by Linda Byler
“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.
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 f
or 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.
Chapter 22
SHE 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 goin
g 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.