“Fire!” Greta shouted again and pointed to the blacksmith’s shop when a sleepy-eyed Lydia stumbled onto the porch, barefoot and confused.
“I’ll go to the school and ring the bell,” Lydia told her, instantly awake and taking charge as she pulled on her shoes and grabbed her shawl. “You go and make sure that Luke is out and rouse the Hadwells and Yoders and others.”
Greta took off, her loosened hair flying out behind her, her bare feet oblivious to the stones and calcified seashells that pocked the sandy lane. The smell of smoke was strong now and from inside the shop she could hear a horse whinny and the crackle of the flames. “Luke,” she screamed as she started up the outer stairs that led to his living quarters above the shop.
Before she could reach the door, Luke emerged, hooking his suspenders over his shoulders as he ran down the stairs toward her. “Get back to your house,” he ordered. “Go!”
In the background they both heard the clanging of the schoolhouse bell.
“There’s a horse,” Greta told him.
“I know. There are four of them. I’ll take care of that. Just get away from the building now.” He wrapped his arm around her and half carried, half propelled her the rest of the way down the stairs.
A buzz of voices coming their way told Greta that the school bell had done its job and those people living in town were up and responding. Roger Hadwell was already handing out buckets from his hardware store. Someone else was pumping water into a horse trough outside the burning building. A bucket line quickly formed—men, women, children all working in unison to fight the flames that now had broken through to the roof.
Seeing that there was nothing she could do to help the others, Greta ran back to the rear of the shop where she’d seen Luke head after he’d told her to go home—as if she could. As if anyone living in Celery Fields would stay in the safety of their own homes when a fellow citizen was in trouble.
He was pulling a terrified horse from the stables, tugging on the rope as the horse dug in its heels and tossed its head, trying to loosen the rag that Luke had tied over its eyes to lessen the animal’s panic. Luke had also covered the lower half of his face with a towel and now Greta did the same, pulling the end of her shawl over her mouth and nose as she ran toward the stables. Luke had said there were four horses. He had saved one, but the others must still be inside.
She ignored Luke’s muffled shouts as she entered the stables where the fire raged at the front of the building. The rear stable area was filled with acrid smoke that stung her eyes and made her breathing come in labored huffs. She felt her way along the series of stalls, unleashing the remaining three horses and sending them one by one running free from the burning building, certain that Luke would be out there to calm them.
As she stumbled back into the yard of the livery, gasping for air, she saw Luke racing after the terrified horses as they dashed away in all different directions. “No!” he shouted as he chased one and then another to no avail. Then seeing Greta, he turned on her as he pulled down the wet cloth he’d used to cover his face. “What were you thinking?” he demanded as he took hold of her upper arms and stopped just short of shaking her.
“I was thinking we needed to get those animals to safety,” she shouted above the din of the gathering crowd and the roar of the fire. Too late now she realized that in letting the animals run free she might have cost Luke a great deal more than the loss of his building and home. The horses were not his. He was providing livery service for their rightful owner. No wonder he was so angry with her. “I didn’t think there was time...”
“You could have been overcome,” he said, his face very close to hers. “You could have been killed.”
It hit her then that what she had taken for anger was not that at all. His first thought had been for her—her safety, her well-being.
“But the horses—you would have lost...” She started to shake uncontrollably as it struck her that he was right. She had put her life at risk to save those animals.
He pulled her close, uncaring of who might take notice as he cradled her head in one large hand against his chest. “Sh-h-h,” he said softly. “It’s all over now. You’re safe.”
And as she gave herself over to his embrace of consolation she realized that in all the times that Josef Bontrager had held her, she had never once felt the safety and certainty that she felt now in the arms of Luke Starns. After a moment he stepped away but kept his one hand tangled in the thickness of her loose hair. Slowly he released her and then he took hold of the edges of her shawl and covered her hair and shoulders.
“Better?” he asked.
Greta managed a nod.
Behind her she heard a cry of alarm from the crowd fighting the flames and turned just in time to see one wall of the large structure collapse, sending a shower of sparks into the sky that was just beginning to show the first signs of dawn. She heard a horse’s snort and saw that all three of the animals she’d set free had wandered back into the yard where they stood in a row, drinking from the trough in back of the hardware store.
Luke released a shuddering sigh and Greta took hold of his hand as they stood side by side, watching the uncontrollable fire. “You can rebuild,” she assured him. “Everyone will help.”
