Chapter 5: Lantern Light in the Barn
The sun rose red behind the ridge, throwing long beams over the fields where hammers already rang. A barn-raising called the whole district together, and by breakfast time men had swarmed the skeleton frame, their shouts and laughter echoing like hymns. Women carried platters of bread and crockery full of stew. Children darted like chicks, gathering bent nails and dropping them again.
Marybeth Yoder adjusted her bonnet and set another jug of cool water at the long trestle table. The day’s heat already pressed against her sleeves. Barn-raisings always brought cheer, but this morning her chest carried the weight of the whispers still clinging from the quilting bee. Anna’s teasing, Sister Ruth’s knowing glance, the word unmarried repeated like a drumbeat.
She turned—and nearly dropped the jug.
On the half-raised frame stood Elijah Miller, shirtless under the punishing sun, swinging a mallet with the kind of rhythm that made men glance twice and women look away too slowly. His shoulders gleamed, broad as cut beams, and the scar at his wrist caught the light each time he lifted.
Marybeth’s breath snagged. She forced her gaze to the bread, to the butter she’d brought wrapped neat in cloth. Work is holy, she told herself. Not the man who works.
Still, each strike of his hammer seemed to land against her own ribs.
By noon the walls stood upright, pegged fast, and the frame reached high enough to throw shade across the yard. Stew and bread disappeared quickly. Marybeth found herself seated near Anna, who smirked without shame.
“You’ll wear your eyes thin if you keep staring at nails,” Anna murmured.
Marybeth flushed. “I was not—”
But her protest died as Elijah walked past, bare chest streaked with sawdust, carrying a beam on his shoulder. He nodded politely at the women. Only at Marybeth did his glance linger, just a fraction longer than courtesy. Enough for Anna’s elbow to jab her side.
When the work ended, men drank deeply from the jugs and wiped brows. The sun slid low, lanterns lit to guide the last load into place. By the time the crowd began to scatter, shadows pooled at the edges of the barn.
Marybeth helped gather crockery. She thought she was alone when she stepped into the half-finished structure to fetch a forgotten ladle. But lanterns hung at the rafters, throwing golden pools across the floor, and Elijah stood in one of them, coiling rope.
“Marybeth,” he said softly, as if her name itself were fragile.
She froze, the ladle clutched against her apron. “I thought all had gone home.”
“Most did. I stayed to be sure the pegs held fast.” He paused, rope sliding through his hands. “And to thank you—for the butter at table. It tasted… more than good.”
Her throat tightened. “It’s only butter.”
His eyes caught the lantern light, steady and unflinching. “You make it into something else.”
Silence stretched, filled with the chirp of crickets and the distant laughter of children straggling home. The air smelled of wood shavings and oil. Marybeth’s pulse throbbed against her cap strings.
“I should go,” she whispered, stepping back. But her heel caught on a loose board, and she stumbled. Elijah moved before thought, catching her elbow. His hand closed firm, steadying.
The contact burned through fabric like flame through dry grass. For one wild moment she leaned into it, not with her body but with her heart.
Then: “Elijah!”
Brother Yoder’s voice boomed from outside. Elijah’s hand dropped as though scalded.
“Here!” he called, stepping back into shadow.
Marybeth clutched the ladle, breath sharp. When Brother Yoder’s head appeared at the doorway, Elijah was already bending to gather tools. “Just finishing,” he said.
Marybeth fled into the night, lanterns blurring.
At home she laid the ladle on the table as if it were evidence. Her mother hummed upstairs, unaware. Marybeth pressed her palms flat against the wood.
Desire, she thought, was not a gentle flame. It was a lantern—casting light, yes, but also threatening to burn the barn if left too close to dry straw.
And tonight, she feared the straw was already smoldering.