Wild Horses (10 page)

D
AT WAS IN A
jovial, if not downright silly, mood. He was singing snatches of “Old Dan Sevarr” when he washed his hands at the small sink in the laundry room, which made Sadie wince. Why did that make her cringe, she wondered? Maybe because she was still smarting from his rough words the evening before. Now she wished he’d just stop that silly tune.

The Miller family sat together for the evening meal as usual. The ordinary, everyday, white Correlle plates with the mismatched silverware and clear plastic tumblers sat a bit haphazardly on the old, serviceable knit tablecloth. The tan and beige-colored Melmac serving dishes holding the steaming food were homey and comforting, bolstering Sadie’s courage.

Dat reached for the bowl of mashed potatoes, piled high with the usual little stream of browned butter coming from the small well on top. As a child, Sadie loved the taste of the dark browned butter, but now she knew that if she wanted to stay thin, she needed to work the serving spoon around it.

The chunks of seared beef, which had simmered in rich gravy as the potatoes cooked, were passed around the table followed by green beans liberally dotted with little bits of bacon and onion cooked just long enough to soften them.

“I was going to toss a salad,” Mam said, “but the price of tomatoes was just too high at the IGA in town.”

She looked apologetically in Dat’s direction, but Dat never looked at Mam or gave any indication that he heard. He just bent his head over his plate and ate fast and methodically. He was no longer being silly.

“It’s okay Mam. We don’t always need a salad,” said Sadie hurriedly to ease the uncomfortable moment.

“I hate salads,” Reuben said loudly, with no pretense. “They’re not good.”

“Tomatoes aren’t,” Anna agreed, always a staunch supporter of Reuben and his views.

“I love tomatoes,” Rebekah said smiling.

“Mmm. So do I,” agreed Leah.

“Not when they’re $4.99 a pound,” Mam said shaking her head. “I never heard of prices like that ’til we moved here.”

Dat looked up and sighed.

“Pass the potatoes,” he said brusquely.

Plates were scraped, dishes passed, forks lifted to mouths, everyone chewing and swallowing silently. Mam got up to refill water glasses, and a soft fog descended over the supper table, a fog that you didn’t see unless you knew Mam and noticed the change in her. The change was subtle, but it was there, just like fog that swirled and hovered.

Sadie pushed back her plate and said too quickly and loudly, “I’m full.”

“Don’t you want dessert?” Mam asked, her eyes blinking rapidly.

“What do we have?”

“Well, I guess just canned peaches from the IGA. I was going to bake a chocolate cake but sort of…got sidetracked. I…couldn’t find the recipe.”

Sadie looked at Mam, her mouth hanging open, stupidly.

“But, Mam…,” she began.

Mam’s eyes stopped Sadie. They were brimming with terror. Mam was afraid—frightened of her own inability to bake a chocolate cake without a recipe. Mam never used a recipe. Never. Not for chocolate cakes or chocolate chip cookies or even for pie crusts. It was all written in her mind, emerging the minute the big Tupperware bowl of flour hit the countertop.

“It’s all right, Mam.”

“I want ice cream!”

“We don’t have any.”

“We do. I saw it in the freezer.”

Reuben got up, walked to the freezer, and yanked the door open dramatically.

“See? There it is!”

Anna swung her legs across the top of the bench in one little-girl movement and dashed over to peer around the freezer door.

“You’re right, Reuben.”

Reuben bounced back to the table, the ice cream clutched firmly in his hands.

“Chocolate marshmallow!”

Dat leaned back in his chair, grinned at Reuben, and said, “Guess who bought it?”

“You did!”

“I did. That’s my favorite and Mam forgets to buy it.”

Sadie winced. Come on, Dat. Did you have to say that?

As Dat helped himself to a large portion of chocolate marshmallow ice cream, Sadie’s mind drifted to something more pleasant. Her horse. She knew she had to ask Dat, and now was a good a time as ever. She had to do it. Dat was kind and good to them all. He was. Surely he would allow it this time. He had said no to Paris and then relented later. So he wanted her to have a horse, right? Surely.

