by Linda Byler
She reached up to brush back the unruly, short strands on one side of her head.
“Be glad you’re alive. Just be glad!” Dorothy said, nodding her head for emphasis.
“Oh, I am, I am. I don’t mind my hair so much, but it’s hard not having the strength to be able to work the way I used to.”
“Well, today yer gonna do the light dusting and run the vacuum. Then you can sit right here at this table and chop vegetables. I’m havin’ vegetable soup with lots of ground beef and tomatoes, the way the boss likes it.”
There was a knock on the kitchen door, a small tapping sound.
“Now, who’d be knockin’? No need to do that!” Dorothy said, her eyebrows lowered.
She lifted her head and yelled, “You don’t need to knock!”
Sadie cringed when she saw Barbara Caldwell enter the kitchen, her long, white robe clutched around her middle. Her hair was disheveled, and without makeup she looked young and vulnerable. Her face was a ghastly color, so pale Sadie was afraid she’d fall over right there in the kitchen. Her voice trembled as she told them she’d been sick all morning, and was there anything Dorothy knew of that could help her digestive system?
Sadie held her breath, knowing Barbara was not Dorothy’s favorite person on the ranch, but Dorothy was cordial. She clucked and stewed, fussing on and on about the merits of gingerroot tea and how she would put in plenty of sugar for strength.
Barbara Caldwell sank gratefully into a kitchen chair, then looked at Sadie and smiled.
“How are you, Sadie?”
Sadie could not believe the smile or the question, especially since she had refused to come to their house on New Year’s Eve. Richard Caldwell had canceled at the last minute, apologizing profusely, and the whole family had eaten the delicious food all by themselves, shrugging their shoulders in resignation. Barbara was probably just too high-class to eat in an Amish home, they thought.
“I’m doing much better, thank you,” Sadie said politely, ducking her head to hide her embarrassment.
“You’ve come through a lot. Richard tells me your horse was killed.”
“He was put down, yes. His leg was broken.”
“Must be hard.”
“It is.”
Dorothy bustled over with the tea, setting it daintily on the table at Barbara’s elbow.
“There now. Try it.”
Barbara sipped appreciatively, then grimaced at the heat.
“Taste good?” Dorothy asked hopefully.
Barbara nodded.
Sadie got up, went to the closet, and got down the Pledge furniture polish and a clean cloth. It would be good to dust the beloved house again. She’d do the upstairs first, working her way down. She left the kitchen then, letting Dorothy care for Barbara.
Humming, Sadie started in the den—the great oak-paneled room that housed all of Richard Caldwell’s treasures. It was a massive room with great windows reaching to the height of the cathedral ceiling where fans moved quietly to ease the stuffiness of the baseboard heat.
She was whistling low under her breath, the way she always did when she dusted, enjoying the smell of the lemon furniture polish and the luster of the well made furniture under her hand.
“Hey! Sadie!”
Sadie jumped at Richard Caldwell’s booming voice.
Calm. I will be calm, Sadie told herself, giving one last swipe to the tabletop and turning slowly to face him.
“It’s real good to see you back, Sadie!”
“Thank you. It’s good to be here.”
“Sit down.”
Sadie obeyed, pressing her knees together nervously, smoothing her gray skirt over them.
He came straight to the point.
“What happened to…to your horse?”
Sadie thought of the fact that he always called Nevaeh “your horse.” Perhaps he wasn’t comfortable pronouncing her name. Either that, or he thought it was a foolish name for a horse.
“He tried to jump the fence. He…suffered a lot.”
Sadie stopped, the dreaded emotion rising in her throat.
“But why would he have the urge to try and jump the fence?”
Sadie shook her head, bit her lip.
Richard Caldwell got up, and in his abrupt way, grabbed the remote off the coffee table and pressed a button.
“I kept this for you.”
The huge flat-screen TV flashed to life on the opposite wall. Sadie saw the newscaster finish the story of a local murder in Billings, then look straight into the camera before beginning the news item Richard Caldwell wanted her to hear.
