside and then grabbed some wood. He stacked it underneath, ready to light.

  “I see you still have your hog on the wagon,” John said.

  “She can stay there for a while,” Menno said. “At least until we’re ready for her.”

  “Then we’ll do the other three first,” John said. “We should get started soon.” John lit a match, stuck it under the kindling, and moments later a crackling fire was going.

  “Do you need more wood?” Menno asked.

  “The boys can get more with the wheelbarrow if we run out,” John said. “Let’s get this fire good and hot for now. The sooner the better.”

  It’s confession time, and now is as gut a time as any, Menno thought. John might not laugh quite as hard as some of his sons-in-law. “We had a fire at the barn this morning.”

  John jerked his head up. “A fire? In the barn?”

  “Yah, but we got it out. Actually Anna did. She brought her quilts out and used them to smoother the flames.”

  John doesn’t look satisfied, Menno thought. I was dreaming to think I’d get off easy.

  “Was it an accident?” John asked. “The lantern perhaps? They can be tricky sometimes. A cow kicked one out of my hands when I was a youngster, but that ended up on the concrete floor. Thank Da Hah it didn’t explode.”

  John was a nice man. He was trying to make things easier. “I didn’t shake the match out well enough. It landed in the straw,” Menno said.

  “It could happen to any of us,” John said.

  “There are still no excuses,” Menno said. “We teach our young boys better than that.”

  Just then a shout rose behind them, coming from the direction of Menno’s spring wagon. It was followed by the piercing screams of a young child.

  “Oh no!” John yelled, the first to turn around. His hat flew to the ground as he took off running.

  Menno tried to keep up with John, straining to run, his blood running like ice in his veins. Someone must have opened the crate! Now there were boys standing around, beating the sides of the crate with their hands.

  Miriam and Joe’s oldest boy, Jonas, was next to the crate, his arm between the
bars. The sow had the boy’s hand in her teeth and was jerking up and down. Slobber and blood were flying right and left.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  As Menno hurried toward the spring wagon, he saw Jonas’s body. His head was thrown back and his face was contorted.

  “He’s caught! He’s caught!” one of the cousins was shouting, jumping up and down beside the wagon.

  “What were you trying to do?” John shouted, not waiting for an answer. He slid to a stop and grabbed Jonas from behind.

  “Don’t pull!” Menno ordered, bracing his hands on the side of the crate. “Just hold the boy until she lets go.”

  Jonas whimpered, tears streaming down his face

  A stick! We need a stick! Menno thought. Where is the stick I used as a prod this morning? Didn’t I put it in the wagon? Yah, here it is! He grabbed it from the bed of the spring wagon and poked it through the crate slats, jabbing it hard into the sow’s stomach, shoving as hard as he could. He yelled at the top of his lungs, “Yah heee! Let him go!”

  The sow gave a great snort and released the boy’s arm. She jumped to the far side of the crate. John held the sobbing Jonas as the sow contemplated them with beady eyes.

  “What where you doing here?” John demanded.

  “We were just trying to unload the sow,” one of the cousins said, his voice trembling. “We wanted to help.”

  “You were told to stay away!” John lowered Jonas to the grassy lawn, cradling his head in his arms.

  Menno heard running feet behind them and then gasps as the women approached. They formed a circle around John and Jonas, a few running back toward the house, their skirts pulled up nearly to their knees. They would be going for water and soap. Hog bites needed to be cleaned quickly.

  Miriam pushed through the line, taking over for John, murmuring and stroking Jonas’s forehead. The others backed off. Menno pushed in close enough to see the puncture wounds in the boy’s arm—long lines of jagged teeth marks where the sow had crunched down and pulled. One of the boy’s fingers went off in a crazy angle, and there was white slobber all over his hand and arm.