Christmas Comes to Morning Star

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “Let’s get outside with Dawdi,” he urged the frightened boy. “We’ll go to the shop—and call the fire department—and whatever else we can manage. Just hurry!”

  Luckily Billy Jay took more courage now that Glenn was with him. Down the stairs they sped, their bare feet slapping rapidly against the wooden stairs. As they rushed through the front room toward the door, he saw that the flames had already reached the kitchen table . . . the table their family had eaten at for generations.

  But there was nothing he could do about that. It seemed there was nothing he could do about anything these days.

  Out into the snow they raced. The soles of his feet felt as though a thousand needles were stabbing them as he urged Billy Jay to keep up with him. As they headed toward the safety of the wood shop, Glenn was aware that a couple more inches of snow had fallen since he’d shoveled. Fortunately, the path was still clear enough that his dat was able to lumber toward the white building and open the small side door.

  “What happened?” his father asked in an unsteady voice. “How come the stove was—”

  “I don’t know, Dat,” Glenn replied quickly. “Here—take Levi and keep Billy Jay out here with you. I’m going back to grab us some clothes and—”

  He didn’t waste any more time explaining as he thrust out the baby and the laundry basket. Despite his dat’s cries not to go back into the house, Glenn felt he should at least save enough of their clothing to put on over their pajamas. Flames licked like devils’ tongues in the mudroom as he passed around the outside of it to reenter the house through the front door.

  Propelled by sheer terror, Glenn bolted up the stairs. He grabbed his own clothes from the bedroom floor before rushing into Billy Jay’s room to do the same thing. Something warned him not to linger—smoke was already filling the front room. As he shot out the door again he was coughing, and his eyes burned so badly he could barely see.

  A loud explosion marked the end of the gas stove. All hell broke loose on that end of the house as flames leaped from the blown-out windows. Glenn headed for his woodworking shop again, unable to feel his numb feet as he sprinted toward its door.

  Inside, Dat sat on the nearest bench, cradling a wailing Levi against his shoulder while Billy Jay clung to him, as well. Glenn dropped his armload of clothes and turned on the lights. He was thankful that because they were too far from a neighbor to share a phone shack, Bishop Jeremiah had allowed him to have a telephone in the shop so he could conduct his woodworking business. He jabbed at its keypad—nine, one, one—and tried to catch his breath as he waited for someone to answer.

  “Jah, it’s Glenn Detweiler,” he gasped when a responder came on the line. He recognized the guy’s voice, but he was too rattled to recall his name. “Our house is—well, the stove’s just exploded and the fire’s running wild, so—”

  “Anybody hurt?”

  “No, we all made it out, thank God—”

  “We’re on our way. Stay someplace safe, and we’ll be there as soon as we can.”

  “We’re out back, inside the wood shop,” Glenn said before the responder hung up. As he replaced the receiver, his mind was whirling with such frantic thoughts that he didn’t know what to do next. When he saw that Billy Jay was shivering, however, he refocused. He brought a space heater over so he could plug it into a car battery and warm the area where Dat had settled.

  “Let’s get our clothes on, son,” Glenn said in the gentlest voice he could muster. “And we’ll put some warm layers on Levi while we wait for the fire truck.”

  “But why’s our house on fire? Where will we go now? What’ll we do without our stuff?” The pitch of Billy Jay’s voice rose with his fearful questions as he remained within the haven of his dawdi’s embrace. He seemed unaware that he was shaking with cold—

  But it’s terror he’s dealing with, just as I am. I’m the only one here who can pull this situation together. I need to focus.

  It hurt Glenn deeply when he opened his arms and Billy Jay wouldn’t leave Dat’s side. But he couldn’t let that stop him—couldn’t allow the three people in his care to get ill from exposure to the cold, on top of everything else that was going wrong.

  “Let’s put your clothes on,” he murmured again, holding up Billy Jay’s shirt. Glenn was relieved to see that Dat hadn’t undressed before he’d gone to the kitchen for cocoa, and he’d put on his winter coat before he’d left the house. His father seemed anything but comfortable, however.

