Fire in the Night

by Linda Byler

  Although that was the thinking of only a handful of people, to David Beiler it was a handful too many. The intricate pattern of love and fellowship was unraveling, destroying the age-old heritage of one for all and all for one, a beautiful design only God could have woven.

  David felt the loose threads when he stood up to preach, and his throat constricted with fear, with failure looming on the horizon like a midsummer hailstorm. The black cloud to the west was predictable, but the strength and fury of the storm was not.

  So he wavered, the crumbling of his spiritual post a genuine threat. His knees shook, his hands clenched and unclenched, and he stood wordless.

  Mam, seated in front of him on a folding chair, bowed her head even farther, her lips moving in prayer. Nervous members of the congregation shuffled their feet as the ticking of the plastic clock on the shop wall became deafening.

  Someone cleared his throat, which seemed to jolt David back to life. He began speaking, choked, and stopped.

  Anna Mae, sitting in the women’s row, watched her father’s face, and quick tears of sympathy formed. Her Dat had had too much. Sarah was horrified. Please, please. She silently begged for help without forming the actual words of a prayer. Priscilla sat like stone, her face blanched of color.

  Then it seemed as if God supplied his needs, and he spoke, softly, lovingly but with power. He left nothing back. He told them of the heaviness of his heart, the silent, cunning way the devil was weaving a pattern of his own, destroying the perfect will of God. There was evil among them, but that evil could not enter into the fold unless they allowed it.

  Two barns had burned by the hands of someone who meant harm. A young child had died. Let it not once be named among them to berate, to gossip. Instead, they needed to hold themselves accountable, one to the other.

  Small human minds cannot think as God does. Where there is suspicion, hate, backbiting, and bickering—the devil’s own handiwork—the church community needed to replace it with love and forbearance, brother to brother, supporting, upholding, forgiving. God is not mocked.

  The conviction that fell was terrible, weighing down guilty members as David Beiler bared his soul. They had never heard anything like it. Old Sylvia Riehl said it was time the poor man spoke from the heart, as she cut a piece of snitz pie at the table later in the day.

  For now, God had triumphed.

  Chapter 18

  MAM STOOD AT HER IRONING board as the late November sun slanted through the kitchen window. Her right arm moved rhythmically, pressing the new black cape and apron she’d finished that afternoon.

  The maple leaves were gone, and the trees looked unclothed, exposed to the chilly winds that warned of snow but were unable to produce it. The brown, dried up remnants of leaves that clung bravely to the cold branches of the oak trees rustled in the steady breeze, as if their perseverance allowed the Beiler family a tenacious hold on autumn. It was wedding season.

  Mam suppressed a sigh of weariness. Every Tuesday and every Thursday, starting the last week in October, after communion services were over, the weddings moved along in full swing. Fifteen of them this year. That meant invitations to fifteen weddings for David Beiler, who was invited along with Malinda for any number of reasons—as a minister, an uncle, a friend.

  Monday mornings for Mam meant laundry. During wedding season that task included cleaning the black mutza (suit or coat) and woolen hats, ironing extra coverings and white shirts, polishing black Sunday shoes, and making sure there were plenty of snowy white handkerchiefs pressed and in the top bureau drawer for her husband. Priscilla’s job was to wash and polish the buggy.

  Sarah had been called to go with Hannah’s sister, Emma, and her husband, Amos, to work at their large, bustling bakery at the farmer’s market in New Jersey, about a hundred miles away. Every Friday and Saturday morning, the market van picked up Sarah at three thirty and returned her at eight o’clock in the evening. She seemed to float on pure adrenaline now, dashing down the stairs, banging the front door so the picture on the wall rattled, eager to be a part of the new world she had discovered.

  Secretly, Sarah felt pretty in her white bib apron. When she learned to ring up orders on the electric cash register, she felt very worldly indeed. A real career girl. She loved the atmosphere of the huge farmer’s market. There was a constant rush to mix, bake, wrap, and display the pies and cakes, the bread and cookies, the cupcakes and cinnamon rolls—the list was endless. Sarah rose eagerly to the challenge.

