Loved farming. He opened his eyes and looked around at the charred furniture now illuminated in the eerie glow from his truck’s headlights. The Pearce boy, he was maybe twelve and actually wanted to grow up to be a farmer like his dad. And that’s rare these days! His daughter was a few years older, really pretty. She fit right in with the other kids in town. Real pretty gal. Mary’s words reminded James that inside this home lived a normal family. His heart gave a silent scream at the loss, his eyes watered a little as empathy ripped through his soul.

Who would have wanted to hurt them?

James looked towards the field in the distance. The dark of evening did not dim the light of his imagination. He could see a bright blue day, the sun beaming onto the accommodating earth. The Pearce boy watched as his dad explained the operation of a combine, excited not only to be sharing the time with his father, but also to be learning about how to run the farm. James envisioned the son imitating the father, picking up a handful of the rich earth. He could see the father showing his son the fertile soil as he taught the child about growing food for their family, for the town, perhaps even for a hungry nation.

A normal family. Who would have wanted to hurt them?

The vision dissolved into the image of a teenage girl—the daughter. Pretty, as Mary had said. Popular as she chatted with friends on the same set of bleachers James had spotted the other teens earlier. Was she part of Ian’s crowd? Or did she run in a different clique, one of so many kids in this area who loved farm life, horses and cows, learning to milk, make butter, cook, sew, the traditional home making skills taught by such organizations?

James had been to the state fair, where the kids entered all sorts of competitions and were judged on their newly acquired skills. It was a good life. And to make it your ambition to lead a quiet life: You should mind your own business and work with your hands, just as we told you. James mentally supplied the Scripture, 1 Thessolonians 4:11. Who had resented the Pearces doing just that?

His dad’s voice faded into the scene, an eerie voice-over in James’s mind. Well then, the way I see it, you need to spend less time on the why and how and start focusing on the who.

“Yes, who, Lord?” James asked aloud.

An image of the Pearce children invaded his thoughts. He was a little tough on his kids, especially the daughter—real strict with her. Mary’s words joined his father’s in James’s memory. Had Mr. Pearce’s strictness played into things?

I thought they determined it was started with a cigarette.