  “Did I fall asleep and leave the stove on?” he asked in a quavering voice. “I—I was visiting with your mamm and I drifted off . . .”

  Glenn’s eyebrows shot up. It was a new wrinkle, to hear his father say he’d been talking to Mamm. Was Dat slipping even deeper into dementia than anyone had realized?

  Billy Jay was still clinging to his dawdi, so Glenn quickly pulled his own broadfall work pants on over his pajamas and then donned his shirt. He coaxed little Levi from his father’s embrace and laid him on the end of the bench to dress him. He hoped his older son would soon realize that he needed to put on clothes, as well, because Glenn wasn’t sure how much longer he could maintain his relatively calm facade.

  As the wail of a siren approached from the general direction of Morning Star, Dat finally reached for Billy Jay’s pants and talked the boy into getting dressed. By the time the fire engine arrived, the four of them were ready for wherever they might go next, even though their immediate future was yet another topic Glenn had no idea how to handle.

  When he stepped outside to greet the approaching first responder, Glenn sucked in his breath. Half of the house was engulfed in flames. As the roof over the kitchen caved in with an eerie groan, the first arcs of water from the fire truck’s hoses fell onto the flames with a hissss.

  “Everybody accounted for?” a familiar voice called out.

  The snow amplified the moon’s light, so Glenn immediately recognized Howard Gibbs, the new chief of Morning Star’s volunteer fire department—and the fellow who’d answered his emergency call. “Jah, we all got out just in time,” he replied with a heavy sigh. “And I’m glad my mamm’s not here to see her home burning down.”

  Howard slipped his arm around Glenn’s shoulders. “I’m real sorry for all you’ve been through lately,” he murmured. “I sent one of our fellows over to tell your bishop about the fire—Jeremiah seems to know how to handle life’s emergencies. And we’ve shut off your propane tank. So if you’re all right, I’m going to help the other guys put out that blaze.”

  Glenn nodded. As Howard jogged toward the fire, however, he saw that the two-story section of the house, where the bedrooms and the front room were, was filled with flames. Fire greedily consumed the curtains of the rooms where he and the boys had been in bed a short while ago. He didn’t allow himself to ponder what might’ve happened if he’d been sleeping soundly.

  A second stream of water was being aimed at the house from the front yard, but Glenn sensed that the firemen’s best efforts wouldn’t be enough. He and what remained of his little family were homeless. Everything except their livestock, his shop, and a couple of outbuildings would soon be reduced to rubble.

  Glenn felt so hopeless and overwhelmed he couldn’t even cry. He stared at the flames in morbid fascination, unaware of how much time was passing or even what hour it was. He was so engrossed in the fire’s destruction that he didn’t notice the man approaching from around the end of the house, which was now a pile of glowing, steaming embers.

  “Glenn, I’m grateful to God to see you standing out here unharmed,” Bishop Jeremiah said quietly. “Howard told me you all made a safe escape, jah?”

  Glenn blinked, shifting his focus away from the blaze to the man beside him. “We’re all here. We managed to get out with a few clothes, but otherwise everything’s—it’s all gone,” he finished, exhaling harshly.

  Jeremiah nodded, wrapping his arm loosely around Glenn’s shoulders. “When Mamm heard what was going on, she started getting a couple of spar
e rooms ready for you fellows, for as long as you need to stay. The fire department got here in time to save your shop and outbuildings, at least, so let’s gather everybody up, shall we? It’s cold out here—and you don’t have any shoes on.”

  Glenn looked down, shrugging as though he didn’t recognize the pale, bare feet that protruded from his pant legs. “Shoes are the least of my worries right now. Denki for coming, Jeremiah. You’re a true friend—once again.”

  Chapter 4

  As Pete joined his uncle in the barn to do the livestock chores early Monday morning, he thought carefully before he spoke. Nobody had slept much after midnight, when the fireman had awakened everyone, and then Jeremiah had returned with the Detweilers in tow. Pete hoped to keep his frustration in check—and keep everyone’s priorities in order, too.

  “How long do you suppose Glenn’s crew will be bunking at our place?” he asked as he filled a bucket with water at the barn’s faucet.