He stared at what had been his business and his home and nodded. “You should join the others,” he told her as he gently pulled his hand free of hers and she knew that he was thinking of her reputation. Lydia was right. Luke Starns was definitely a man who thought of others before himself.
“You’ll need a place to stay,” she said.
“Something will turn up and it won’t be for long.” He smiled at her. “After all, this is Florida. I can sleep under the stars if need be and we can spend every day rebuilding.”
She knew he would have no need to sleep outside and that in just a matter of days work would begin on rebuilding for that was the Amish way. Neighbor took care of neighbor. Luke’s home and the source of his livelihood might lay in ashes today but it would not be long before he was back in business. The people of Celery Fields would see to that.
“Come on,” she said, taking his arm and guiding him toward the main street where the members of the bucket brigade had faced reality and were standing together, waiting for the fire to burn itself out. As Luke approached the gathering, several men patted his shoulder while the women murmured their sympathies. Greta stood aside and let him be drawn into the circle of the townspeople.
“Is he all right?” Lydia asked, coming alongside her.
“He will be,” Greta replied and in her heart she realized that she intended to make sure that this was the truth.
* * *
In the light of the new day, Luke stood at what had once been the entrance to his business and considered the smoldering remains. Dawn had brought with it a sky that was overcast and one that held the threat of rain. It occurred to him that God would send the showers to smother any embers that might lay hidden beneath the rubble. After that he could start the process of clearing away the rubble left after the fire. Roger had already stopped by to write up the order for the lumber and other supplies that Luke would need.
But as he stared at a thin thread of gray smoke rising from what had once been the stairway that led to his living quarters, he couldn’t help but wonder if God had meant him to receive a different message from the fire. It was from the small kitchen at the top of the missing stairway that he had begun his study of Lydia Goodloe. From there he had watched her leave for the schoolhouse on the mornings when school was in session. He had watched her handle whatever chores needed attention outside the house while Greta apparently took charge of the cooking, laundry and cleaning chores. He had watched both sisters sitting on the porch after services or on the Sundays when there were no services reading or waiting—in Greta’s case—for Josef Bontrager to come calling.
From time to time he would see Greta. Although he rarely studied her as he did Lydia. In those days he hadn’t paid much attention to Greta. But he realized now that he had always been far more aware of the younger Goodloe sister than he had allowed himself to admit. She’d come out to the porch, say something to her sister and then take off walking toward town. Sometimes she would mount the bicycle the sisters owned and head off in the opposite direction toward the main road, toward Sarasota. Once or twice he had seen her return hours later and she would add a large whelk or conch shell to the border around Lydia’s vegetable garden.
Today all that had changed. Today he couldn’t seem to focus on anything other than the sheer panic he’d felt when Greta had run into the stables and not reappeared for some time. The way her hair had felt as it tumbled over his hand. The way her small thin body had felt cradled against his. The lightness of her and at the same time a strength that could not be named—or denied. When he’d looked around and seen her running into the stables—into the very heart of the fire—he had acted purely on instinct, running after her. But he’d not gotten three steps before he was stopped by first one horse and then another and another charging him as they ran for safety. And then there she was and seeing her he found that he could breathe again.
When he’d held her and she’d looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with tears brought on by the smoke and perhaps her own realization of the chance she had taken, the urge to kiss her had been almost overwhelming. So much so that he had stepped away. But he had not released his hold on her hair—thick and yet fine as silk, golden with highlights of red like the flames shooting up to the sky behind her.
Lydia was right. He had set his sights on the wrong sister. But how best to convince Greta of that?
“Luke?”
He stiffened at the sound of Greta’s voice behind him. He might be clear now about his feelings for her, but she was still too close to Bontrager’s betrayal. For that matter she might be in love with Josef. He forced a half smile and looked around. “Thank you again for saving the horses,” he said. “And to your sister for raising the alarm.”
“It’s still a total loss,” Greta replied as she considered the pile of charred debris before them. “Have you found a place to stay until you can rebuild?”
“Haven’t really thought about it. Something will turn up.”
Greta released an exasperated sigh. “That’s what you said last night. You’re welcome to sleep in the loft of our barn if you like. Lydia said to offer.”
Luke’s grin widened. “She did, did she?”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Greta advised, clearly mistaking his words for a sign that Lydia was softening toward him.
“I wasn’t. I was just curious how you might feel about the arrangement.”
