The Carnival Lights

The last supper plates disappeared through the wash window behind Rebecca's kitchen.

One by one, every man, woman, and child carried their own dishes to the opening before stepping aside for the next person. Inside, the kitchen crew laughed together as warm water splashed into wooden tubs and clean plates found their places on neatly built shelves.

Nothing was thrown away.

Nothing was wasted.

That was simply the way things were done.

Outside, lanterns were beginning to glow across the valley.

The day's work was over.

Tomorrow would bring another day, another list of jobs, another chance to build a better world.

Tonight belonged to everyone.

Far beyond the last worker cabins, a different kind of light began to stir.

Mike walked alone down the midway.

He ran his hand along the weathered railing of the Ferris Wheel.

Here and there he stopped to tighten a bolt, brush away a little dust, or straighten a painted sign.

Not because the rides needed it.

Because old friends deserve a handshake.

He smiled as he listened.

The carnival was waking up.

The carousel organ played its first cheerful notes.

A string of colored bulbs flickered to life.

The Ferris Wheel began its slow, steady turn.

Somewhere nearby popcorn started popping.

From their shaded enclosure came the gentle rumble of elephants greeting the evening.

Mike tipped his hat.

"Welcome back, old girl," he whispered to the Ferris Wheel.

Children noticed first.

"Look!"

A little boy pointed beyond the barns.

Above the trees the great wheel turned against the soft light of the Glove, its lights tracing a perfect circle in the evening sky.

Families began drifting toward it.

Nobody hurried.

The carnival wasn't going anywhere.

Jacob Yoder stood beside the loading platform wearing his straw hat and quietly smoking his corncob pipe.

He checked every latch.

Every seat.

Every safety bar.

He treated every rider as though they were members of his own family.

A little girl stopped beside him.

"Mister Jacob..."

"Yes?"

"Does it go very high?"

Jacob looked toward the top of the wheel.

"It goes exactly high enough for you to see how beautiful home has become."

Her father smiled.

"I think we can manage that."

Jacob helped them aboard.

"All aboard."

The great wheel turned another notch before slowly lifting its passengers into the evening.

As the cars climbed higher, the valley opened beneath them.

Rebecca's kitchen glowed with warm lantern light.

The bakery still carried the smell of fresh bread.

Beyond stood the creamery, dairy barn, flour mill, brickworks, sawmill, glassworks, pantry, and rows upon rows of tidy worker cabins.

Fields stretched outward in every direction.

Everything they saw had been built by willing hands.

Everything had been gathered from what the old world had left behind.

Samuel stood beside a group of visitors who admired the view.

One of the younger visitors asked quietly,

"You have built so much in so little time. How?"

Samuel bent down and picked up a tomato that had rolled beneath a nearby bench.

"Do you know the story of Ruth?"

Several nodded.

Some had never heard it.

"In Israel, after harvest, farmers intentionally left behind what they missed so widows, strangers, and the poor could gather it. The Bible calls it gleaning."

He turned the tomato gently in his hand.

"That is how we built this community."

The visitors listened.

"We didn't conquer anyone."

"We didn't steal from anyone."

"We simply gathered what the old world had left behind."

He pointed across the valley.

"The sawmill."

"The brick factory."

"The glassworks."

"The cannery."

"The tools."

"The carnival."

"They were all standing in the fields waiting for someone willing to bend over and pick them up."

Rebecca joined him with a smile.

"We didn't inherit wealth."

"We inherited opportunity."

Samuel nodded.

"Like Ruth..."

"...we became gleaners."

For a long moment no one spoke.

Finally one of the Nordic visitors broke the silence.

"On my world," he said thoughtfully, "we solved hunger centuries ago."

Samuel smiled.

"I'm glad."

The visitor watched families laughing aboard the Ferris Wheel.

"But somewhere along the way..."

"...we forgot how to celebrate."

Samuel looked across the midway where children chased one another beneath strings of colored lights.

"Then perhaps," he answered softly, "you've come to the right place."

Nearby the carousel was filled with painted horses rising and falling to cheerful music.

Grandparents rode beside grandchildren.

A shy Amish boy finally accepted his cousin's challenge and climbed aboard.

"I think this horse is the fastest."

His grandfather laughed.

"Every horse on this carousel believes that."

Across the midway Galileo Maestro stood beside the Tilt-A-Whirl.

He carefully balanced each car before giving the signal to begin.

Someone asked,

"How does an inventor know so much about carnival rides?"

Galileo chuckled.

"Anything that spins teaches physics."

Seconds later the ride erupted with delighted laughter.

Several riders stepped off trying very hard to walk straight.

Galileo grinned.

"The laws of motion are still undefeated."

Near the elephant enclosure Mike introduced his oldest friends.

"This is Jumbo."

Jumbo lifted his trunk politely.

"And this is Daisy."

Daisy accepted a cabbage leaf with surprising gentleness.

"And this little lady..."

Rosie reached toward a little girl holding out an apple.

"...is Rosie."

Tiny fingers at the end of Rosie's trunk curled carefully around the fruit.

The little girl giggled.

"I've never touched an elephant before."

Mike smiled.

"Neither had I... once."

Two beagles wandered happily through the crowd collecting ear scratches from anyone willing to offer one before trotting off to inspect another part of the midway.

The smell of fresh popcorn drifted through the evening.

Someone had coaxed the old machine back to life.

Nearby another volunteer spun fluffy clouds of pink cotton candy.

Several Nordic visitors accepted the strange confection with cautious curiosity.

One took a bite.

His eyebrows climbed.

"It disappeared."

Rebecca laughed.

"No."

"It simply became part of your smile."

As darkness settled, a familiar engine came to life.

Buck Rogers and Nord rolled the restored Fokker triplane onto the grass runway.

Every conversation paused.

The engine gathered its rhythm.

The little triplane lifted gracefully into the evening sky.

It circled once above the valley.

From the air the carnival lights blended with the lanterns of the settlement until the whole community seemed to glow like a single welcoming beacon.

Nord waved from the cockpit.

Children below waved back with both hands.

Buck made one slow pass over the Ferris Wheel before bringing the little airplane gently home.

Applause greeted the landing.

Mike walked over smiling.

"Still flies like she remembers."

Buck patted the side of the airplane.

"So do we."

As the evening settled into night, someone began playing a fiddle.

Another found a guitar.

Without announcement, couples began dancing.

Children skipped between them.

Visitors laughed beside Amish families.

Nobody organized it.

Nobody planned it.

It simply happened.

Samuel and Rebecca stood quietly together near the edge of the midway.

The Ferris Wheel turned slowly beneath Saturn's distant rings.

For several minutes they simply watched.

Finally Samuel spoke.

"Funny thing about a carnival."

Rebecca looked toward him.

"What's that?"

"It doesn't really manufacture rides."

She smiled.

"What does it manufacture?"

Samuel watched another car reach the very top of the wheel.

"Happy memories."

Rebecca slipped her hand into his.

"Those," she said softly, "last longer than steel."

The Ferris Wheel made another slow revolution.

Above it, Saturn shone beyond the sheltering Glove.

Below it, laughter drifted gently across the valley.

Somewhere in the darkness, a whip-poor-will called.

Home had found its evening song.