Keeping Secrets (27 page)

She grinned, then bent her head. Boy, wouldn’t that get Mark all fired up when she told him?

That afternoon, when Mark stopped at the porch to pick up Sadie, his horse and buggy as immaculate as always, she greeted him lightheartedly. It was a wondrous thing to be so happy and confident in their relationship. She marveled at the natural way they could be together, even at the simple act of climbing into the buggy and sitting beside him. That intimacy was a privilege. They talked easily now, with no self-consciousness—words, expressions, smiles, a familiar part of their lives.

The first thing she told him was about Leon Hershberger and Anna. Mark raised his eyebrows, smiling. Sadie never tired of his smile. When they were 80 years old, that smile would still amaze her. However, it didn’t stay. The horse plodded on gaily, but a sort of coldness crept over the buggy’s interior.

Sadie talked on, then watched him a bit uncomfortably before blurting out, “Is there … something wrong?”

He said nothing.

Then after wiping the wooden dashboard of the buggy with his handkerchief, he cleared his throat.

“My mother wrote me a letter.”

His words had the impact of a sledgehammer. Sadie went cold all over. She became numb, then senseless, blinded by blackness for a second, before her heart began to beat again, but harder.

Oh, no. Now what?

They’d come so far. Would it all be stripped away now?

She knew there would be no easy way out of this. Dread in all its forms hovered over her. His whole past would be flung in his face yet again, this time in physical form.

Oh, dear God, look upon us with mercy.
Barmherzikeit.

Her voice was very small when she said, “And? What did she write?”

Mark’s hand reached over and pulled at the handle of the small wooden door built into the dashboard. It was a place in the buggy to put lighters, small flashlights, clean handkerchiefs, or tissues. It was the catchall for necessities, like a vehicle’s glove compartment. Sadie thought it could rightfully be called a glove compartment, as there was almost always a pair of gloves in the back of it. You had to wear gloves to drive a horse in cold weather, especially if it was an unruly one, opening the window for better control.

He handed her a plain white envelope, saying nothing, his jaw set in that firm line.

She looked at him, questioning.

“Go ahead. Read it.”

With shaking hands, she removed the letter from the envelope and unfolded it. Just an ordinary sheet of writing paper. There was no date or return address. The handwriting was cursive, neat, the type many Amish teachers teach their pupils.

Mark,

I got wind of where you live through the Internet, an object of the devil for you, but a necessity for me. HA.

Sadie’s eyebrows turned down. She looked at Mark.

“Wow.”

Mark remained still, a statue of control.

I’m still out in the world and I plan on staying here. My kids are scattered all over. They know who I am, but they don’t care about me. I guess I deserve that, I don’t know. You’re the only one I can’t find. You are the oldest of the pack.

What a bunch of kids I had! Have had almost as many husbands. I’m on number four. Married this guy for his money. Can’t stand him. I can’t sleep at night, have to take all kinds of junk to put me to sleep.

I want to see you. Sure hope you’re not Amish. Are you married? If you are, bring your wife.

This is my home phone number. Please call soon.

I still do love you, you know. At least I wrote now, to let you know I care.

Your mother,

Amelia Van Syoc

Sadie folded the letter slowly and put it neatly into the envelope. She smoothed the dust blanket over her knees before daring to look at Mark. His expression remained unreadable.

Carefully, she laid a hand on his arm, then slid it underneath his arm and laid her head on his shoulder, tears forming beneath her eyelids.

She just could not imagine. How could his own mother, his flesh and blood, be so callous?

Slowly, Mark put down the reins, turned, and crushed her to him. He held her as if she was his only hope of rescue, the single life preserver in a swollen sea, where dark troughs of rolling water threatened to take him down into the awful abyss of his past.

Sadie slid her arms around his wide shoulders, willing him to know that she would remain by his side where she belonged. She would help him to keep his head above water during the rough times.

He groaned, a broken cry, then kissed her with a new intensity.

“I love you so much, Sadie,” he said hoarsely as tears fell on the shoulder of her black woolen coat.

“I love you, too, Mark. I love you more with each passing day.”

