The Witnesses

by Linda Byler

  “Lee. It was your sister. You need to go home. I’ll come with you.”

  Lee was out of his chair immediately.

  “What happened?”

  “It’s Ben, your brother-in-law.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “She didn’t say how bad it was.”

  Lee leaped off the porch, ran down to the barn, loosened his horse, and was out the drive in less than a minute.

  Omar followed on his horse, as Lydia and Melvin soberly cleared the wooden table on the porch. The children pitched in to do their share, but Sarah sat, immobile, unable to tell herself to do something, get out of her chair.

  What had happened? She shivered. Surely not another fire, with the suspect incarcerated.

  They sat together in the kitchen without speaking, the inability to understand robbing them of the will to make small talk. Lydia sat close to Melvin, his presence enabling her to get through this—whatever it was. It was a significant gesture she would likely incorporate repeatedly over the years, with her husband as the rock she needed when adversity emotionally disabled her.

  After an hour had passed, they checked the phone messages to find nothing. They resumed their quiet vigil, until Sarah decided to check for a message again.

  There was an ominous rumble in the distance. Heat lightning skittered across the sky, but the air remained heavy and still. Traffic could be heard plainly, the cars stopping and starting, changing gears, a horn tooting, then again.

  There was a message this time. Sarah could tell by the beeping on the line, but she did not know Lydia’s pin number or how to access her voice mail, so she called for her repeatedly.

  Lydia came quickly, pressed the buttons, then listened, her head bent.

  “No. Oh no,” she breathed.

  Sarah waited, frightened, afraid to know, afraid not to.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  Lydia pressed the 3, then slowly replaced the receiver, a sob catching in her throat.

  “A bull. A bull got Ben.”

  Sarah would never forget her friend’s words. They did not convey the final outcome, only the immediate accident, but everything they had shared together already had schooled them in the art of acceptance.

  Blindly, they clung together. Blindly, they broke apart and stumbled into the kitchen.

  They told Melvin but could not remember, later, who had actually related the message. Melvin held Lydia in his arms and comforted her. Then he asked Sarah to stay with Lydia. He was going over to the Zooks’ place. They sat side by side, the children around them, and stared unseeing at the opposite wall, jumping and afraid when the refrigerator hummed and clicked.

  When a flash of bluish white lightning illuminated the kitchen, they squeezed their eyes shut like small children and cowered at the following clap of thunder. They allowed the children to pile a heap of sleeping bags and blankets on the living room floor, so they could stay close together as the storm approached.

  Sarah closed windows upstairs, guided by the glow of the LED lamp she carried. When she went to close the downstairs bedroom window, a startling streak of lightning made her step back, stifling a yelp.

  The rain came down in hard-driven sheets, sluicing down the west side of the house. It filled the spouting with heavy gushes of water that clattered against the inside of the downspouts and shot out the bottom, where it tumbled over the small path of rocks Lydia had built for just this purpose.

  The wind howled around the eaves, and rain pounded against the windows as thunder roared and clapped overhead. The lightning flashed brilliantly, but the air became stifling in the kitchen with the windows closed to the only available breeze.

  They sat around the table and comforted one another with words of hope, but they were unable to rest or relax. Lydia leaped to her feet repeatedly, searching wild-eyed for Melvin, but Sarah knew she was also in constant fear of lightning striking the barn. She ran from window to window, lifting, then lowering the sashes, always alert for any strange light from the barn.

  As the storm slowly left, the lightning became weaker. The thunder grew muffled, and the rain fell gently instead of being pelted against the side of the house from the force of the wind. Lydia took a deep breath, sagged against the back of the couch, and said bluntly that she was so glad to be getting married again. She was eager to have a husband, a protector, a person stronger than herself.

  Sarah nodded, a wave of longing taking her by surprise.

  When Melvin finally came back, he found Lydia and Sarah, one at each end of the couch, asleep. When he woke Lydia, she sat straight up, her eyes wide with alarm. She shook Sarah to waken her, wanting her to hear what had happened.

