Fire in the Night (10 page)

Dat said it was getting late to plant corn, but he guessed it would clear up and dry out. It always did.

Mam poured his coffee and asked what his plans were. Dat smiled and said he’d been thinking during the night that a very important thing had not yet been accomplished since the fire. When Dat said something in that tone of voice, everyone listened, knowing it would be good.

Looking at Priscilla, he announced, “I think it’s time we replace Dutch, if you’re willing to accompany me.”

The only way she knew to express herself was to clap her hands and let her eyes shine into the light of Dat’s.

“Can I go?” Suzie asked, hopefully, already knowing the answer.

“Sorry, Suzie. You have school.”

Mervin cried and kicked his chair. Levi told him he could go along, but in the end he had to go to school. However, he went with the promise of a waterer for his rabbit pen, which was sold with other pet supplies at the New Holland Sales Stables.

“A good day to go!” Sarah said, enthusiastic as ever. She loved a good horse sale, and today’s would be doubly exciting, helping Priscilla try to bond with another horse.

Mam opted to stay home, saying an empty house and her sewing machine were a wonderful way to relax and catch up on her much needed sewing.

Levi didn’t ask if he could go. He just took for granted that he would. He hurried to his room to choose a brightly colored shirt, so he wouldn’t get lost. His muttering was punctuated by loud bursts of happy laughter, followed by serious admonishments to himself.

“Now Levi, you are not allowed to have ice cream first. You have to eat a cheeseburger. Or maybe a hoagie. See what Dat says.”

When Dat brought the carriage and the new horse, named Fred, to the sidewalk, Sarah was ready and helping Levi into his “gumshoes.” Priscilla dashed out and clambered into the back seat, a flash of blue and black and a whirl of eagerness after the fear and heartache of losing her beloved pet.

Levi needed help to get into the buggy, so they tilted the front seat forward the whole way, allowing easy access to the back one.

Dat helped Levi, steadying him, encouraging, as Sarah held the bridle. The new horse had a good look about him. His eyes were calm and sensible, with no white showing in them. A steady flicking of his ears was the only sign of his mindfulness.

The buggy tilted to the side as Levi lifted his bulk up one step, with Dat supporting his waist. He lifted the other leg up and into the buggy, gripping the silver handle on the side.

He plunked down heavily beside Priscilla and said loudly, “Cheez Whiz!”

“You’re too fat, Levi!” Priscilla said, laughing at his expression.

“I am not. I’m a big man.”

“Yes, you are, Levi. You’re a big man,” Dat said, grinning.

“I can smack hard too, Priscilla,” Levi said soberly.

“You better not.”

“Then you have to be nice to me.”

“Come on, Fred,” Dat said as he clucked and pulled gently on the reins. The new horse moved off as if he’d done this thousands of times, trotting nicely past the maple trees dripping wet with morning moisture. He turned left on the macadam road, perfectly obedient, the picture of a good sensible horse.

“Boy, must be that Samuel Zook knows his driving horses. I think we got ourselves a winner.”

Dat closed the front window carefully over the nylon reins, protecting them from the cold, swirling mists. He had no more than clicked it into place when a feed truck came around a bend in the road with its slick blue tarp flapping on top and its engine revving after maneuvering the turn.

Down went Fred’s haunches, and up came his head. With a swift, fluid motion borne of raw fear, the horse reared, shied to the right, came down running, and galloped off across a neighbor’s soggy alfalfa field. The buggy swayed and teetered as Dat fought for control. Levi yelled and yelled and wouldn’t stop, increasing the horse’s fear.

They came to a stop in the middle of the squishy alfalfa field with Fred snorting and quivering. Everyone was thoroughly shaken up. Levi’s yells changed to incoherent babbles of fear.

“Well, here we are,” Dat said calmly. They all burst out laughing except Levi, who said it wasn’t one bit funny and Dat should not be so
schputlich
(mocking).

So there they sat, the steel wheels of the buggy firmly entrenched in the sodden earth. Fred decided this was the end of his journey and refused to move.

Patiently, Dat shook out the reins, clucked, chirped, and spoke in well-modulated tones. It did absolutely no good. The horse stood as firm as a statue carved in stone, the only sign of life the flicking of his ears and an occasional lifting or lowering of his head.