“People will talk,” she said with a shrug. “Lydia doesn’t care one bit about what other people think or say but...”
“You do?”
She looked down. “Through no fault of our own, my sister and I have been the topic of gossip these last few days. I would like not to be in that position longer than is necessary.”
He wondered if she was thinking about him holding her the night before. He wondered if perhaps someone had seen them and let Greta know that she had been seen in the arms of the man supposedly interested in her sister. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “The last thing I would want is to cause you—or your sister—distress. Tell Lydia that I am grateful for her kind offer but I will make other arrangements.”
“Denki, Luke.” She turned her attention more fully to the ruins before them. Carefully she walked closer, stepping over blackened wood as she reached down to retrieve one of his chisels. “Still warm,” she said when she handed it to him.
“But still useable,” he replied.
She smiled up at him and for a moment he could not find his breath. The business of being unable to breathe normally whenever Greta Goodloe was around was becoming an alarming habit.
“There must be more,” she said. “Let me help you find them.”
“Take care,” he said as he followed her through the rubble. “There are still some live embers.”
“I’ll use this to move them,” she said, holding up a piece of metal the length of a cane or walking stick. “Found another,” she crowed triumphantly, holding up something that caught the sunlight. “We should have a contest to see which of us can find the most.”
“We’ll find everything when we haul away the debris,” he reminded her. “There’s no need to...”
“But that would not be nearly so much fun, Luke Starns. Do you not ever consider having a little fun?”
Fun? It sounded like a word from another language to Luke. He had been forced to maintain his focus on weightier matters for so long that solemnity had become a habit. How long had it been since he’d done something just for the pure pleasure of doing it? He moved a charred board with the toe of his boot and quickly uncovered three more small hand tools.
“Three to one,” he called out as he set the tools in a pile.
“Unfair,” Greta said but she was laughing and the sound was like musical notes. “You know what to look for—the shape and size and all.”
“It was your idea,” he reminded her as he held up two nails that he’d forged last week. “There are at least a dozen of these if that helps.”
“Found one,” she shouted and then quickly dropped the nail and shook her hand. “Hot,” she admitted.
“Work in this area,” he advised, motioning to the ruins where he stood. “Everything here seems to have cooled off.” He had to force himself not to go to her and examine the possible burn to her fingers.
“Here’s another—and another,” she said as she took his advice and immediately found two more of the nails. “You’d best start searching, Luke, or I am surely going to be the winner.”
Luke made a halfhearted attempt to search the ground around his feet, but the truth was that the only thing he could look at was Greta’s face hidden by her black bonnet and then turned up to him with that luminous, heart-stopping smile whenever she unearthed a new treasure.
He was considering the possibility that just maybe he might be able to persuade Greta to give her sister’s plan a chance when he heard a shout from across the street and looked up to see Hilda Yoder bearing down on both of them.
“Uh-oh,” Greta muttered. “We’re in for it now, Luke Starns.”
* * *
Greta straightened to her full height and folded her hands primly in front of her as she waited for Hilda Yoder to make her way from the dry goods store across the street to where Greta and Luke had been searching for things to be salvaged.
“Such levity after such tragedy,” Hilda muttered, clicking her tongue in disapproval as she approached them. “Surely, Luke, you find no humor in the loss of your business.”
“But I have not lost my business, Hilda,” Luke explained. “I have only lost the building that housed it. I will rebuild and be back in business by month’s end.”
“Still, it hardly seems proper for the street to ring with laughter at a time like this.” She frowned at Greta. “Do you not have things to do, Greta Goodloe?”
“Things to do?” Greta decided to play the innocent. She blinked her eyes at Hilda and was aware that Luke was fighting a smile.
“Shopping, ironing—whatever it is you do on a Tuesday morning.”
“I had thought that such mundane chores might be postponed in light of our neighbor’s loss,” Greta replied. “I came to see how Lydia and I might best help Luke recover his losses. Lydia extended an invitation for him to lodge in our barn loft.”
Hilda sucked in a breath that said far more than the stream of words she clearly was trying to swallow. But the very idea that two single women might house a single man, albeit in their barn, was clearly news that had shaken Hilda to her very core.
“It is a kind offer,” Luke said, “and one that I have refused. I will seek other shelter.”
“I should hope so,” Hilda muttered.
“Perhaps you and your husband have a spare room?”
Greta had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud at the expression that passed over Hilda’s face. So Luke Starns had a sense of humor after all. “The storage room at the back of the store,” Greta suggested. “It would be perfect—close to everything he needs.”
