21 
21 He who has a thousand friends
Has not a friend to spare,
And he who has one enemy
Shall meet him everywhere.
TRANSLATED BY RALPH W. EMERSON FROM A SAYING DATED AD 660
At first, Gant saw nothing but an eddy of black smoke rolling over the treetops. It would have been scarcely noticeable if the night hadn’t been so brightly studded with stars and a nearly full moon.
As soon as they cleared the dense grove of evergreens in back though, he saw the blaze that had already begun to light up the darkness. It was a good thing Fannie had been upstairs and able to see the flames in the distance.
The acrid smell of smoke was strong, and by the time they reached the crest of the yard, his eyes were burning, his throat stinging. The sounds coming from the barn were nightmarish, the horses screaming in terror, both cows bawling. Gant’s blood thundered with the desperation to reach them before it was too late.
Fannie had shot out in front of them, running behind her dog, Thunder, but Susan called her back. At first the girl didn’t seem to hear, but when Doc shouted out another warning, she stopped.
“The bell, Fannie!” Doc called out to her. “Go to the bell!”
Fannie’s feet barely touched the ground as she turned and retreated to the house, the dog racing ahead of her. In seconds the clanging of the dinner bell in the backyard could be heard.
“Ach! Mein Gott in Himmel!” Susan cried. “David, the horses—the cows!”
Gant heard the panic in Susan’s voice and felt the same urgency pressing at his mind and driving his body. Not for the first time, he silently raged at his own weakness, the ruined leg that held him back and slowed his every step. He pushed himself as hard as he could, but there was no way a man with a cane could keep up with the others.
The moment David threw the barn door open, he saw the angry flames breaking the shadows on the back wall and heard the hiss and pop of fire traveling among the hay bales. Thick, black fingers of smoke coiled upward, heading for the roof.
Stunned by the sight of the spreading blaze, he gasped but forced himself to move. He ran toward Cecil’s stall first and yanked the door open. The big Percheron draft horse Amos Kanagy had valued so highly hesitated at first, but when David gave him a light slap on the flank he took off for the open door.
David glanced over to see Susan leading the elderly Rosie out of her stall, so he went to free Smoke. The feisty young buggy horse’s eyes were wild. The moment David threw open the door of his stall, he whinnied and galloped out of the barn.
Gant was there by then, and David went to help him loose the cows from their posts and get both buggies outside. As they hurried from the barn, right behind Susan, they met Fannie, tears streaming down her face as she and Thunder ran toward them.
He caught her arm. “The animals are safe, Fannie. Go back to the bell. We need all the help we can get to keep the fire from spreading.”
He checked to make sure Susan and Gant were all right before helping them herd the animals to the small pasture north of the house. By the time they turned back, Rachel and some of the neighbors had arrived and were forming a double line with buckets in hand.
When Gant saw Malachi Esch manning the pump, he relieved the aging Amish man with the excuse of needing him to oversee the efforts of the others, making sure no one got too close to the blaze. The pump, at least, was one thing he could handle. His leg might be a problem, but his arms were strong.
Only then did he see Rachel as she moved up to him and held out her bucket to be filled. He plied the pump, watching her at the same time. Her face was pale in the eerie light cast by the fire, but her mouth was set in the familiar, determined line he had come to recognize. The inferno before them had to strike fear and anguish in her, but she wouldn’t fall apart. Not Rachel. At least not until she had done all she could do to help her family.
“You be careful, Rachel,” he said, his voice low.
“The Amish know about putting out fires,” she bit out. Her words were clipped, her voice hard, but there were tears in her eyes as she spoke. “I saw the animals. They’re all right?”
“Aye. They’re all safe.”
“And Fannie—she’s at the bell?”
“She is. Your sister has a pretty cool head, young as she is.” He glanced in the direction of the house. “Doc told her to keep ringing it for now.”
She looked at him. “I’m glad you’re here, Jeremiah,” she murmured just before stepping away with her bucket.