  Anna had done the supper dishes. Then they had worked together, she and Ben, weeding the watermelon and cantaloupe plants.

  A cow was due to freshen, so Ben went to the pasture to bring her in, never thinking about the mild-tempered Holstein bull grazing with the herd.

  When Ben did not return, Anna went to find him, calling and calling. She became alarmed when she saw the cloud of dust the bull was pawing from the earth. That was strange. He had never shown aggression.

  Afraid to enter the pasture, she dialed 911. The dread washed over her repeatedly, yet she clung to the hope that Ben had not gone to the pasture at all.

  They had to tranquilize the bull in the end.

  They gathered up Ben Zook’s broken body and carried him to his wife on a stretcher, these men dressed in navy blue outfits with EMT emblazoned across their backs in silver letters, with kind eyes and hands to help her sit down. Anna sat, but she did not faint. She remained alert as she gathered her children around her soft, ample body and wept endlessly into their clean, straight hair.

  She was so glad they’d worked in the garden together on his last day on earth.

  When Lee arrived, he was shocked, but they said his shoulders heaved with the force of his weeping.

  The news spread like wildfire.

  After hearing the details, Sarah went home to her bed, but she lay sleepless, wondering, her thoughts running rampant. What had God wrought? The taking of Anna’s husband. Why? She was so lively, so full of life and energy and hope, no matter what the circumstances.

  In the morning, a bit of sleep had been enough, and Sarah stumbled down the stairs at the first stirring of her parents in the kitchen.

  She broke the news, which was received in a typically restrained manner. They wept, but acknowledged that the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, and blessed be the name of the Lord. Thy will be done, they said. The backbone of their faith was that highly esteemed acceptance of a higher power, and what God does, He doeth well, even in times such as this.

  Sarah and Priscilla did the milking, knowing Dat would be expected to go immediately to the Zooks’ and Mam would accompany him.

  Mam gathered a bag of potatoes, a container of jello from the refrigerator, a stack of white American cheese, and eggs. She filled her sixteen-quart kettle with bags of frozen corn. She had plenty, and this would come in handy, feeding all the relatives and friends during the three days before Ben would be buried.

  She dressed in her black dress and pinned a fresh white covering to her head. As she sat beside her Davey in the buggy, she was thankful he was alive and well.

  Sarah worked with Priscilla, milking the cows. They swept the aisles, fed calves, washed milkers, and hosed down the milk house. Sarah was grateful for her returning strength. When the milking was done, they returned to the house, just as the clock struck half past six.

  Sarah missed Mam’s breakfast immensely, but she got to work in the kitchen immediately, frying bacon, while Priscilla woke Levi and helped him get dressed and into his shoes.

  As Sarah flipped the eggs, she heard a great shout from Levi, who did not want to wear his shoes.

  “Levi, come on. I’m starving. You have to wear your shoes!”

  “I’m not going to.”

  “I’m going to tell Dat.”


  “Dat does not care if I don’t wear shoes. It’s too hot.”

  “Alright, then. You’re not getting any breakfast.”

  Levi lumbered into the kitchen in his bare feet and stepped on a pen that Suzie had left on the floor. He became so irritable that he threw the pen at Priscilla. It bounced off the side of her head and against the refrigerator.

  “Levi! Priscilla!” Sarah scolded.

  “She needs to sit down and read her Bible,” Levi said.

  Sarah told Levi about the events on the Ben Zook farm, blinking back tears of pity for her friend Anna, who would now be a widow with three fatherless children.

  Levi could not fully absorb this awful news. He told Sarah that Ben wasn’t really dead, that Dat said dead people went to heaven after they were viewed in die laud (casket). Did Ashley Walters? Did Mervin? If Ben Zook went up there with Ashley and Mervin, he was afraid there would be no room for him after he died.

  Sarah assured Levi that heaven was very, very big.

  “Bigger that Pennsylvania?” he asked.

  “Oh my, yes.”

  Levi pondered this bit of information, then nodded his head, agreeing with Sarah. He was glad to be able to think of his own place up there.