He gathered up the reins, then laughed quietly as he wiped his face.

“Good thing Eclipse keeps trotting right along, isn’t it?”

“He’s a good horse,” Sadie replied, slipping her hand into his. She loved holding Mark’s hand. He had perfect hands, she thought.

“So now, what will you do?” she asked quietly.

“Nothing for now. I want to pray about it, think about it. I have no clue where she is. If I go see her and she sees I’m Amish, she might shut the door in my face.”

“I’ll go with you,” Sadie said instantly.

“You will?”

“Yes.”

Yes, she would go. He needed her beside him every step of the way to support and encourage him. She would follow him to the ends of the earth.

He kissed her passionately again, and Sadie realized their love had reached a new level that brought another whole set of concerns. She must talk to Mark about their physical interactions, but she hardly knew how to open the subject without causing serious damage to his feelings—and his ego.

Dat and Mam had talked to her about their concerns, knowing Sadie and Mark did not hold to the strict code of distant courtship. Sadie was the oldest daughter, and they trusted her conscience, but dating is dating. They, too, had been through those years and knew the intimacy of late nights together. Like many couples, they struggled to remain pure until the day they married.

“Things are changing, Sadie,” Mam began on the day she and Dat sat down with their oldest daughter. “Over a hundred years ago, we held with the practice of ‘bundling,’ or sharing a bed fully clothed, under a comforter or quilt, to stay warm on cold winter evenings. This practice stayed in one form or another in some communities, even in some families. Some groups of concerned parents worked hard to eliminate it altogether; others adhered strictly to the old ways.

“There’s a lot of pressure in our community to practice complete distant courtship, the way the higher churches do. Some of the New Orders have a much stricter dating code than we do. And it’s worrisome to me. Even though we drive horses and buggies, our moral standards are more like the English than some of the people who leave our community and choose to drive cars. Some who leave for the New Orders have higher morality than we do, yet we’re the so-called conservatives.”

Dat nodded in agreement as Sadie listened carefully to Mam’s words.

Sadie could only be perfectly honest about her feelings. “Do you both agree that absolutely no touching, not even holding hands, is what God intends?” she asked.

Her parents were clearly uncomfortable with that question.

Finally, Dat spoke up. “I can’t imagine it.”

Mam quickly broke in, “It’s what everyone says they want now. It’s the new, better way of dating.”

Sadie bent her head. She was embarrassed to speak the truth to her parents, but she told them that she and Mark kissed and held each other but did nothing further. Her face flamed with the confession.

Her parents were full of understanding. And in Dat’s eyes, was that a twinkle of knowing?

“Then let your conscience be your guide,” Mam said. “You know when it’s time to stop. Probably the perfect way would be to remain distant.”

“I disagree,” Sadie said firmly.

Mam was taken aback and watched Sadie’s face intently.

“I do. I don’t feel guilty for the things we’ve done, but I know I will soon if it goes any further.”

Dat threw his shoulders back and laughed, releasing the tension. Now they were just Mam and Dat and Sadie. Honest. Completely comfortable. Not false or competing to see who could be the best Christian.

“We are who we are, and each man must answer for what he allows himself to do,” Dat said. “It’s between you and Mark and God.”

Sadie knew she had to approach Mark about this subject, but she also knew that now was not the time, not after the letter from his mother he had just shown her. He was so delicate with things pertaining to his ego, his sense of well-being.

She held his hand and entwined her fingers in his. Their love was a wonderful gift from God and the single best thing that had ever happened to her.

The police department’s search for the snipers had come to a dead end. The license plate led to a stolen car. There were no fingerprints, no leads to pursue, only the same brick wall they always came up against.

For the rest of the winter, there had been no shootings. Most of the Amish argued that it was too cold to be out and too dangerous to make a getaway on the slippery roads. At any rate, a sense of safety pervaded the community, and people relaxed as they got out their horses and buggies to go to town, visit, or travel to church. Would that change now that spring was on the way?

Richard Caldwell shook his gray head, his neatly trimmed mustache bobbing as he warned everyone it was a lull in the storm, that the worst was yet to come.