Dat opened the door of the buggy and leaned out to evaluate the situation. The wheels were partially sunken into the muck and sprouting alfalfa.

“He’s probably balking because it’s hard to pull if he lunges against the collar. It could be too tight.”

Sarah glanced down at Dat’s shoes.

“No boots?”

“So we just sit here?” asked Priscilla.

“Probably.”

Levi said they wanted to go to the horse sale, not sit here, and Dat better start smacking this crazy horse.

Dat said, “No, Levi, sometimes that only makes it worse. He’ll go when he’s ready. Horses that balk are often confused.”

Priscilla made no comment but then said, “Let me out, Dat.”

“It’s too muddy, Priscilla.”

“I can clean my shoes when we get there.”

“Alright.”

Dat got out and stood tentatively in the soft field. Sarah sat forward, allowing the back of her seat to lower, so Priscilla could scramble over it.

Going to Fred’s head, Priscilla rubbed his nose and spoke to him like a petulant child. She told Dat to get in, then tugged lightly on the bit. Her answer was an angry toss of Fred’s head. She kept up the repetitive stroking, adjusted the collar, and loosened a buckle on one side of the bridle, her fingers searching expertly for any discomfort from the harness or the bridle.

“Alright, Fred. Come on now. We have to buy a horse to live with you.”

Priscilla coaxed, tugging gently, and Fred decided it was time to go. He veered to the left, almost knocking her off her feet, before gathering his hind legs into a lunge and taking off in great leaps, mud flying from his hooves as well as the buggy wheels.

Inside the buggy, Dat lifted a forearm to protect himself from the chunks of mud that found their way through the window as he struggled to control the horse. Then he slid back the door of the buggy to see what had happened to Priscilla. He was rewarded by the sight of her dashing across the soggy alfalfa field.

Sarah breathed a sigh of relief when the buggy clunked over a small embankment and down onto the welcome macadam where Dat pulled Fred off to the side, waiting for Priscilla. She lost no time running to the parked buggy, her breath coming in gasps.

Pricilla’s hair curled every which way from the moisture in the air. Her covering sagged and slid off the back of her head. She didn’t look at her shoes; she just slid them off, put them under the front seat, and plopped down beside Levi.

“You’re wet!” he yelped

Priscilla grinned, gasped for breath, and rubbed a wet hand against Levi’s cheek. She was rewarded with a resounding smack, his favorite way of dealing with life’s outrages.

His famous smacks were never hard, never hurtful. His nature was much too affable to be taken seriously, so they were accepted without reprimand and just considered a part of their good-humored Levi.

Fred stepped out and trotted willingly the remainder of the way to New Holland, stopping at the one red light obediently, stepping out when asked.

When they arrived, Sarah helped Priscilla clean up in the large well-lit bathroom, supplying a fine toothed comb for her hair, pressing and shaping her organdy covering as best she could.

A few English girls gave them a not-so-friendly glance when they cleaned Priscilla’s gray Nike’s with wet paper towels, but there was nothing to say, so Sarah averted her eyes while the other girls washed their hands and rolled their eyes at each other. Well, they’d just have to think what they wanted. Not everyone had a car that always did exactly what was required of it. Especially not the Amish.

Priscilla glared after them, sensitive to these things at her age.

“They were mean.”

“Not really. It isn’t very sanitary, cleaning your shoes in here.”

“You want to go back and sit in the field again?”

Laughing, Sarah clapped an arm around her younger sister’s shoulders and thanked her for saving all of them.

“Thanks. Dat is so—well, he just doesn’t have it,” she answered.

The large arena where the horses were sold was filled with a solid wall of people stacked in diagonal layers in the stands. Every color imaginable reflected from the electric lights against the white walls, the metal railing, and swirls of dust. Far below the cavernous roof, an auctioneer and two seated clerks took up positions at a podium. A horse was brought in, pawing the sawdust, his eyes rolling with fear.

“We need to find Dat,” Sarah said loudly above the din.

“That will be a job.”

“Let’s go to the pens.”

Priscilla hesitated.

“Why not?”

“There’s so many men.”

“Come on!”

