Wild Horses (19 page)

Even her thought patterns had changed. She became obsessed with one subject at a time. The amount of money they owed the hospital weighed heavily on her, as did the cost of feeding Nevaeh. She seemed to resent the black and white horse, of this Sadie was quite certain.

She sighed and looked out across the snowy landscape as the other girls came rushing down the stairs.

Clattering! Sadie thought. What a bunch of noisemakers!

“Driver’s here! He’s coming up the lane!” Anna yelled.

“Where’s my coat?”

“Did someone see my big leather purse with the two handles?”

“I can hardly keep track of my own purse in this house, let alone yours,” Sadie said laughing.

“’Bye, Mam!”

“’Bye!”

And they were out the door, Sadie hobbling along on her crutches, the girls helping her into the 15-passenger van.

Most people who drove the Amish owned a large van so a group of them could travel together. They divided the cost among themselves, which made for cheaper fare, even if they needed to exercise patience while making stops for the other passengers. The cost of traveling was roughly a dollar per mile, so they usually planned to go to town together.

Today, however, was Christmas shopping, a special treat that required no other passengers. They knew the driver, John Arnold, a retired farmer, well and were at ease in his presence.

“Good morning, my ladies!” he boomed. “How’s Sadie coming along?”

“I’m doing much better, thank you!” Sadie answered, although she already felt a bit lightheaded after swinging between the crutches.

“So where we going?”

“To the mall in Critchfield!” they echoed as one.

John Arnold grinned, put the van in gear, and said, “Waiting time is $20 an hour!”

And they were off, down the winding drive and along country roads until they came to the state road leading to the populated town of Critchfield. Traffic was heavy this close to the holidays. The occupants of cars looked a bit harassed as they waited at red lights, made U-turns, and tried passing just to arrive a minute before anyone else on the road.

At the mall, a huge low-lying structure made of steel and bricks, the vast parking lot was filled with vehicles of every shape and size imaginable. Christmas music already filled their ears as the girls hopped out of the van.

“How long?” John Arnold asked. “All day till ten tonight?”

“No-o!” the girls chorused.

“’Til four or five?” Rebekah asked.

“Sounds good. I’ll be back around four.”

“Thank you!”

“Take care of your cripple here,” he called.

The girls waved, the van moved slowly out of the parking lot, and they were on their own. What a wonderful feeling to be free and able to browse the stores completely at ease, spending all these hours Christmas shopping!

“Listen to that song!”

“Oh, it’s so beautiful it gives me goose bumps!”

“I love, love, love to go Christmas shopping!”

“One love would have been enough! We get the point!”

Laughing, they entered the huge glass doors of the mall. Immediately, they were surrounded by sights and sounds that took their breaths away—bright electric lights, Christmas decorations, beautiful music wafting in the air, real Christmas trees lit with brilliant, multi-colored lights. The wonder of the season, coupled with the achingly beautiful music in the air, brought unexpected tears to Sadie’s eyes.

Christmas music did that to you, especially the instrumental music the Amish were not accustomed to. It elicited emotions of pure joy, lifted your spirits, and elevated you in almost every way. It was enough to bring forth thanks, a gratitude as beautiful as new-fallen snow, for the wondrous gift of the baby Jesus. He was born so humble and poor, wrapped only in swaddling cloths, which Mam told them was a type of long diaper that served as clothing as well.

God was, indeed, very good.

Ezra’s death was still painful, but it was accepted now, unquestioningly, in the way of the Amish. There was a reason for his death, and they bowed to God’s will. So be it. Heartaches were borne stoically without complaint, as was the heartache of Mam’s illness.

Dear, dear Mam, Sadie thought. Her heart filled with love as she listened to the swelling strains of the Christmas songs.

I wish you could be here with us and have your poor, battered spirits revived again.

With Reuben in mind, they entered a sports store and had too much fun dashing here to this gigantic display of skateboards, then there to the tower of footballs, then back again to the baseball section. Their red and green dresses swirled, faces flushed, voices chattered—brilliant birds with white coverings.

