Wild Horses (33 page)

“No, what I mean is, do you really think those horses are wild?”

She slowly shook her head.

“If they’re not wild, then you’d be taking someone else’s horse.”

“No, no. I wouldn’t. No one knows whose horses they are or has any idea where they came from.”

Sadie was ripping a tissue into dozens of tiny pieces, her hands never ceasing their nervous movement.

“Now, Sadie,” Richard Caldwell began.

“What?”

“You remember the story I showed you from the news? It wasn’t too terribly long ago. Here at the ranch we all think that these horses are the stolen ones from… Ah, where was it? Hill County? Someplace south of here. As long as we let those horses run, it’s okay, but if you’d tame that palomino and someone discovered her, how could you prove you weren’t the horse thief?”

“Do I look like a horse thief?” Sadie said tersely.

Richard Caldwell’s booming laugh filled the office. He shook his head.

“Well, then,” Sadie said.

“We need to get to the bottom of this. If you tame that horse, then we’ll have to try and locate the person who had those horses stolen. It can be done.”

“You mean, I can go ahead and try?”

“Only if you tell your parents.”

Sadie was already shaking her head back and forth.

“I can’t.”

“You have to.”

Sadie remained silent, her thoughts racing.

“Did I ever tell you the story about the first dog I ever had?”

Sadie shook her head. A faraway look fell across Richard Caldwell’s weather-worn face as he told Sadie about the time he found the dirty, near-dead dog. He hid nothing—sharing how his father shot the dog before he could get away, and how he snuck out in the middle of the night to bury the thin body. He told about the sorrow, anger, guilt, and even forgiveness that eventually followed.

“And I never had another dog until I left home. My father hated dogs, so…”

“Now you have seven or eight.”

Richard Caldwell smiled, his eyes moist. He marveled at the onslaught of emotion she evoked in him. He could smell the wet grass, feel the smooth wooden handle of that shovel, and he knew exactly what this young woman was going through.

“So I need to wait to have a horse until I leave home, or what are you…?”

“No, no. I just want you to level with your parents.”

“If I level with them, as you say, there will be nothing to worry about. It will be over. My father does not like horses. He doesn’t understand that bond, that true… I don’t know.” Sadie hung her head miserably.

“I need to warn you, Sadie. You know if you tamed that mare and actually did take her home, the first problem is being caught and accused of being a horse thief. The second is that if the black stallion is as aggressive as you say, and if you have another horse with this palomino, he’ll kill him or wreck your whole barn trying.”

Sadie looked up.

Of course. She had not thought of that.

Defeat confronted her, raised its impossibly heavy head, and her spirit wavered within her. Like an accordion folding, the last notes dying away in a high, thin wail, she felt the piercing sadness of losing yet another horse.

Ach, Paris, I would have loved you so much.

Richard Caldwell watched the display of emotion on Sadie’s beautiful face, the drooping of her big blue eyes, the loosening of her perfect mouth.

She sighed, ran her fingers along the crease of the leather chair. Then she stood up abruptly, unexpectedly. Her chin lifted, her eyes darkened, and she spoke quietly.

“All right then, Mr. Caldwell. I will take your advice. I know you’re right. I’ve been blind, my own will leading Reuben and me into danger. I’ll go home and speak to my father, and if it’s over, it’s over. Thank you.”

Slowly she turned, her skirts swinging gracefully. She opened the door and was gone as quietly as a midsummer’s breeze.

Richard Caldwell cleared his throat. He stared unseeingly at the opposite wall. Overwhelming pity knocked on his heart. He picked up a gold pen and scribbled on a notepad. He crossed his hands behind his head, put his boots on his desk, and stared at the ceiling.

That was one courageous young woman.

How could she? Just like that, she gave up. It was the way these odd Amish people raised their children. Once the parents said no, the no was accepted. Perhaps not immediately, but … it was something.

Suddenly he lowered his feet, swiveled the great, black, leather chair, and clicked on the computer, straightening his back as light danced across the screen.

