Fire in the Night

by Linda Byler

  Rose didn’t know that Anna had told Sarah that Lee had been with the Drifters, the older group, not the Dominoes. Sarah was peeved, intimidated by Rose’s knowledge of Lee. What would Rose say if she knew about last week at Reuby Kauffman’s?

  Her face flamed suddenly. When Rose appeared with a steaming bowl of thick chili, a dollop of sour cream and cheddar cheese on top, she looked anxiously at Sarah and asked if she had a fever. Blinking nervously, Sarah said, no, no, she was fine, and lifted the soup spoon to her mouth.

  Rose seemed satisfied with Sarah’s reply, then asked if she’d seen Matthew this week. Sarah nodded and told her about the barn raising, offering nothing more.

  “Well, how does he seem to you? Is he himself? I mean, you know, getting on with his life?”

  Rose was nervously folding and unfolding a napkin, the toe of one foot bobbing furiously, her eyes too intent.

  “Well, he teased Priscilla a lot, but—you know—that’s how he’s always been. He seems happy, yes, at least as far as I can tell.”

  Rose said nothing, folded the napkin again. “Well, I better go. We didn’t finish making some of the soups. In this weather, it’ll take a lot, later on in the day. Hey, see you at Ervin’s.”

  Sarah nodded.

  “How are you going?”

  Sarah cringed inwardly, wishing with all her heart that Rose hadn’t asked her that one question. Why did she have to know?

  “Matthew.”

  “Oh.”

  Rose lifted her chin, scowled, turned on her heel, and hurried off, moving faster than she had all day.

  Well. So be it, Rose. You’re the one that broke off the friendship.

  Before long, the chili was gone, so Sarah paid, wandered two aisles down, bought a chunk of chocolate walnut fudge (she’d save some for Levi, his favorite), and was slowly walking past the leather goods stand when someone called her name.

  Surprised, Sarah turned. “Oh, Ashley. Hi.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Eating fudge.”

  Ashley giggled, then looked ashamed and ill at ease, fingering a key chain, her eyes averted.

  “How are you?” Sarah asked.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Good.”

  An awkward silence followed, and Sarah wasn’t sure if she wanted to keep the conversation going or move off. Ashley’s thin, fine hair somehow looked hacked off, and her face was white and riddled with acne. Her eyes clouded with anxiety or shyness, Sarah wasn’t sure which. She was painfully thin, her gray sweatshirt hanging as if on a coat hanger.

  Suddenly, she lifted her head, as if in desperation. “Did…did you know those people whose house burned, like, last week? Did they…are they okay? Like, what happened?”

  The words were a torrent, unleashed by the force of her curiosity, raining on Sarah so that she could hardly meet her troubled gaze.

  “Reuby…Reuben Kauffman’s?”

  “I dunno. I guess.”

  “Yes, their barn and house—both were destroyed by fire. They’re doing about as well as you’d expect. They’re good people and are hurting at the loss, of course, but they’ll be okay in time.”

  “But no one was hurt? Or, like, killed?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Oh.” Then, “Are…are these people going to try and find out who, like, did it?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. We’re having a meeting soon, at my house—my dad’s a minister—to try and figure out a way to keep the barns safe. I don’t know how we could actually find the arsonist.”

  “Yeah. Well, I have to go.”

  She disappeared behind a wall of elaborately tooled leather belts without giving Sarah a chance to say goodbye. So Sarah shrugged her shoulders and moved on, letting the whole conversation go for now. There was too much to see, too many people to greet and talk to, even if only for a minute.

  “Hey, Sarah!

  Ray King waved a hand across his cheese display, a beaming elderly woman at his side, her hair parted like the white wings of a dove, crowned by a large white covering. Ray was a big man, larger than Levi, his round face florid, his beard bristling with good humor. A white butcher’s apron stretched loosely across his round stomach.

  Sarah smiled and moved over to their stand. She stretched on tiptoes to see what free samples they had today.

  “Havarti. Swiss. Aged cheddar,” she read aloud.

  “What? You can read?” Ray boomed, and his mother gave him a resounding smack on his arm, which was as big as a log.

