Wild Horses (32 page)

She froze, her breath ragged from the climb.

There! A dark shadow. Another.

“Sadie!” Reuben called.

“Shhh!” she hissed.

He sat up, blinked.

She lifted a finger to her lips and drew her eyebrows down. It was then that she saw the raw fear in Reuben’s eyes. He was afraid! Why, of course. That was why he was so reluctant to accompany her on her trips up here. Reuben had always been frightened of horses when he was small, and still was, only he tried not to let anyone know. All other Amish boys liked horses, drove them at a young age, and never showed any fear at all. But not every little boy had a father who didn’t like horses and showed no interest in them the way Dat did.

“Come, Reuben.”

Reuben came over to stand by her, and she put a protective arm around his thin shoulders. He did not pull away.

“Watch, Reuben. There at the tree line.”

The wind blew softly as the trees whispered among themselves, the way trees do when the leaves are newly formed and velvety and rustling against each other. The grasses moved like waves of the ocean, restless, always moving in one direction or another, brushed by the ceaseless wind.

Sadie and Reuben stood together, her brown skirt blowing across his blue denim trousers. He wore no hat, leaving his hair free to blow in the wind in all its dark blonde glory. His brilliantly blue eyes were wide with fear now.

Sadie stood sturdily, unafraid. She did not believe for one minute that these horses would harm them, even the big black one. Perhaps if they were sitting on horses, the black stallion would become territorial and menacing, but it was unlikely with two human beings standing together.

These horses had been trained at one time, Sadie always felt sure. Why, she didn’t know. She just sensed in her spirit that they were not totally wild and untrained. Frightened, alone, learning to fend for themselves, but not wild.

So she stood, her features relaxed.

“They won’t hurt us, Reuben. Just stay calm.”

“But … Sadie! That big black one chased Ezra’s horse.”

“Yes. But we’re not horses. He won’t hurt us. Just stay calm, Reuben.”

“I want to go back.”

“No. Just stay. Watch.”

Bending, she scooped a handful of oats and corn into the palm of her hand. Holding it out, she advanced slowly toward the tree line.

“Come, Paris. Come on. Be a real good girl. You can have these oats if you want. Come here, you big, beautiful, gorgeous horse. I’m going to name you Paris, did you know that?”

Reuben clung to her, too afraid to stay by himself, terrified to go with her.

The sun was turning the lovely day into an evening of burnished copper with streaks of gold where the rays escaped the confines of a few scudding clouds.

At first Sadie thought Paris’ face was a ray of sunlight dancing on the tree trunks. But when the horse flicked her ears, Sadie could see the perfect outline of her eyes all blended into the golden evening.

“Oh, Paris!” she whispered, completely at a loss for any other words.

“Sadie, I want to go home,” Reuben said hoarsely.

“Reuben, trust me, okay? If I thought these horses would harm us, we wouldn’t be here. They won’t hurt us. Paris is the most curious of them all. Now watch.”

She shook the oats in her hand and dribbled some of them on the ground, enticing the horse with the smell of the feed. The molasses made it sticky and gave off a pungent odor, one she never tired of smelling.

Sadie took another step, then stopped. She continued talking in soft, begging tones. She held her breath as Paris stepped out, a vision of beauty to Sadie.

“Come on, girl. Come get your feed.”

She watched in disbelief as Paris lowered her head, snuffled at the blowing grasses, then lifted her head in a graceful motion. Her mane blew as if it was part of the earth itself.

Now she looked at Sadie, really looked at her. Sadie held her gaze steadily, talking in low tones. Reuben stood beside her.

“Sadie!” he whispered, pointing.

Paris snorted, retreated a few steps.

Sadie looked and saw the brown mare stealthily moving out from the trees, followed by the black stallion.

Her heart leaped.

Still she stood steadily.

She began calling to Paris in coaxing tones. The horse’s ears flicked forward, then swiveled back. She threw her head up, only to lower it. She pawed the ground. The brown mare watched from the safety of the edge of the tree line.

