Wild Horses (31 page)

Sadie sat on the glossy, oak bench at the Daniel Bontrager home and tried not to tap her fingers on the windowsill beside her. She also tried not to gaze out the window too much, but instead keep her focus on the visiting minister and the sermon he was preaching.

He was a portly, older gentleman from somewhere in Pennsylvania, and his voice had a thin, squeaky quality that was sort of endearing. His short beard wagged methodically as he expounded upon the Scriptures, telling the congregation about the seriousness of this life here on earth and encouraging them to shoulder the cross and follow the Lord Jesus, even in their younger years.

Sadie gazed unseeingly, knowing deep inside that her very own personal cross to bear was none other than Mark Peight’s disappearance. It would not become any easier just yet.

She had been so sure that God had plopped Mark Peight straight down from heaven. She had been so in love—was still so in love. She remembered the way he walked, the depth of his brown eyes, and his quiet ways. He never talked much at all, but when he did, the sound of his voice was like music. She loved to hear him talk, hanging onto every word and being warmed by the sound of his voice.

She sighed. Some things weren’t meant to be.

She supposed if she could catch Paris—if that was possible—she’d be happy to have a horse of her own again, which was, after all, something.

Rebekah leaned over and whispered, “I need a tissue.”

Sadie lifted her apron and dug into her pocket.

“Don’t have one,” she whispered back.

The minister droned on.

A fly buzzed by and settled on the windowsill. Sadie watched it and wondered how some people could catch houseflies in their hands the way they did. She had often tried but only hurt the palm of her hand, and the fly flew off unscathed.

She hoped her family would go somewhere this evening. She had been to the ridge only once all week and had not seen a trace of any of the horses. The feed, apples, and salt had all disappeared—every speck of them—but did the horses eat it? She could be feeding horses, deer, elk, even bears, although that was unlikely.

She did not want to go to the supper that would be held for the youth later in the day. She had to come up with a good excuse not to go, one that would be believable to her sisters.

There was always the flu bug going around, which was a good reason for staying in her room feigning serious stomach ailments, but that hardly ever worked with Leah. She could let Reuben in on her secret and then give her sister a whole sad row about Reuben needing to spend more time with her. No, that would be risky.

She looked for Reuben across the room where the men and boys sat facing the women. He was between two larger boys and looked small and innocent. He also looked very, very bored.

She caught his eye and gave him the slightest wink. He grinned and ducked his head, embarrassed at the boldness of his sister.

Sadie smiled, then felt a rush of excitement. She would let him in on her secret after all. He would love every minute of their excursions. He always loved even the thought of an adventure.

After the strains of the last hymn died away, Sadie filed out with the rest of the girls. They crowded together in a corner of the kitchen, waiting until the tables were set up.

Men turned the benches into tables by setting them on legs built for that purpose. The women brought armloads of clean, white tablecloths and spread them on top of the tables. The girls helped carry trays of peanut butter spread, cheese, ham, pickles, spiced red beets, butter, and huge platters of thickly sliced homemade bread, whole wheat on one side and white on the other. They placed a saucer, coffee cup, tumbler, knife, and fork at each setting along the lengthy tables.

Pitchers of water appeared like magic and glasses were filled. Pies—peach, blueberry, raspberry, custard, pumpkin, even a few mince pies—all found their way to the middle of the table.

The men were called in by the person who lived in the home where church was held, and they filed in by their age, the ministers going first. The women sat at a long table next to the men. The ministers’ wives sat down first. The rest of the women sat in order by age.

They bowed their heads in silent prayer. Servers offered coffee to each individual, the only hot item for the traditional dinner at church. It was all very organized, although an English person wouldn’t be able to tell upon observing. The women were constantly moving, the children dodged in and out, and the noise of conversation was amplified by the sheer number of people assembled in one large room.

Sadie ate hungrily, slathering the thick, gooey peanut butter spread on a heavy slice of whole wheat bread, deciding once again that it was truly the best thing ever. If you sat on a hard bench for three hours straight without any breakfast, the lunch at church was simply the most delicious food.

