Wild Horses (25 page)

T
HE MEN MADE THEIR
plans and rode out, but they did not find a single horse. It was as if the horses were phantoms, dark winds, specters in the night. Maybe they were contrived only by people’s imaginations.

“A
schpence
,” Dat said.

“What’s a
schpence
?” Reuben asked, looking up at his father as he lay on the rug in front of the wood stove. He was on his back, one leg propped on an upended knee, balancing a book precariously on top.

“A ghost,” Dat replied.

Reuben grunted and returned to his book.

Sadie was curled up on the recliner, a warm throw over her shoulders. She still tired easily, and home was a welcome haven when she returned from the ranch.

Always the dutiful one, Rebekah was finishing the supper dishes. Leah was in the phone shanty, and Anna was doing the crossword puzzle in the
Daily Times
.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly, the pendulum swinging back and forth. A log fell in the wood stove, the propane gas lamp hissed comfortably, and Sadie’s eyelids dropped as she felt herself falling into that state of bliss just before sleep overtook her.

She was rudely awakened by a clattering sound. The front door banged open, and she heard a resounding, “Sadie!”

Sadie tossed the cotton throw, sat up, and tried to remember where she was.

“There’s a sledding party at Dan Detweilers! Want to go?”

Sadie groaned inwardly.

Hard as it was to admit to herself, she was no longer 16, and Sadie knew it was true, especially in moments like these. She no longer got excited by the same things as she did at 16—that time in your life when sledding parties, suppers, singings, and every event where a group of the youth had gathered, was a great deal.

Now at 20, she seriously had to weigh her options—the warm, cozy living room with the crackling fire versus the cold, snowy hillside where the wind penetrated your back no matter how many coats and sweaters you wore. There was always a bonfire, but that thoroughly roasted your face and your back was still cold.

Her hesitation brought a snort from Leah.

“What a spinster! You act like you’re not even thrilled to hear about it!”

“I’m tired, Leah.”

“Come on. This will likely be the last one of the season.”

“How are you going?”

Leah glanced at Dat.

“Our horse and buggy?”

Dat frowned, then shook his head.

“Battery’s dead.”

“Our buggy battery is always dead. You never put it on the charger.”

“I don’t like you girls out on the dark roads with the horses. It’s not safe.”

Leah sputtered, and Sadie knew she was holding back a quick retort. She managed to ask Dat quite civilly if he had money for a driver since they weren’t allowed to have the team.

Dat shifted his weight, searched his pockets for his wallet, and mumbled something about money melting away with a houseful of teenage daughters.

Leah took the money he handed over, thanked him, and said sweetly, “You know you could keep this if you let us have Charlie and the buggy.”

“It might cost me a whole lot more than that if you had an accident.”

It was Dat’s favorite comeback, and Sadie giggled as Leah dashed upstairs, taking the steps two at a time.

Should she go? The only reason she would was for Leah’s and Rebekah’s sakes. It would be entirely different if she had any hope that Mark Peight would be there, but she had not seen or heard anything from him since that Christmas night. She had thoroughly messed up whatever friendship they might have had at one time. But what had she done? She didn’t know. She guessed Mark was like that. He was like that band of wild horses—you could never quite figure him out.

Slowly, Sadie rose. She looked around and asked where Mam was. Dat looked up with pain, shame, indignation. What was it? It flickered in his eyes before he told Sadie Mam had gone to bed. She wasn’t feeling well.

Mam had taken to her bed quite frequently of late, but it seemed as if she could do nothing else but sit on the recliner or lie on the sofa if she was awake. Her condition was deteriorating before their eyes, little by little. The girls were learning to live with it as best they could. Mam kept up the appearance of normalcy—going to church every two weeks and doing whatever duty was asked of her, but the girls knew Mam was suffering.

Sadie pushed thoughts of Mam from her mind. Maybe she should go sledding and clear her mind.

That Leah. Dashing up the stairs with the money clutched in her hand, she hadn’t even bothered calling a driver.

When the driver finally pulled up to the door, the girls were eagerly waiting—except for Sadie, who was stifling huge yawns, trying to stay awake for the evening.

