Fire in the Night (26 page)

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 hanging 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.

Then they came, led by a young married brother of the bride, who was teasing and laughing to put the nervous young men at ease.

From beneath lowered lashes, she saw a few boys each pick a girl. They walked away together to spend the afternoon seated next each other at the long wedding table. She watched Lee approaching, surprised to feel a rush of companionship. Merely friendship though.

Through a blur, her heart hammering in her chest, she saw Lee approach Rose, his eyes questioning her. With a small smile, she moved away with him. My, what a couple they’d make! A ripple of teasing and good-natured calls of praise rose from the crowd, and Lee ducked his head, smiling.

Matthew! Swaggering just a bit, desperately trying to conceal his self-consciousness, he strode up to Sarah and extended a hand. She grasped it with fierce possessiveness.

No words formed thoughts, no thoughts could describe her feelings as she followed Matthew to the table and sat on the long bench beside him.

He looked at Sarah, said, “S’up?”

She giggled, shamelessly, gladly, unreservedly.

Oh, just look away, Mam. Just look away right now, with all the senseless fear and doubt in your troubled eyes. Nothing, not Mam, not Melvin, not the tides of time would remove Matthew from within her grasp. Not now. Please. Not now.

They sang together, they talked, they shared a butterscotch sundae, they ate soft pretzels dipped in melted cheese. And all the years of yearning, the prayers, the patience had finally come to fruition for Sarah.

Somewhere, in some distant corner of her mind, a persistent little voice kept interfering, an unwanted dose of reality that she couldn’t completely ignore. This thing of going to the “afternoon table” was not very promising, after all. Often young men would choose a friend, someone who was easy to spend time with, an acquaintance. So, for that reason alone, Sarah could not become over-confident. Still, he had chosen her. That knowledge alone overrode the reality, which she put aside easily.

“So,” Matthew was asking. “What do you think of me and Rose breaking up?”

Surprised, Sarah looked at him, but his eyes gave nothing away.

“I…I don’t know.”

“Yeah, me either.”

The words were dull, flat, weighted down with bitterness.

“She says a month. I told her if she broke up with me I was going to go English. I mean it. If I can’t have Rose, I’m not going to stay Amish. There’s no point in it.”

Babbling incoherently now, Sarah tried to make him see that he couldn’t leave his family. He’d break his mother’s heart. And mine, Matthew, and mine. It’s pulverized already. How could I bear it?

Her thoughts wove themselves painfully into her mind, her mouth speaking the accepted words, her mind thinking the unaccepted ones.

The pain of his words was too great to bear. He was still in love with Rose. Her mind refused to comprehend it. But maybe he only thought he was still in love. Sarah could change him. She could win.

Lifting her shield, adjusting her armor, she prepared herself for the battle of her life, knowing she must be brave and courageous. She resolved to pray without ceasing, and God would bless her. Wouldn’t He?

She lifted miserable pools of stormy seawater green eyes and found the blue of Lee Glick’s upon her, his blond hair shining like the sun about him. In that blue, there was rest and comfort. She wanted to stay there in that calm. It was mesmerizing, a cascade of pure, clear, no, blue water. She had to tear her eyes away.

And Lee did not know it was possible to feel what he felt for Sarah on that sun-infused November afternoon. It was far more than he imagined love to be. It was a sweet and tender pity, a cradling of her troubled head to his chest, coupled with the wonderful knowledge that God, who was fairly new to him, would do what He would. Lee only had to bow his head and accept it.

Unknowingly, he laid his sacrifice on the altar.

Chapter 19

“A
SHLEY!”

“Sarah!”

Again the two girls met, this time in the middle of the crowded farmer’s market. People milled about them, shoving, moving from one stand to another to buy fresh produce or cheese or a pound of freshly butchered grass-fed organic beef or eggs laid by hens who pecked about in pure grasses free of pesticides.

Restaurants at the market catered to every taste—Italian, Chinese, Amish home cooking, American cheeseburgers and fries—a vast melting pot of ethnicity. The flea market stands sold leather goods, jewelry, and antiques. Others sold furniture crafted who knows where but labeled “Amish.” The whole market was a wonderful place to walk aimlessly and enjoy the smells, the sights, the people.

Sarah didn’t think Ashley would stay to talk, but she lingered long enough to exchange pleasantries. Ashley’s father had a flea market stand where she worked. She inquired politely about Levi’s well-being but then said she must be on her way.

“We’ll likely keep running into each other, won’t we?” she asked, backing away, waving.

Sarah gasped as Ashley backed straight into a large column and slid down to the floor, her legs crumpling without resistance. Lowering her head she giggled uncontrollably, her stringy brown hair hanging stiffly on either side.

Sarah hunkered down, pulled her skirt over her knees, and asked if Ashley was alright.

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Jus’ fine.”

Still laughing, Ashley got to her feet and wandered off with a haphazard wave of her hand. Puzzled, Sarah shrugged her shoulders and went on her way, already five minutes into a half-hour break. She hurried to the Kings’ restaurant, where Rose served tables, found an empty spot, and hoped Rose would be the one to wait on her.