  “Did they shoot the bull?”

  “I don’t know, Levi.”

  “He should be ground into hamburger.”

  “He probably will.”

  Levi sat down to his breakfast and lowered his head with the girls for the usual silent prayer. When they lifted their heads, Sarah was surprised to see a trickle of tears falling slowly down Levi’s cheeks.

  He pulled out a red handkerchief, blew his nose, and shook his head solemnly.

  “I wish Ben would have waited on me. It’s not fun here anymore,” he said. “Since you were burned, Mam never makes shoofly.”

  CHAPTER 11

  WHEN THEIR PARENTS RETURNED, SARAH AND Priscilla were sent to work in Anna’s yard, mowing grass, raking, tilling the garden. The women had cleaned the house and prepared the basement as a cooking and eating station. They would be feeding dozens of relatives, refilling the long tables over and over.

  The girls were expected to wear their black dresses, with capes and aprons pinned over them, their white covering strings tied. They also wore their black shoes and stockings, even with the temperature hovering around 90 degrees.

  Fred was lethargic. He was clearly displeased at the thought of returning the way he had just come. He would have preferred being turned loose into the green pasture to stand comfortably beneath a maple tree, swatting flies with his tail.

  Sarah slapped his rump with the reins. Fred’s ears laid back, flicked forward, and he broke into a halfhearted trot, allowing a cool breeze to flow into the buggy. At the slight incline on Old Leacock Road, he ambled into a stiff-legged walk, eliminating any hope of a breeze.

  “Seriously, Fred. Make him go, Sarah. Fred! Come on!” Priscilla grabbed the reins away from Sarah, giving Fred a smart rap on his haunches.

  “Come on!”

  Fred lunged dutifully into his collar, and the breeze resumed.

  “It’s so hot,” Priscilla groaned.

  “Just wait till we have to start working in the yard in all this black,” Sarah said.

  “I don’t think we should have to go help. We’re not in Ben’s, uh, I mean, Anna’s church.”

  “So? We’re friends. I used to work for her. Besides, lots of people came to help after our fire—church members or not.”

  “Whatever.”

  Priscilla leaned back against the seat and crossed her arms defiantly.

  Fred slowed to a walk.

  “Fred!” Priscilla shouted.

  “How would you like to be hitched up in this weather? He’s probably thirsty.”

  “I don’t like viewings and funerals. Everyone is always crying and hugging and looking so awful and sour. I don’t have to cry. I hardly knew Ben,” Priscilla complained.

  Sarah said nothing. She had been unable to share her deepest feelings with Priscilla since she had been burned. Sarah never even mentioned Lee’s name to her sister. She was afraid Priscilla would think her too sure of herself.

  How could she tell Priscilla about the anticipation of seeing Lee? She couldn’t. So she looked straight ahead, stopped at stop signs, turned the buggy, and prodded Fred some more. She wondered what Lee would be doing now—if he’d be there, if he’d see them drive in, and if this unexpected turn of events would prove his undoing.

  She did not have long to wait. When they drove up to the house, Lee appeared, dressed in his Sunday clothes—a blue shirt, black vest, and black trousers. He stopped when he caught sight of them. “Want me to take him?” he asked reaching for the bridle.

  “You may.”

  Priscilla smiled widely. Sarah became painfully aware of the discoloration on her right side. The angry, red scars had ruined her creamy complexion and the perfect symmetry of her face.

  The realization stung. Priscilla’s smile was the most irritating thing she had experienced in a long time.

  Sarah didn’t look at Lee. She imagined her stubby lashes, the dark scars, the skin taut like red Saran Wrap pulling her cheek and slanting her right eye down on the outside.

  She walked away.

  Lee spoke to Priscilla, who gazed up at him and then came running after Sarah, gushing on and on about his blue eyes. And what in the world was up with her, she wondered, walking away from him like that.

  “Pris, hush. This is a viewing. Or going to be.”

  Meeting Anna was almost more than Sarah could manage, but she held the short, soft woman in her arms as tears of sympathy coursed down her face.