  Sarah laughed, sampled them all, and made a face.

  “What? My cheese is no good? Don’t let my customers see you pull that face.”

  “No, it’s not your cheese. It’s eating anything after that extra sweet chocolate fudge.”

  Ray laughed and said he hadn’t eaten any fudge for while. He was going to buy some, and he left the stand hurriedly, his large frame rocking from side to side.

  His mother shook her head, saying “Eya braucht’s net (He doesn’t need it).”

  Sarah moved on. She waved to Rachel Fisher at the fish stand, the rich aroma of frying fish whirling around her. The warm, full-bodied seafood smell made her inhale appreciatively.

  “Sarah!”

  She stopped and waited as Rachel handed her a small cardboard boat with red crisscrossing on it. It was filled with broiled scallops.

  “Taste these. Tell me what you think. Too much lemon? Not enough? It’s something new.”

  Gingerly, with thumb and forefinger, Sarah attempted to lift one of the succulent orbs, which was broiled crisply and coated with a clear sauce. Instantly, she pulled back her hand.

  “Ow! They’re hot.”

  “Here. Use a plastic fork.”

  Sarah jabbed a scallop with the fork and blew on it repeatedly before taking a tentative bite. She chewed, held her head to one side, and rolled her eyes before pronouncing them awful, just awful.

  Rachel let out a devastated sigh.

  “No!”

  Sarah laughed and told her she was joking. They were simply the best thing ever.

  “Oh Sarah, thank you so much! You really mean it? We got this great buy on fifty pounds of them, and we have to sell some scallops this week. And just look at the weather out there! It’s driving me plum crazy.”

  Sarah said calmly, “You’ll make it.” She waved and moved on.

  Leon and Rachel Fisher were some of the most successful market people and lived in one of the nicest homes in Leola. She’d heard through the grapevine that they sold thousands of dollars worth of seafood each week, although they always complained of the high cost of their lease, the fish, the help. But it was all done in humility, not flaunting their actual success.

  The farmer’s market was a great part of Sarah’s social life now. She made new friends, comfortably joked with other vendors, and became close friends with her co-workers.

  As she returned to her work station, her thoughts went back to the timid Ashley, her fevered questions, and wondered at the mysterious traits she displayed. She was obviously not comfortable with who she was. But who could know what her life was like? What had been in her past to create this sense of imbalance?

  Dat often told them not to judge anyone unfairly, before actually knowing what their circumstances were. Be slow to judge, slow to pass opinion of someone, and be patient with each other’s shortcomings. Mam lived this advice largely by example. She remained kind in situations others probably could not, her uncomplicated manner a healing balm in more than one prickly situation. So Sarah gave her shy, new friend the benefit of the doubt and felt peaceful, at ease, and only curious to get to know her better.

  As she thought of that evening, a new joy rose within her, and she hummed along with the beat of the mixer. Matthew coming to pick her up! Imagine!

  She hoped Mam’s feathers would remain unruffled, but she’d be glad to escape out the front door. Mothers were unpredictable creatures.

  Chapter 23

  BY
EARLY SATURDAY EVENING, the ice and rain had moved on. The wind blew strongly, and a weak November sun melted the ice on the south and west sides of buildings, trees, cars, or whatever had been covered by the thin coat of freezing water.

  It was the kind of day when it was easier to stay indoors, the wind a bit too belligerent for skirts and dresses, the ground either muddy or covered with thin sheets of cracking ice like broken glass underfoot.

  Priscilla, however, chose to ride Dutch, his hooves sinking into the mud and smashing the thin ice that stretched across puddles. It was all the same to him.

  When Sarah came home from market, Priscilla came running across the driveway from the barn, her cheeks ruddy with the cold and the wind, her eyes dancing beneath her honey colored hair that had been tossed in windblown tendrils about her face. She was shouting as she ran, oblivious to the curious faces pressed against the tinted glass of the fifteen-passenger van.

  “Sarah! He cleared the creek!”

  “What?”

  The wind whipped her skirt about her, tore the single syllable from her mouth, and whirled it away.

  “Dutch! He jumped the creek!”