Gant continued to pump after Rachel left, watching her as she hurried off. The heat was intense as the flames blazed higher, and Gant struggled for air, feeling as if his lungs might explode from the weight of the heavy smoke.
Neighbors kept coming, some arriving by themselves, others with their families. Everyone seemed to know what to do and went right to work, wasting no time before joining the lines.
Rachel was right—the Amish knew all too well about putting out fires. The lines worked almost automatically as if driven by an unseen motor.
A sudden movement just across the road caught Gant’s eye. A flash of white and something dark. A man slipping out from among the trees. Gant couldn’t be sure, but he thought someone was watching the fire from the other side of the road.
Watching? Who would stand watching instead of joining the others to help put it out?
But sure enough, someone was simply standing there, taking in the scene. Gant rubbed his burning and grainy eyes with the knuckles of his free hand, but the figure was too well concealed by the trees.
Suddenly, as if he’d noticed Gant’s gaze on him, the other began to move.
Gant glanced around, looking for someone to take his place at the pump. Toward the end of the line, he saw Gideon and caught his eye, motioning him forward.
Gant didn’t take time to explain but just turned the pump over to him, grabbed his cane, and started down the path toward the road as fast as he could move. Just as he’d feared, though, by the time he was about to cross, the watcher had disappeared. He continued to the other side, but there was no one to be found.
The workers managed to extinguish the fire in little over an hour, but the barn was totally destroyed. Most of the neighbors who remained followed the family indoors for a few minutes. The night air carried the smell and taste of smoke inside. In fact, Gant thought he would be tasting the caustic bite of smoke for days.
Some of the women had made fresh coffee and tea, and Susan rushed around the kitchen to set out cream and sugar along with plenty of fresh-baked cookies. There was little in the way of conversation. The ordeal they’d just been through had left everyone exhausted and solemn.
Before anyone began leaving for home, Susan again thanked them for their help. “We’re so grateful to all of you and to the Lord God for all He’s done this night, for sparing our animals and for sending such gut friends to help put the fire out.”
“We’ll be over Saturday to raise a new barn,” Malachi Esch said. “Can you get us enough lumber that soon?” he asked Gant.
“Consider it done.”
“We’ll hope for good weather,” said Susan.
“God knows what we need,” Malachi replied. “He’ll see to it.”
Gant was no longer amazed by this Amish way of giving thanks and trusting God in even the worst of situations. They were a people who lived in continual trust and constant gratitude to their Maker. He had learned much from them over the past year. Even though he still struggled with some of their ways, he respected those ways and attempted to emulate the ones he admired most.
After everyone had gone, and while Susan and Rachel cleaned up the kitchen, Gant explained to Doc and Gideon why he’d left the pump and gone across the road.
“You didn’t get a good enough look to tell who it was?” asked Doc, clearly troubled by this disclosure.
Gant shook his head. “Could have been anyone. I saw something white, but I couldn’t tell what. But whoever it was seemed awfully interested in what was going on.”
“And not interested in helping to fight the fire,” Gideon put in, a scowl darkening his face.
“So you think the person you saw might have set the fire?” Doc asked.
Gant shrugged. “You have to wonder. If not, why wouldn’t he have come over and helped the rest of us? Obviously, he intended to stay out of sight.”
“Well, I’m going over to the woods and look around,” Gideon said, moving toward the door.
“That’s probably not such a good idea,” Gant said. “We don’t know who’s out there. There could have been more than one. Just because I didn’t see anyone else doesn’t necessarily mean he was alone.”
Gideon whipped around with an impatient frown. “I’m not exactly helpless. I can take care of myself.” His face flamed as if he thought that Gant might take his words as an insult. “I’m just going to look around. Somebody needs to do something.”
