Fire in the Night (6 page)

Oh, it was a fine coffee break, and it bolstered Mam’s spirits.

There was tray after tray of these doughnuts and containers of chocolate chip cookies and Reese’s peanut butter bars and oatmeal bars with a white glaze crisscrossed over the top. There were blueberry muffins, pecan tarts, and fruit bars that oozed cherry-pie filling.

Hannah, of course, had breezed into the house soon after six o’clock. She came bearing a bag filled with milk filters containing coffee grounds that bulged comfortably after the ends had been sewed shut. She set huge stainless steel kettles of cold water on low burners, placed two filters of coffee grounds on top, and left them to brew. It shouldn’t boil, just heat to a high, rich coffee temperature until shortly after nine o’clock, when the forenoon
schtick
(break) was served.

Henry Schmucker called to the men to take a break—the concrete crew, the men still cleaning up the blackened debris, and those building the oak walls on the ground. The rich odor of freshly cut wood was pleasant after the smell of the hovering, wet smoke.

Henry was Mam’s brother and a good foreman at a time such as this. Dat said he was a mover and a shaker. Things got done when Henry was around, he said.

The men filed past the long, folding tables picking up large Styrofoam cups of good, black coffee, grabbing napkins with a doughnut or two plus perhaps a bar or a cookie. They stood in jovial groups, talking and laughing, the air permeated with the purpose of the day.

A barn raising was something, now, wasn’t it? English men wearing jeans, t-shirts, and baseball caps worked alongside Amish men wearing varying yellow straw hats.

The dreaded photographers, the bane of every Amish barn raising, arrived with their large black and gray instruments of intrusion slung jauntily over their shoulders or around their necks. Sarah knew their air of assured professionalism and superiority raised the ire of peace-loving folks.

She was the first to see them as she walked to the mailbox with the letter for the gas company Mam had given her. How could she know the cameras would instantly begin whirring and clicking? The photographers eagerly captured the long, easy, stride of the tall, young Amish girl clad in a rich shade of blue. The black of her apron, the green maple trees as a lush background, the white letter in her hand, the early morning light a natural wonder—it was irresistible. Sarah was an added bonus to the barn raising.

Returning to the break area where the food was being served, she helped herself to a filled doughnut, bit into it, leaning forward as the powdered sugar rained down. Even with a napkin, eating a powdered doughnut required a certain skill, especially when wearing black. A small breeze could waft the airy sugar straight onto an apron, where it would cling and then multiply by five as it was wiped off.

“Mmm,” she said around a mouthful of doughnut.

Samuel
sei
Emma caught the praise, acknowledged it with raised eyebrows, and then laughed good-naturedly.

More women arrived bearing dishes of food. They hurried to place it in the kitchen before moving swiftly toward the coffee and doughnuts. There was plenty to go around, and the women rolled their eyes with guilt as they tried to be delicate while procuring a second doughnut.

Aaron
sei
Lydia told Sarah there is only one way to eat a filled doughnut—in two bites while letting the filling go squooshing off wherever it wants.

Outside, the noise and yells of the men began in earnest when they began to set the massive timbers in place.

“
Noch an tzoll
(Another inch)
.
”

Men heaved, their brawny strength pushing and pulling the oak beams and posts into place. When the first wall was finished being assembled on the ground, they attached heavy nylon ropes to either side of it. With strength provided by sheer numbers, black-clad men swarmed across the timbers and pulled the wall up and onto the new foundation. They fastened the structure with massive bolts, and dozens of hammers rang out as they pounded heavy nails into place to secure the huge oak six by sixes.

On the ground, the other walls were already finished and ready to be put into place. Sam Stoltzfus and Henry Schmucker were the captains of the great endeavor called a barn raising. It was literally that. A barn being raised in front of your eyes, Sarah thought.

“If you blink, there’s another wall in place,” she told Priscilla, who was standing beside her. Priscilla laughed, and there was a joy in her laugh.