“I suppose that could be arranged,” Hilda hedged. “But there’s to be no cooking on the premises. We’ve had one fire and there’s no need to tempt fate by setting the stage for another.”
“There, Luke, you see. It’s all settled. Hilda and her family will take care of housing for you while Roger Hadwell takes charge of organizing the supplies and labor necessary for you to rebuild as soon as possible. And the women will see to organizing meals to feed the work crews.” She clapped her hands together and beamed at them both.
Hilda pursed her lips and glared at Greta. “Then may I suggest that you get on with your piece of this, Greta? The work crews will likely be here first thing tomorrow to begin clearing away this rubble and they will need plenty of water and sustenance if they are to withstand the heat.”
“Right you are,” Greta said as she turned to head to her house. “I’ll get started right away.”
“I’ll send Esther to help,” Hilda called after her.
Greta’s step faltered only slightly as the full weight of Josef’s betrayal hit her once again. “Yes, please do,” she called over her shoulder, but she knew that her voice was too high-pitched to sound sincere. And she knew that, in her way, Hilda had as usual had the last word.
“Oh, why does she have to be so mean-spirited?” Greta fumed later as she and Lydia sat together, each doing a bit of mending before bedtime.
“We may be Amish, but we are none of us angels,” Lydia reminded her. “You must include Hilda in your prayers for surely her unpleasant behavior comes from some deep-seated unhappiness.”
Greta sighed. “You are too forgiving sometimes, Lydia. How about the idea that maybe she’s just plain mean?”
“There is no such thing as being too forgiving and now I would suggest that you add a prayer asking God to forgive your sharp tongue when it comes to Hilda Yoder.”
Lydia was right, of course. Greta’s feelings toward Hilda—and Esther—were every bit as intolerant as Hilda’s comments to her. “I will pray,” she agreed, and then she smothered a giggle. “I do wish you could have seen the look on her face when Luke suggested that he could stay with her.”
Lydia concentrated on her needlework, but she was smiling. “It would appear that in the aftermath of Luke’s tragedy, you have come to a different opinion of him?”
Greta was surprised to feel herself blushing. “He is more...complicated than I first thought.”
“Truly? In what way?”
“He has a lighter side. One we have not been aware of before now. Before he always seemed so solemn and stiff, but today...” Her voice trailed off as she recalled the lighthearted way that she and Luke had challenged each other to find the salvageable pieces of his business. “And how odd that it should be revealed once he has suffered such calamity.”
“Perhaps it was not the fire and his losses there that stirred this lighter side of his disposition,” Lydia mused. “Perhaps there was another cause—one that was quite unexpected.”
“Must you always speak in riddles, Lydia?”
“All right, in plainer language, I am saying that perhaps his interactions with you—of which there have been several in just the last few days—are responsible for his lighter disposition.”
Greta was struggling to find the words to tell Lydia how ridiculous that theory was when there was a knock at the door. It was past dark—past the time when someone might come calling unless there were some emergency.
Lydia set aside her mending and carried a lamp with her to the door. As she opened the door and lifted the lamp, Greta was surprised to see Luke standing on their front porch.
“Guten abend, Luke Starns,” Lydia said and Greta was sure she did not imagine the hint of humor that brought a lilt to her sister’s voice.
“I have come to discuss your idea,” he announced without bothering with the usual polite greetings. “Could we—you, your sister and I...”
“If you are referencing the suggestion that you and my sister could take advantage of this time when all of Celery Fields believes that it is me you are calling upon to become better acquainted...”
“Yah,” Luke said, cutting Lydia off midsentence.
Lydia turned to Greta. “You know, sister, I find that I am suddenly quite weary.” She set the lamp back on the table. “Be so kind as to offer our guest a glass of that wonderful lemonade you made this afternoon. Guten nacht, Luke... Greta.”
And before Greta could say anything, Lydia had entered her room and closed the door with a firm click, leaving Luke standing on the porch and Greta to deal with him.
“A glass of that lemonade would be welcomed,” he said softly, “that is if you would ask me to stay.”
Without a word she headed for the kitchen as much to gather her wits for this meeting with Luke Starns as to prepare the beverage for him. What could Lydia have been thinking? What was Luke thinking showing up unannounced like this? Had the world gone completely mad? It would seem so. Well, there was nothing to be done but for her to set things right again.