before becoming a valid legal document.
Blosser later recalled that he left the farm around 8:30 P.M .
As far as the hired boy knew, the rest of the evening passed quietly. The ticking of a wind-up mantel clock marked the hours. With the weak glow of kerosene lamps the only source of light, and with cows in need of milking before sunrise, the Amish retire early. That night was no different. Ida, Eli, and Danny slept in the small bedroom on the main floor. Before bed, Ida sang old German songs and cuddled her son. The curtains were drawn, but the windowswere open to allow a cool breeze to circulate in the still, hot house.
Young Eli went to bed upstairs around 9:00 P.M .
If anything out of the ordinary happened between bedtime and the hours before midnight, no one was old enough to remember it—or lived to tell about it.
At midnight, the hired boy stirred. His eyes were drawn to the window, where a brightness shone. He went to the window. Below, he saw the gold and red of flames and a black plume rising from the barn. Dressing as he went, he raced down the stairs and called for Eli and Ida to wake. Light from the fire illuminated their room; curtains fluttered from the rush of hot air. Danny was asleep in his crib, but the Stutzmans were gone.
Why didn’t Eli or Ida wake me with news of the blaze?
the boy wondered.
Where are they? Why didn’t they call for me to help?
On the front porch, the boy ran into Stutzman. The Amishman’s dilated pupils made his eyes seem black, only rimmed in blue.
“Go to Harley Gerber’s! Have him call the fire department! Hurry!”
Young Eli ran past the south side of the barn, away from the flaming north side, his bare feet pressing the surface of the now-dry dirt driveway. Over his shoulder he saw Stutzman pull farm machinery from the barn. A box wagon and tools had already been moved.
As he turned the corner where Moser Road meets the driveway, the boy saw Ida, motionless on her back. Her eyes were closed. She was very still and only a step or two from the barn.
“Ida! Ida!” he called as he knelt beside her. “What is wrong? Ida, wake up!”
He touched her, but she didn’t budge. Although most of the color was washed from her face, her left cheek and her left hand were pink from the heat. He could see that she was too hot, too close to the fire.
Thinking that he’d better tell Eli, the boy ran back and screamed that Ida was hurt.
Stutzman just shook his head.
He already knew
.
“Go to Harley Gerber’s now! Get the doctor, too!” Stutzman instructed.
“He seemed mad that I had not done what he told me,” the boy later said.
Young Eli did an about-face. Passing Ida again, he wondered why Stutzman hadn’t mentioned that his wife had been hurt in the first place. Why was Eli Stutzman more concerned about the farm equipment than his wife?
The crashing of splintering, burning timbers and the snap of crunch-dry straw riddled the night like gunfire. The frightened boy ran as fast as he could.
Ida needed help . . .
now!
Across Moser Road, the sound of the fire ricocheted through an open window and woke Sue Snavely. She woke Howard, who pulled on a pair of pants and told his wife to call the fire department. As they ran downstairs, the noise woke two of their children.
The screen door slammed behind Howard Snavely as he ran across Moser Road toward the Amish family’s front door. He assumed that the Stutzmans were unaware of the fire, since he saw no one outside. Just as Snavely reached the porch, Stutzman came around from the other side of the barn. Had the Amishman heard Snavely calling for them to wake up? Had he seen him run across the road? The timing seemed lucky and remarkable.
Stutzman was a fright. The bearded Amishman was frantic, disheveled, hysterical. He waved for Snavely to come. Snavely sensed that something bad had happened—something more terrible than the burning barn.
“We’ve got to get my wife out! She’s trapped in the barn!” Stutzman
Blosser later recalled that he left the farm around 8:30 P.M .
As far as the hired boy knew, the rest of the evening passed quietly. The ticking of a wind-up mantel clock marked the hours. With the weak glow of kerosene lamps the only source of light, and with cows in need of milking before sunrise, the Amish retire early. That night was no different. Ida, Eli, and Danny slept in the small bedroom on the main floor. Before bed, Ida sang old German songs and cuddled her son. The curtains were drawn, but the windowswere open to allow a cool breeze to circulate in the still, hot house.
Young Eli went to bed upstairs around 9:00 P.M .
If anything out of the ordinary happened between bedtime and the hours before midnight, no one was old enough to remember it—or lived to tell about it.
At midnight, the hired boy stirred. His eyes were drawn to the window, where a brightness shone. He went to the window. Below, he saw the gold and red of flames and a black plume rising from the barn. Dressing as he went, he raced down the stairs and called for Eli and Ida to wake. Light from the fire illuminated their room; curtains fluttered from the rush of hot air. Danny was asleep in his crib, but the Stutzmans were gone.
Why didn’t Eli or Ida wake me with news of the blaze?
the boy wondered.
Where are they? Why didn’t they call for me to help?
On the front porch, the boy ran into Stutzman. The Amishman’s dilated pupils made his eyes seem black, only rimmed in blue.
“Go to Harley Gerber’s! Have him call the fire department! Hurry!”
Young Eli ran past the south side of the barn, away from the flaming north side, his bare feet pressing the surface of the now-dry dirt driveway. Over his shoulder he saw Stutzman pull farm machinery from the barn. A box wagon and tools had already been moved.
As he turned the corner where Moser Road meets the driveway, the boy saw Ida, motionless on her back. Her eyes were closed. She was very still and only a step or two from the barn.
“Ida! Ida!” he called as he knelt beside her. “What is wrong? Ida, wake up!”
He touched her, but she didn’t budge. Although most of the color was washed from her face, her left cheek and her left hand were pink from the heat. He could see that she was too hot, too close to the fire.
Thinking that he’d better tell Eli, the boy ran back and screamed that Ida was hurt.
Stutzman just shook his head.
He already knew
.
“Go to Harley Gerber’s now! Get the doctor, too!” Stutzman instructed.
“He seemed mad that I had not done what he told me,” the boy later said.
Young Eli did an about-face. Passing Ida again, he wondered why Stutzman hadn’t mentioned that his wife had been hurt in the first place. Why was Eli Stutzman more concerned about the farm equipment than his wife?
The crashing of splintering, burning timbers and the snap of crunch-dry straw riddled the night like gunfire. The frightened boy ran as fast as he could.
Ida needed help . . .
now!
Across Moser Road, the sound of the fire ricocheted through an open window and woke Sue Snavely. She woke Howard, who pulled on a pair of pants and told his wife to call the fire department. As they ran downstairs, the noise woke two of their children.
The screen door slammed behind Howard Snavely as he ran across Moser Road toward the Amish family’s front door. He assumed that the Stutzmans were unaware of the fire, since he saw no one outside. Just as Snavely reached the porch, Stutzman came around from the other side of the barn. Had the Amishman heard Snavely calling for them to wake up? Had he seen him run across the road? The timing seemed lucky and remarkable.
Stutzman was a fright. The bearded Amishman was frantic, disheveled, hysterical. He waved for Snavely to come. Snavely sensed that something bad had happened—something more terrible than the burning barn.
“We’ve got to get my wife out! She’s trapped in the barn!” Stutzman
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