The raising of those walls boosted their spirits in a way that was hard to explain. It just seemed secure and safe and hopeful all at the same time, this coming together of all these good folks to help lift David Beiler’s family out of its fear and sadness.

Sarah watched warily as a photographer approached her. He was of average height, with sandy hair cut close to his head and glasses with thick lenses, which made his eyes appear smaller than they actually were.

“Hello,” he offered.

The greeting wasn’t spoken with a Lancaster County accent. It was spoken more like a “Hel-loo” as in “loop.”

His smile was genuine, and Sarah had no reason to dislike him as long as he kept that camera lowered.

Sarah smiled. “Hi.”

“Can I ask you a few questions?”

Sarah nodded carefully.

“Why can’t I have a doughnut?”

The question was so surprising, so not what she was expecting, that she burst out laughing in her musical way. His sandy eyebrows went up, and he laughed with her.

“Maybe if you’d say ‘may I,’” Sarah said shyly.

“May I?”

“Yes, of course.”

“May I take a picture?”

“Of the doughnuts?”

“No, you.”

“Oh, no. It’s not allowed. I’d get in trouble.”

“Why?”

Just in time, Sarah saw Matthew Stoltzfus walking across the yard with Rose Zook beside him. In broad daylight! At a barn raising!

Sarah was surprised but glad to see them and excused herself from the impertinent questioning. She turned away and missed seeing the puzzled photographer shrug his shoulders in resignation, then help himself to three glazed doughnuts.

Rose Zook wiggled her fingers prettily and trilled, “Hey, Sarah!”

Sarah greeted them warmly.

“Boy, I’m glad to see you. I was ready to get away from the photographer.”

“Was he nosy?”

“Just a bit.”

“Rose, I’m going to help now. I’ll be ready to leave about three this afternoon. See ya. Good to see you, Sarah.”

“See you, Matt.”

Rose looked at him, and they exchanged an intimate look, one that excluded Sarah completely. She said nothing, waiting until Rose was ready to go. They stood together, watching the great walls being hammered into place.

It was a true visual feast. Men in black and navy-blue broadfall trousers topped by shirts of every color of the rainbow, wearing golden yellow straw hats, black felt hats, or no hats at all. They were set against the yellowish brown of the fresh cut timbers with the blue sky in the background, the verdant growth of trees and pastures, the dark loamy soil tilled and waiting for crops to be planted.

To Sarah, it was more than visual. It was a feast for the heart as well. Nothing could chase away the gloom of fear and uneasiness like this picture before her. It was the sunshine of brotherly love and caring, standing together through anything and everything that God handed to them.

Like the soaked but still smoking pile of black debris, the dread had to sit on the sidelines like an injured player as the game went on, played out by the goodwill of all these men who had come because of their caring, heartfelt willingness to help.

When the first rafter went up and was fastened in the way of the forefathers, with mortise and tenon, Sarah swallowed. How often had she seen the wooden pegs firmly pounded into the holes drilled into the heavy beams?

They were holes and pegs, so solid and indestructible. But to Sarah, it was a part of her life, her childhood. When she and her siblings had swung from the great old rafters, sitting on the black rubber tire attached to the heavy jute rope, it had never once entered their minds that the centuries-old beams joined by those wooden pegs would give way.

As a teenager, Sarah had helped stack the heavy, prickly bales of hay, so pungent and sweet smelling, clear up to the rafters. She’d reached out a hand and touched the mortise and tenon, wondering at the craftsmanship.

Who had built this great barn? Did the people in the 1700s and 1800s look just like us? Was there, perhaps, a handsome young man, married to his first love, who had pounded the peg into place?

It was enticing, this imagining and wondering. Somehow, the hay stacked so tightly, the alfalfa rich in nutrients for the milk cows below, spoke of the agelessness of this great old barn, housing the fruits of the earth, the animals, a way of life.

