His Amish Teacher. Patricia Davids
came from the Hanson Farm. The field across from the school is on fire, and the flames are heading toward them.”
Walter stepped on the gas. “I’ve got one more to pick up.”
“Who?” Noah asked.
“John Miller.” The burly local blacksmith and farrier lived a little more than a mile away.
“Did they evacuate the school?” Timothy asked, meeting Noah’s worried gaze.
Walter sent the truck rocketing down the road. “No, the fire has them cut off. The teacher decided it was safer to put the kids in a cold room. You two went to that school. What kind of cold room does it have?”
Perplexed, Timothy glanced again at Noah. His brother shrugged. Suddenly, Timothy realized what the caller might have meant. “Not a cold room, the coal room. It’s a cavelike area off to the north side of the school basement. The teacher there, Lillian Keim, is one of the smartest women I know. If anyone can keep the children safe, she can.”
He prayed for all the children in peril and for her. He’d been foolish to let a misunderstanding jeopardize their friendship. He wasn’t sure he could face himself knowing his last words to her were the ones he’d spoken in anger.
John was standing by his mailbox at the end of his lane. He still wore his big leather apron over his clothes. He didn’t bother opening the door of the truck, but vaulted into the bed and pounded on the roof to let Walter know he was on board.
Walter hit the gas again. In a few minutes, they reached a white steel building that sat by itself on a plot of land just off the highway. The wail of a siren blared from a speaker on the roof as one of the two metal garage doors rose. The main fire engine pulled out just as a second pickup loaded with volunteers turned into the parking lot. The men, all Amish farmers and their non-Amish driver, piled out, grabbed their gear and quickly jumped onto the engine. There was none of the usual chatter today. Many of the men had children or grandchildren at the school.
As the others pulled away, Timothy and Noah entered the building and donned their fire gear. The coats, pants and hats were heavy, but if they had to enter a burning building, their fireproof gear would be needed along with their air packs.
The men quickly settled themselves in the station’s smaller fire truck and pulled out of the building with Walter in the driver’s seat. As they sped down the road toward the river, Timothy saw dozens of men and boys, some in wagons and some on foot and horseback, heading in the same direction.
The first fire truck had been stopped just past the covered bridge by a wall of flames. A burning tree blocked the road, and the woods on either side were heavily involved. Through the dense smoke, Timothy could make out the farmhouse with flames licking out from under the roof. This was a bad one.
Timothy’s radio crackled and he heard the fire chief’s voice. “Truck Two, get your hoses on that tree. We’ve got to get it out of our way.”
Noah and Timothy leaped off the vehicle to comply. As they unreeled a line, Timothy found himself working side by side with men in fire gear and men in straw hats and suspenders. Every fire call he’d been involved with was the same. Neighbors rushed in to help each other.
With the line stretched, Timothy braced for the pressure surge as the water filled the hose. More men grabbed on behind him, and within a few moments he had a wide spray of water soaking the roadblock. The blaze was quickly extinguished. Timothy dialed back the pressure and kept a light spray covering the two men who rushed forward with chain saws. Someone produced a log chain. The downed tree was hooked to the main fire truck and quickly pulled aside.
The fire commander came up calling orders. “Truck One, get your crew up to the farmhouse. We have injuries there. Truck Two, get to the school. We have a tanker coming from Berlin, but they’re twenty minutes out. This road is the only way in and there are ten farms past this point. I’ve called for aircraft support and we have a chopper coming.”
“In this wind?” Walter asked in amazement.
“They know we have a school full of children out there, and the crew is willing to risk it. Let’s pray they can get a dump on the school before it’s too late.”
They couldn’t be too late. Timothy had to believe that Lillian and the children were safe.
He jumped back on board the engine. Their smaller vehicle held only five hundred gallons of water. The larger truck held a thousand gallons. Without fire hydrants to hook up to in rural areas, the only water available was what the trucks carried. Timothy looked at the blaze leaping from treetop to treetop and roaring through the cornfield in front of them. They were definitely going to need more water.
* * *
Thick smoke made Lillian’s eyes water so badly she could barely see the heavy-gauge wire wrapped around the coal chute door handles. The stiff wire had been turned tightly and it refused to unwind. A burning corn leaf swirled in and landed on her arm, scorching her sleeve. She beat out the ember with her palm, but it left a charred hole in her dress.
The roar and crackle of the approaching fire was so loud she wanted to put her hands over her ears and hide. How could this be happening?
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