“They’re mad. They’re out for revenge, and they’re not giving up any time soon, you mark my words,” he told anyone who would listen.

The kitchen work at the ranch had been almost more than Dorothy and Sadie could handle, especially last Christmas. There had been parties, showers, and dinners all winter long, with little Sadie Elizabeth the center of her doting parents’ extravagances.

Dorothy was not happy with all the plans Barbara Caldwell was making but knew that if she wanted to keep her job, she better keep her mouth shut.

Richard Caldwell expanded the ranch. He hired an additional five men to build bigger pole barns for hay and equipment. He increased the size of the cattle herd, and he added sheep to his financial ventures, which brought in every relative Lothario Bean could find to work at the ranch.

They cooked large meals for all the ranch hands and work crews, until one day Dorothy threw her hands in the air, marched into Richard Caldwell’s office, and told him that they needed another person in the kitchen, and if he didn’t get one, she was going to up and quit right there.

While Dorothy argued with the boss, Sadie remained in the kitchen, peeling potatoes and keeping a low profile. She smiled to herself and wondered how it was going in the office. Dorothy really lost her temper this time.

Sadie looked up as they came through the swinging doors of the kitchen. Dorothy’s face was the color of salami, her eyes spitting blue sparks. Richard Caldwell looked somber, every inch the gentleman. He was holding Sadie Elizabeth, who was wearing a little pair of Levi’s with a plaid shirt, already dressing for a life on the ranch.

The look in Richard Caldwell’s eyes gave Sadie goose bumps. What a father this oversized, noisy, uncouth man had become. Little Sadie had molded him into a gentle, devoted daddy.

She had her own puppy already, a little brown dust mop that shed hair over everything, which made more housework for Sadie. It was the sad story of the stray dog that Richard Caldwell had buried when he was a boy that brought the little brown puppy. He was striving to be a good father in every respect, not wanting to make the same mistakes his father had made in the past.

Barbara Caldwell wasn’t fond of Isabel, as the dog was named, but she didn’t complain as long as Sadie kept the rooms vacuumed. That was part of the reason Dorothy had marched into his office.

“Dorothy says she’s quitting.”

“Is she?” Sadie asked, laughing as she put down a wet potato and paring knife. After drying her hands on her apron, she reached for little Sadie Elizabeth.

“She says so. Unless I get more help. You know of any Amish girls looking for a job? One of your sisters?”

“Anna. But she works at the farmer’s market.”

“No friends either?”

“Uh … I think … there’s Erma Keim. She’s almost 30, never married, a real workhorse. She was looking for more a little while ago.”

So that was how Erma Keim began working at the ranch, opening a whole new chapter in the kitchen for Sadie and Dorothy.

Erma was a diesel engine of hard work. Her large, freckled hands flew, her long, sturdy limbs simply catapulted her from kitchen to dining room and back again. Even so, Erma had a rough start, not fitting in with the kitchen responsibilities—or with Dorothy—as Sadie had hoped. It might have been smoother for Erma if she had started off quietly, perhaps with a smidgen of humility. But no, Erma knew how to do everything and do it better than Dorothy, which was like setting fire to a long fuse that sizzled and crackled slowly. Sadie came to work everyday eyeing the burning fuse with caution, completely uncomfortable with Erma’s loud voice.

On her second day, Erma said Dorothy’s sausage gravy could be much improved, although she’d never eaten a better biscuit. On the third day, she asked why they never served breakfast pizza. It was a huge favorite at Erma’s house.

Dorothy had been making frequent trips to the restroom all morning. Sadie knew her constitution was way off, which spelled serious trouble for Erma if she kept on talking about Dorothy’s food.

Suddenly, Dorothy had enough. She threw her balled fists on her hips and said loudly, “I’ve been here for 30-some years, and you’ve barely been here that many hours. I know what the men like and what they don’t, and I highly doubt that your newfangled pizza would be appreciated.”

That shut Erma up. She started scrubbing the wall behind the stove, muttering to herself and casting poisonous looks in Dorothy’s direction. But now she knew where she stood in the pecking order, though she contested it every chance she got.