Fire in the Night

by Linda Byler

  “You know, Sarah, I can hardly stand it. Every little thing he does, you take as sincere. He knows it. He just keeps you dangling. You’re always thinking that around the next bend, he’ll break up with Rose. You know he won’t. She is as sweet as she’s beautiful. I don’t think she has a mean word in her vocabulary. Is that how you say vocabulary?”

  Sarah lifted her face to the night sky and laughed a laugh of genuine amusement. Here was a person who was completely straightforward. He was as simple to read as a child’s book—uncomplicated, nothing hidden, content to be who he was, thinking he was quite cool and handsome when he really wasn’t. Not much, anyway, and so lovable because of this rare trait.

  Too many people, especially youth, were so desperate to be someone they absolutely weren’t. In the process, they lost their genuineness, the only thing that actually was real.

  Melvin was so real.

  “Okay. So now you figured out my life. Let’s start on yours.”

  “Ah, no.”

  “Come on. Who is it?”

  “She’s dating.”

  “She’s dating? No wonder you said we’re in the same boat.”

  “Yep. We are.”

  “Let me guess.”

  Sarah lifted her face, rubbed her nose, and hummed. She threw a covering string across her shoulder then remembered to tie it before tossing it back.

  “Not Lavina?”

  Melvin pursed his lips and nodded, his brown eyes liquid with sincerity.

  “Yep. Her.”

  “But…”

  “I know exactly what you’re going to say. Eggs-zackly! She’s too cute for me.”

  Aghast, Sarah stared at her cousin in disbelief.

  “Too cute? But…Melvin!”

  “Don’t you think so?”

  “Well, yes, of course. If you do. I just can hardly believe you would consider Lavina Esh.”

  “Not Esh. Not Lavina Esh. She’s…”

  “Well, Melvin, I wondered.”

  They laughed, the sound of understanding. When he said Lavina Fisher, from below Christiana, Sarah couldn’t picture her.

  “I don’t know her, do I?”

  “You do.”

  The calm night was ripped in two by the wail of a fire siren. Instantly, Melvin’s head came up, and he grimaced.

  “You know,” Sarah said. “It doesn’t matter where we are or what we’re doing. That sound will never be the same for us. We can no longer think it’s someone else. Someone English who we don’t know.”

  “It totally gives me the shivers.”

  Sarah nodded, then confided in Melvin about the newspaper story of her sister.

  “Yeah,” Melvin agreed. “It’s tough for your dat. That poor man has had more than his share of late. It’s hard to understand, a family like yours, and Mervin’s death. Why does God allow these things?”

  “Melvin, we’re not perfect. I can write a whole list of ways we could improve. Other people don’t know, can’t see, but we have many faults. A whole bunch, to be exact. I truly think God chastens those He loves, to make us better, more loving, kinder, mit-leidich (understanding).”

  Melvin nodded soberly. He wiped his mouth very carefully, adjusted his collar, brushed imaginary crumbs from his trousers, and sniffed.

  “See, Sarah, I wish you weren’t my cousin. You’re such a treasure.”

  Sarah laughed and watched the insects’ wild flight around the hypnotic pole light, but she said nothing.

  They left the Tastee Freez and arrived late at the volleyball game. Dozens of buggies and a few vehicles were parked in the lower pasture, the horses contentedly chomping hay from a flat wagon. There were three nets set up. Huge battery-operated lights illuminated the night. Color-infused movement pushed back the soft, velvety curtain of darkness.

  As always, her face tightened searching for Matthew. She was not content to enjoy her evening until she knew he was there. As always, he was front and center, his height a great asset to his ability. As usual, Rose stood beside him, dressed in the lovely color of the flower for which she was named, her blonde hair sleek and gleaming in the strong light.

  Sarah sighed, a tiny sound of resignation, like the flutter of a despondent moth. Why did she stand here with her older cousin Melvin, putting herself through this week after week? The futility of her longing loomed before her, an impenetrable wall without end. She could not climb over it, or dig beneath, it, or walk around it to the right or to the left.

  He didn’t know she had arrived, and if he did, would it make a difference? How did one go about extricating one’s self from a spider web so effectively spun? She was as helpless as a dead fly.

  Melvin, beside her, glanced at Sarah’s face as Matthew successfully spiked the ball. Rose squealed and turned to him for a congratulatory high five. Melvin watched the pain and jealousy move across Sarah’s features in a numbing wave. It was a shame.

  As usual, the life of the evening was partially extinguished for Sarah. She half-heartedly entered a game on the side that needed players, which was not Matthew’s team, of course.