Dan Detweiler’s homestead was filled with buggies in the driveway and around the outbuildings. Boys milled about, putting their steaming horses in the barn.

The air was crisp and cold, but heavy. Every noise seemed magnified by the atmosphere which always seemed to amplify sound just before snow or rain. The stars hung low, twinkling as sharp and bright as ever, but Sadie figured storm clouds would likely cover them by morning.

The girls’ breaths came in quick gasps as they climbed to the top of the long, sloping hill on the ridge in back of Dan’s barn. There was nowhere else in the Amish settlement more suited for sledding.

You can’t really call this a pasture, Sadie thought. It’s too big. This whole place is more like Richard Caldwell’s ranch than our home.

Aidan and Johnny were riding horses below them, pulling a tractor inner tube on a long rope attached to the saddle horn. The only bad thing about a ride in the tube was the snow kicked into your face by the flying hooves of the horse. You had to keep your head lowered or your eyes, nose, and mouth were soon packed with snow.

In spite of herself, Sadie grew more and more excited. She had had some thrilling rides on an inner tube in the snow before, so perhaps if the boys asked the girls, she would try it again.

Leah and Rebekah were already filling a toboggan with shrieking girls. A huge bonfire roaring at the bottom of the slope clearly showed the girls which way to steer the giant sled.

Of course they’d steer close enough to the boys to have their yells of alarm noticed, Sadie thought wryly.

Then she felt very old and very wise and suddenly wished she wasn’t there. Her feet were already tingling with the cold, she was sleepy, the wind was definitely picking up, and she knew if she wanted to stay warm, she’d either have to start sledding or go sit by the fire. Neither option sounded overly appealing.

Her best friend, Lydiann, was already flying down the hill, shrieking in a high-pitched tone, which irritated Sadie.

Johnny will see you without that war whoop, she thought, then felt bad. Maybe she actually was turning into a “sour old singleton,” as Rebekah put it.

Well, she had reason to be sour. Her leg ached as it did most every day and especially before a storm. She did her best to hide the discomfort from everyone in her family. She had to work. They needed the money to help with living expenses and to make payments on the large hospital bill.

Sadie shrugged, looked around her, and started downhill, dragging her feet to keep from sliding uncontrollably.

The group of girls on the toboggan was starting back up the hill, their noise punctuated by laughter and frequent looks in the direction of the boys who were by the bonfire. They were changing riders of the horses, both with inner tubes attached.

Another horse and rider came from the opposite direction. The horse was large, as was the rider, but Sadie could not distinguish the color of the horse or recognize the rider.

Cautiously, Sadie made her way down the slick slope. She heard someone call her name and turned to find Lydiann slipping haphazardly toward her.

“You need me to help you get down, Sadie?” she yelled panting.

Her hair was a mess, her scarf hanging completely off her head in a snowy loop about her neck. Sadie shivered as she thought of the trapped snow melting down Lydiann’s back.

Sadie waved her hand in dismissal and said, “I’m all right.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

Without further ado, Lydiann charged back up the hill, her arms waving as she struggled to keep her balance.

How old is she? Three? Sadie muttered to herself.

Wasn’t that just how life was? If you were tired and grouchy, people that were overly enthused and much too happy about everything only made you grouchier. Especially Lydiann. If she wasn’t so excited about the prospect of Johnny Schlabach talking to her, maybe she could calm down and act normal.

When she reached the bonfire, Sadie plopped down on a bale of straw and held her hands out toward its warmth. She felt someone standing close by, and she turned to find tall, quiet Mark Peight beside her.

She blinked, then bent her head. A spray of sparks erupted from the largest log falling inward, fanning the flames higher.

“Hello, Sadie.”

Oh, his voice! The way he said her name with the drawn out “e.” Her knees felt weak, but she managed a polite, soft-spoken, “Hello, Mark.”

She still didn’t look at him. He asked if there was room on the bale of straw and she said there was. The whole bale filled with him when he sat down. Her heart hammered against the many layers of clothes she wore. He turned his head.

“How are you?”

She gazed steadily into the fire, then nodded her head. He said nothing.

Then, “So, does that up and down movement mean, yes or you’re okay or what?”

