Missing Your Smile (17 page)

“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.

T
he 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.”