Paris had burrs in her mane and forelock. Sadie’s hands ached to feel the sturdy comb raking through that wonderful, thick mane. What would be better in all the world but to stand beside this horse with a bucket of warm water, fragrant with shampoo, and wash that honey-colored coat? To feed her carrots and apples and peppermint candy? Paris always ate peppermint patties. She loved dark chocolate.

Now Sadie was close enough to see the dark veins in the whites of her eyes. She saw the little whirl of lighter hair on the upper part of her chest.

“Paris, you are going to be my horse. You just don’t know it yet. Come on, taste this. It’s really good. It’s corn and molasses. Can you smell it?”

The horse’s hunger overcame her fear then, and she took another step forward. Sadie held out her arm, steadily talking.

When the moment came, it was beyond description. How could a nose feel so much like the nose of her past? It was heavy and soft and velvety all at the same time. It was lighter than the touch of a blue jay’s feather. When Paris moved her mouth to gather up the feed, Sadie felt that funny little pressure horses make against the palm of your hand.

Sadie could not stop the tears of joy that welled up in her eyes.

She would not reach out with her other hand to stroke that wonderful mane. She just let Paris lip all the feed. Then Sadie slowly lifted her hand along the side of Paris’ mouth to see if she would allow her nose to be touched.

The black whinnied a loud nicker, a call to retrieve her. Her ears went back. Then she lifted her head and wheeled, trotting back to the security she knew.

“Good-bye, Paris,” Sadie called.

Then she turned, grabbed Reuben’s hands, and shouted to the golden evening around them, “I have a horse! I have a horse!”

Sadie hugged Reuben and went running down the slope, leaving him to get the backpack, close it, and run down after her.

When she could talk, she solemnly told Reuben that he was the best brother in the whole wide world, and she would give him 10 whole dollars for this evening.

Immediately he calculated his wealth at $20. He was sorry he thought his sister was sort of strange, because she really wasn’t. She was one of the best sisters in the world, which was allowing some, because sisters didn’t rank very high according to Reuben.

S
HE TOLD RICHARD CALDWELL
then. She told Dorothy and Jim and anyone who came into the kitchen after that. The ranch was abuzz with the news of these horses and Sadie’s ability to touch one of them.

But she still did not tell her parents and, as far as she knew, none of her sisters suspected anything unusual. They seemed to accept Sadie’s determination to strengthen the muscles in her leg by hiking and Reuben’s sudden interest in accompanying her.

Dorothy had a fit. She waved her long-handled wooden spoon. She spluttered and talked “a blue streak” in Mam’s words. She became so agitated one morning that Sadie watched her snapping little eyes and the heightened color in her cheeks with dismay.

Small, plump, and clearly disturbed, Dorothy stepped back from the stove and retied her apron. Retying her apron always meant a serious lecture, one that did not allow for any joking or smiling from Sadie.

“It’ll be the death of you, Sadie Miller, you mark my words. That big black one will attack you. You think you know something about horses, young lady, but you don’t. They’re unpredictable, same as all wild creatures.”

“But…” Sadie started. She was promptly cut off.

Closing her eyes self-righteously and lifting herself to her full height—which was still not very tall—Dorothy put both fists to her soft, round hips and snorted.

“Don’t even start, young lady. Your parents need to know about this. Yer puttin’ that little Reuben in danger as well. You simply ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

They were harsh words, coming from Dorothy.

Oh, shoot, Sadie thought.

“It ain’t right, Sadie.”

“But, Dorothy, please listen. You have no idea how much I loved my horse, Paris. We don’t have the money to buy a horse like her now. And this palomino is even prettier, or she will be. She’s so perfect, and surely if I can tame her, she’ll be mine.”

“That there thinkin’ is gonna get you in serious trouble. You don’t know whose horses they are. And if they’re wild, you got the government or the state of Montana or whatever to wrestle with. An’ you know how weird you Amish are about stuff like that. Nonresistant and all. You don’t stand a chance.”

