by Linda Byler
Dat yelled, too, and slapped his knee in triumph. He had hit the ball to the very corner of the table and it had gone down over, but touched it lightly, meaning it was Dat’s point. If the ball had cleared the table, it would have been Mam’s point.
Dat certainly did not “skunk” Mam that game, because Mam won, twenty-one points to Dat’s eighteen. Mam’s cheeks were so red, and she was laughing, running over to open a window and saying it was much too warm in this basement. Jason clapped his hands and squealed with excitement, running off with Mam’s paddle until she caught him, pretending to smack his little pants’ seat with it.
They played three games before Mam gasped and said that was it, she was too tired for one more game. Dat had laughed, begging her to play one more, but she said it was high time to put Jason to bed.
So Dat played patiently with Emma, teaching her the proper way to serve, telling them all the basic rules of playing ping-pong. Lizzie felt a bit overconfident about playing with Emma. Usually she was superior to her in sports, so she figured it wouldn’t be long before she was the best ping-pong player as well.
Night after night, as soon as the dishes were done, they lit two gas lamps, hung them on hooks in the basement, and played. They improved as the weeks went by, until Mam said they would soon be as good as she and Dat.
But Lizzie was in for a big surprise where Emma was concerned. She was fast and accurate, with seemingly more control over her paddle than Lizzie had. This was all hard for Lizzie to comprehend, and her pride was battered horribly. She could not beat Emma, no matter how desperately she played. The thing was, Emma always returned the ball. No matter where Lizzie hit it, to the left or right, low or high, Emma returned it.
It was frustrating. Lizzie was not always a good sport, so some evenings they ended up yelling at each other, until Mandy tattled, or Mam heard them, making them stop, come upstairs, and go to bed.
One evening Lizzie tried to tell Emma the reason she won was because the gas lamp cast a glare on the tabletop. So Emma said they would switch sides, if that’s what it was. That seemed a bit strange, although Lizzie would never admit it. After that, she became so determined, she hit the ball in the net so often that Emma “skunked” her, two to eleven, meaning Mandy was allowed to play while Lizzie watched.
It was too much. Emma was looking at her in that superior way of hers, trying to mask it with a look of genuine kindness and concern. She looked so . . . so plain good that Lizzie started crying in annoyance. She didn’t try to hide it, either, lashing out at Emma bitterly. “You cheated!”
“I did not. How could I?” Emma asked, shocked, then she looked at Mandy and they both burst out laughing.
That was Lizzie’s undoing. Her temper took complete control of her common sense, and she charged after both of them, yelling at the top of her voice. “You’re both so mean to me!” She caught Emma’s arm and smacked the ping-pong paddle down hard on her shoulder. Mandy made a beeline for the stairs. She leaped up to the top, opening the door and banging it shut behind her.
“Ouch!”
“You and Mandy think it’s funny when you win!” she yelled.
“Lizzie, you better not hit me again. You big baby. I never heard of anyone being such a poor sport. You know what’s wrong with you? You’re used to being the best at everything, always. Now you can’t stand it if I am better at ping-pong. You get so desperate, it’s no wonder you can’t win. If you would calm down and stop thinking you have to win every game, you would be a much better player. Mandy is better than you!” Emma finished.
Lizzie was crying, sniffing loudly, snorting, and blowing her nose in a crumpled paper towel she had found on the floor.
“You just like Mandy better, and don’t even try. I know how you two stick together,” she sobbed.
“Eww! Lizzie, don’t use that dirty paper towel!”
“I will if I want to.”
Emma shrugged her shoulders, watching Lizzie crying on the sofa. Suddenly, Emma could stand it no longer. She sat down beside Lizzie, touched her knee and said, “Lizzie, listen to me.”
“What?”
“Why do you have this thing about nobody liking you? That gets really old. You claim Mam likes me better than you, and now you’re saying me and Mandy stick together. You know that’s not true. It’s always you and Mandy doing things together, not me. Now you even sleep with her in the same bedroom, and I’m always by myself. You know I like you just the same as I always have. Mam gets impatient with you sometimes, but Lizzie, she has reason to be. All you do is . . .” Emma hesitated, because she couldn’t say what needed to be said.
