Fire in the Night (21 page)

I
T WAS ACTUALLY HANNAH,
Matthew’s own mother, who was the next to completely wreck Sarah’s fresh new resolve. She came breezing in on a tempest, the winds of October bringing gusts of hurricane force. They sent maple leaves skidding wildly across the porch and smacked them up against the wire fence in the pasture, shoving them through the white picket fence in the front yard.

Hannah wore a headscarf over her white covering, smashing it flat against her hair, which wasn’t far from its usual appearance as she had no time for a matter as unimportant as a covering. Her heavy sweater was buttoned down the front, and she pulled off a light pair of gloves as she walked into the kitchen.

“Chilly out there.”

Mam looked up from her pie dough, or rather, the flour and Crisco she was mixing into pie dough.

“Hannah! What brings you?”

“The wind. It blew me straight up the road. I can’t imagine getting ready for a wedding. Just think of all the plywood and plastic being nailed into place. I bet a bunch of men are chasing after their hats,” she said, chuckling.

Lifting her glasses, she peered into the bowl containing the pie crumbs.

“Crisco or lard?”

Mam laughed, a good-natured, relaxed chuckle of comfortable friendship, of years of having Hannah living just down the road.

“You know which one.”

Hannah laughed with Mam, and Sarah smiled to herself.

“Matthew wants me to try and make those fry pies. Some people call them moon pies. But why go to all that bother if one large pie gives you the same exact taste? He says Rose’s mother makes them. She dips them in glaze, like a doughnut. Well, whatever she does, you know, is how it’s done.”

She rolled her eyes, a gesture of impatience.

“And now…
ach
, I don’t know why I start. I was always hoping he’d see the light, and…well, you know what, it isn’t nice, but Rose will not always be easy. He’ll have to take care of her, no doubt. He’s talking of giving her a clock, and they’ve only just been dating a year.”

Her voice rose on a panicked note, ending in a squeak of desperation. Immediately, Sarah listened closely, now keenly aware of Hannah’s wishes.

Mam remained quiet, the sun and clouds changing the light in the kitchen as they played hide and seek with the wind. Mam’s covering was large and very white, her face small and serene, the blush in her cheeks a sign of her healthy way of life. Her navy-blue dress was cut well, the neckline demure, the black apron pinned snugly around her waist. Mam’s strong arms turned the lump of dough.

Sarah could not picture her mother being like Hannah, their differences so obvious. Yet they remained true friends, the bond of love between them as strong as steel cable. They defended each other fiercely. And yet, where Matthew was concerned, Mam would not speak her mind, and Sarah knew why: she did not approve.

In her wisdom, she kept her peace. She knew every Monday morning Sarah had subjected herself again to a useless struggle, like a trapped sparrow beating her wings against a window, when all she had to do was turn away and escape through the wide-open door.

A small smile played on her lips as she scooped some flour from the container, scattered it on the countertop, pinched off the proper amount of dough, and patted a small addition on top. Taking up her rolling pin, she plied it lightly over the dough in an expert circular motion. Hannah shrewdly observed over her shoulder.

“You know your dough wouldn’t crack like that if you used lard?”

“Now, Hannah!”

Hannah poked an elbow in Mam’s side and laughed.

“You know, Malinda, Mommy Stoltzfus always said the beginning of the end of all good pies and doughnuts was the exclusion of lard.”

“Our generation will live longer, thanks to good, clean arteries.”

Hannah sniffed indignantly.

“Who wants to live ’til they’re a hundred? Folks caring for you, helping you in and out of a carriage, being a burden to your children. See, that’s another thing. I cannot imagine that
piffich
(meticulous) Rose taking care of me when I’m old. Matthew always says he would be the one to care for me, and he would, bless his heart. He’s such a sweet boy.”

Mam discreetly waved a bright warning flag of caution, but Sarah’s eyes turned to pools of yearning, imagining Matthew caring for his aged mother. Mam knew the tightrope that extended between sons and their wives. It was a balancing act to be negotiated with great prudence. And wasn’t that Matthew a spoiled one? Ah, but the consuming jealousy one would battle. How well she remembered those days.