  Jeremiah shrugged tiredly. “I told them they had a place to stay for as long as they need one. Why do you ask?”

  Pete’s antennae went up. Any time his uncle said Why do you ask? it signaled a need for an answer with some thought behind it, rather than the first thing that popped out of his mouth. “Well, I’m concerned about all the kitchen cabinets being torn out and their contents being piled around the walls of the front room,” he replied carefully. “Won’t be easy for Mammi to cook for guests under these circumstances—let alone deal with a baby. And doesn’t Levi require some kind of special care?”

  “He needs goat’s milk,” Jeremiah clarified as he emptied a ration of oats into his Percheron’s feeder. “One of us should head over to Jude’s to get a supply of it from Leah before our little guy starts hollering for his breakfast.”

  “I’m on it. I’ll be back in a few.” As Pete took a bridle and saddle from the tack wall, he heard a chuckle behind him.

  “It’s very kind of you to consider your mammi’s kitchen situation as well as our guests’ needs,” Jeremiah remarked. “And jah, having a baby around might change your schedule, as far as how much hammering you can do and how much sawdust can be in the air.”

  Pete again thought about his response as he slipped the bridle over Goldie’s head. The palomino was his mammi’s mare—much more his size than Jeremiah’s tall Percheron. “Will Glenn be leaving Levi here when he goes to work in his shop each day?”

  His uncle shrugged. “As lost as Glenn seems right now, I’m not sure he’ll be fully aware of what’s going on with his dat or his sons for a while,” he replied. “We Shetlers should count our blessings and remember that Glenn has lost his wife, his mother, and now his home, all within the past few months.”

  Uncle Jeremiah straightened to his full height, looking Pete straight in the eye. “It’ll be inconvenient for us to have those folks around during your remodeling work, but to the Detweiler family, it could mean the difference between lingering grief and eventual recovery.”

  Nodding, Pete tightened the saddle cinch and slipped saddlebags over Goldie’s back. “Anything you want me to tell Jude, if he’s not already left to call an auction?”

  His uncle shrugged. “The news of the fire is probably enough to share with those folks—although they might’ve heard the sirens in the night and checked it out already,” he added. “My mission today will be informing our church members about this latest Detweiler tragedy and rounding up some clothes. Then I’ll recruit volunteers to clean up the remains of Glenn’s home place, as well as a construction crew to build him a new house.”

  Pete blinked. Wasn’t it just like his uncle to be spearheading such projects, mere hours after disaster had struck? Over the past few years, when Pete had felt tempted to live the English life he’d shared with other employees at the pet food factory, his colleagues’ lack of caring and social connection had been a striking contrast to the Amish way he’d grown up. He couldn’t imagine a single one of his English friends helping with site cleanup or home construction.

  “Put me on your roster for building Glenn’s new house,” Pete said quietly. “I suspect Mammi—and Lydianne—won’t mind waiting a little longer for their new kitchen if it means the Detweilers have their home sooner.”

  Uncle Jeremiah’s smile erased the signs of fatigue that had been etched around his eyes and mouth. “You’re on, Pete. I was already thinking you’d be the perfect foreman for that crew.”

  As he swung up onto Goldie’s back, Pete felt ten feet tall. After he’d reached the road, he made a quick detour to the Detweiler place before heading to Jude’s house, wishing he’d worn a warmer coat. With the snow had come much colder temperatures, a reminder that soon the December daylight hours would be even shorter—which would limit the time they could work on Glenn’s house in the coming days.

  As he approached the site of the fire, Pete felt a different kind of cold—a chill that nearly froze him, emotionally. All that remained of the Detweiler home was a blackened, roofless, water-saturated skeleton on the two-story end. The kitchen had been totally demolished, and its charred ruins were already encased in ice. It would be a major undertaking to clear and prepare the site. Working in the wintry weather would be another challenge—at least until the house’s walls were up and the roof was on.

  Working in the cold—cleaning up this gut-wrenching wreckage—is nothing, compared to the losses that’re plaguing Glenn and his family. And what if the fire started because Reuben nodded off while the stove was going? He’s old and tired, and probably doing more of the cooking these days.

