Beauty From Ashes (eBook)

Chapter One

Tears and Tanker Ten

Karolyn and Dale were sitting in their two-story white farmhouse on the big hill south of Welton, Iowa, late in the evening on a cool Monday in May. Karolyn was home from work as an ER nurse and had just finished tidying up the house after their kids had all gone to bed for the night. The typical midwestern farm wife, working in some capacity from dawn until dusk. She may have been petite in size and stature, but there was nothing petite about her strong desire to help people. She always served her community just as passionately as her family. And often, the lines blurred between one and the other. So went life in rural Iowa.

Tired after a long day behind the wheel of a tractor, Dale was enjoying a quiet respite in his living room, dozing in his favorite chair before the arduous trek upstairs to bed. Springtime for farmers in the Midwest always carried its own stress. They all knew they had no control over the weather; a critical part of their profession that was ultimately left to God. Although unseasonably cold, the fields were dry enough to plant a few acres. So, Dale had to get in the fields ‘when the gettin’ was good. Tomorrow would certainly be another long day for him, but he also knew things wouldn’t be any easier for Karolyn. So he summoned the energy to get up to help his wife before going to bed. Lord knows she had done the same for him during their decades-long marriage. Together, they made a mighty team both on and off the farm.

The continuous ring of the telephone broke the solitude, and because it was after 9:00 p.m. and all four of his children were safe and accounted for, it was most likely a call to help someone else. This mattered because Dale was also the chief of the Welton Volunteer Fire Department. Barely big enough to be called a town, the old joke that “if you blink, you might miss it” certainly held true for Welton. However, the rural countryside surrounding the tiny town had developed a stronger sense of community than many big cities. Countless hard-working families were always there for each other and expected nothing in return for their efforts. Serving the Welton Volunteer Fire Department was one noble way for the humble man to do his bit.

Dale’s fatigue was quickly replaced with adrenaline for duty, and his training as a fire chief kicked into gear even before he made it to the phone. Sure enough, it was the Clinton County dispatch center notifying him of an explosion and house fire at a very familiar residence—that of his cousin and longtime friend, Donnie Burzlaff.

Instantly flooded with thoughts and emotions, the husband-now-fire chief delegated Karolyn to notify the other volunteer firefighters. She quickly acted and dialed the numbers on her list. Karolyn’s voice sounded professional on the outside as she did her duty as a fire-wife. Still, inside, the worry for her longtime friends and cousins by marriage was a struggle that even a trained trauma nurse could barely handle.

As Dale drove his pickup the short mile to the little fire station, he couldn’t help but think about what Donnie meant to him. They grew up together. And always found mischief to get into. Donnie’s mom and Dale’s dad were brother and sister, so the young boys were together a lot and always stayed close. They were both the same age and born during the Great Depression. They each understood that only hard work could get you ahead and that simple things meant more than expensive frills. Dale always welcomed Donnie’s like-minded idea of a good time, from shooting at pigeons in the barn with BB guns to “raising a ruckus” together at the many family reunions. Such moments cemented the lifelong bond that eventually led to Dale and Donnie being the best men at each other’s weddings. So many scenes of their friendship kept running through his mind; he never noticed the five-mile trip to the Burzlaff farm.

What greeted him was the scene of a devastated homestead whose once pristine white siding was blackened and melting under the heat generated by the rapidly angering inferno. The windows were smashed open, the shards of glass looked like the pointed teeth of a demon, and the gaping hole in its roof made the home appear more like a gutted animal than a family home. The flames were climbing throughout the building, introducing themselves to every room and devouring any darkness in their path. Noticing the cellar door blown off its hinges and leaning awkwardly against the large LP tank, Dale had begun to realize the intensity of this explosion—and the inevitable devastation he was yet to see.

Dale’s ultimate responsibility as chief was to prepare himself and his guys to jump into action upon arrival, so he tried his best to bury his deep emotional ties to these people and get ready to work. Save what he could and extinguish the flames. As he suited up his air tank and the remainder of his protective gear, Dale prayed that Donnie, his wife Betty, and their seven kids had been able to get out of the house without injury. The dispatcher had given only sketchy news: that there had been an explosion, which had wreaked havoc on Dale’s normally calm demeanor.

Donnie was born in Clinton County and never moved farther than ten miles from his birthplace. His history in the close-knit farm community ran deep with a solid work ethic, fun memories, and incredible respect. The very thought of anyone in this particular family suffering harm to any extent caused an unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling: helplessness. And despite his quick understanding that neither Donnie, Betty, nor any of their children were anywhere in his sight, Fire Chief Dale had little choice but to put his emotions aside and prepare to do his job once again.

This scene was what’s called a “four-alarm” fire—a big deal for such a small rural community and so severe that several nearby volunteer departments were called to action: Grand Mound, Calamus, and Lost Nation. The Burzlaff farm was located in Grand Mound’s jurisdiction, so Meryl was the chief running the show, and Dale gladly set his pumper truck and the Welton crew up in the front of the house per Meryl’s request.

The other chiefs were also close to Donnie Burzlaff and his family. Each treasured his own memories with the stand-up man and carried the burden of not knowing if he or anyone else in the family was seriously injured. Meryl and Alan, the Calamus Fire Chief, were close friends with Donnie from being classmates in the ‘40s and ‘50s. Lost Nation’s fire chief, Wayne, was Donnie’s brother-in-law. All these leaders in their respective communities had something else in common besides the desire to serve as brave firemen; in this case, they had to swallow their deep feelings for the Burzlaff family and perform their duties.

Little could they have possibly imagined the depth of what they would soon realize, which forever changed not just Donnie and his family, but virtually the entire community for years to come.

Within moments, the chiefs learned that there had been a 4-H meeting going on at the time of the explosion. Two of Donnie’s sons, Jeff (fifteen years old) and Jay (seventeen years old), had somehow escaped harm, and everyone else had been transported to nearby hospitals, but the extent of their injuries was undetermined. Both boys were in shock and had trouble finding words to describe the destruction that tore through their home in an instant. Farm smarts and common sense start young when a family has to work hard together to provide for a family of nine. So, despite being emotionally devastated, the quick thinking they had learned from their parents gave them the necessary wherewithal to shut off the gas from the LP tank and quickly show the firefighters where to hook up water. They knew that speed was essential if the firefighters had any chance of saving their burning home.

Since many fire volunteers in the respective crews knew the Burzlaff family well, they were all separately praying for the injuries to be minor as they tried to focus on the tasks at hand. Jay and Jeff were helpless to do anything except continually reassure the firemen that everyone had miraculously escaped. On initial assessment, Dale seemed at least temporarily comforted by believing that even though the fire had grown to an impressive size, it was most likely not large enough to destroy the building entirely. However, he and everyone else would soon learn that this fire was a different kind of beast that had ravaged much more flesh and bone than ceilings and walls.

Karolyn arrived on the scene just as Dale’s crew was setting up their pumper truck to begin doing their part in knocking down the fire. She made all the necessary phone calls and instructed her kids to stay at their house. The veteran ER nurse had been well-trained to help in any situation, so it was not her nature to sit at home and do nothing. When she discovered that all the victims were being transported to local hospitals, Karolyn immediately headed to the Maquoketa ER, where many of the injured would be taken. She knew the staff on duty would need all the extra hands they could get. The twenty-minute drive seemed like an eternity, so she chose to pray to be completely focused while she tended to the injured. Prayer offered her solace nearly every day in the ER, but on this night, she was distracted with questions: how many were injured? And how severe were the injuries? Were Donnie, Betty, or any of the kids severely hurt? Or worse? And above all, how could something so horrible...