  “Priscilla Beiler! How?”

  “Oh well, you know. If you go fast enough, he has to do it.”

  They bent their heads to the wind and moved rapidly to the front porch, bursting through the door, glad to feel the heat and homey aroma of the kitchen.

  Mam looked up from the kitchen sink and said, “Hello, Sarah. Home so soon?”

  “Yes, Mam, the market was slow.”

  “I would imagine people are reluctant to leave their houses in this unpredictable weather.”

  “He jumped the creek, Mam!”

  “Your horse? Priscilla, I seriously fear for your safety.”

  But Mam’s eyes shone, and just the smallest hint of pride asserted itself. It was there in the way a small smile played around her lips and made itself at home, the lifting of her rounded shoulders, and her quick movements as she whirled to the stove.

  Was it some remembered time of her own? Did she accomplish a neat, heart-stopping leap on the back of a favorite horse, a pleasure forgotten that was now revived by the antics of her daring young daughter?

  “Whoo!” Priscilla fist-pumped the air.

  Suzie giggled from her side of the card table, where Levi sat facing her, the game Memory between them. Levi viewed his sister with flat eyes and said she was gros-feelich (proud), pressing his lips together in righteous indignation.

  Priscilla pulled back on his wide, elastic suspenders and let them snap gently against his back. He swiped at her clumsily, almost upsetting his rolling desk chair.

  “Denk mol (think once), Levi! Here I come, galloping full tilt, and I don’t know if Dutch will do it, so I have to prepare myself to stop. But I can feel it this time. His speed increases, he bunches his muscles, and I can tell he’s going to attempt it this time. I can’t tell you how thrilling it is.”

  Levi contemplated his sister’s words, before saying calmly, “Du bisht net chide (You’re crazy).”

  Priscilla laughed happily and with abandon. “I knew he could do it!”

  “Levi, go!” Suzie commanded.

  Levi lowered his great head, swung it to the side, hummed, then reached down with his wide, stubby fingers and picked up two cards, blue ones with orange fish imprinted on the heavy squares and said, “Yep! Got it!”

  Suzie growled and eyed his stack of cards that was so tall it leaned crookedly. She counted her own meager five sets. “Levi, you cheat!”

  “Hah-ah, I don’t. I remember stuff, that’s what I do. I remember a lot of things in my life, Suzie.”

  Filled with the knowledge of his amazing memory, Levi puffed out his chest, snapped his suspenders, and chortled to himself.

  Suzie overturned a card with a small pink doll carriage on it then hovered over the cards undecidedly. Finally she swooped down, turned one right side up, squeezed her eyes shut, and howled with disappointment.

  “I know exactly where it is!” Levi shouted.

  Mam walked over to watch, resting a hand on the back of his chair as he pounced dramatically on the two cards that created a set, fairly yodeling in his excitement. Suzie was a good sport, shaking her head at the end of the game. Levi had twenty-three sets to her nine.

  Priscilla ate three chocolate-chip cookies with a tall glass of milk. Sarah handed the chocolate fudge she had bought to Levi, who thanked her rather stiffly, completely bowled over by his good fortune.

  Mam seemed to be relaxed and accepting of Sarah leaving with Matthew, so Sarah said that, if it was alright, she’d better start getting ready to go to Ervin’s. Mam looked at Sarah, smiled, and said yes, maybe she’d better, and inquired politely what time he was arriving.

  Well, you had to hand it to her, Sarah thought as she wound her way up the steps, her hand clinging to the smooth wooden railing.

  It was already pitch dark, the bony branches of the maple tree scraping across the porch roof creating unsettling sounds. It was not a good night to be going anywhere. But with Matthew at her side, who would notice the wind or the cold or the leftover spitting rain?

  The all-important moment of choosing the perfect dress came first. Slowly, she leafed through the multiple colors of sleeves, hanging side by side in a neat row.

  Not red. Sleeves too tight.

  Brown. No. Ugly color. Or wait. It was November, brown was a fall color, the color of acorns and dry leaves.

  Nah.

  Lime green. Sick color, no.

  Blue. Too much blue. Always wore blue.