They ran down the steps and through the alleyways until they arrived at the long row of riding horses tethered to a board fence, patiently switching their tails. Some of them appeared high strung, others docile. Others were too thin and misshapen, their coats scraggly.

“They’ll go for killers.”

“Likely.”

As Sarah had guessed, Priscilla found no extraordinary horses and finally said they may as well go back.

Men in plaid shirts with seed-company logos across the fronts of their caps lounged along the fence, respectfully dipping their heads. Children ran and shouted, weaving through alleyways and much too close to the horses’ hind feet. They dashed about chattering like excited little squirrels, eating Skittles and Starbursts and M&M’s. It was great fun to be at a horse sale.

The girls said hello to Reuben King and Lamar Stoltzfus, two boys from Sarah’s youth group, and then moved on to find seats, with Dat and Levi, if possible.

So many straw hats and black coats! They simply stood, their eyes searching the crowd as the auctioneer prepared to open the sale.

Priscilla’s eyes darted from row to row, but Sarah’s had stopped, resting on Matthew Stoltzfus sitting with his brother, Chris.

Ah. He was here. Why hadn’t she dressed better?

She should have worn the new rose-colored dress. She hated the sweater she was wearing. It would look better on Mam. And here she was, her covering gone all flat and frumpy because of the morning’s heavy fog and humidity, even if it wasn’t actually raining.

Oh, he looked so good. His already tanned face and dark hair set him apart, way apart, from the rest of the crowd. Her heart was hammering in her chest. Her mouth went completely dry. She swallowed, choked, and tried desperately to hide all this from Priscilla.

“There! Right there they are.”

Of course—the opposite end of the arena.

Sarah turned, her sense of loss so complete the whole crowd may as well have been stripped of color as her world changed to black and gray. She followed her sister numbly, looking neither left nor right.

Dat looked up, grateful to see them arrive, and patted the seat beside him. Priscilla bounced into it, a rapturous smile lighting up her pretty face. Sarah sat down on the remaining seat, apologizing to the large woman next to her who was wearing an inexpensive pink cowboy hat and brilliant red boots, her belt completely hidden between her jeans and too-tight shirt.

“That’s okay, honey. You make yourself comfortable.”

She leaned sideways to accommodate Sarah and smiled, a genuine wish of good humor on her painted red lips. Sarah smiled back and settled in, the smile sliding off her face as she glumly assessed her situation.

Here she was, still in the hold of whatever in the world you called the emotion that controlled her whenever she caught sight of Matthew Stoltzfus, and he was happily dating her best friend. Since the barn raising, her river of misery had grown simultaneously with the rising creeks. Her mental agony, like the non-stop rain, was almost unbearable at times.

This had been going on since she was fourteen and in vocational class. Only when Matthew spoke to her was her day colored with a vibrant shade of yellow, like the sun or a rose—the flower of love—or blue, like the great clean wondrous sky. It was always Matthew, in her dreams, in her waking hours. How could he deny her now, after what happened at the barn raising?

Then guilt and shame intensified the hovering shapes of depressive thinking, and Sarah knew for certain this had to stop. With great effort, she turned to the sight before her, the horses, the men and boys riding them. Occasionally, a lithe English girl rode one, too.

The loud voice of the auctioneer rose and fell, its staccato rhythm giving her an intense headache. Sarah wished she hadn’t come.

Just when she thought she couldn’t sit there one more minute, a rider entered the ring on a black and white paint. The horse had a fine small head and curved ears, the flowing mane and tail neatly brushed, the coat sleek and gleaming from good grooming. His rider sat with easy grace, bareback, holding the reins loosely.

The horse didn’t really trot or gallop—he flowed. His hooves lifted and set down easily, as if there were springs in his legs that moved them without effort.

Priscilla leaned forward, the knuckles on her hands white as she clenched the armrests of her seat.

“Dat!” she whispered.

Dat saw and winked broadly at Sarah. He knew.

Sarah winked back. Then a strange hiccup jumped in her chest, and she realized she was crying. What a precious father! She knew that he wouldn’t stop bidding until he had procured the one object that would successfully erase the hurt and the pain the arsonist had inflicted with a small rasp of his lighter.

The bidding started at five hundred dollars. Priscilla sat back, her hands gripped in her lap.