  “Let’s go, Goldie,” Pete murmured. “After we fetch Levi’s milk, we’ve got some mountains to move.”

  * * *

  Marietta took the teakettle from the stove burner and filled her favorite blue teapot with boiling water. As she dropped four teabags into it, she couldn’t help smiling. The teapot was a cheerful reminder of Mamm, who had hand painted a bouquet of spring flowers on both of its fat sides.

  When the tea was brewing, Marietta stirred the large pot of noodle remnants and then removed it from the stove, as well. As she drained the pasta pieces in a colander, the rising steam soothed her. After a very busy Saturday at the shop in The Marketplace and spending most of Sunday at church, it felt good to putter in the kitchen and take things easier. Molly was out in the factory bagging the dried noodles they’d made on Friday, so Marietta had agreed to prepare their meals for the day.

  A loud knock at the back door made her peer out the window.

  “Gut morning, Bishop!” she said as she waved Jeremiah inside. “What brings you out on this blustery morning?”

  Jeremiah wiped his feet on the mudroom rug as he removed his broad-brimmed black hat. “Didn’t know if you two had heard the news,” he replied. “Glenn’s house burned to the ground last night. They’re staying with us, and I’m letting everybody know so we can begin replacing what they’ve lost.”

  Marietta’s jaw dropped. “Oh, dear Lord,” she whispered. “What a shock that must’ve been. Is everyone all right?”

  “Well, they escaped before the fire reached the stairway—and before it harmed Reuben, who’d dozed off at the kitchen table,” he replied with a sigh. “As you can imagine, it’ll be a while before any of the Detweilers are back to normal.”

  Shaking her head, Marietta gestured for the bishop to sit down. She carried the cookie tin to the kitchen table and took three mugs from the cabinet. “Those fellows are the last folks who need another tragedy—not that anyone should have to escape a fire in the night.”

  “Jah, Glenn’s asking me what he might’ve done that God’s heaping so much heartache on him,” Jeremiah remarked as he took two oatmeal cookies from the tin. “Poor Reuben’s convinced the fire must’ve been his fault. He thinks he forgot to turn off the burner after he made his nightly cup of cocoa.”

  As Marietta returned to the sink to rinse the hot noodles before they stuck together, her mind buzzed with the bishop’s news. “And what of Billy Jay? Did he go to sc
hool today?”

  “Jah, Mamm convinced him he’d feel better if he spent the day amongst his friends and with Teacher Lydianne. Meanwhile, she’s watching baby Levi while Glenn’s at his place to see if anything can be salvaged after the fire.” Jeremiah shook his head sadly. “I have a feeling they lost everything. The flames burned fast, and the house was half-gone before the fire truck got there.”

  Marietta blinked back sudden tears. What a horrible way for Glenn to spend his morning. What must be going through his mind as he picked through the wet, cold ashes, looking for anything of his former life he could save?

  “Well then,” she said with a renewed sense of energy. “I’ve just cooked these broken noodle remnants, and if you can stay long enough for me to make a pan of noodle pudding, you can take it home with you. Margaret’s got her hands full cooking for four guests—in a torn-up kitchen, no less.”

  Bishop Jeremiah’s expression brightened. “Noodle pudding! We’d love that! Denki for thinking of us, Marietta,” he said before glancing around. “Where’s your sister this morning?”

  “She’s bagging dried noodles. She’ll be in for lunch shortly, so you might as well join us—as long as you don’t mind sandwiches and chips. We maidels don’t always cook the same big meals you’re accustomed to.”

  “I appreciate your offer, Marietta, but I need to keep informing folks about the fire—and I’m gathering clothes and other useful items to replace what the Detweilers lost,” he replied. “I’ll wait long enough for that pan of noodle pudding, though. Mamm will be glad of it.”

  As the bishop sipped his tea, Marietta mixed the eggs, sugar, cottage cheese, and other ingredients for the creamy pudding. After she stirred in the noodle pieces, she poured everything into a glass casserole dish. “Tell your mamm to bake this for about an hour at three fifty, and it’ll be ready whenever she needs it.”