  Green. Sage green. The color of her eyes. Hate the fabric. Makes me look fat.

  Teal. Oops. Sleeve torn at underarm.

  Beige. Too blah.

  Navy blue. Too plain.

  On and on, then back again, Sarah fingered the empty sleeves hanging before her, dissatisfied with every single one.

  She would wear black every Sunday until May, but on Saturday night, she was allowed to wear anything she wanted.

  Going to the bedroom door, she called for Priscilla.

  “She’s outside!” Mam answered.

  So much for moral support, Sarah thought. Well, she’d shower, wash her hair, clear her head of indecision, and then perhaps choose randomly, like a game of pin the tail on the donkey. But it was important that she look just right, so that probably wasn’t a good idea.

  In the end, she put on the brown dress but was absolutely put off by the pallor it cast on her anxious face. Instead she chose the brightest dress she owned, a magnificently colored red.

  Her hair refused to cooperate, as usual, and she finally had to let the right side be ruled by its disgusting cowlick. Her apron didn’t fit right, and all her shoes looked stupid. Every pair was either too big, with the toes pointed skyward, or too old and worn, too tight or too cold. She should have gone shoe shopping.

  So then, because her best sneakers had gray and green stripes in them, she shed the red dress and donned the lime green one. She grabbed her favorite coat and ran down the stairs just as two headlights approached the front yard.

  Mam smiled and said, “Bye, Sarah. Be careful.”

  Priscilla, glued to a chair with a book in front of her face, said nothing, paying Sarah as much attention as she would a fly. If it wasn’t Priscilla, it was Mam, or the other way around. She thought they must plan together who would disapprove. It was only a minor annoyance, which completely disappeared when she climbed into Matthew’s buggy.

  “Hey, Sarah.” He smiled at her warmly, his white teeth illuminated by the brilliance of the headlights. Her knees went weak with a happiness beyond anything she had expected.

  “Hi, Matthew.” What a wonderful way to begin this idyllic evening.

  Matthew was talkative, entertaining her with vivid accounts of his job and the dinner he had cooked the evening before. Sarah smoothed back her hair and answered smartly, trying to be witty and worth his company.

  She was disappointed w
hen they arrived at Ervin and Katie’s house, having to share Matthew with everyone else. She didn’t let it show as she jumped gracefully off the buggy, politely helped him unhitch, and handed him the halter and neck rope before walking away.

  She stopped, undecided now. Should she wait until he tied the horse? Should they enter as a couple? Did he want the crowd of young people to know he had brought her?

  The wind whipped her lime green skirt, pulled at her hair, and tugged her covering away from the pins that were holding it. So she decided to move up to the porch at least, before her hair and covering were a complete wreck.

  The door was flung open by a squealing Rose, who was in a high state of excitement from having just beaten that Lee Glick at a game of ping-pong. There was a spot of color on each of her cheeks, her smile was wide, her face already glowing.

  Sarah always felt her confidence slip away the minute Rose was within sight. Like a ship tossed by one hard wave, Sarah was knocked off course, but she quickly righted herself. She regained her composure, ready to snap on her confidence and enjoy the evening, remembering that God had made her this way. God had endowed Rose with a more startling beauty, and it was acceptable, Sarah thought, remembering her mother’s kind words that to base confidence in beauty was like building a house on quicksand.

  Quietly, Sarah entered the basement, led by her hostess, Katie, who followed behind the whirling Rose. She bent to say hello to those who were seated, but she entered the crowded, well-lit room without Matthew.

  Lee Glick leaned against the paneled wall, his hands in his pockets, his dark, forest green shirt turning his complexion to an olive hue. He watched Sarah.

  The grace with which she moved! Not very many girls could carry off this unconsciousness of themselves, an innocence born of a good upbringing. She was like a calm pool of water in a hidden corner of a forest—ethereal, transparent, cool, and untouched.

  Chapter 24

  THE BASEMENT WAS WELL LIT, with propane gas lamps at both ends and battery-powered lights illuminating the two ping-pong tables. Groups of young men stood against the paneled walls waiting their turns to play, cheering or egging on the other players.