  She was a farm girl, her arms rounded, strong, and muscular. So the fifty-pound bags of flour and sugar were no problem, the endless rolling of pie crusts no big deal. She smiled easily and was always friendly and helpful to the other workers. Emma watched and noticed. She wondered why she hadn’t asked Sarah to be a bakery girl before.

  The only downside was the lack of sleep, which often caused her to doze off during the three-hour church service on Sundays. She also had trouble staying awake late on Saturday nights with her girlfriends.

  But she had money in her wallet now and a savings account at the Susquehanna Bank without her parents’ names on it. If she wanted to purchase a framed piece of art from the craft shop, she could. Or if she wanted to surprise Levi with a new trinket or game, she could do that too. It was absolutely liberating, this new job.

  Now the weddings had arrived, and Sarah found she could exist on very little sleep, returning home late every Thursday evening for just a bit of sleep before the alarm rang in the middle of the night—or so it seemed at three o’clock.

  The family was wearing black at every wedding this year, since they were still in mourning for Mervin. Sarah had sewn not one, but two new dresses, capes, and aprons, so she still felt as if she was dressed in wedding finery despite their somber color.

  She went to Mam at her ironing board to ask if the coverings were ready for tomorrow’s wedding. Mam shook her head.

  “That’s next.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Well, you can make Levi’s bed. Just use the clean blue sheets in the bathroom closet. I doubt if the wash is dry yet.”

  “I’d rather put on the fresh ones, from off the line.”

  “Alright with me.”

  Sarah sat on Dat’s chair, leaned back, and watched Mam lift and inspect the new apron. She nodded with satisfaction, folded it in half, then again, and hung it carefully on a plastic hanger.

  Sarah opened her mouth then closed it as she gazed through the kitchen window at the brown oak leaves. Finally she said, “Mam.”

  Absentmindedly, Mam said “Hmm?” as she resumed her ironing.

  “Rose and Matthew broke up.”

  “Did they?”

  Mam had not really heard Sarah, her own thoughts preoccupying her. Suddenly she stopped the rhythmic movement of the sadiron and asked, “What did you say?”

  “Rose and Matthew broke up.”

  “Oh, my goodness! Who did it?”

  “Rose.”

  Mam’s face went pale, her thoughts whirling, stirred to hurricane force by the ensuing tragedy that was sure to follow. She was scared of the torrential rain, the spiritual and emotional blast that could sweep away her daughter in its terrifying grip. Her lips pale, compressed, she asked flatly, “Why?”

  “We talked almost all night, Rose and I. Mam, I feel so sorry for her. She has no real reason. He’s everything she always imagined her boyfriend to be. Yet she feels empty and drained, she said. She wants to stay away from him at least a month to see if her feelings change.”

  Mam pursed her lips, folded the black cape, and hung it neatly on the same hanger. “Oh, they all say that.”

  Sarah was astounded and looked sharply at her mother’s pale face, the too-bright eyes. There was a sharp edge in her soft voice. “She wants someone else. You know that,” Mam added.

  The words were flung at Sarah with a strange intensity before Mam turned, walked swiftly into her bedroom, and closed the door with a firm “thwack” behind her.

&n
bsp; “Die Mam iss base! (Mam is angry!)” Levi shouted gleefully from the sofa, where he lay with a stack of catalogs, looking for horses.

  Sarah felt a warm flush rise on her face. She knew. She knew with a sickening certainty what had upset her mother. It was the idea of Matthew being free. Free to ask her. Free to be hers!

  Unable to stay seated, Sarah jumped up, ran up the stairs, and flung herself on her bed, her chin in her cupped hands, her feet in the air, the old house slippers dangling as she dreamed.

  God had answered her prayers! He had put her through the fire, brought her patience, and now he was delivering her into a brand new day, one of hope, one rosy with the glow of a new future. Her whole room was infused with the light of her love for Matthew, a golden yellow halo that transformed the very color of the walls. Her world had come crashing about her, righted itself, and turned to its original color.

  Then the dark form of her mother appeared in the doorway. “Sarah, I’m asking you to listen to me, this one time. I know it may not make a difference to you, but I don’t feel right saying nothing at all.”