Gant drew a long breath. He was already familiar with the youth’s impetuous nature. But he could hardly fault him for his frustration. Gideon might not be living Amish, but these were his people, his family, and their troubles were mounting. It was only natural that he would want to find out who was responsible for those troubles. In the end it was Rachel who convinced Gideon to stay. Gant hadn’t realized she’d come into the hallway and had heard at least part of their conversation.
“Don’t, Gideon. Please.” Her voice was low but firm. “You’re not going to do any good by going out there tonight. Whoever was there is long gone by now. All you’ll accomplish is to worry Mamma. At least wait until tomorrow.”
She paused. “How did you get here so quickly, anyway? Mamma said you were staying in town tonight.”
The instant change in Gideon’s expression pricked Gant’s curiosity.
“I changed my mind.” Gideon’s tone was unusually sullen, and he was clearly avoiding his sister’s gaze. “I was already on the road home when I saw the smoke.”
Gant couldn’t help but wonder about the boy’s reply and the furtive look on his face. He’d noticed that the pretty young Emma Knepp had showed up quite a while after her parents and brothers tonight, but not long after Gideon arrived. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time because of all the commotion with the fire, but now he wondered if those two had possibly worked out a way to see each other on the sly.
If so, they’d better be prepared to put out another fire—one with Emma’s father.
Doc spoke up then. “Rachel’s right, Gideon. “Wait until morning, when we can see. I’ll go with you, and we’ll have a look around the barn as well. If you’re staying here tonight, that is.”
Gideon glanced from Doc to Gant and then to Rachel. Finally he gave a short nod.
Rachel followed Gant out when he prepared to leave, an act that pleased him no end. He wouldn’t have put her on the spot by asking her, but the entire time they’d been in the house he was hoping for a way to see her alone, at least for a moment.
She said nothing to her family but simply pulled her coat from the hook by the door and threw it around her as they stepped out onto the porch. “Thank you for your help,” she said as she shut the door behind them.
Gant smiled a little at the almost formal tone of her voice. “You don’t have to thank me, Rachel. I’m just glad I was here.” He waited. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “I just…I hate all this.” She made a gesture of frustration with her hands. “All this trouble. Someone wanting to hurt us. Never knowing what might come next or why it’s happening. It’s hard.”
An old anger Gant had felt before again rose up in him. The injustice and trouble wreaked on such a gentle, pacifist people never failed to rile him. “Doc told me about the mistreatment the Amish have suffered in other places besides Riverhaven. He said it’s been going on for generations.”
“Ja,” she said quietly. “This is nothing new. There has always been violence against us. Before our people ever came to America, there was trouble. They thought it would be different here. But it seems wherever we go there are always some who resent us…even hate us.”
Gant studied her. Somehow the confusion and sadness in her face worked together to heighten her loveliness.
“There’s no understanding it…”
He let his thought drift off, unfinished, but he couldn’t stop the worrisome question that had plagued him before tonight. What was it about the Amish that evoked this desire, the need to hurt them, to attempt to drive them away? If indeed that’s what all this was about—a hatred so intense that whoever harbored it was resolved to make life so miserable for an entire people that they would just up and leave.
Whoever it was—whoever they were—knew enough about the Plain People to feel secure that they wouldn’t retaliate, wouldn’t defend themselves regardless of the cruelty leveled at them.
He made an effort to shake himself out of the black mood that had earlier begun to settle over him. Reaching for Rachel’s hand, he touched it only briefly before releasing her. “It’s cold out here. You’d best go inside.”
She nodded. “You’ll be careful going back to town?”
“I’ll be fine. There’s not another creature in the county that can outrun Flann.” He hesitated. “But Rachel, please don’t stay alone tonight. Stay here, with your family.”
He could sense that she was about to protest. But instead she searched his face for a long moment, finally giving a conciliatory nod. “If you think I should.”
“I definitely do.”
Relieved, he very nearly took her hand again but stopped. As much as he wanted to touch her, it was a hard, hurtful thing to let her go. He wanted…he needed more from Rachel than a touch.
He wanted her heart.