“There is increasing concern in the Aspendale Valley east of Billings as ranchers and landowners report seeing wild horses. The fact that it is a fairly large group is reason for concern. Stories of an enormous black stallion are circulating.”
The picture changed to a weather-beaten old rancher wearing a sweat-stained John Deere bill cap. He was in desperate need of a shave and a toothbrush.
“Yes, sir! They’re runnin’! I seen ’em. Big black devil’s the leader. They’re dangerous to other horses. Keep yer’s corralled or in the barn.”
They interviewed another rancher, and then the camera returned to the spokesperson.
“The Amish buggy accident may have been caused by this band of horses running loose. In the meantime, Harold Ardwin of Hill Country is offering a $20,000 reward to the person who can find his missing herd of blue-blooded horses. Could there be a connection between these horse stories? Local ranchers say it’s highly unlikely.”
There was music, the picture changed to a map of the weather forecast, and Richard Caldwell pressed the button of the remote control device.
He turned to look down at her.
“What do you think?”
Sadie shook her head, her eyes wide.
“Do you think there was a herd of wild horses that night—the night the buggy went down over the ridge?”
Without hesitation, she said, “Yes, I do. As time goes on, I remember bits of … well, more. Captain was scared. He was running scared… He…”
“Who’s Captain?”
“Our … Ezra’s horse—the horse that was hitched to the buggy. His ears were flicking back and forth, his head was up, his pace much too fast.”
“Did you see the wild horses?” Richard Caldwell asked intently.
“Yes, I did. Well, at first I felt them. Do you know what I mean? I knew some animal or some person, just something, I guess, was running behind us.”
She stopped.
“I’m not wording that very well, am I?”
“That’s fine.”
“A horse hitched to a buggy does not normally run uphill at breakneck speed, but Captain was doing exactly that.”
She shuddered, remembering, then continued.
“He was there, beside us. He was.”
“Who was?” Richard Caldwell sank back against his desk, crossed his arms over his chest, and watched her from beneath his shaggy eyebrows.
“The big, black one. The one the…”
She pointed to the television on the wall.
“You’re sure about that?”
Sadie nodded.
The door opened quietly and Barbara Caldwell entered, still clutching her white robe against her body. Richard Caldwell instantly moved to go to her, putting his big hands on her shoulders. His voice lowered as he asked her how she felt, and she looked up into his face with an expression Sadie had never seen before.
What had happened between these two? It was amazing.
“I’m feeling much better. Dorothy fixed a cup of gingerroot tea for me and some dry toast.”
He smiled down at her, and she held his gaze, returning his smile. They didn’t notice Sadie at all, these two middle-aged people suddenly so happy in each other’s presence.
Richard Caldwell turned, keeping his arm around his wife’s shoulders.
“We were discussing what happened the night of Sadie’s accident. On the news last e
vening, they talked about the band of wild horses. More and more ranchers are seeing them.”
Barbara nodded, listening intently, watching Richard Caldwell’s face.
Sadie got up, picked up the dust cloth, and was ready to finish her work when Richard Caldwell told her to sit down again.
Sadie sat.
“Your horse—the one you had to put down. Do you think there’s a possibility of him becoming frightened by this same band of horses? Is your pasture very big? Is it isolated?” Richard Caldwell was very serious, his voice only a little less than booming.
What? Oh, it couldn’t be. Poor Nevaeh. Was he terrified by that huge, black stallion? Was that why he tried to leap the fence? Had he felt threatened?
It was too much for Sadie to comprehend. Pity for her beloved horse welled up inside her until it became an object so painful, she felt physically sick.
What had that poor horse encountered in his life? First alone, sick, and starving. How had that all come about? Then his life ended much too soon by some foolhardy act of his own?
All these thoughts swirled in Sadie’s mind until she remembered that Richard Caldwell was waiting for an answer.
“Uh, yes. Yes, our pasture is at least 20, maybe 30, acres. And, yes, it is very isolated. The lower part anyway.”
Richard Caldwell nodded.