She cleared her throat.

“Dat?”

He lifted his head, swallowed, and acknowledged her question.

“You know the horse? The one … that one I told you about? The one that was dying?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Firmly pleating the knit tablecloth beneath the table, she plunged in.

“I … he’s down at Richard Caldwell’s stable. He’s alive. Breathing on his own. He’s standing up. Can you imagine? He’s barely able to, but he’s standing. He’s so skinny. His neck is pitiful. Richard Caldwell doesn’t want him, and he said I can … can have him. Keep him.”

Reuben stopped eating ice cream, watching Sadie with calculating eyes.

“Whose horse is he?” asked Dat.

Sadie relaxed, then launched into recounting the whole story to the family.

“Wow!” Anna said slowly, her mouth forming a perfect “O” around the word.

“It has to be someone’s horse. What if you keep him and the owner shows up? It happens all the time. People rescue dogs, fall in love with them, name them, and one day the owner appears at their door.”

“Yeah. What are you gonna do then?” Reuben asked, returning to his pile of ice cream, which was entirely too much for one 10-year-old to consume by himself.

Anna looked at him, her eyes narrowing before helping herself to a large spoonful from his bowl.

“Hey!”

“You don’t need all that ice cream. It’s already melting.”

“Children!” Dat’s voice was firm, his frown a significant indicator of their less-than-perfect behavior.

They both bent to their own bowls, but Reuben’s elbow found Anna’s side, fast and smooth, bringing smiles to both of their faces beneath their demure, downcast eyes.

“So?” Sadie began.

“What? You’re telling me you want this stray horse kept in our barn?”

“Well…” Sadie lifted her hands and shoulders, then lowered them, along with her expectations.

“Where else would we keep him?” she asked respectfully.

Dat breathed through his nose, hard, the way he often did when he felt strongly about something. It wasn’t a snort. It was more of a whoosh of air, but it meant the same as a snort.

“For starters, I think the whole deal is odd. We don’t want a stray horse. How can we prove we didn’t steal him when the owner comes looking for him? He wouldn’t believe our story.”

“Dat! You know there are acres and acres of government land without a single soul around for miles!” Sadie burst out. “The horse could have wandered from there.”

“Why didn’t this horse seek shelter in someone’s barn? Or on someone’s ranch? Something’s fishy.”

“But, Dat, the horse is sick! He’s not just starved, he’s sick!”

“Well, then, we don’t want him for sure. Charlie will catch whatever this horse has.

“Please, Dat. Just let me have a box stall. Just one. You won’t have to do a thing with him. Not feed him, not water him. Nothing.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

Sadie’s shoulders slumped, defeat settling in. She wasn’t going to beg or whine or grovel at Dat’s feet. If he said no, then no it was. She had expected it all along, in a way, like an underlying riptide in the ocean that you suspected was there but didn’t know for sure until it carried you out to sea. And here she was being flung about, pulled steadily along.

But she had to try one more time.

“But I’ll never have another horse. Not like this one. He’s so much like Paris.”

“We don’t have room,” Dat said firmly.

Afterward, Sadie didn’t know what had possessed her to give vent to her despair. Leah told her, quite seriously, it was because she was stubborn and would never give up. That thought scared her.

She had leapt up, talked loudly and forcefully, and told her father he was being selfish. Why couldn’t she have a horse of her own? She had given up Paris for him and now this one, too. Why? Why?

She remembered Mam’s white face, Dat’s disbelief, Leah’s shock, but she had been beyond caring. She had gripped the table’s edge until her fingers were white and told Dat exactly what she thought. Then she turned and fled to the refuge of her room.

She had tried to pray, she really had. But her prayers hit the ceiling and bounced back down, not appearing to reach heaven at all. So she lay across her bed, too angry and upset to cry. She knew she should be remorseful, at least a little bit sorry, but she wasn’t. She was glad she had told Dat all that stuff. She was.