They chose an expensive football for Reuben. They discussed at length the merits of a skateboard, but decided against it, opting for a new set of ping-pong paddles to go with the football. Reuben had acquired a mean serve, Anna informed them, shaking her head with wisdom beyond her years.

Next stop was JC Penney where the girls oohed and aahed, fussing in Pennsylvania Dutch—the Ohio version, where they rolled their “r’s” into a soft “burr.” Giggling, they loaded up with a new sheet set in beautiful blue for Mam and good, heavy Egyptian cotton towels for their bathroom in blue and navy. They were sure this would please their mother.

They found a package of good, warm socks for Dat and two soft chamois shirts, one in dark brown and another one in forest green.

“Who’s going to volunteer?” Rebekah asked slyly.

“Volunteer for what?”

“You know, remove these pockets.”

Sadie groaned from her perch on the rented wheelchair.

“Probably me, since I sit here all the time.”

“Why don’t Amish men wear pockets on their shirts?” Anna asked.

“Dunno!”

“Some people just sew them shut.”

“Not at Dat’s age. The older men should be an example to the younger ones, so we need to take off these flaps over the pockets for sure.”

“‘We?’ You mean, me!” Sadie said.

“Why do we have an
Ordnung
?” Rebekah asked. “The English people dress any way they want, and we have to sit with a razor blade and remove a stupid old pocket from a perfectly nice shirt.”

“Rebekah! That is so disrespectful,” Leah scolded, crossing off Dat’s name on their list.

“The
Ordnung
is like anyone else’s rules. The world has rules, too, and police officers enforce them. Our rules are according to Biblical principles—about dressing modestly and being old-fashioned in thoughts and attitudes. I would never want to be anywhere else but right here in the Amish church in Montana. I love our way of life,” Sadie said.

“I know. I was just having a fleeting ‘rebel moment,’” Rebekah said.

“We all have them, especially at a mall,” Leah assured her, draping an arm across Rebekah’s shoulders.

“Wonder what we’d look like in jeans and t-shirts, our hair done, makeup, the whole works!” Anna piped up.

“No!” Leah gasped.

“Want to?” Rebekah asked, laughing.

They all laughed together, knowing it was not a priority. It was a subject to wonder about but certainly not one that brought any amount of genuine longing. It was simply not their way.

They paid for their purchases and, with shopping bags in hand, began the long walk through the rest of the mall.

Sadie announced that she needed to go to the ladies’ room, assuring everyone she would be fine on her own and that she’d find them later. Leah voiced her concern, but Sadie told her no, she was perfectly capable, and besides, she wanted to buy a few things for them, too.

As she wheeled herself down the wide center of the mall, her heart beat rapidly, and she slowed down.

What a weakling, she thought. I am just not worth two cents since this accident. I suppose it will take many more days of being patient, but it drives me crazy.

On the way back from the restroom, Sadie spied an Orange Julius booth. The frothy orange drink would definitely give her a shot of much needed energy. Besides, it was a drink she loved, having sampled it only a few times before.

She wheeled over, then hoisted herself up to order her drink, carefully settling her weight on one foot. When she had her drink, she turned to sit down again, but her wheelchair was gone!

Her eyes grew large with anxiety. She gripped her drink, then turned carefully, hopping on one foot, wincing as pain shot through her calf.

Where was her wheelchair? Who would take it? Maybe her sisters had found her and grabbed it to tease her.

Looking around, she saw a young boy pushing it around and around a display of calendars in the middle of the hall.

Where in the world is his mother? He could use a few lessons in proper behavior.

Perhaps if she yelled. But no, that would cause too much attention.

People streamed past her, no one really noticing her dilemma. They were all too intent on their own destination. An elderly lady, bent at the waist, smiled sweetly but went on her slow way. She thought of asking the server at the Orange Julius booth to dial the mall office when she heard someone say, “In trouble again?”

Irritated, she looked up and into the deep, brown eyes of Mark Peight.

He was watching her, eyes shining, causing her immediate discomfort.

She shook her head.

“No.”

He pointed his chin toward her foot.

“No?”

“Well, I … was in a rented wheelchair. This kid took off with it!”

“No crutches?”