“But,” Sadie continued, “The biggest mystery about Nevaeh’s death is why he was in that snowy pasture to begin with. Who left him out? Or how did he get out of his stall? We had visitors that day—on Christmas Day—and my uncles put their horses in Nevaeh’s stall without knowing he belonged there. Dat … I mean, my father never lets him out in winter.”
She stopped, wringing her hands on the gray fabric of her dress. Richard Caldwell held up his hand and said he didn’t mean to upset her. She assured him she was fine. It was just hard sometimes to accept the fact that Nevaeh had to die in such a mysterious manner.
As she went about her work, Sadie kept thinking of a terrified Nevaeh all alone in the snow, and it was more than her heart could stand. She had to put that thought behind her and focus on other things, but that just led her into deeper, murkier water where she floundered helplessly.
She forgot the Tilex bathroom cleaner, lost the furniture polish, and couldn’t find the crevice attachment for the sweeper. She was tired, her leg hurt, and it was high time to go to the kitchen and chop vegetables for Dorothy.
Then there was Mark.
If she really wanted to get off track and get all mixed up mentally, emotionally, and in her heart, or whichever term was used to describe feeling in your heart… See? She couldn’t even think straight.
She was happy about one thing. He had held her in his arms. Twice. Well, the time at the mall had been a very necessary thing, of course. But would he really have had to carry her that short distance? It brought the color to her cheeks to think how his wool coat felt against her face. Mam would have a fit. Well, what Mam didn’t know didn’t hurt her.
Oh, my! Now she was a real rebel.
Could it be God’s will for her life to love someone as good-looking as Mark? Could good looks—no, not just good looks—could downright the most handsome man she had ever seen fall into the same category as God’s will?
If it was as depressing as Mam put it, every beautiful girl would be paired off with some homely little person. This was God’s will, and the only form of true love, according to Mam. But that little homely man who got the good-looking wife didn’t have to give up his own will at all. How could you figure that one out?
Truthfully, more than anything else, Sadie wanted God’s guidance in finding the companion he wanted her to have. Ezra would have been the perfect one, according to Mam and Dat. But wasn’t she always taught to believe death, too, was the will of our Lord? He giveth and he taketh away, and that was that. So, according to God’s will, Ezra wasn’t meant to be her husband.
Mark was so handsome, but he was hard to explain. His past, for one thing.
Sadie stopped, sniffed, held the bottle in her hand up to her face, and was horrified to discover she was dusting with the bathroom cleaner! Quickly, she hurried to the bathroom, procured a clean cloth, and washed the top of the dresser she was supposed to have been dusting with Pledge. Her heart pounding, she checked to see the results.
Whew! Looked all right. Hurriedly she sprayed a liberal amount of furniture polish onto the dresser and rubbed furiously with the cloth.
This had to stop.
Perhaps her brain had been injured in the accident and she couldn’t think normally. No. More than likely she was falling in love, if there was such a thing.
Dusting finished, she hurried back to the kitchen, where a cloud of steam enveloped her. Dorothy was in a fine tizzy.
“Now what do y’ know? Here comes Miss High-and-Mighty, telling me she’s having her family tonight for a ‘pahty.’”
She straightened, blinked her eyes, and fluttered her fingers beside them to accentuate the way Barbara Caldwell talked.
“Tonight!”
“What time?”
“Seven.”
“Oh, well, that’s plenty of time. What does she want to serve?”
“Pasta!” Dorothy fairly spat the word.
Sadie hid a smile. How well she knew the disdain Dorothy held for any food that was not plain, home-cooked, and old-fashioned.
Dorothy flopped a tea towel in the direction of the steam coming from the just-opened commercial dishwasher. Sadie went to the wall and flipped a switch. The great ceiling fans were activated, pulling up the steam and clearing the air as Dorothy hustled about, fussing and complaining as she fried ground beef.
“Never saw a woman put on so many airs. Now you know her family ain’t that highfalutin. Pasta! Likely them kids don’t even know what that olive oil coated stuff is. Fresh green peppers. That means Jim has to drive his truck to town, and fuel ain’t cheap. I’ll tell you what, it’s goin’ on my paper when I hand in my hours. I ain’t payin’ the gas outta my own pocket to get her green peppers for that smelly, slippery pasta dish. No way!”
