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the rain swept through, Rachel had forgotten about the cut hay at the Yoder’s farm. “Dear Lord,” she whispered.
    “The baler was wet, she slipped, and the machinery…it just crushed her,” she said, lowering her voice. “Right in front of the boy.”
    “Melvin?” Rachel gasped. He was just a young boy, no more than ten. “We need to go over to them,” Rachel said quickly. She glanced around. The kinner were still crying and Leah was clearly too upset to leave the house. No help coming from her, Rachel thought. Her eyes fell upon Mary Ruth who had her arms around Leah’s daughter.
    “Mary Ruth! Come with me,” she insisted and hurried to the door. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Mary Ruth was merely staring at her, a blank expression on her face. “Come along now! We need to help Menno until his family can come to tend to his needs and the kinner .”
     
     
    There were five buggies in the driveway of the Yoder’s farm. There was also an ambulance and two police cars, which looked terribly out of place at the Amish farm. Besides, Mary Ruth was tired of seeing police cars but she obediently followed her older sister as they hurried into the house.
    The kitchen was dark. No one had thought to light a lantern yet. Menno was sitting at the table, his head in his hands. His face was blotchy and it was clear that he was still in shock. Mary Ruth hung by the door, uncertain why her sister had insisted that she’d accompany her. It wasn’t as if she knew the Yoder’s. But Rachel knew exactly what to do. She hurried over and lit the lanterns. Then she moved over to the three children who were weeping, sitting next to each other on the sofa. Rachel kneeled in front of them and pulled them into her arms, holding them and letting them sob against her shoulders. The youngest one was sucking on her thumb, a ratty stuffed bear in her arms.
    Mary Ruth shuddered. From what she could tell, Menno and Martha had four children, one son and three daughters. They were young, ranging from four to ten. The ten-year-old was a boy and he sat on a chair in the other room, his eyes staring blankly at the floor. No one seemed to be paying any attention to him. Mary Ruth wondered if he was Melvin, the boy who had been with his mamm when she died. She suspected he was and she wished she knew what to do or say.
    “This can’t be. It makes no sense,” the man said. His voice was soft and his eyes void of life. He was staring at nothing with his head bent down. “Martha can’t be gone,” he whispered.
    An older man with a long white beard placed his hand on Menno’s shoulder. “We cannot question the Lord for His reasons,” he said. Mary Ruth recognized him as the bishop of Leah’s church district. He had preached at the service just yesterday. “You will get through this, Menno. We will help you.”
    “Why?” he mumbled to himself. “Why Martha?” He looked up at the bishop. His eyes were now red and filled with tears. “Why?” He seemed to be pleading with the bishop for an answer, but when none came, he dipped his head back down and continued staring at the tabletop.
    Mary Ruth glanced at the boy one more time. His thick curly hair was tucked behind his ears and his shirt was ripped at the shoulder. She wondered if that had happened after the accident. She imagined he had tried to save his mamm before he had run for help. She hated the fact that he was sitting alone, no one paying any attention to him. The smaller girls were being comforted by Rachel and the men were supporting Menno. But the boy was alone and in just as much need of consideration.
    Taking a deep breath, she went over to his side. Kneeling before him, she touched his arm. His eyes flickered to look at her. They were dull and lifeless. All Mary Ruth could think about was this poor boy witnessing the death of his mother. He blinked his eyes once but said nothing in response to her.
    “Let me get you something,” she whispered. “Water,