Sadie opened the door to the kitchen. Without speaking, she went to the supply closet and found the vacuum bags.

Dorothy peered over her glasses.

“Whatcha doin’, honey?”

“I’ll start the upstairs.”

“Where’ve you been?”

“Talking to Richard Caldwell.”

“About what?”

“Oh, I’m getting a raise—$20 an hour more.”

“Pooh! Get along with you!”

As Sadie passed the downstairs office, she saw Richard Caldwell bent intently, his fingers working the keyboard of his computer.

That evening, the Miller supper lasted much longer than usual. After everyone had eaten their fill of Mam’s delicious fried chicken and baked potatoes, Sadie started the conversation.

Reuben looked up, wild-eyed.

“It’s okay, Reuben. My boss told me a few things so I’m going to tell Dat and Mam.”

With that, Sadie launched into a vivid account of her hikes, carefully watching Dat’s expression. Mam’s eyes were round with fright, then alarm, until finally, she burst out.

“Why, Sadie! I’m surprised at you. How could you do this?”

“Mam, it’s the age-old thing! Same as it always was!”

“What do you mean?”

“You never understood my love of horses. Never.”

Leah, Rebekah, and Anna all began talking at once. They scolded, asked questions, answered themselves, and just raised the most awful fuss Sadie had ever heard. She reached for the chicken platter. She knew the chicken was fattening and not very healthy, but it was the best fried chicken in all the world.

Mam rolled the chicken in flour, fried it in real butter, salted and peppered it generously, and when it was golden brown, laid it carefully on a baking sheet and finished it in the oven.

It was crispy and salty and buttery and fell off the bone in succulent mouthfuls. It was so good that you could eat a leg or thigh and not believe you had already eaten the whole thing. So you sort of went into denial about how much you were eating and reached for another piece. And it was perfectly all right because in the morning, you would have only an orange for breakfast. Not even a piece of toast. Certainly no butter or strawberry jelly.

Sadie put her fork into the perfectly done chicken thigh and pulled it away. She closed her eyes as she savored the rich flavor.

“Mmmm.”

“How can you sit there and eat as if nothing in all the world is wrong and after you went and pulled off this horrendous deed?” Rebekah asked.

Sadie put down her fork, leaned forward, her eyes alight.

“You want to know why? Because I gave up. I won’t go anymore. No one thinks it’s safe. And Paris—I mean, the palomino—will no longer come to the field of wildflowers for food if I’m not there to give it, and now I’m trying to relax. And if I cry into my pillow tonight, Rebekah, you are going to be the last to know!”

Dat watched his daughters without comment. He could see the unshed tears in Sadie’s eyes.

“Hey!” Reuben shouted above the din.

Everyone quieted, staring at normally disinterested Reuben.

“Rebekah, you know what? You should just hush up. You weren’t up there on that ridge with Sadie. I was. It’s something to see.”

“I would like to see it,” Dat said, quietly.

“You … What?”

All eyes turned to Dat who was sitting back in his chair, his eyes twinkling, running a hand casually through his thick, gray beard.

“Like I said, I would like to see where Sadie goes. I would like to see these horses. They’re as mysterious as a phantom or a ghost, so I would like to see for myself what is happening up there and whether the horses really are dangerous. They may not be a threat at all. The stallion wouldn’t be as long as there are no other horses around.”

Mam nodded in agreement, watching Dat’s face.

“But, you mean…? You mean I’m allowed to go again?”

“Yes. I’ll go with you.”

“Oh, Dat,” Sadie breathed.

It was all she could say.

Reuben bounced up and down, knocked his water glass over, then ran for a tea towel as Anna yelled and jumped out of the way when water dribbled onto her lap.

“Hurry, Reuben,” Leah said dryly.

The supper table was a bit chaotic after that. Sadie was so excited at the sudden and unexpected prospect of seeing Paris again that she ate another piece of fried chicken and a pumpkin whoopie pie and three slices of canned peaches. She was so full, even her ears felt warm to the touch.