The barn had held through the howling winds and snows of winter and the claps of thunder and sizzling lightning during welcome summer thunderstorms that sent them to seek shelter. They threw open the great doors to let the moist, cool air rejuvenate their tired and sweating bodies. The elements were friendly, even in their extremes. Who could know that one tiny flick of a lighter would bring this majestic barn to its destruction?

So Sarah was thrilled as each rafter was firmly pegged in the old way. She was comforted by the sight and gathered hope to her heart.

Rose sighed, a dramatic expression intended to evoke questions. “Oh, that Matthew is something else. He’s so cute!”

She clasped her hands rapturously as she watched him, steadily keeping her eyes on his dark, muscular figure. “Look at him, just hanging onto that timber, pounding away! Supposing he’d fall? Oh, I can’t stand it!”

Clearly, Rose did not see the barn or the men or feel the emotions Sarah felt. But then, Rose hadn’t experienced the night of horror and the ghoulish fear threatening to overtake common sense.

“It does look like he’s barely hanging on,” Sarah agreed, laughing.

“I hate barn raisings. They’re so dangerous.”

Sarah bit down on her lower lip, staying mercifully quiet. She watched the men, heard their shouts, observed their willingness to obey, and marveled at the scene before her.

Chainsaws whined and buzzed, their biting teeth sending fountains of sawdust spraying upward. Tape rules snapped as men measured and then set into place another heavy beam, an accurate piece of the huge jigsaw puzzle unfolding before their eyes.

It would be nice to have a special friend in her life like Rose did, Sarah thought. She yearned to have the sense of belonging Rose had. Sometimes she felt as if, at age nineteen, there was a void in her heart that only a true love could fill.

Yes, Mam had warned her. Go slow. God comes first. He’s most important.

So she yearned, said nothing, spoke of a love only to herself, and hoped someday, somewhere, God would have mercy and fulfill the want she harbored.

Chapter 5

I
NSIDE THE HOUSE,
Sarah decided that Mam might as well forget about a clean floor, today or any time soon. She walked delicately around boxes of food, toys, and mashed doughnuts and Cheerios.

A baby screamed from the old high chair Mam kept for feeding the grandchildren. Usually there were two or three babies who needed a high chair, so one of the mothers had to hold her infant while she spooned yogurt into its mouth.

What a gigantic beehive! Sarah stood, uncertain. What to do?

Mam was everywhere, and so was Hannah, barking orders, opening oven doors, checking huge kettles of bubbling food. There were women breading chicken, rolling it in beaten eggs, then seasoned flour and bread crumbs, arranging it on trays to be taken to the neighbors to bake in their electric ovens.

An oversized woman Sarah didn’t know was slicing a ham at the table, and by the alacrity with which the woman kept sampling the succulent slices, Sarah felt she’d be fortunate to taste any herself.

She jumped when the woman said, “Hi!
Bisht die Sare, gel?
(You’re Sarah, right?)”

“
Ya.
”

“
Vitt dale? Siss hesslich goot
(You want some? It’s really good).”

“Thank you.”

Sarah reached for the steaming portion, popped it into her mouth, and said appreciatively, “Mmm.”

“
Gel? Gel?
”

She was so delighted with Sarah’s verdict that she laughed heartily and clapped a pink, greasy hand on Sarah’s forearm.

“We could just simply eat it all, you and me!” she chortled, her round face shining with happiness.

Sarah still didn’t know the woman’s name, but she felt a definite kinship. The woman’s goodwill and happy chortling came from the heart, showering Sarah with blessings that rained down like jewels. She’d never need to be afraid again, ever.

That’s what happened when people helped each other in times of need. Love multiplied and grew so fast you couldn’t even begin to count the vast supply.

All over the kitchen, the women were smiling, patting backs, and supporting one another’s decisions about how much butter to brown for the noodles, when the browning process was finished, when to mash the potatoes, and which was better—sour cream, cream cheese, or just plain butter.