Davey's Daughter by Linda Byler Page B

concern.
    Sarah laughed softly.
    “Well, Ashley. I can’t always compare some things with you. Our people live very quiet lives, in a way. Usually Matthew goes to work, comes home, reads, helps his mother, or plays baseball or volleyball sometimes. Just ordinary, dull stuff. So I don’t feel as if I need to know where he is or where he goes throughout the week.”
    “Oh,” Ashley said softly. “So, if my, like, boyfriend, disappears sometimes, would you worry if you were me?”
    “Disappears? You mean he leaves for weeks or months?”
    “Weeks…sometimes just days.”
    “He doesn’t tell you what he’s doing?”
    “If I ask, he says he’s just working or going to school or visiting.”
    “Well, then I guess he is.”
    “Yeah.”
    Sarah smiled reassuringly at her friend, bringing a warmth to her eyes, which crinkled at the sides as a smile spread across her wan face.
    “Well, yeah, whatever,” she said, trying to reassure herself.
    “I mean, if you love him, I think you should be able to trust him. It seems those two sort of go together.”
    “You’re right.”
    Ashley looked off across the market at the lights, the signs, the milling customers, her eyes wide, unseeing.
    “How’s…those people?”
    “You mean Reuben Kauffmans?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Good. They really are strong people.”
    “That’s awesome. I have to go.”
    Ashley slipped away, disappearing into the crowd, the way she often seemed to do, leaving Sarah to shrug her shoulders and move off in search of something to eat.
    Sarah never tired of the market’s wide array of foods. She tried something new almost every week, when she was working on Fridays and Saturdays.
    She bought a bowl of creamy potato soup, ate it with a dish of applesauce, and started back to work. She was suddenly stopped by the sound of voices behind the crowded display of leather products.
    “You can’t go around asking questions!”
    There was a murmured reply and a louder voice, threatening, angry.
    Sarah shivered as she hurried on, looking back over her shoulder after she passed. Something just wasn’t quite right.
    The spring peepers kept Priscilla awake that evening, so she got up to close her bedroom window on the east side of the house, figuring the bit of fresh air could be sacrificed for some peace and quiet.
    She was bone weary after helping Mam with the Friday cleaning, helping Dat with the milking, and washing the carriage for church on Sunday. She had begun to think she was about as handy as that Robinson Crusoe’s man Friday, doing everything and anything no one else had time to do.
    She could hardly wait until the year passed and she would turn sixteen years of age. Then she would be allowed to work at the farmer’s market with Sarah. Life was just so boring at fifteen.
    Priscilla pushed aside the curtain, and a flickering, orange light entered her line of vision only a second before she screamed and screamed, a long, drawn out, shrill cry of alarm that brought a yell of response from the bedroom below.
    “Fire! Fire! Dat! Dat! It’s a fire!”
    She couldn’t move. She stood rooted to the spot by the window, her hands grabbing the windowsill, her nails digging into the varnished wood. She could see the flames already, beginning to leap wickedly in the night sky, illuminating the billows of smoke.
    Sarah rushed into Priscilla’s room, confused, having just fallen asleep after her long day at market.
    “Oh no!”
    Her hands went to her mouth, as if to keep the words from escaping. They heard Dat. He was running, opening the kitchen door. Levi bellowed from his room, a cry of alarm asking for someone to tell him what was going on.
    “It’s…it’s at Elam’s!”
    “No! It’s up the road.”
    “Surely not at Lydia’s!”
    “Oh no!”
    The girls dressed hurriedly, grabbed sweaters and headscarves, and followed Dat out the front door. They walked quickly, the sound of the fire sirens a comfort now, assuring them that help was on the