  Sarah rolled over, sat up, and pushed her feet into her slippers. The sun disappeared behind a gray November cloud, bringing a sense of unrest and dread into Sarah’s bedroom. She looked at the ratty old slippers and wondered why she’d kept them so long. Dropping to the recliner in the corner, Mam squared her shoulders, folded her hands, and began to speak.

  “I know how it is for you. You fancy yourself in love with Matthew. You always have. My soft mother’s heart wants to tell you that you can have him. God has answered your prayers, and this may be so. I hope it is. But you must face reality. It was Rose that broke up, not Matthew, which means nine chances out of ten, he’s heartbroken, and he wants her back.”

  “You don’t know!” Sarah’s voice was raw with fierce denial.

  Mam remained silent, holding Sarah’s intense gaze with the kindness in her own. Sudden confusion caused Sarah to lower her eyes.

  “No, I don’t.” Mam said softly.

  The wisdom Mam had gleaned through her years of experience helped her accept the truth: Sarah had built an impenetrable wall of fantasy around herself. She stood up, brushed imaginary dust from her apron, and said, “I wish you God’s blessing, my daughter.” She walked softly to Sarah’s bed and held Sarah in her arms. The moment was warm with love put firmly in place, because it never failed.

  Patting the shapely shoulders, Mam stepped back and quipped, “So, if the waters get rough, I guess I’ll sit beside you in your little rowboat and row for dear life!”

  Sarah smiled hesitantly at her mother, and they laughed together softly. Why, then, did she flop back on her bed and stare at the ceiling? She didn’t know she was crying until something tickled her ears, and she recognized the wetness sliding down each side of her face. Immediately, she sat up, grabbed a Kleenex, and went to the window, gazing out through the gray branches of the maple trees, seeing nothing.

  She had never dressed with more care or anticipation. She combed and patted, moussed and sprayed her hair, until finally she achieved the perfect sleekness she sought.

  Black it would have to be, but a new black, the fabric full-bodied with a bit of a ripple, not too fancy, not too plain. She successfully pinned the cape after three or four tries, satisfied that each pleat was just the right length down her back. Then she pinned the apron snugly about her waist.

  She had just pinned and tied her new white covering on her head when she heard the obnoxious air horn on Melvin’s buggy. He had attached it to the twelve-volt battery beneath the floor of the buggy in its own box, riding low above the road.

  Dabbing a small amount of her favorite fragrance on her wrists, she grabbed a few Kleenexes and ran downstairs, where Levi sat with his coffee and shoofly pie, yelling lustily that Melvin was there.

  “Bye, Levi. You be good for Priscilla!” She grabbed his arm, kissed his forehead, and left him swabbing the spot with his red handkerchief and a smile on his face.

  Priscilla didn’t respond. The longing in her eyes was too intense. Weddings were off-limits for fourteen-year-olds, except for cousins or close friends, so her lot was to stay home with Levi, get Suzie off to school, and sometimes babysit her nieces and nephews. That was fun for a while until the day wore on, and they became tired and cranky, and Levi teased them without mercy.

  When Priscilla complained to Mam, Mam said Ruthie and Elmer were extremely sociable, staying at weddings until the last song was sung, and yes, Ruthie could be more considerate of Priscilla’s long day with the children.

  Levi shook his head after the kesslehaus door closed behind Sarah. “Boy, the flies shouldn’t bother her today,” he mused before cutting off a large chunk of shoofly pie with the edge of his fork.

  Melvin was in a sour mood, scolding her for being late and saying, “Watch out for the heater, there.”

  Sarah pressed her knees together and clasped her hands in a grip that gave away her eagerness. Melvin watched from the corner of his eye. Buster trotted briskly, his ears forward in a perfect circular shape, his tail lifted, his steps high.

  Sarah smiled to herself. No use wasting it on vinegar-infused Melvin. Sour old bachelor. It wasn’t her fault he hated weddings.

  Silence pervaded every inch of the buggy. Not a good, comfortable silence, but one ripe with unspoken thoughts. Well, she’d wait. Melvin could never stay quiet very long, and she knew the subject that he’d tackle the minute he put his prickly pride behind him.

