come. If he thinks we Amish are all going to turn our backs and let him terrorize all of us, he has another guess coming.”
Maybe we’re the ones who have another guess coming, Sarah thought to herself.
T he wind wailed around the eaves, sending a section of loose spouting clattering down the side of the stone house with a metallic crash that woke the whole household. Levi cried out in alarm, and Suzie called from her bedroom in hoarse terror.
Sarah jumped out of bed, grabbed her woolen robe, and hobbled painfully down the stairs, meeting Mam already halfway through the kitchen, her small flashlight slicing a path across the darkened room.
No one went back to bed before Dat dressed warmly, lit a gas lantern, and searched the barn and the outbuildings, holding the lantern high, before finally coming upon the indentation in the snow left by the section of spouting. He carried it triumphantly to the porch, his great relief visible.
Mam sighed, the tension leaving her body, and told them they could now go back to bed. Sarah took two Tylenol tablets and swallowed them at the kitchen sink. She cowered at the window as a mighty gust bent the great, old maple trees in the front yard, erasing the vast bulk of the new, white barn for only a few seconds.
She shivered.
The cold lay around the baseboards along the walls and crept along the windowsills, where the coal stove’s heat could not quite keep it at bay. Little swirls of chills shivered up Sarah’s back as she turned to Mam, who was warming her hands by tentatively touching the tips of her fingers to the top of the coal stove. Mam pulled Suzie close against her when Sarah came to join them.
In the dark and cold, they huddled, the warmth a comfort, creating an aura of normalcy. Though they didn’t say it, they all knew this whole scene contrasted sharply with the way they would have reacted previously to a noise in the night.
The truth hovered between them, driving them into isolation with their own thoughts. The shame of their fear, or the admission of it, would have to remain unspoken, a denial of the fact that it existed.
They were people of faith, weren’t they? Christian folks of the Old Order who placed their trust in God. They were blessed by Him as seasons came and went, with the rain and the sun and the good, brown earth sprouting the seeds they planted and the barns bulging with the abundant harvests as the leaves turned colors, signaling winter’s approach.
So what were they doing now, cowering around this stove and casting furtive glances over their shoulders, peering into the dark corners that had become hiding places for strange men, Bic lighters flicking as they terrified good, strong, sensible horses into a state of deathly panic?
Barns that stood tall and stately had crumpled and burned to useless black piles that no one could ever fully erase from their minds. The memories left apprehension lying thick and suffocating over Lancaster County.
“Go back to bed,” Mam said curtly.
Everyone obeyed, silently padding their way up the staircase, knowing that in previous years, they would all have remained in their beds and later laughed about the great crash the spouting had made during the night. But that was before the ongoing mystery was wedged into their lives. Now, they would need to adjust, over and over, to overwhelming waves of fear.
In the morning, Leacock Township already had the great, rumbling snowplows shoving walls of snow to the sides of the roads. Heavy chains were secured around the big tires, and the machines clanged and banged as they scraped along, yellow revolving lights warning passing vehicles — if there were any — of their approach.
The wind remained stubbornly stiff and unrelenting, so Sarah helped Dat shovel paths to the barn and everywhere else anyone would need to go on the property. The wind had their walkways blown shut again in a few hours, so they kept at it. The sun was shining, however, and Sarah preferred the
Maybe we’re the ones who have another guess coming, Sarah thought to herself.
T he wind wailed around the eaves, sending a section of loose spouting clattering down the side of the stone house with a metallic crash that woke the whole household. Levi cried out in alarm, and Suzie called from her bedroom in hoarse terror.
Sarah jumped out of bed, grabbed her woolen robe, and hobbled painfully down the stairs, meeting Mam already halfway through the kitchen, her small flashlight slicing a path across the darkened room.
No one went back to bed before Dat dressed warmly, lit a gas lantern, and searched the barn and the outbuildings, holding the lantern high, before finally coming upon the indentation in the snow left by the section of spouting. He carried it triumphantly to the porch, his great relief visible.
Mam sighed, the tension leaving her body, and told them they could now go back to bed. Sarah took two Tylenol tablets and swallowed them at the kitchen sink. She cowered at the window as a mighty gust bent the great, old maple trees in the front yard, erasing the vast bulk of the new, white barn for only a few seconds.
She shivered.
The cold lay around the baseboards along the walls and crept along the windowsills, where the coal stove’s heat could not quite keep it at bay. Little swirls of chills shivered up Sarah’s back as she turned to Mam, who was warming her hands by tentatively touching the tips of her fingers to the top of the coal stove. Mam pulled Suzie close against her when Sarah came to join them.
In the dark and cold, they huddled, the warmth a comfort, creating an aura of normalcy. Though they didn’t say it, they all knew this whole scene contrasted sharply with the way they would have reacted previously to a noise in the night.
The truth hovered between them, driving them into isolation with their own thoughts. The shame of their fear, or the admission of it, would have to remain unspoken, a denial of the fact that it existed.
They were people of faith, weren’t they? Christian folks of the Old Order who placed their trust in God. They were blessed by Him as seasons came and went, with the rain and the sun and the good, brown earth sprouting the seeds they planted and the barns bulging with the abundant harvests as the leaves turned colors, signaling winter’s approach.
So what were they doing now, cowering around this stove and casting furtive glances over their shoulders, peering into the dark corners that had become hiding places for strange men, Bic lighters flicking as they terrified good, strong, sensible horses into a state of deathly panic?
Barns that stood tall and stately had crumpled and burned to useless black piles that no one could ever fully erase from their minds. The memories left apprehension lying thick and suffocating over Lancaster County.
“Go back to bed,” Mam said curtly.
Everyone obeyed, silently padding their way up the staircase, knowing that in previous years, they would all have remained in their beds and later laughed about the great crash the spouting had made during the night. But that was before the ongoing mystery was wedged into their lives. Now, they would need to adjust, over and over, to overwhelming waves of fear.
In the morning, Leacock Township already had the great, rumbling snowplows shoving walls of snow to the sides of the roads. Heavy chains were secured around the big tires, and the machines clanged and banged as they scraped along, yellow revolving lights warning passing vehicles — if there were any — of their approach.
The wind remained stubbornly stiff and unrelenting, so Sarah helped Dat shovel paths to the barn and everywhere else anyone would need to go on the property. The wind had their walkways blown shut again in a few hours, so they kept at it. The sun was shining, however, and Sarah preferred the
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