Many men arrived after Maisie and Grace made themselves known. There was not much that could be done, and we were careful not to clean until the police came. So there was much prayer, much prayer in that time.
Grace did not speak, it was as if she could not. She was in shock. But Maisie did not want to stop speaking. She told us of what they had seen. They were gathering eggs for dinner from the coop, when a beat-up blue pickup truck pulled in, with six or seven men. They all had guns, and they shouted for food and supplies, waving their guns angrily and saying terrible things.
The girls hid, and watched.
Isaak showed them where the food was, and gave them all that they had. Not just a little, but everything. They took everything from the larder. Then they went into the house.
Some of the men grew angrier and angrier, though Isaak tried to calm them, and told them there was no threat, and that they could have anything they wanted. One man seemed calmer, seemed like he was their leader, and he talked quietly with their father. They made them stand in a circle, then get down on their knees, with their backs to them. Maisie said they went to hide then, as quietly as they could, in the barn, under the hay.
Then came the sound of shooting. Then there was more shooting from inside the house. The men searched and smashed things, but the girls stayed hidden and quiet, deep within the warmth of the hay.
The sheriff came, after an hour, in a four-wheel drive that had been gotten running. Three deputies came with him.
I left shortly after he arrived, my charge in hand. And so after a quiet dinner with prayer, I have built the coffins. Hard, hard thing, it is, to live in these times.
October 23
The cold continues, close to freezing.
I left early, immediately after breakfast, with Mike along in the wagon laden with coffins. Pearl pulled us, strong in her stolid way.
We reached the farm, where a dozen men had stayed overnight to watch over the house and do what they could to prepare and protect the bodies. They were in a row, neatly wrapped in thick cloth. There could be no viewing, not because of decay, even with no embalming. Cold as it had been, that is not a worry. The bullets had done too much damage, and with no one to repair the heads and faces, it would not be good. Better to remember what they had been.
We carefully placed each of them into the caskets, and then together loaded them onto the funeral wagon, which had been brought by the Sorensons.
Then we moved off, one after another, a line of buggies and wagons, a blacksnake creaking along through the fields.
There was little talking as we moved along. Really none at all. Just the creak of the wheels, and the smell of the horses, and the sound of Pearl’s breathing as she pulled the wagon.
There were many other buggies when we reached the Stolfutz plot, a small square of farmland set apart by a white picket fence. Hannah was already there with the children, dressed in black. There were others there, too, a couple of trucks. Outside the fence, benches had been brought, everything the church wagon could carry, plus more from the farms in the community.
It was not enough for all who were there. Many stood, out around the edges.
The graves were already dug, six in a row. Markers had been made, as was our custom, by Jon Thorson’s hand, simple stone with the initials of each cut into them.
We laid each of the caskets by one another, a line of them, up on some tables that had been brought. I found my place, alongside Hannah and next to Sadie. I saw that Maisie was sitting with Mrs. Schrock, because the Schrocks had taken the girls in for now. Grace was not there, which was probably for the best. The service began.
It was the same, the same as it always is. The silent prayer. The simple, slow songs. Asa Schrock preached the first message, and then again he preached the second. They were the same as he had preached when Jonas died, the same as he preached whenever anyone died.
Why would they be different? Death comes to us all, as it comes to animals and plants and all things living. It is the same. Asa spoke about God’s Providence, about our duty, about serving and being humble and patient no matter the circumstance, about not being prideful. He spoke about how important it was for us to trust, and to stay true.
And about not letting fear take us and change us, turning us away from the simple path of grace. He does not usually say that. But it was a good thing to say. Sadie nestled against my side, but she seemed still and calm, which was good. Hannah held my hand, held it tightly.
Then we sang, and prayed in silence. When the service was done, all filed past the coffins. I had marked the names on each, so that we could know in our leave-taking which we were seeing. There were many people there, and many leaves to be taken, and the line moved slowly.
Afterward, there were sandwiches and tea, very simple. There had not been much time to prepare, but those who had prepared had done their best.
Unlike the Beiler funeral, there was not much talking. Jonas had his leave-taking, even though that cancer moved so terrible quick. But so many all at once was very hard, particularly on the children.
Even though we know it is God’s will, and that God will care justly for one who lives a righteous life, it is not easy to have so many friends no longer with us.
It goes deeper than that, I think.
Because we know, now, that as the world of the English fails around us, we are not separate. Yes, we have the Order, and yes, we have our way, but the time when that meant we stood free from the world has passed.
I am not sure, as I think about it now, if that has ever been true. We are never really apart, as much as we choose to set ourselves different from the world that surrounds us.
The English are like the earth, or the air. And if the rain falls, it falls on all alike, as the Bible says.
AS WE WERE EATING the simple meal afterward, in that somber visiting, I found myself talking with Bill Smith, who had come to pay his respects. He was shaken, because Isaak was a neighbor and a good friend. He’d heard the shots, and he’d gone out to check his herd, because people were starting to steal cattle.
“I shoulda known,” he said. “I shoulda checked on him, shoulda known something bad had happened. You just can’t imagine that it’d be something like this, bad as it is.”
I agreed but told him there was no way he could have known. And if he had known, what could he have done?
He nodded. “Yeah. I suppose you’re right.”
I asked after his family, how they were coping.
“Donna’d wanted to come,” he said, his voice husky and strained. “But she was just too much a mess this morning. It’s hard enough with Isaak and Barbara. The kids, though. Man, they were such good kids. I just don’t know how we came to this.”
I said that I knew God’s hand would carry us through this time, but that it would not be easy.