“Eat! Just say it, Emma. I’m fat and lazy. Go ahead, say it!” Lizzie burst out.
“No, seriously, Lizzie, I honestly don’t think you like yourself right now—that’s why you feel as if no one likes you. Your weight does bother you, only you won’t admit it.”
“I’m not that fat, Emma.”
“But you are.”
Lizzie looked steadily at Emma. Emma looked steadily back.
“See, Lizzie, Mam doesn’t mean to be unkind. She’s so busy with the twins right now, and wrapped up in her own little world. So why don’t you and me write each other a diet every day? You write what I can eat, and I’ll write what you can eat! That would be fun! Do you want to?”
There was a long pause. “Hm-mm.”
“Why, Lizzie? You’re just not yourself anymore. You’re not even happy!”
“Are you allowed to have any mayonnaise on a diet? Emma, I mean this—serious—I can’t eat sandwiches without it.”
“No, Lizzie, you can have mayonnaise. Instead of eating three sandwiches in your lunch, try taking one. You can have all the mayonnaise you want on one sandwich.”
Lizzie thought about this long and hard. Emma watched anxiously as Lizzie blinked, chewed her lower lip, and stuck a straight pin in and out of her dress.
“Lizzie, don’t.”
“What?”
“Don’t jag yourself with that pin.”
“I have a rash from doing it.”
“Let me see.”
Lizzie showed her.
“Lizzie!”
“I guess it’s a nervous habit.”
“Why are you nervous?”
“I dunno.”
They sat in silence before Lizzie said. “Okay, Emma, you may write me a diet for tomorrow and I’ll write you one. Only don’t make it too strict, or I won’t stay on it anyway.”
“I won’t, Lizzie. This is going to be fun!” Emma beamed.
Lizzie didn’t say anything. After a while she said, “I’m only twelve, Emma.”
“Twelve is old.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, it is. You’re getting older.” Emma nodded her head wisely.
Lizzie sighed. But secretly, she was pleased. Emma was such a dear, worrying about her. She really, really cared. Suddenly she leaned over, put her arm around Emma’s shoulder, and squeezed. “Thanks, Emma.”
“Now you can never say I don’t like you, Lizzie. I do.”
The funny thing was, Lizzie’s ping-pong ability improved drastically after that, because she wasn’t so desperate, just as Emma had said.
chapter 14
The Fire
The moon soared above the ridges and the mountain, as the Glick family slept peacefully in their new home.
In the pallet shop, sparks were smoldering on damp sawdust in the diesel shanty to the north. The diesel had been running hot the previous day, so that they had to slow production by shutting down and fixing the situation. Before Dat went home that evening, he sifted through the sawdust, sweeping it away, making sure there were no smoldering sparks. He had not done it quite thoroughly enough, because there were a few live ones burning very low in the farthest corner. A slight breeze fanned the bit of heat, rolling a few pieces of sawdust into some oil-soaked shavings, which ignited immediately, erupting into a steady flame. It gained momentum rapidly, licking at the walls of the diesel shanty, sn
aking its way across the oily concrete floor until it reached the diesel itself. That was when the fire exploded into a raging inferno, fed by the diesel fuel, shavings, lumber—whatever the greedy tongues of the fire could reach.
Dat and Mam were awakened rudely by a desperate banging on the aluminum storm door in the kitchen. “Melvin!”
Dat leaped out of bed, followed by Mam, grabbing at the neckline of her nightgown. They saw the sickening orange glow in the kitchen window above the sink, even before the neighbor man yelled hoarsely, “The pallet shop is burning!”
Mam would never forget Dat’s terrified cry of despair. She heard herself echoing his cry, although she wasn’t really aware of making any noise at all. The shrill wail of the fire sirens blasted through their veil of unreality, jerking them to cruel acceptance. This was happening; there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.
Upstairs, Emma opened one eye, aware of a strange glow outside. Even her sheer white curtains glowed yellow. She sat up abruptly, turned to look out, and opened her mouth in a scream of fright, then covered her face with both hands and whimpered. Then she started praying to God to help them all.