  She spoke to her friends, smiled, laughed, greeted others in a daze of sorts, her gaze constantly going to Matthew’s game.

  “Hey, watch it!”

  A girlish yell broke in on her incompetent play, and she whirled to face the admonition.

  “Sorry,” she murmured miserably as the ball bounced away unheeded.

  “You want someone else to play?” the girl asked, not completely without anger.

  Sarah turned and sized up her challenger. She was tall, wide in the hips, tanned, freckled, with hair that should have been red but looked like it was toasted. She had a full, generous mouth, a prominent nose, and at the moment, she was not completely thrilled to have Sarah on her team.

  “No, I want to play.”

  “Well, then, keep your mind here, and stop watching the other game.”

  Sarah was humiliated beyond words. She blinked rapidly to dispel the hot tears of frustration. She glanced again at the tall freckled girl and decided she knew exactly who she was.

  That’s Lavina. Lavina Fisher. The one Melvin wanted. But she was dating someone else.

  Hmm. Sarah’s eyes narrowed, watching her. Lavina played aggressively, pounding the volleyball with solid “whumps,” moving quickly, shouting her moves to the other players. If she was English, she’d likely go far as a volleyball player, Sarah thought. Whew. Melvin better think about someone else.

  After that, she forgot Matthew and played, putting her heart into the game. She kicked off her sneakers. She’d show that big bossy Lavina.

  When the evening was over, Sarah had pushed her way into Lavina’s good graces. She had whirled and twisted and dove, fists extended, helping their side win two straight sets. When the last game was over, they found themselves seated side by side on the ground, propped up by their hands, legs extended, as they talked about the game.

  “You’re Lavina Fisher, right?”

  “Yes. I am. And I know you—Davey Beiler’s Sarah, right?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “You just lost your little brother. I’m so sorry. It must be very hard. And didn’t your barn burn too?”

  “Yes.”

  “It must be tough.”

  “It is.”

  “Little brothers are so precious. I have three, and they’re the delight of my life. I teach school, so naturally, they’re my pupils. And what a challenge, teaching them!”

  Sarah laughed.

  “You hungry?”

  “Not really.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “No, I just had a banana split at the Tastee Freez with Melvin.”

  “Melvin? What Melvin?”

  “My cousin.”

  “That older guy who lives alone with his widowed mother?”

  “Yes. That’s him.”

  “He’s your cousin?”

  “Yes. My mother’s oldest brother Alvin’s son.”

  “I know who he is.”


  This was spoken in haste, the words hard, pelting. Sarah raised her eyebrows and turned her head to look at Lavina.

  “Why does that make you…whatever?”

  “What?”

  “Why did you get mad, thinking of Melvin?”

  “I didn’t. Well, maybe. I didn’t want to let it show. It’s just that…if you wait for someone for so many years, you finally come to the long overdue, sane, conclusion, that he doesn’t want you, doesn’t even know you exist. And so, you move on. I moved on. I’m dating happily now.”

  Sarah tried hard to hide the incredulity she felt. Oh, my goodness.

  “I’m glad you’re happy,” she said but only as a soothing message, a sort of space between them until she had time to absorb the power of Lavina’s words.

  So. Is that how it was with Matthew? Is that why the attraction was so powerful that day? What if Matthew was like Melvin and wanted her, but he was too shy to ask? That was how it was with Melvin. And Lavina had wanted him all that time.

  She drew up her knees, smoothed her skirt over them, and shivered with happiness.

  So when Matthew dropped down beside her and said, “S’up?” Sarah turned to him with a shining face, her hope renewed, and asked how he was doing. When he said, “Fine and dandy,” she fell in love with him all over again. Especially when Rose remained standing beside the table loaded down with homemade pizza, grilled hot dogs, cookies, bars, and whoopie pies and continued talking to Elmer Zook.

  Sarah would be patient, bide her time, unlike poor Lavina, who hadn’t waited long enough.

  Should she speak to Melvin about this?

  “You’re not even listening to what I’m saying,” Matthew said.

  “Oh yes, I was. You were saying it’s Rose’s birthday.”

  “Mm…hum. Now. What would be a good gift? If you were my girlfriend, what would you like?”

  Oh, the radiance of the night! The unbelievable thing he had just spoken of! Sarah giggled.

  Lavina watched her, shrewdly, her eyes missing nothing.

  “Well, I’ve always wanted one of those oak tea carts. Or a clothes tree. Both of them make nice gifts for someone who has been dating a year or so.”

  “A clock. I can’t wait to give her a clock.”