Sadie let her shoulders slump dejectedly. Perhaps she should listen to Dorothy and at least let her parents know what she was up to.

Dorothy turned, brushing back a stray hair, and began scraping the biscuit pan. She nodded her head toward the stack of breakfast dishes.

“Best get to ’em.”

Sadie swallowed her defeat, fighting back tears. Dorothy meant what she said, and going ahead with this adventure was just being openly rebellious and not very wise at all.

Halfheartedly, Sadie began scraping the bits of food clinging to the breakfast plates. What a mess! Whoever cleared the table could have put the scraps in one bowl and stacked these plates cleanly.

Suddenly she became so angry, she turned, faced Dorothy, and said, “You could have scraped these leftovers at least.”

“Hmmm. A bit hoity-toity now, are we?”

“Yes, we are. I mean…yes, I am!”

She whirled and flounced away from the kitchen, pushing open the swinging oak doors with so much force that there was a resounding whack and an earsplitting yell that could only have come from the boss, Richard Caldwell.

Sadie was horrified to find him leaning heavily against the wall, holding his prominent nose while tears began forming in his eyes.

“Oh!” Sadie’s hand went to her mouth, her eyes wide as she realized what she had done. She had lost her temper so that she swung those doors hard enough to smack them into Richard Caldwell who was just about to walk through to the kitchen.

His nose was clearly smarting, his expression boding no good for the person who had pushed the doors open. Blinking, he extracted a blue man’s handkerchief from his pocket and began dabbing tenderly at his battered nose.

“You! Of all people,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry,” Sadie whispered.

“I’m okay. What got you so riled that you came charging through like that?”

“Oh, nothing. It was just…”

Sadie lifted miserable eyes to Richard Caldwell’s face. “Well, Dorothy made me mad.”

Richard Caldwell snorted, wiped his nose tentatively, then stared down at her. “You aren’t going to cry, are you?”

“No. I mean…” She had never fought so hard in all her life to keep her composure. Reuben said if you thought of jelly bread, potato soup, a washcloth, or any object, you wouldn’t cry or laugh, whichever one you didn’t want to do. He assured her it really worked, but it certainly did not work now. Sadie even thought of white bread with a golden crust slathered with fresh, soft butter and homemade grape jelly, but it did absolutely no good. She simply stood in front of her big, intimidating boss and began crying like a little girl having a bad day at school.

She felt his big hand on her shoulder, steering her into his office.

“Sit down,” he said, too suddenly and too gruffly to be very kind.

“Is it all Dorothy?” Richard Caldwell asked.

Sadie couldn’t talk. She couldn’t say one word with her mouth twisting the way it did when she cried and her nose and eyes both running.

Richard Caldwell handed her a box of tissues from the desk, and she grasped at them, a simple act of redeeming her broken pride.

“Well, it’s not really Dorothy, or is it? I don’t know. She’s been going on and on about the danger of taking Reuben to feed the wild horses. She says my parents need to know. And … if they find out, it’ll be the end of my dream to have that palomino horse … to have … Paris.”

Richard Caldwell sat behind his desk, leaning on his elbows. He studied her intently, a mixture of emotions playing across his face. He cleared his throat a few times, as if that would delay having to say what he would eventually need to tell her.

Finally he said, “Why are you so sure that horse can be yours?”

“I can tame her. I can.”

Sadie said this so emphatically, her voice became deeper, rich with an unnamed emotion.

Richard Caldwell said nothing. He could still remember her standing in that stall. He could still hear that broken Pennsylvania Dutch as she talked softly to that poor wreck of a horse. And then she lost that pet, likely because of the wild horses.

“Sadie, I want you to have that horse. But I think you’re going about getting her the wrong way.”

“No! I’m not. I know what I’m doing. She is already taking feed out of my hand.”