Lizzie was jerked awake by Emma’s scream. Without knowing what caused anyone to sound like that in the middle of the night, she leaped from her bed.
“What? What?” Mandy cried.
“I don’t know! Come with me!”
They groped their way to the staircase, the orange glow from Emma’s room telling them there was a fire somewhere. Downstairs, Dat was hurrying out the door with the neighbor man. Mam was trying to light the gas lamp, and Emma was gasping with horror.
“Mam! Look!” she pointed.
They all watched helplessly as a fuel tank exploded, sending flames leaping as high as the ridge. There was a dull boom and black smoke poured out of the broken, burning tank. There was clearly nothing to be done—even the firefighters were defeated. They kept the surrounding woods soaked well with strong water pressure from the hoses; otherwise, they watched Dat’s pallet shop and Uncle Eli’s sawmill go up in smoke.
Everyone who lived in the neighborhood was awake. Lights were turned on in the English neighbors’ houses, with groups of people coming to comfort Mam with a kindly arm around her shoulder, or words of encouragement.
Debbie, Jeanie, and their mother came over in their pajamas, with coats thrown across their shoulders. Marlene was so kind, telling Mam if there was anything she could do, to be sure and let her know. Mam’s eyes filled with tears, but she bit her lower lip, acknowledging her kindness with a nod of her head.
Aunt Mary came through the dark night, and she cried with Mam. It was quite a devastation for both families. Aunt Mary was always so worried about things, wondering why God allowed this or that to happen.
“It’s just like you imagine hell to be,” she said earnestly.
“Oh, yes,” Mam agreed.
“Maybe God let this happen to remind us again what happens to sinners when they die,” Aunt Mary said, clucking her tongue in consternation.
“We-e-ll,” Mam said.
Lizzie listened, wide-eyed, as she watched the flames crackling and leaping, smoke billowing up over the ridge. She wondered why Mam said her “well” so long and drawn out. Maybe she didn’t agree quite whole-heartedly. Lizzie didn’t know how hell looked, but she supposed something like that. God seemed very harsh at that moment, and she shivered, then put the thought behind her.
“We’ll never be able to play on the ridge. It looks as if the pine trees are burning,” Debbie wailed.
“The firemen will watch it,” Emma said.
“I hope the pine trees don’t burn. That would be so sad, I can’t bear to think of it,” Lizzie said, quietly.
Mandy said nothing, standing in the kitchen, her luminous green eyes blinking. She looked so pale and slender, shivering in her thin nightgown. Lizzie took pity on her and got a flashlight from the pantry before running upstairs to get her heavy housecoat. She brought it down and held it out to Mandy.
“Here, Mandy, put your housecoat on. You look so cold.”
Mandy smiled, gratefully slipping her hands in the sleeves, and wrapping the housecoat around her thin frame. “That was nice.”
Lizzie smiled and squeezed her hand. The fire continued to burn, but somehow, it didn’t seem quite so bad. It was a huge loss, but they had each other, and that was what mattered most.
Mam and Aunt Mary decided to make coffee and hot chocolate, sandwiches, and cookies for the firefighters. The neighbors brought bread, cheese, and sandwich meat. Mam used up what she had on hand, and before long, they had a huge stack of sandwiches cut diagonally, put in a square plastic container. Cookies of every kind were piled on trays, and gallons of coffee and hot chocolate were steaming on the wood-burning range.
They set up folding tables and chairs in the basement, and as the clock struck four o’clock in the morning, weary firefighters and neighbor men, acquaintances, and friends dropped in and had a cup of hot, steaming coffee or hot chocolate. They all offered their condolences, until Mam’s cheeks were so red, it was alarming. Her eyes looked almost glazed; she was so tired. Lizzie knew it had been late before she got to bed, and now she appeared so exhausted that Lizzie could hardly see how she could keep going.
Mam hurried over, touching her shoulder. “Lizzie, listen. You and Mandy had better go back to bed for a few hours before you have to get up and go to school. You’ll just be too tired if you don’t. Try and go to sleep. Pull the blinds in your bedroom and close the door.”