She shook her head, and as she did so, the floor tilted at a crazy angle, and she gasped, reaching out with one hand toward Mark—toward anything or anyone to hold on to.

Instantly, he grabbed her arm.

“Are you…?”

She shook her head, swaying. Instantly, his strong arm moved around her waist, supporting her.

“Can you lean on me enough to walk?”

She shook her head and whispered, “I … have to hop.”

Mark looked around, then down at Sadie’s face turning ghastly pale. The drink slowly turned in her hand.

“Give me the drink.”

She shook her head again, and the mall swam in all sorts of crazy directions. She heard the orange drink slam against the tile and Mark say, “Hang on!” in his deep voice. With his other arm on the back of her knees, he lifted her, swung her helplessly up, up, against the rough, woolen fabric of his coat.

She wanted to say, “Put me down,” but if she said anything, she’d be sick. She could not protest. She could not even speak. Great waves of nausea terrified her. She could certainly not be sick.

She heard his breathing. She heard him say, “She’ll be okay.”

People must be watching. Oh my! What would Mam say?

Then she was deposited gently on a wooden bench, his arm supporting her. She smelled Christmas smells—pine and some sort of spice that actually helped keep her awake.

“Are you all right, Sadie?” he asked.

She wanted to nod, but the nausea still threatened to make her lose her breakfast. She lay her head against his shoulder and could feel the perspiration pop out on her face as she struggled to overcome the embarrassing weakness.

A clean white handkerchief appeared, and Mark began gently wiping above her eyes and around her face with his large, brown hand.

“There. Feel any better?” he asked.

“I think so,” she whispered.

A crowd had gathered, so she kept her head lowered. She heard Mark assuring them that she would be okay, saying emphatically that if someone spied a kid with a wheelchair, they’d appreciate having it back.

Tears formed in Sadie’s eyes. Another sign of this all-consuming weakness, she thought, irritated at feeling humiliated.

She sat up, swayed a bit, then steadied herself as Mark’s arm dropped away.

“Thank you,” she said quietly and looked up at him.

She was unprepared for the look of tenderness in those deep brown eyes, or the length of time he kept looking at her.

“Sadie, believe me, it was my pleasure. I would gladly rescue you from awkward situations every day of my life.”

“You shouldn’t talk like that, seeing … that … I mean, Amish girls don’t go out with English boys. You shouldn’t come to our singings, either. It’s going to cause a fuss,” she finished breathlessly.

She was deeply embarrassed when he threw back his head and laughed, a sound of genuine happiness.

“I’m not English.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I am?”

She sat back, grabbing the arm of the wooden bench to steady herself.

“Your … your hair is cut English. You wear English clothes.”

They stopped and turned as a harried, very overweight man appeared with Sadie’s wheelchair. The small boy was in tow, his hair sticking up in many directions, a grin as wide as his face making him appear far friendlier than his father.

“I apologize,” the man said breathlessly, his chins wobbling, making him appear a bit vulnerable. Sadie felt only sympathy for the overwhelmed parent and his energetic offspring and assured him it was quite all right. His relief at being forgiven was so endearing—the way he thanked her politely, but profusely.

“Eric is six years old and a bit of an adventuresome kid. I lost him at the food court!”

“I have a little brother at home,” Sadie said, “and I know the stunts little boys can pull off at the drop of a hat.”

They smiled, exchanged “Merry Christmas,” and the overweight man shuffled back to the food court, his son firmly in hand.

“Would you like to get something to eat?” Mark asked.

Oh, my!

She wanted to go with this man. In fact, she wanted to stay with him always. That truth slammed into her with the force of a tidal wave. She knew her sisters would look for her, might worry about her, but oh! She wanted to go with Mark.

“Yes. I would,” she announced firmly.

Mark pushed the wheelchair up to her, then extended his hand to help her sit in it. She placed her small hand into his firm, brown one and felt a touch of wonder, of complete and honest truth, of homecoming. How could a touch convey this message?

Mark pushed the wheelchair, and Sadie sat back, her eyes shining, her strength returning.

At the food court, they were fortunate to find a table. Mark pushed the wheelchair against it hurriedly, before some frantic, last-minute shopper grabbed it away from them.