  Sarah’s radiance was dashed to the ground by a black hand—a hand so large and so capable of ruining all her hopes. She could not answer, could not think of a word to say.

  A clock, Matthew. No. A clock was an engagement gift—the Amish version of a diamond ring. The hoped for, long-awaited gift of commitment desired in every young girl’s heart. Please don’t say that, Matthew. She looked into his face, startled that she hadn’t said the words out loud.

  “Why? What’s wrong with a clock?” Matthew asked.

  It took every ounce of willpower to recover, to speak normally.

  “Nothing. Of course. Nothing. It’s perhaps a bit soon. That’s all.”

  “Yeah.”

  Lavina jumped to her feet and said, “Come on, Sarah. I’m hungry.”

  Sarah sat, refusing to go, until Lavina reached down and grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet.

  “I don’t want to go alone.”

  There was nothing to do but leave Matthew, so she did.

  They filled their plates, although Sarah thought she might as well have scooped a nice pile of sawdust onto hers, so unappealing was the thought of any food at that moment.

  Lavina led her away from the groups of girls, away from the glare of the unforgiving lights.

  “Sarah, I know I don’t know you very well, but…is that Matthew your friend, or….”

  “Friend,” Sarah broke in, hurriedly pulling the curtain of oblivion abruptly between them.

  “A bit more?”

  “Look, Lavina, you don’t even know me. Stop asking impertinent questions that are none of your business.”

  With that, she flung the white Styrofoam plate to the grass, sprang up in a quick movement, and walked quickly away, the mind-numbing events of the battered evening spurring her on. When Lavina called after her, she ran.

  Sarah ran the whole way through Elam Lapp’s lower pasture, stumbling over rocks until she found the field lane that led to the large white barn. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps as she approached it, her heart pumping out her despair.

  When she reached the road, the narrow macadam country road to Ronks, she noticed how the enormous white barn stood close to it, only a strip of well-manicured lawn between the road and the building. This was the kind of setting the fire marshals had warned about. In a few short minutes, barns like this could easily be ignited by the occupants of a vehicle stopped along the lonely road on a dark night.

  Sarah shivered. And then—because their barn had burned that awful night, and because Mervin had died, that dear, innocent, tow-headed little soul—she began to shake uncontrollably. She sank to the dew-laden grass by the barn, overcome by the power of the tragedies coupled with Matthew’s disclosure of his desire to present Rose with a dumb clock.

  Suddenly, she hated Matthew with an alarming, powerful sense of revulsion she had never thought possible. He had been her captor far too long, holding her hostage, her whole life held in his hands. His hands—when it should have been God’s hands.

  Well, let him give Rose a clock. She hoped he’d be happy. Suddenly the knowledge that he would be happy brought a hoarse cry to her throat, and she buried her face in her hands, her body shaking, dry sobs escaping her.

  That was where Levi Glick, known as Lee, stumbled across her as he walked home, envisioning Sarah sitting with Matthew again, her eyes vivid, her features animated.

  “Oops. Oh.”

  He jumped back, apologizing and alarmed.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you. Who…?”

  He bent, and she twisted away from his gaze, swiping a forearm viciously across her face, then using the hem of her apron, as she breathed hard, struggling for control. It was too dark to see who sat before him until yellowish headlights on the road suddenly appeared, starkly illuminating Sarah, her face swollen from the effects of her painful realization.

  Lee stood, waiting for the car to pass. It was a small white one, traveling only a few miles an hour, and they both thought it would roll to a stop. Seemingly, the driver spied the two figures, accelerated smoothly, and continued on his way, leaving them enveloped in the still, hot August night.

  Awkward. That’s what this is, Sarah thought, grimly. Lee made the transition smoothly.

  “Do you want to go back?” he asked kindly, completely ignoring the fact that she had been distraught, knowing how mortifying this chance encounter must be.

  She shook her head but then realized he couldn’t see her and whispered, “Not really. Melvin won’t know where I am.”

  “Who’s Melvin?”

  “My cousin. He brought me.”

  Lee said nothing, just stood beside her, gazing off into the summer night sky, and waited.

  “Will you be okay? I don’t want to leave you here by yourself. It is the middle of the night, after all.”

  “I’ll be alright.”

  Indecisive, he remained. The sense of loss was too great if he left, but to stay might pose a whole set of new problems.

  What had caused her to become so upset? What was the puzzling aura about her? This girl fascinated him. All the turbulence in her green-gray eyes was drawing him—but to what?

  Resigning himself to what he knew was best, he walked away.

  Chapter 15

  IT 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 usua
l 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.