  “I am so sorry, Anna. He was a good man.”

  “Oh, he was, Sarah. He was.”

  Stepping back, she swabbed viciously at her swollen eyes, blew her nose, and shook her head from side to side.

  “He was never the same, though, after the fire. Remember how he had to take anti-depressants, the Zoloft? It seemed as if my Ben never quite returned. He had his struggles, and I was the only one who really knew.”

  Suddenly, she grabbed Sarah’s hands. “But who am I to stand here and pity myself? You have gone through so much.”

  “But I am here, disfigured maybe, but grateful.”

  Sarah stepped back, allowing others to shake Anna’s hand and offer condolences as she moved on to talk to Rachel and Anna’s sisters. Then she set to work, mowing grass, weeding, working side by side with girls from the church district where Ben’s lived. They were not strangers, only acquaintances, but they were all united now because of the death of a young husband and father.

  The sun beamed down, its strength like an oppressive hand, large and heavy with the heat. Admitting defeat, Sarah leaned against a tree, lifting her apron to mop her brow. She had regained a lot of her strength, but she still couldn’t do everything she had been able to do prior to the fire.

  When she became overheated, her scars thumped painfully, and she knew it was time to stop. Lifting a hand to her cheek, she was shocked to feel the heat.

  “I probably look like a tomato under the broiler, so hot it’s ready to pop,” she said ruefully.

  There was a deep, masculine chuckle behind her. She recognized Lee’s laugh, so she kept her back turned, hoping he’d go away.

  She sighed with relief when he did.

  The day of Ben’s funeral was not quite as humid. The black clothes were much more bearable, and the tall, green corn stalks waved in a perfect summer breeze.

  Priscilla did not “have word,” meaning she was not invited to attend funeral services, so Sarah rode with her parents, dressed in her lightweight black outfit.

  Why was it that sewing a new dress, cape, and apron made her feel so much better about herself? That morning, she had discovered the unscarred side of her face matched the scarred side better now that it was tanned by the summer sun. Her hair was sleek and neat for once, in spite of being thin, and the covering she wore was bra
nd new and very white. For the first time since she had been burned, she felt a real sunbeam of hope.

  The large shop was filled to capacity. The mourners endured the heat stoically. Heavy women flapped crocheted handkerchiefs for the slightest whisper of a breeze, while men’s faces turned ruddy as the shop’s temperatures escalated. The sea of people dressed in black endured together, for Ben.

  After the short service, they filed respectfully past the wooden casket. The tradition was expected of them, and they turned their faces for one last look at Ben Zook.

  Many spoke of the disfigurement, the likeness not even close to the friendly face they remembered. But they must have done the best they could, considering the circumstances. They just hoped he hadn’t had to suffer.

  The bull probably caught Ben in the right side, the way every rib had been broken. His chest had caved in, they said. Perhaps the bull crushed his heart instantly, and he felt no pain after the first pounding to the ground.

  His face was a mess, though, so they couldn’t bear to think too much about Ben’s death—alone in the deepening twilight on a midsummer evening, a thunderstorm rumbling in the distance, the fear of the charging bull.

  Like a magnetic force, the death of Ben Zook drew the local farmers to face their own livestock and the dangers on their properties. It was not just a seemingly docile bull in the pasture, but also the uncovered squares upstairs on barn floors, broken gates, and loose ladder rungs. Many repairs were completed in the following month, and more than one massive two-thousand-pound Holstein bull was sent to auction.

  They all said it was time to sell—the bull was too heavy. However, in the back of their minds, they cringed as they pictured the lowered, wide, hard head of the angry creature, coming at a terrible pace. They envisioned the impact, the crushed bones as poor Ben was ground into the dry earth of his own pasture, and they were relieved to sell.

  Halt uns, Himmlisher Vater (Keep us, Heavenly Father). Ben’s death just after the Widow Lydia’s second fire and the Beiler girl getting so burned—what was God trying to tell them? Everyone had better sit up and take notice. It was the end times, for sure. The fires, the danger still among them—where would it end?