Sadie chewed the rich, nutty-tasting whole wheat bread accompanied by the sticky sweetness of peanut butter, marshmallow cream, and molasses. Spicy little red beets, pickles, and ham on another slice of white bread, washed down with the fragrant, hot coffee, rounded out the meal. Now she was ready for the grand finale, which was pie, of course.

Of all the pies at church, Sadie always watched for pumpkin. It was her all-time favorite. Pumpkin pie was sweet and custardy and shivery all at the same time, with a spicy flavor that perfectly complemented her cup of hot, black coffee. At home when Mam made pumpkin pie, Sadie spooned Cool Whip on top, but at church there was no extra Cool Whip so she ate it without.

She was finished eating and was piling some soiled dishes in a large bowl when someone tapped her elbow. Turning, she found herself face to face with the visiting minister. He smiled at her, and Sadie put down the bowl of soiled dishes to shake his proffered hand.

“Are you one of Jacob Miller’s daughters?” he asked, his eyes alight with genuine curiosity.

“Yes. I am.”

“Well, we’re from Abbottstown, Pennsylvania. We had a young man come to our community not too long ago—four, five weeks, maybe. We, and the other two families we’re traveling with, got to talking about our planned trip to Montana, and he said he was out here on vacation not too long ago. I don’t remember his name. Melvin something, I think.”

Sadie raised her eyebrows, “Melvin?”

“Yes. He talked of Jacob Millers. That’s your dat, right?”

“Yes.”

“Something about wild horses you had running around out here.”

Sadie nodded.

“You can’t think of Melvin’s last name, can you?” he asked.

“No, I’m sorry. So many young men come and go that we often lose track of who they are and how long they stay,” Sadie answered politely.

“Yes, it would appear so. Well, I sure wish I could think of this young man’s name. It wasn’t Peachy, but…”

He paused. “Anyway, it was nice talking to you.”

He wandered off, and Sadie shook her head ruefully.

Whatever, she thought, a bit irritated. Everyone wanted to know who you were, especially people on vacation checking out these Montana-ians.

They all think we’re a bit odd to live so far away from our home settlement, but they’re much too polite to say so, she thought, then chided herself for thinking like an old hermit.

The buggy ride home was a pure joy with the side windows flung open and the back canvas flap rolled up and secured with leather straps. Sadie hung her arm out the back, whistling lightly under her breath. Reuben was close beside her and Anna on his other side. Leah and Rebekah had gone home with Verna and Magdalena Amstutz, two of their favorite friends.

Reuben shifted his weight toward Sadie, folded his arms across his chest, and mumbled to himself.

“What?” Sadie asked, grabbing his ear and pulling him over.

He yanked his head away.

“I can’t see why you couldn’t have gone with Leah and Rebekah.

“Because…” Sadie said, pausing to purse her lips importantly, “I have better things to do.”

“Like what? It’s not like you have a boyfriend the way normal girls do.”

“Normal? I’m normal,” Sadie said, her eyes dancing.

“No, you’re not. You’re a queer duck!”

Sadie howled with laughter, an unladylike squawk of pure humor that made Dat turn around in his seat to see what was so funny. Mam chuckled, Anna grinned, and Reuben scowled, looking straight ahead.

The driving horse, good old dependable Charlie, plodded on through the lovely Montana landscape, the harness flapping rhythmically on his well-padded haunches. Some of the hair beneath the britching strap was darker in color, showing signs of moisture.

“Dat, Charlie’s sweating already. He’s getting fat. You feed him too much grain,” Sadie said.

“Well, if Charlie’s sweating, get out and walk!” Reuben said forcefully.

“All right, I will. It’s a bee-you-tiful day. Walk with me, Reuben.”

“No!”

“Yes! Come on. We only have two or three miles.”

“Not me. No way!” Anna said, shaking her head.

“Dat, stop. Let me off. Come on, Reuben, you little chicken.”

The buggy stopped, and Sadie looked back over the way they had come to make sure no one could see her less than modest exit out the back window of the buggy. She quickly scrambled out and over the springs along the back. When her foot hit the road, she pulled on Reuben’s sleeve and begged him one more time to accompany her. To her great surprise, he piled out of the back and onto the road beside her.

Perfect!

