Menno Hostetler lifted his face toward the Indiana sky, the dark barn behind him as he watched the first rays of the sun breaking the horizon. “Dear Hah im Himmel,” he prayed. “Protect Susan, wherever she is. We’ve never had a child who’s strayed so far from home.” Where is Susan? It was so hard to imagine her anywhere but upstairs in her bedroom or even beside him right now, walking out to help with the chores. How had she become so interested in the Englisha world? So sudden it had seemed. But such things didn’t happen that fast. A person didn’t plant a seed and harvest it the next day. He had not always lived a perfect life himself, so he knew the temptations of the world. Had a seed dropped into Susan’s heart years ago and then sprouted in due time? When had this happened? Had he been asleep and not noticed? Had he been too busy with the work on the farm? Only Da Hah knew the answer to those questions. And He often kept His secrets hidden from the hearts of men.
He pushed his straw hat back on his head. Already the air was brisk for this time of the year, moving lightly across the open fields. Winter was not far away, and it could well be a hard one. His bones ached—if that was any sign of what was coming. But they might be aching no matter the coming weather. Old people’s bones often ached, did they not?
Menno turned to walk to the barn, finding his way across the yard in the ebbing darkness with practiced ease. The lantern in the washroom could have been lit and brought along, but he wanted to see the sky this morning. He could light the lantern in the barn once he arrived there.
Pushing open the barn door with its creaky hinges, Menno stepped inside. This was his barn, his place where he performed his work on the farm. It was a place of comfort and peace. Since his marriage to Anna so many long years ago, he had lived here. And he would die here. Not likely anytime soon, but all men died in due course. Since Adam ate the apple offered to him by his helpmeet, Eve, it had been Da Hah’s just punishment on mankind.
One of the horses neighed from the stall, and soon another added its high-pitched whinny. Gut horses they all were, worthy of trust and capable of hard work. They likely expected to work in the fields today, finishing the fall plowing, but that wouldn’t happen. Tomorrow perhaps, with an early start.
Today would be a long and exhausting day of butchering at John and Betsy’s place. Four of his girls would be there, pooling their skills and energies. They would all return home tonight with meat to stock their freezers for winter. He really needed to hurry instead of thinking sad thoughts about Susan. Anna had already started breakfast when he’d left the house.
Menno found the lantern on the dark shelf, blew off the dust, and forced the air pressure higher. The matches should be on the same shelf, and he searched for them. He found one, striking it on the rough wood. It lit, flickering as he brought the flame up to the mantle. Menno twisted the gas knob with his fingers at the same time. With a satisfying pop, light flooded his face. He turned his eyes away, shaking the match once before tossing it aside.
Hanging the light on a nail, he glanced over at the double row of milking stalls. Only a few months ago the cows were still being milked. Now dust was gathering. He needed to clean again, but each cleaning wouldn’t last long. And it could wear a man out, this upkeep without purpose.
Would anyone ever milk cows in the barn again? He had everything here—the equipment, the stalls, the fields outside to keep the cows. The only thing lacking were the cows and the people who milked and cared for the stock.
Menno sighed. Thomas and Susan were to have been those people. But he mustn’t think of that now. The horses needed to be fed whether they worked today or not. And the driving horse needed to be harnessed for the trip to John and Betsy’s place. He approached the horse stalls, picking up the hay fork on the way. The hay was in the loft, and throwing it down was becoming harder, seemingly by the day—but perhaps he was only imagining it so. Chores always looked worse when a great sorrow was on a person’s heart.
One of the draft horses, his neck bulging with muscles, tossed his head and whinnied loudly.
“What’s up, old boy?” Menno stepped up to run his hand over the massive face.
The horse jerked his head away, his nostrils flared, rearing up in his stall, then landing and slamming his back hooves against the boards.
Menno laughed. “Are you that anxious to work? Well, I’d be glad to take you out and whip the last of the fall plowing. But I’ve got other things to take care of today. We’ve got to butcher and get ready for the winter.”
The horse reared again, his eyes wide, striking his front feet hard against the stall.
“You don’t understand now, do you? Calm down. We can work out all your wild oats tomorrow.”
The horse stood still, his head fixed in one direction. Menno could suddenly see the faint flicker of moving light playing in the horse’s staring eyes.
“Oh, Gott in Himmel!” Menno whirled about, his hay fork flying across the barn floor. Small flames were rising from the loose hay just inside the door, reaching for the wooden boards and crackling with heat.
“Oh no!” Menno shouted. “What have I done!”