Many Amish lived double—one might call it. An addition to the house accommodated the son and heir, who would farm the home place. The new bride he brought home would start out optimistic, so in love, convinced her Daniel or John or Sam would love her unconditionally. But she only became bewildered, then hurt, then angry, when she found her young husband visiting with his mother, when his rightful place was with his wife.

Hadn’t Mam and Dat navigated those treacherous waters themselves and counseled many troubled newlyweds since they were called to the ministry?

Oh, Sarah.

Mam rolled her pie dough expertly, her old wooden rolling pin clacking at both ends. She draped the round, flattened orb across the pie plate with the ends hanging unevenly and took up a dinner knife and sliced them off so fast Sarah could hardly see her turning it.

Sarah finished peeling apples, set aside the peelings, and began cutting the apples in small slices, filling the pastry. Mam stirred the pie filling of brown sugar, butter, milk, vanilla, and water as it bubbled to a caramel-like consistency. Then she poured just the right amount over the freshly sliced apples.

“That does look good,” Hannah observed. She watched Mam roll out the lid, the pie’s top crust, which had small indentations cut into it to allow the steam to escape. She flipped it neatly on top of the filling, and Sarah’s fingers worked the dough into an even crimp.

“Boy, Sarah, you sure can
petz
(pinch) pies, for someone as young as you are.”

“Thanks,” Sarah murmured.

“Did you know my sister Emma needs a worker?”

Sarah’s head came up. “Where?”

“Her bakery in New Jersey. That farmer’s market there. You should apply. You’d make an excellent worker.”

“Oh, Mam! Why can’t I? You could manage. Levi is doing really well. Priscilla is home.”

Her eyes pleaded with her mother. Hannah looked from Mam to Sarah. Mam pursed her lips.

“Oh, Sarah, I depend on you so much. It’s not just the work. It’s the companionship, the support. You’ve always been here.”

“Now, Malinda, that’s not fair. Maybe it’s Priscilla’s turn to support her mother. I think Sarah needs to get out and see the world a bit.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

At the supper table, Dat ate two hefty slices of warm apple pie with vanilla ice cream, telling Mam between mouthfuls that it was the best pie she’d ever baked. Mam smiled back, and her cheeks flushed slightly. Levi whooped and hollered and raised his fork and said she shouldn’t have sent a pie to Elam’s.

“Hannah doesn’t need our apple pie. She’s big enough!”

Dat pushed back his chair, his eyes twinkling merrily at Levi.

A resounding crack came from the front yard. Suzie dashed to the window and gasped when she saw the heavy limb lying across the driveway.

“It must be terribly windy out there.”

Dat’s face became sober.

“I certainly hope there is no fire tonight. A barn would be gutted almost immediately, with the power of this wind. It seems that once you’ve gone through it yourself, you’re just never quite the same. I shiver to think of a fire tonight. I have half a notion to sleep in the barn, just to be safe.”

“You’ll do no such thing!” Mam’s voice was terrible, and they all turned to stare at her, shocked.

“Davey, you know what a sound sleeper you are. You’d never wake up. You know better!”

Dat nodded. “Perhaps you’re right.”

Silence remained after that, its presence calming, comfortable, as each member of the family remembered the night of the fire, the storm, the horror, the grieving, as if it had all happened yesterday. Only a short summer season had passed since then, but they had all learned so much. Like gleaning sheaves of wheat, the knowledge of others’ suffering and loss felt ten times keener now.

Dat’s hardest trial had been the laymen’s bickering, each one convinced his opinion was the one with which Dat should agree. The disturbance over the newspaper story had subsided to wary muttering about Davey Beiler protecting that girl. It was, after all, only a horse.

Sammy Stoltzfus called his brother in Wisconsin and left a message telling him that if Levi Esh dealt with him in this manner one more time, he may as well start looking for a farm out there. After all, the closer the end times came, the worse people would become, and if Davey Beiler knew what was good for him, he’d take that daughter firmly in hand.

After the second barn fire, a decided change had blown in. An unwelcome fog of suspicion shrouded the congregation. Dat desperately tried to turn a blind eye to it, but it was there nonetheless. On one hand, the fires had united them in love and brotherly concern. On the other hand, unsound theories pervaded the community that had formerly been innocent and childlike in its trust.