“Do we have to, Mam?”
“Yes, you can hardly keep your eyes open.”
Grudgingly, they obeyed. In the kitchen, they stood to watch the fire a while. It was not burning quite as fiercely, but the sparks and flames were still raging. It seemed hard to grasp, this fire happening so suddenly in the middle of the night. What if it happened in a house?
Lizzie lay awake for quite some time. She wondered if it would be safe to jump off the roof if a fire burned beneath the upstairs. What was the distance from her windows to the ground? If she jumped, she’d probably break a leg, whereas if she stayed in her room, she would probably die. So, yes, jumping would be best. Still, if you really thought about it, you could land on your head if you jumped, then you’d be dead, too, so what was the gain?
Sleep completely eluded her. She was wide awake, although she was so tired she was miserable. She sighed, flipped on her back, and stared at the ceiling. The thing was, a fire could start anywhere. Hadn’t the neighbor man said sparks could smolder for a very long time? What if the woodstove in the basement exploded? Did woodstoves explode? They probably could.
She was going to have to tell Mam in the morning that she was very sorry, but she could no longer sleep upstairs in her bedroom. It simply was not safe. Furthermore, the stove in the kitchen had a loose door in the front, and Dat was going to have to fix it, that’s all there was to it.
Another thing—Uncle Aarons’ chimney fire. She had heard Uncle Eli tell Dat there was no use trying to get away from cleaning out the chimney every year. Uncle Aaron was too sloppy with that. Lizzie couldn’t remember ever seeing Dat on the roof cleaning out the chimney at all. Well, she would have to see to it.
Somebody should sleep in the basement. Dat could. She would say something to Mam about that, because two things were enough for Dat, fixing the stove door and cleaning the chimney.
After the pallet shop fire died down enough, the school children were allowed to go see the damage. They approached the black, smoking mess with a dreadful feeling. Even Danny had nothing to say.
There were heaps of black and gray clumps of ashes, twisted and charred forms of steel that used to be diesels, fuel tanks, and nailers. Even the forklift stood like a grotesque statue of charred gray metal, still smoking, all the rubber melted in a sticky mess. There were mounds of blackened nails, smoking hot roller tables, and tools. It was awful to see, remembering the thriving, industrious shop it had once been.
Dat walked over to them, his eyes drooping with weariness. His face was pale, and there were streaks of black on his forehead. Lizzie thought he looked sad and older, more burdened, as she watched him get out his handkerchief and wipe his brow.
“Looks like a mess, doesn’t it?” he said, shaking his head ruefully.
“Sure does,” Emma said.
“How are you ever going to clean this all up?” Danny yelled.
“Oh, we’ll get a big bulldozer, as soon as it’s cooled down and haul this stuff away on dump trucks,” Dat answered, looking down at Danny.
“Daddy said he can still use a bunch of his stuff,” Danny said.
“Yes, the firemen did a good job with his sawmill, no doubt,” Dat answered, surveying the charred remains of Uncle Eli’s sawmill.
Lizzie stood speechless, Mandy beside her. She twisted the hem of her apron in her hands, wishing with all her heart Dat would not need to go through this. Now they would not have any money again. Who would pay for the new shop and all the new equipment? Then what would keep that shop from burning like this one? She felt quite overwhelmed with fear of the future, questions she could not figure out by herself.
She caught Dat looking at her. She searched his eyes, and he smiled. Not a spontaneous happy Dat smile, just a tired little smile that seemed to reassure her.
“Dat?”
“What, Lizzie?”
“Who is going to pay for the new shop?”
“We have fire insurance. The Amish fire tax.”
“Do they build the new shop?”
“We’ll have frolics.”
That was a huge relief to Lizzie. They would not have to be dreadfully poor again, and Mam and Dat would not need to sit up at night arguing.
So they had frolics. Every day groups of men arrived to help, toolbags in hand. They poured new concrete, erected huge wooden poles, set beams and rafters, and pounded nails through the sheathing on top. A brand new silver roof, and new white siding, sliding doors, new windows, and almost before Lizzie could believe it was possible, they had a new shop.