He tried to run toward the flames, but slipped, sliding down on both knees. Was it the match? But I shook it out! I must not have succeeded. He’d acted old and careless by tossing it onto the floor with only a quick shake of the hand. How could I have done something so foolish? The fire must be put out. He needed water and a bucket. The horse trough was outside, but it would take too long running back and forth. The old milking buckets were in the milk house, and there was water at the spigot. Menno ran, banging open stall doors as he went, not bothering to slow down as they whacked against the wall.
He found the buckets, grabbing one off the wall. He lifted the handle on the spigot, his heart pounding as the first bucket filled. He filled the second one. On the run back, he moved slower. Every drop of water was worth its weight in gold.
Menno stood back from the small flames and tossed his buckets of water. The water sizzled on contact, the flames sputtering in anger as they died. Menno stood, breathing in the heavy smoke. He had put out the fire. He was an old man perhaps, but an old man still capable of saving his barn.
Turning a bucket upside down, Menno sat down to catch his breath. Da Hah had been gut to him this morning. He had been helped. Taking off his hat, Menno ran his hand over his forehead. Little drops of sweat moistened his fingers. He smiled. It was gut to sweat again, even on a cold morning.
Menno saw a small turn of flame, followed by a crackle of fire again. Jumping to his feet, he ran over to the straw and beat it with his hat. The wind from the blows drove the sparks in deeper. Menno stamped with his feet, but it was too late. The straw was deeper here, and behind that lay more bales ready for bedding the horses this evening.
Water! He needed more water—and he needed help. He could run into the fields and call down to Ada’s place, but help would never arrive in time.
Menno jerked the barn door open, his blackened straw hat flying into the yard.
“Anna!” he yelled. “Anna! The barn is on fire!”
She will hear! he thought. Surely she will hear! He left his hat on the ground and raced for the water in the milk house, grabbing two more buckets. Trembling, he waited while they both filled.
There was no sound from Anna. But then…yah…there she came, her soft footsteps running across the yard.
With a great cry of alarm Anna burst into the barn. “Menno, where are you?”
“Here! I’m in the milk house. There are more buckets, and you can fill them with water.”
He heard nothing from her, only silence. Grabbing the two buckets he ran, letting the water splash wildly. She was still at the barn door, her eyes wide.
“Menno, are you okay?” she asked, her arms full of quilts.
“I’m fine,” he said, getting ready to toss the first bucket on the flames.
The fire was hungry, seeking more fuel. If it reached the hay mow above, all would be lost. Once there they would never be able to stop the fire.
“Throw your water!” she said.
“We need more water—and quick!” he gasped. “The buckets are in the old milk house.”
“Menno!” Her voice was sharp. “Throw your water—both of the buckets.”
What is the woman’s problem? he thought. Then he saw what she planned to do. She had her quilts ready—some of her best ones, obviously just grabbed from the cedar chest.
“But…” He stood there, looking at the fire.
“Throw, Menno! Throw your water. Now!”
He bent over and threw. One bucket right after the other. She dropped the stack of quilts on the floor, grabbing one, flaring it out with both hands, bringing the whole quilt over the sizzling fire. Without hesitation she followed with another one and then another.
His hands shook as he watched.
“Throw one on!” She ordered as she bent over to grab another quilt.
He placed his hand on her arm. “It’s out, Anna. The fire is out. Don’t damage another of your quilts.”
“The fire is out?” She paused.
“Those were your best quilts.” He walked over, lifting them off the smoking straw and laying them aside. He ran his shoe through the black ash, searching for sparks.
“We had to save the barn,” Anna said. “It’s Susan and Thomas’s barn.”
“You smothered the fire with your quilts.” He pointed at the blackened pile.
Anna looked at him. “Well, you threw the water on. I think that helped as much as anything. How did the fire start?”
He hung his head, his hair in his eyes. “I guess I’m getting old. I wasn’t careful enough putting the match out.” He ran his fingers through his hair.
She touched his hand, “It could happen to anyone, old or not. Don’t give me a scare like this again, okay? I thought something had happened to you.”
He drew her tight into his embrace. Releasing her he said, “Let me go get some more water. I’ll make sure the fire is out.”
“It’s out,” she said. “But I’ll watch it until you get back.”
He walked to the milk house, coming back slower, two buckets of water in his hands. Empting them where the fire had been, he stirred the ashes with his shoe again. For good measure he retrieved his hay fork, and dug around in the straw.
Menno helped Anna carry the damaged quilts out to the front lawn. They spread them out on the grass, where the first rays of the sun streaking across the lawn could reach them.
“I hope that’s not a sign of what lies ahead for the day,” Menno said.
Anna shrugged. “I’ll have your breakfast warm when you’re ready. I imagine we’ll be late now.”
Menno nodded and turned to walk back toward the barn. It was hard growing old. He’d nearly burned down his own barn! His mind quickly turned to his even graver concern. But it was worse having a daughter he loved living out in the Englisha world.