She shoved open the wooden door and reached for the phone, her hand trembling as she dialed. Breathing fast, she told the answering operator, “There’s a fire in our orchard. Please get help!”

The woman asked for the address, but Ellie was so flustered, she explained where in the orchard she thought the fire had started instead of giving their street address.

“Is this the Hostetler orchard?”

“Jah . . . sorry,” Ellie said, and the woman said the fire station would be notified immediately.

“Denki,” she said, “ever so much,” and hung up the phone, her heart pounding in her ears.

When she returned to the house, Ellie saw her father, still in his nightclothes, attaching a long hose to one of the outdoor spigots. “Help is on the way,” she called to him.

How fast is the fire spreading? she worried, priming the well pump. She removed her long, thick robe and soaked it thoroughly before running with it toward the orchard.

How many of them have caught fire? she wondered, gasping for breath as the wind blew hard against her.

Swap! Swap! She beat the flames with her robe, repeatedly flinging it against the fiery trunk and branches. If she could spare even a few trees, she must. But the heat felt like needles on her forehead and cheeks, the smoke stinging her eyes.

O Lord, spare our orchard!

Breathlessly, she continued to thrash at the fire, slapping at the next tree’s limbs and trunk, whatever she could do, going from tree to tree with her robe, smothering the snapping, hissing fire.

From behind her, she could hear the siren’s wail in the distance and Dat and Dawdi calling back and forth to each other. Neighboring farmers, undoubtedly awakened by the siren, were coming quickly now.

Finishing with another tree, she stepped back to quickly appraise the situation. How could so many trees catch fire at once?

Then, detecting the unmistakable smell of gasoline, she knew.

“Keep away from the fire!” Dat was shouting at someone. She was certain he hadn’t seen her run out here, though.

In a flash, Ellie decided where to head next, where she could do the most good. As she sprinted toward the farthest edge of the orchard, she imagined that, behind her, well water was flowing from the hose as Dat made his attempt to create a wet barrier against the fire.

Ellie’s arms ached as she redoubled her efforts, determined to beat out the fierce blaze. Gasping in the dense smoke, she coughed so hard her lungs ached.

She could hear the sound of the siren coming closer, surely coming from the Hand-in-Hand Fire Company several miles away, but she kept up her pace.