Sadie smiled.

“It means I’m okay.”

“Back to work?”

She nodded again.

“Can I… May I talk to you?”

Sadie shifted away from him.

“You are talking to me, so why would you ask?”

“Can I talk to you alone, I mean? Away from all of this?”

“What for?”

“Just … ask you some questions.”

“Everybody will see us walk away. Then they’ll talk.”

“Do you care?”

“Not really.”

He stood up, waiting.

She didn’t want to go with him. There would only be more disappointment. He would just tell her he was going back east or wherever it was he came from. She had no reason to hope he wanted anything more than to explain his sudden departure and tell her good-bye.

“You need help?”

“Let’s go back to the farm. We can talk on the way, and then you can leave me at the house. I’ll wait there until the girls are ready to leave. My leg is bothering me this evening,” she said curtly.

“All right. Do you want up on Chester since your leg is hurting?” he asked politely.

“Chester?”

“My horse.”

It would be nice, she considered. She was wearing fleece-lined pants beneath her skirt so modesty would not be a problem. Yes, she would ride. It had been so long since she had been up on Nevaeh.

“Okay.”

He walked off, said a few words to some of the boys who were taking turns riding and flying along on the inner tube, then grabbed Chester’s reins and brought him back to Sadie.

Chester was a huge boy—built solidly and in top shape. His mane and tail glistened in the light of the fire, and his ears pricked forward intelligently as he approached her. Sadie watched his soft, brown eyes and the way he lowered his head. She forgot Mark, the youth’s calls, the bonfire—everything—as her hands went out to cradle the soft, velvety nose.

“Hi there, big boy,” she whispered.

Chester nuzzled his mouth into her mittened hands, and she stroked the side of his head over and over, murmuring softly as she did so. She told him how big and beautiful he was in a horse language all her own. The lengthy absence of Nevaeh brought a lump to her throat, and she lowered her head so Mark would not see the emotion she was feeling.

Mark stood aside, watching Sadie. He knew she missed her horse, so he stood quietly, letting her have a few moments with Chester. He listened to every whisper, marveling at her way with a horse. It was uncanny, this sincere rapport she had with these huge creatures. There was no fear, no hesitation, just this loving trust, this connection she had so naturally with each and every horse.

Finally, Mark said, “He likes you.”

“He does!”

Sadie looked up at him, completely transformed. She was laughing happily, her somber mood dispelled.

“You ready to get in the saddle?”

“I can get up by myself.”

“I know.”

He stood back, watching as Sadie gathered up the reins and slid her gloved hand along Chester’s neck beneath the mane, talking as she did so. Chester acted as meek as a lamb, which was not his usual way. He was always sidestepping and prancing and doing everything to make Mark’s leap into the saddle challenging.

Sadie stopped.

“Oh,” she said in a small voice.

Mark stepped forward, listening.

“I forgot. My foot probably won’t hold me. It’s the one I would put in the stirrup.”

“Well…” Mark began.

“I’ll walk him,” she said quickly, gathering the reins and starting off at a brisk pace.

There was nothing for Mark to do but follow.

They walked through the snow in silence except for the soft, swishing sound of snow crunching beneath their feet. The snow was silver in the starlight, though the stars were slowly being blotted out, as if an eraser was sweeping across the night sky. The air was still heavy with the approaching storm so every night sound was clear. The tree line along the ridge was almost black, the tops of the trees swaying softly as if they sighed at night when the world rested. The young people’s noise slowly faded as they walked, the light of the fire gone.

“Sadie,” Mark said, then reached for her arm to stop her.

She stopped, and Chester came to a halt behind her, his ears pricked forward.

“I said I wanted to talk to you,” he began in his low vice, the sound she loved.

“I want to apologize about Christmas evening. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Sadie began, but he lifted a hand.

“No, it’s not okay. I need to be a man and tell you about my life. I would like to come see you next Saturday evening, if I may. We’ll not plan anything. I just need to have a quiet place to tell you things about me, and then you can decide whether it’s worth it for you to try … well, to get to know me better. After you hear the truth, you may not want to. Then I’ll go back to Pennsylvania.”