“Are my ears red?” she asked, laughing.

“Magenta! Purple!” Anna shouted.

Mam told them all to quiet down, to get the dishes done and the kitchen swept. She still had some ironing to do. When Mam gave these barking orders and proceeded to do something she hadn’t done in years, Sadie remembered to thank God for the gift of her mother’s health and well-being. God had been good to all of them. It could have been so much worse and they all knew that. They would never again take Mam’s health for granted.

At Aspen East Ranch, the perfect moon rose and began its steady journey across the night sky into the starlit heavens. Gates creaked as gates do when the night air cools them, and horses moved slowly behind the fencing, their tails swishing as softly as the grasses surrounding them. A lone owl hooted down by the bunk house as a star fell, leaving a bright streak in the ever-enduring constellation of stars.

Most of the windows were dark, but the great window on the second story of the ranch house was a beacon of warm, yellow light.

Inside, Richard Caldwell sat at his desk. His wife, Barbara, was by his side. They were both leaning forward, staring intently at the bluish-white light from the computer. Half-eaten plates of food were on the desk, tall glasses of ice water forgotten, forming small rings of moisture on the glossy desktop.

“There!” Barbara said, pointing. “That email address might be it.”

“But we don’t know if it’s from Hill Country.”

“It could be.”

The night wore on, and finally a victorious shout came from Richard Caldwell. Barbara was exultant, embracing her husband warmly.

“You did it!”

“Looks like it!”

Then he turned, dialed quite a few digits on his desk phone, winked at Barbara, and waited for someone at the other end to pick up the phone.

“Hello?” Richard Caldwell’s voice boomed across the room. “Yes. Richard Caldwell here of Aspen East Ranch in Tacoma County.”

“Yes.”

There was a pause.

“I am looking for a Mr. Harold Ardwin.”

“All right, yes, sir.”

“I have a question to ask you. Are you the guy who had those horses stolen, oh, maybe about nine, 10 months ago?”

There was a long pause.

Richard Caldwell turned, raising his eyes to his wife who was leaning forward to hear the voice speaking to her husband. Her hands were clenched in anticipation, her eyes bright with interest.

“Well, is that right? Seriously? Mm-hmm.”

Another long pause.

“Well, my wife and I would like to meet with you, if it’s possible.”

“Oh, oh, you are? Well, then we’ll wait until you get back. Can you let us know what would be a good time?”

The two men exchanged a few pleasantries, they set a definite date, and Richard Caldwell carefully replaced the phone.

“They’re leaving on vacation for three weeks.”

“Awww.”

Barbara was clearly disappointed.

“It’s all right. We’ll not breathe a word to Sadie.”

“For sure.”

“Or that Dorothy and her husband!”

They sat quietly, companionably, watching the silver moon in the night sky. Barbara slipped her hand beneath Richard Caldwell’s elbow, laid her head on his massive shoulder, and sighed dreamily.

“Now we have two secrets: one to keep from Sadie and one to keep from everybody!”

“How long until we announce it?” Richard Caldwell asked, softly stroking his wife’s abundant hair.

“I’m so excited. Oh, Richard, do you think everything will be okay? At our age and all?”

“It will be. Remember, if it’s a girl, we’re naming her Sadie.”

“Of course.”

“And would to God she’d be half the girl that Sadie Miller is. What touches my … Well, I hate to sound like a softy, but she loves horses so much and has the most rotten luck I’ve ever seen. It’s just not fair.”

“But you know what they’d say, those Amish people: ‘It’s the will of God.’”

“Don’t make fun of them, Barbara.”

“Oh, Richard, I’m not. There was a time not long ago, I would have. But there has been such a great change in you that I have to believe she has brought goodness to the ranch. To us.”

“She’ll never know.”

“That is God’s way.”

A
ND SO BEGAN ONE
of the best times of Sadie’s young life.