She gave the ground beef a final stir, banged the wooden spoon on the edge of the frying pan, and slid the whole panful of sizzling meat into the large container of vegetable soup.
Sadie held her breath, hoping none of it would fall on Dorothy’s dress front. She was so short and her arms were so heavy, it looked as if the pan was actually higher than her head.
“You better get started, Sadie,” she snapped.
It was bad. When Dorothy talked to her in that tone of voice, Sadie knew she’d better buckle down, keep her head lowered, and work swiftly.
She had just reached for the great wooden cutting board when the door burst open so hard, it banged against the counter top. Jim came barging through, a hand going to his hat, clumping it down harder on his head as he sat down.
“Dorothy!”
“James Sevarr, you slow down this instant! If you don’t pop a blood vessel in your head, I’ll be surprised. What in the world is up with you?”
“I can’t slow down now. You know them wild horses?” He reached up and grabbed his hat off his head, his head white in comparison to the rest of his face.
“Them horses, mind you! Hey, Sadie! You know the bend in the road where that horse of yours come charging across and fell that time?”
Sadie hurried over to the table, her hands gripping the edge. She felt the color drain from her face.
“Yes?”
“I was drivin’ down through—almost exactly the same place—and here they come! They was scared, every last one. Skinny lookin’ bunch. Long hair on ’em. There’s definitely a big, black one in the lead. Looks wilder than a bunch of mustangs. I ain’t never seen nothing like it in all my days.”
He clasped his hat back on his head, shook his hands free of his gloves, and walked over to the stove to warm them, sniffing the pot of vegetable soup.
Dorothy rested her fists on her hips, her feet encased firml
y in the shoes she bought at Dollar General in town.
“Jim, first off, decide if you’re gonna wear that hat or if you’re gonna take it off. Same thing with the gloves. And get away from my vegetable soup this instant. Yer breathin’ down into it.”
He brushed her off like a fly.
“And, Sadie, I’m havin’ a meetin’ with the men at the lunch table. We’re getting’ together with the fire company an’ somethin’s gonna be done. We’re gonna round ’em up. At least go after ’em. They’re here, ain’t no doubt about it, an’ they’ve racked up enough of mischief, ’n I mean it. You know that feller down by Hollingworth? Somethin’ ripped into his fence—barb wire strung out all over the place. It’s them horses.”
Sadie was breathless with excitement.
“Oh, Jim! I wish I could go!”
“You can!”
Sadie laughed, her cheeks flushing.
“If I had Nevaeh, I would.”
“Jim Sevarr, don’t you take this here young girl out gallivantin’ after some wild horses. Don’t even think about it!”
The soup was bubbling over and a whole pile of vegetables needed to be chopped, but Sadie didn’t even notice.
Oh, to have Nevaeh, Sadie thought. She knew her mother would never let her go with the men, but to ride Nevaeh like that was all she had dreamed about for weeks. Nevaeh had been like Paris—except in color. But now she would never know how beautiful Nevaeh could become—especially in the summer when he lost all his winter coat, leaving his soft, silky new coat shining in the spring sunshine.
The part of his death that was hardest to bear was the thought of all the rides they could never have. They would have traveled for miles and miles, enjoying the beauty of the Montana landscape which was breathtaking in the spring.
And now he was gone. The truck had bounced back through the snow, and they had winched his large, dead body onto it while the vultures circled overhead in the winter sunshine. Now everything seemed gray and dead and sad, even the sun.
She had ridden along with Dat. He hadn’t wanted her to, but she did. She wanted to make sure that Nevaeh’s leg really was broken as badly as they said. It was, and that gave her a measure of peace. Nothing is quite as final as a grotesquely bent limb on an animal as awesome-looking as Nevaeh. But it was severely broken, no matter if she wanted to see it or not, and he never could have lived a normal life with it.