Read Online Fire in the Night by Linda Byler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Linda Byler
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the broadfall pants and dresses would simply disintegrate her clothes one of these times. She placed no trust in anything electric. Who knew if she wouldn’t be shocked—simply sizzled to death the moment she reached out to grasp that handle to extricate what was rightfully hers? Sitting and sewing all those clothes wasn’t just anything, after all.
And how many times had she pressed the wrong button accidentally, setting the heat on the dryer to high, ruining her good dresses and capes and aprons, wrinkled completely beyond repair? It was risky, going to the Laundromat.
Sarah adjusted the white covering on her head, hurriedly sticking the straight pins through the thin organdy. She ran down the stairs when Jim Harper, the driver, tooted his horn, jangling her nerves the way it always did. He was the only driver who did that. All the others sat in the driveway, waiting patiently if the family wasn’t immediately aware of their arrival, although they turned their heads occasionally, to see if anyone was coming out the door. But they didn’t put the palms of their hands on the center of the steering wheel to let their impatience be known.
Sarah helped Mam lug the heavy plastic hampers and totes to the small navy blue van. She arranged them in the back, slammed the door, and went around to the side.
Mam said hello, but Jim just grunted and said, “Seat belts.”
They complied, and he moved off, complaining about the weather and that he couldn’t see what was wrong with driving a horse and buggy to the Laundromat. He was clearly unhappy with the few miles he would be able to charge.
Mam humored him, saying with a choking sound in her voice that the horses had burned. Jim placed a hand on Mam’s shoulder and apologized profusely, saying he didn’t know. He was sorry, he said.
Mam assured him and told him she wouldn’t drive a buggy to Route 30 and through all the stoplights, even with the safest horse. Too much traffic, too many tourists gawking.
Sarah groaned aloud when she saw the occupants at the Laundromat. Oh, no.
“Mam, look!”
“Oh, we’ll be busy. She’ll let us go.”
Sarah knew better about Fannie Kauffman, the most inquisitive, anxious woman in at least a fifty-mile radius.
They had no sooner settled themselves after filling the hungry machines with Mam’s precious quarters than she bustled over, the pleats in her ill-fitting black apron shelving over her hips, pinned much too tightly between layers of overeating.
“Malinda!”
“Fannie.”
“It just rains, doesn’t it? I told Elam that if it doesn’t stop raining, we won’t get the tobacco in until June, which will just make it late for market, and we won’t get our price. But then, who am I to complain? You losing your barn and having that loss. My goodness. I said to Elam, I guess the Lord chastens whom He loveth, gel ? Gel ? You have to wonder what you did to deserve this, gel ? David likely did nothing. He’s such a perfect man.”
There was really no nice way to answer that hailstorm of words, Sarah thought, so when Mam smiled a bit rigidly but made no comment, it only increased Fannie’s velocity.
“But then, you have Levi too, you know. A retarded boy. Well, you do good, though, you do good. You know I wasn’t at the barn raising, not that I didn’t want to, but my sciatica was acting up. Pain! Oh, Malinda, I was in mortal pain. My lower back, down the back of my legs. I had Davey’s Rachel to do my work every day that week.”
There was a shrill beep, and Fannie erupted from her chair and lunged across the gleaming waxed tiles to reach the stopped dryer. She grabbed the handle of the large machine and gave it a tug before extracting the armfuls of clothing.
Mam sighed, a deep, tired, very relieved sound. She cast a weary look at Sarah when Fannie wheeled her cart over to the plastic table beside them and started shoving hangers into the shoulders of Elam’s shirts.
“How’s the barn coming? Are you milking yet?
And how many times had she pressed the wrong button accidentally, setting the heat on the dryer to high, ruining her good dresses and capes and aprons, wrinkled completely beyond repair? It was risky, going to the Laundromat.
Sarah adjusted the white covering on her head, hurriedly sticking the straight pins through the thin organdy. She ran down the stairs when Jim Harper, the driver, tooted his horn, jangling her nerves the way it always did. He was the only driver who did that. All the others sat in the driveway, waiting patiently if the family wasn’t immediately aware of their arrival, although they turned their heads occasionally, to see if anyone was coming out the door. But they didn’t put the palms of their hands on the center of the steering wheel to let their impatience be known.
Sarah helped Mam lug the heavy plastic hampers and totes to the small navy blue van. She arranged them in the back, slammed the door, and went around to the side.
Mam said hello, but Jim just grunted and said, “Seat belts.”
They complied, and he moved off, complaining about the weather and that he couldn’t see what was wrong with driving a horse and buggy to the Laundromat. He was clearly unhappy with the few miles he would be able to charge.
Mam humored him, saying with a choking sound in her voice that the horses had burned. Jim placed a hand on Mam’s shoulder and apologized profusely, saying he didn’t know. He was sorry, he said.
Mam assured him and told him she wouldn’t drive a buggy to Route 30 and through all the stoplights, even with the safest horse. Too much traffic, too many tourists gawking.
Sarah groaned aloud when she saw the occupants at the Laundromat. Oh, no.
“Mam, look!”
“Oh, we’ll be busy. She’ll let us go.”
Sarah knew better about Fannie Kauffman, the most inquisitive, anxious woman in at least a fifty-mile radius.
They had no sooner settled themselves after filling the hungry machines with Mam’s precious quarters than she bustled over, the pleats in her ill-fitting black apron shelving over her hips, pinned much too tightly between layers of overeating.
“Malinda!”
“Fannie.”
“It just rains, doesn’t it? I told Elam that if it doesn’t stop raining, we won’t get the tobacco in until June, which will just make it late for market, and we won’t get our price. But then, who am I to complain? You losing your barn and having that loss. My goodness. I said to Elam, I guess the Lord chastens whom He loveth, gel ? Gel ? You have to wonder what you did to deserve this, gel ? David likely did nothing. He’s such a perfect man.”
There was really no nice way to answer that hailstorm of words, Sarah thought, so when Mam smiled a bit rigidly but made no comment, it only increased Fannie’s velocity.
“But then, you have Levi too, you know. A retarded boy. Well, you do good, though, you do good. You know I wasn’t at the barn raising, not that I didn’t want to, but my sciatica was acting up. Pain! Oh, Malinda, I was in mortal pain. My lower back, down the back of my legs. I had Davey’s Rachel to do my work every day that week.”
There was a shrill beep, and Fannie erupted from her chair and lunged across the gleaming waxed tiles to reach the stopped dryer. She grabbed the handle of the large machine and gave it a tug before extracting the armfuls of clothing.
Mam sighed, a deep, tired, very relieved sound. She cast a weary look at Sarah when Fannie wheeled her cart over to the plastic table beside them and started shoving hangers into the shoulders of Elam’s shirts.
“How’s the barn coming? Are you milking yet?
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