With a crunch of steel wheels on gravel and Dat’s “Hup!” the buggy moved off. Sadie wasted no time coming straight to the point. Breathlessly she told Reuben what she meant by saying she had better things to do.

“And, Reuben,” she concluded, “I’m running out of excuses to go on walks by myself. I honestly think Mam is getting suspicious, or at least wonders what I’m up to. If Mam and Dat find out, they will not let me do this. And that horse! I can’t tell you how beautiful she is! It’s… She’s exactly like … Paris!”

Reuben plodded on, his hands in his pockets, his hat shoved down so hard his ears looked painfully cramped. He looked less than thrilled and was still upset they had to walk so far.

“Paris? Who’s Paris?”

“You know. Don’t you remember Paris? That yellowish palomino I raced against Eva’s Spirit?”

“Eva’s spirit? That sounds spooky … like Eva had a ghost or something.”

Sadie slapped Reuben’s shoulder.

“You know which horse I mean.”

Reuben stopped, squinted, then bent down to examine the remnant of a stone. He picked it up, held it to the sun, rubbed it, and announced, “Arrowhead!”

“Is it? Let me see.”

Sadie turned it over in her hand but could certainly not distinguish any outstanding features that made it come close to looking even vaguely like an arrowhead. But she knew that to stay on good terms with Reuben, she would have to pronounce it one.

“Yup, Reuben, I think it was an arrowhead at one time.”

“Do you?”

His troubles forgotten, especially the length of the walk home, he became wildly enthusiastic about looking for arrowheads.

“Yeah, I’ll go with you this afternoon. But you can watch for horses, and I’ll look for more of these.”

He pocketed the very ordinary stone, his future vastly improved. Sadie cringed, despairing of her ability to break the news that he would have to lie quietly in the tall grass and wildflowers to watch for the horses.

“Don’t you want to see the horses?” she began, tongue in cheek.

“Aah, I guess.”

“Course you do. So we’ll have to sit quietly. Sort of hide.”

“I ain’t walking all the way up there to sit there all that time. If I want to see a horse, I can go out to the barn and look at Charlie.”

Sadie ground her teeth in frustration.

“Reuben! You are just like Dat!”

“Well.”

Sadie realized her luck was running out. Self-righteous little man! Oh, he made her so angry.

“Okay, Reuben, I’ll make a deal. Every time you go with me, and at least act as if you want to go, I’ll give you five dollars.”

“Five whole bucks?”

Even his hat came up off his ears at the mention of money. He clamped it back down then, lifted his shoulders, and started planning what he would do with such untold wealth.

“I need a scope for my pellet gun. How many times is this gonna take until you catch her?” he asked, watching her face with calculating eyes.

“Who knows? She may never come back. But if I don’t try, I’ll never be able to forgive myself,” she said, her voice becoming thick with emotion.

Reuben looked at Sadie sideways and thought she was, indeed, the queerest duck he had ever met.

And so they developed a pattern. Reuben filled the backpack and shouldered it until they were out of sight. Their parents thought they were hiking to get Sadie back into better health, especially to strengthen the muscles in her legs. They thought Reuben tagged along to look for arrowheads, explaining the backpack.

After two days of the feed disappearing and no sign of horses, Reuben demanded his $10. Sadie was in despair and, on top of that, had to cope with a rash that appeared on the calves of her legs. It was red, ugly, and so itchy she thought she would go crazy trying not to scratch.

Reuben said it was a sign from God that they shouldn’t be up there against their parent’s wishes, and Sadie asked him when he became so worried about being good. He told her if she didn’t watch it, he wouldn’t go with her anymore. Sadie scratched the rash on her legs, fought tears of sudden anger, and said, “Good, I’ll go all by myself then. Stay home.”

But he did go the next Friday afternoon, albeit reluctantly. It was achingly beautiful, one of those early summer days when everything seems tinged with a golden glow. Even the laundry on the line seemed whiter and the grass a vivid shade of lime green. Wildflowers grew in so much profusion, it seemed a bit surreal to be surrounded by so many different colors bobbing and waving around.

They walked and walked, then climbed up the ridge as usual. Reuben flopped into the grass, rolled on his back, and flung an arm across his eyes.

Sadie took the backpack, unzipped it, and heard them before she had a chance to scatter the oats.