  The air was damp, the skies overcast, but there was a telltale line of blue to the west, emerging as the thick gray blanket of morning clouds moved on.

  Sarah was glad to see the pretty blue sky approaching. Susan and Marvin deserved a beautiful wedding day. They were both only twenty years old, so young, but they had been dating for more than two years, almost three. The parents had given their consent, saying it was better to marry young than to be dating too long.

  They would occupy the small Cape Cod on the Miller farm, paying minimal rent, a favor Dan Miller presented to young couples to give them an guta schtart (a good start).

  Susan would be so happy, decorating and painting her cute little house and cooking supper for her beloved Marvin with the brand new stainless steel cookware her mother had purchased from the traveling Kessle Mann (cookware salesman).

  Sarah inhaled happily, then exhaled quietly, warily watching Melvin from the side. Yes, her chance of marriage fluttered a victory flag on the horizon. Soon. Oh, just soon.

  Melvin’s voice broke into the silence. “I guess you feel like the cat that got all the cream.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  “Why?”

  “You know.”

  Sarah laughed, elation rounding out the happy giggle that rolled from an overflowing heart.

  “Well, I can’t help it they broke up.”

  “It was her, Tub said.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, that could mean he’s still in love with her. Likely he’s heartbroken, his pride shattered. He probably won’t be at the wedding, if I know Matthew right.”

  There it was again. This dark prediction, a pressing insecurity flung about her shoulders by someone she loved.

  Instantly, a quick retort rose to push back the cloak of doubt. “You don’t know, Melvin. He may not be heartbroken at all. Perhaps he’s…well, sort of glad it’s over. Maybe he was bored with Rose. Her…her…perfection, or whatever.”

  Melvin snorted so vehemently he had to lean over so he could extricate his white handkerchief.

  “He never once got bored with her!” he burst out.

  “You don’t know,” Sarah countered forcefully.

  Then, neither one having the wisdom born of experience, their youth rolling the losing dice, their barbed conversation turned into an argument, albeit a polite one, as cousins tend to do. Buster trotted up to the Reuben Stoltzfus farm pulling a gray and black buggy with an invisible cloud of dissension hangin
g above it.

  Yes, Matthew was there. Sarah watched the long row of boys file in, her fevered gaze latching onto the sight of him with much the same intensity that a drowning man grasps a life preserver. See, Melvin.

  Her lips curling with her own sense of victory, she lowered her eyes, afraid to look up, afraid not to. When she dared, she peered between heads and shoulders until she found him, gazing at the floor. Oh well, she had a whole wedding service ahead of her to try to gauge his mood. Hadn’t she become quiet adept at it over the years?

  There was, however, one thing that troubled her. Rose. She’d been so wan and pale, her face aged with the trial she’d gone through, her beautiful eyes clouded with indecision, or fear, or… what? Sarah didn’t know. What if she wanted him back now that he was no longer hers?

  The opening song was announced, and great waves of the ageless plainsong rolled evenly across the clean, painted woodworking shop as the approximately four hundred invited guests joined their voices in the wedding hymn.

  Chills chased themselves up Sarah’s spine. She joined in, reveling in the opportunity to be one with the group of singers. She loved to sing in church, and weddings were even better. So many voices blended in song were himmlisch (heavenly), and she could easily imagine a host of angels singing as they did.

  Then she looked up, straight into Matthew’s eyes, which confused her so much, she stopped singing. Goodness. What in the world? What was wrong with him? Surely it couldn’t be that bad. His eyes were dark pools of misery, so bad, in fact, that she hardly recognized him.

  Well, she’d remedy that, as soon as she was able.

  After dinner, the single girls stood outside against the shop wall, waiting for the single young men to choose them to accompany them to the long tables to sing wedding songs and have cold punch and pizza or soft pretzels or some other special treat. Sarah was afraid, truly terrified, her breath coming in gasps, quick and hard. She could feel the warmth and color leave her face. She became quite dizzy, her head spinning, but sheer willpower righted it and kept her feet solidly on the ground.