Mannie Beiler put padlocks on all his barn doors, and Roman Zook bought a Rottweiler, a huge slobbering beast with a massive head and wide paws. It barked and growled and muttered to himself all day. Eli Miller slapped his knee and laughed uproariously, thinking of an arsonist caught by the seat of his pants by that dog.

And David Beiler was saddened by all of it. There was no use being touted and admired by the world if the truth was decaying, a spoiling mold growing unobtrusively within two members of the church and spreading among the others as the weeks went by. Where was true forgiveness?

Each and every time he stood up to minister to his people, David exhorted the truth. “In our hearts we are a peaceful people, so let us be very careful, not boasting of revenge, not assuming something we are not truly sure has occurred.”

He also knew human beings were often doing the best of their ability, and he overlooked many things, measuring each person through eyes of love.

The story of John Stoltzfus’s Ivan was repeated time after time and never failed to bring a smile to Dat’s face. Ivan was only eight years old, but he was determined to protect the family farm and his small flock of sheep. He unfolded his sleeping bag in the haymow, a powerful Makita flashlight beside him, a Thermos bottle of water, and the latest Bobbsey Twins book.

Why his parents allowed the courageous little third-grader to sleep there in the first place was beyond Dat’s comprehension, but that was beside the point. The poor little chap had been awakened by the cruel wail of fire sirens. He panicked and ran through the sheep pen in his underwear, terrifying the creatures to the point that one of them got hung up on the barbed wire, and they had to call the veterinarian.

Other stories and questions—and the attitudes behind them—were not so humorous. There were those who believed the Amish way of forgiving did not apply when one’s livelihood was in danger.

“Yes,” David said, “Yes. You’re right. But what will you do? Does unforgiveness and threat bring back the barns, cows, and horses? The balers and wagons and bulk tanks?”

Each evening he prayed for wisdom to weave a thread of unity and peace in a world that was slowly unraveling through suspicion and fear.

That evening, Sarah said evenly, “Dat, Hannah’s sister, Emma, has a bakery at a farmer’s market in New Jersey. She needs help. May I go if they ask me?”

“I guess that would be up to Mam.”

Priscilla looked up, her eyes alight. If Sarah was allowed to go, perhaps she would be too eventually.

Mam shook her head ruefully, then admitted to her own selfishness, wanting Sarah with her. “But, of course, she may go. Let’s wait and see first if Emma actually needs someone. You know Hannah.”

It was said fondly as her friend’s fussing and stewing about life was a great source of humor in her life. Dat nodded, understanding softening his eyes.

“Oh!” Priscilla gasped.

“What?”

“I forgot. Ben
sei
Anna left a message last night. She needs you to help with applesauce on Wednesday, which is tomorrow. Sorry, Sarah.”

“It’s okay. I guess I can go. Right, Mam?”

Mam nodded, already gathering the dirty dishes and drawing the hot water to wash them.

“Wouldn’t know why not.”

Through all of this, Levi sat somberly, making no effort to include his own opinion, which was highly unusual. He remained hunched over his card table, shuffling his Rook cards, his large head swinging from side to side as he talked to himself. Finally tears began to roll down his cheeks, and he dug in his pocket for a red handkerchief, which he used to blow his nose repeatedly.

At bedtime, as Mam helped him with his pajamas, he told her that she’d likely never have to do it again.

“Levi!” she said, shocked.

“No, you won’t. I’ll just pass away now. I’ll go to heaven to be with Jesus and Mervin.”

“Don’t talk like that, Levi. We’d miss you too much. We couldn’t bear it, after losing Mervin.”

“Well, my time’s about up—especially if Sarah goes to market. That will be hard for me to bear.”

“
Ach
, Levi.”

Mam patted his shoulder. She made a big fuss about his ability to dress himself and brush his teeth and said they’d be just fine without Sarah.

The next morning, Sarah scootered the mile and a half to Ben Zook’s and was shocked to find ten bushels of Smokehouse apples in the washhouse. Anna had her breakfast dishes already washed, the Victoria strainer attached firmly to the tabletop, and the first apples cut and on the stove.

“Morning, Sarah!”

“Morning!”

“Didn’t you get cold, scootering?”

“I dressed warmly.”

“Did you have breakfast? I saved some casserole for you. Let’s have a cup of coffee before those first kettles are ready to put through the strainer.”