It’s past time you chose a husband and had your own home.”
“But you need me here,” she had insisted. “Without Dat, running the farm, taking care of Susanna and teaching school is too much for you. It’s better that I remain single and stay with you.”
“Fiddle-faddle,” Mam had said as she’d gathered her books.
“…Roofie! You’re not listening to me.”
“Ya, I am.” Ruth shook off her reverie and steadied her sister as she descended the steps on the far side of the fence.
“But you’re not. Look!” Susanna pointed. Above the trees, in the direction of the school, rose a column of smoke.
“Samuel’s probably burning brush.”
“But, Roofie.” Susanna trotted to keep up with Ruth’s longer strides as they followed the narrow path through the oak grove. “I smell smoke.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Ruth answered absently. Tonight she would apologize to her mother and—
“Fire!” Susanna squealed as they entered the clearing surrounding the one-room schoolhouse. “The school is on fire!”
Ruth’s mouth gaped in astonishment. Ahead, clouds of smoke billowed from the front porch and cloakroom of the neat, white schoolhouse. In the field, behind an open shed, Ruth spotted the children engaged in a game of softball. Upwind of the building, no one had smelled the smoke yet.
“Sit down, Susanna,” Ruth ordered. “Sit here and guard Mam’s lunch.”
“But the school—” her sister protested, hopping on one bare foot and then the other.
“Don’t move until Mam or I come for you.”
Susanna sighed heavily but dropped to the ground.
Thank You, Lord, Ruth thought. If there was one thing she could depend on, it was that Susanna would always do as she was asked, so at least she wouldn’t have to worry about her safety. Closer to the school than the field, Ruth ran toward the burning structure, bare feet pounding the grass, the skirt of her dress tugging at her knees.
As she drew closer, she saw Mam’s new student, Irwin Beachy, crawl out from under the porch. His face and shirt were smudged black, and he was holding his hands out awkwardly, as though they’d been burned.
“Irwin? What happened? Are you hurt?” she called to him.
The boy’s eyes widened in terror. Without answering, he dashed away toward the woods.
“Irwin!” Ruth shouted. “Come back!”
When the boy vanished in the trees, she turned back to the school. An ugly crackling noise rose and flames rippled between the floorboards of the front porch. Through the open door, she could see tongues of red flame shimmering through the black smoke. The cloakroom seemed engulfed in fire, but the thick inner door that led to the single classroom was securely closed.
Wrapping her apron around her hands to protect them, Ruth grabbed the smoking rope that dangled from the cast-iron bell by the steps. She yanked hard, and the old bell pealed out the alarm. Then she released the rope and darted to the hand water pump that stood in the yard.
By the shouts and cries coming from the ball field, Ruth knew that the children had heard the bell and seen the smoke. By school age, every Amish child knew what to do in case of a fire, and she was certain they would arrive in seconds. She pumped hard on the handle of the water pump, filling the bucket that always sat there, and then ran back to dash the water onto the front wall of the school. Two of the older boys pounded up behind her. Toby Troyer pulled off his shirt and beat at the flames with it. Vernon Beachy grabbed the empty bucket from Ruth’s hands and raced back to refill it.
Ruth’s mother directed the fire-fighting efforts and instructed the older girls to take the smaller children back to where Susanna waited so that they would be out of danger.
Two of the Beachy boys carried the rain barrel to the other side of the schoolhouse and splashed water against the wall. Other boys used their lunch buckets to carry water. One moment they seemed as if they were winning the battle, but the next moment, flames would shoot up in a new spot. Someone passed her a bucket of water, and Ruth rushed in to throw it on the porch roof. As long as the roof didn’t catch fire, the building might be saved. Abruptly, a sensation of heat washed up over her. She glanced down to see that sparks had ignited the hem of her apron.
As she reached down frantically to tear off the smoldering apron, strong hands closed around her waist and lifted her off the ground. Before she could utter a protest, Ruth found herself thrown onto the ground and roughly rolled over and over in the grass. Her bonnet came off, her hairpins came loose, and her hair tumbled down her back.
“Are you trying to kill yourself? Didn’t you see your apron on fire?” A stranger with the face of an angel lifted her into his arms, and gazed into her face.
Ruth couldn’t catch her breath. All she could do, for a second, was stare into the most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen. Behind her she heard the shouts of male voices, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from the eyes.
“Are you all right?”
She swallowed hard, unable to find her voice, and nodded as she began to cough.
“You scared me half to death,” he murmured, still holding her against him, his body as hot against hers as the flames of the fire behind them.
“Is she hurt?” Mam laid a hand on Ruth’s arm as her rescuer backed away from the smoking building.
The sound of her mother’s voice brought her back to the reality of the situation. “Put me down,” she ordered, embarrassed now. “I’m fine.”
“Her apron was on fire. Her clothes would have gone up next,” he explained, lowering Ruth gently until her bare feet touched the ground.
“It looks like the fire’s almost out,” Mam said, turning to see Roman and one of the older boys spraying the back wall with fire extinguishers. “Thank goodness they were able to climb in the window and get the extinguishers.”
Ruth snatched off her ruined apron and accepted her Kapp that Mam handed her. Flustered, she stuffed her loose hair up in the dirty Kapp, stabbing the pins she had left into the hastily gathered knot of red hair.
“You sure you’re all right?” The beautiful stranger was beside her again. He cupped a strong hand under her chin, tilted her head up and looked boldly into her face.
Ruth bristled and brushed away his hand. The man staring at her was no angel and entirely too handsome for his own good. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with butter-yellow hair that tumbled over one eye and a dimple on his square chin. He was clean-shaven, she noticed, so he wasn’t married, although he was certainly old enough.
She choked and coughed again, more flustered by his familiarity than by the smoke still lingering in her mouth and lungs.
“Eli Lapp.” He offered his hand to her the way the English did, but she didn’t take it.
Another flush of embarrassment crept across her face.
“And