He had no right. He had no right to keep that horse from her. There were two empty box stalls in the barn, but his excuse was always the same: If every stall was full, then where would visitors tie their horses?

How often did they have visitors? And if company did show up, they could always tie their horses in the forebay. They could even tie Charlie and put the company’s horse in the same stall. There were options

Dat was cruel. He had no sympathy for horses or anyone who loved horses. He said horses didn’t have stable manners, kicking against a good, strong wall for no reason at all, and they were always looking for a chance to run away. Well, maybe his horses did, and no small wonder. She would run away, too, if she was Dat’s horse. He didn’t like horses, just sort of put up with them, and the horses knew it. Why didn’t he just go Mennonite and get a car? Or a bike?

Angry thoughts swirled around and around inside Sadie’s head, bringing only a weariness of body and mind and no peace. She felt old and tired, her future uncertain. With no horse, what did she have to look forward to? Just work at the ranch and give Dat her paycheck, on and on and on. Go with the youth on the weekends, same old supper crowd and hymn-singings. On and on and on.

There weren’t even any interesting boys. Not one Amish guy in all of Montana caught her eye. Not one. They were all too young—not old enough to date—or too old—too set in their ways, too much like a bachelor. It was all so annoying, She bet, too, that behind Dat’s refusal was his own unspoken feelings about Sadie and his expectations of her. He thought she was being childish and that young Amish women shouldn’t ride horses anymore. Why couldn’t she grow up and get married the way other Amish girls did at her age?

Sadie guaranteed that Mam thought the same thing. She just didn’t say it quite as readily as Dat. Well, what was she supposed to do? Marry someone English? They’d have a fit about that.

There had been Ezra. They had been on a few dates—dated quite awhile, actually. But it didn’t last. Ezra was too … too … well … strict. He lived by the law—acting prideful and judgmental of others—and he expected as much from her. It was suffocating. So they broke up, much to the chagrin of Dat, Mam, and what seemed like the rest of the Amish community.

Sadie sat up, kicked off her shoes, then flung herself back on the pillows. She was hungry now, especially since her supper remained mostly uneaten, but she wasn’t about to go down there now.

“Sadie! Phone!”

The voice calling for her sounded urgent—that same rushed tone that occurred whenever someone was on the line. The telephone was out in the phone shanty by the shop, and the person who had called was fortunate if someone heard the phone and could answer its insistent ringing. Otherwise, they would need to leave a message and wait for a return call.

Sadie leapt up, stuck her feet into her shoes, and without bothering to tie them, raced down the stairs. She grabbed her coat and went out into the starry night.

“Hello?” she said, lifting the receiver.

There was no answer.

Bewildered, she repeated, “Hello?”

Silence.

Annoyed now, she fitted the receiver back on its base and pushed the door open to leave. So much for that interesting caller.

Back in the kitchen, Sadie hung up her coat, then went to the refrigerator in search of something to eat. The kitchen was dimly lit, the gas light in the living room the only source of light. Usually, after dishes, the light in the kitchen was turned off, the one in the living room was turned on, and everyone gathered there to read or write.

She found some lunch meat, which seemed less than fresh, and a pack of Swiss cheese. Montana Swiss cheese was so tasteless, not at all like the Swiss cheese in Ohio. Mam was right; this cheese tasted a lot like the packet it came in.

She yawned, then pulled out the produce drawer. There were two green peppers and a big sweet onion. Mmm. She would make a sandwich.

Finding a soft sandwich roll, she spread it liberally with home-churned butter, and then put sliced peppers and onions on top. She sprinkled it well with salt and pepper and closed the lid.

She was just about to enjoy a big bite when the kitchen door was flung open and Dat stuck his head in.

“Phone!”

“For who?”

“You.”

Grabbing her coat, the sandwich forgotten, Sadie dashed back to the phone shanty. What was going on?

Lifting the receiver, she said, “Hello?”