by Linda Byler
“Hey!”
“You don’t need all that ice cream. It’s already melting.”
“Children!” Dat’s voice was firm, his frown a significant indicator of their less-than-perfect behavior.
They both bent to their own bowls, but Reuben’s elbow found Anna’s side, fast and smooth, bringing smiles to both of their faces beneath their demure, downcast eyes.
“So?” Sadie began.
“What? You’re telling me you want this stray horse kept in our barn?”
“Well…” Sadie lifted her hands and shoulders, then lowered them, along with her expectations.
“Where else would we keep him?” she asked respectfully.
Dat breathed through his nose, hard, the way he often did when he felt strongly about something. It wasn’t a snort. It was more of a whoosh of air, but it meant the same as a snort.
“For starters, I think the whole deal is odd. We don’t want a stray horse. How can we prove we didn’t steal him when the owner comes looking for him? He wouldn’t believe our story.”
“Dat! You know there are acres and acres of government land without a single soul around for miles!” Sadie burst out. “The horse could have wandered from there.”
“Why didn’t this horse seek shelter in someone’s barn? Or on someone’s ranch? Something’s fishy.”
“But, Dat, the horse is sick! He’s not just starved, he’s sick!”
“Well, then, we don’t want him for sure. Charlie will catch whatever this horse has.
“Please, Dat. Just let me have a box stall. Just one. You won’t have to do a thing with him. Not feed him, not water him. Nothing.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
Sadie’s shoulders slumped, defeat settling in. She wasn’t going to beg or whine or grovel at Dat’s feet. If he said no, then no it was. She had expected it all along, in a way, like an underlying riptide in the ocean that you suspected was there but didn’t know for sure until it carried you out to sea. And here she was being flung about, pulled steadily along.
But she had to try one more time.
“But I’ll never have another horse. Not like this one. He’s so much like Paris.”
“We don’t have room,” Dat said firmly.
Afterward, Sadie didn’t know what had possessed her to give vent to her despair. Leah told her, quite seriously, it was because she was stubborn and would never give up. That thought scared her.
She had leapt up, talked loudly and forcefully, and told her father he was being selfish. Why couldn’t she have a horse of her own? She had given up Paris for him and now this one, too. Why? Why?
She remembered Mam’s white face, Dat’s disbelief, Leah’s shock, but she had been beyond caring. She had gripped the table’s edge until her fingers were white and told Dat exactly what she thought. Then she turned and fled to the refuge of her room.
She had tried to pray, she really had. But her prayers hit the ceiling and bounced back down, not appearing to reach heaven at all. So she lay across her bed, too angry and upset to cry. She knew she should be remorseful, at least a little bit sorry, but she wasn’t. She was glad she had told Dat all that stuff. She was.
He had no right. He had no right to keep that horse from her. There were two empty box stalls in the barn, but his excuse was always the same: If every stall was full, then where would visitors tie their horses?
How often did they have visitors? And if company did show up, they could always tie their horses in the forebay. They could even tie Charlie and put the company’s horse in the same stall. There were options
Dat was cruel. He had no sympathy for horses or anyone who loved horses. He said horses didn’t have stable manners, kicking against a good, strong wall for no reason at all, and they were always looking for a chance to run away. Well, maybe his horses did, and no small wonder. She would run away, too, if she was Dat’s horse. He didn’t like horses, just sort of put up with them, and the horses knew it. Why didn’t he just go Mennonite and get a car? Or a bike?
Angry thoughts swirled around and around inside Sadie’s head, bringing only a weariness of body and mind and no peace. She felt old and tired, her future uncertain. With no horse, what did she have to look forward to? Just work at the ranch and give Dat her paycheck, on and on and on. Go with the youth on the weekends, same old supper crowd and hymn-singings. On and on and on.
There weren’t even any interesting boys. Not one Amish guy in all of Montana caught her eye. Not one. They were all too young—not old enough to date—or too old—too set in their ways, too much like a bachelor. It was all so annoying, She bet, too, that behind Dat’s refusal was his own unspoken feelings about Sadie and his expectations of her. He thought she was being childish and that young Amish women shouldn’t ride horses anymore. Why couldn’t she grow up and get married the way other Amish girls did at her age?
Sadie guaranteed that Mam thought the same thing. She just didn’t say it quite as readily as Dat. Well, what was she supposed to do? Marry someone English? They’d have a fit about that.
There had been Ezra. They had been on a few dates—dated quite awhile, actually. But it didn’t last. Ezra was too … too … well … strict. He lived by the law—acting prideful and judgmental of others—and he expected as much from her. It was suffocating. So they broke up, much to the chagrin of Dat, Mam, and what seemed like the rest of the Amish community.
Sadie sat up, kicked off her shoes, then flung herself back on the pillows. She was hungry now, especially since her supper remained mostly uneaten, but she wasn’t about to go down there now.
“Sadie! Phone!”
The voice calling for her sounded urgent—that same rushed tone that occurred whenever someone was on the line. The telephone was out in the phone shanty by the shop, and the person who had called was fortunate if someone heard the phone and could answer its insistent ringing. Otherwise, they would need to leave a message and wait for a return call.
Sadie leapt up, stuck her feet into her shoes, and without bothering to tie them, raced down the stairs. She grabbed her coat and went out into the starry night.
“Hello?” she said, lifting the receiver.
There was no answer.
Bewildered, she repeated, “Hello?”
Silence.
Annoyed now, she fitted the receiver back on its base and pushed the door open to leave. So much for that interesting caller.
Back in the kitchen, Sadie hung up her coat, then went to the refrigerator in search of something to eat. The kitchen was dimly lit, the gas light in the living room the only source of light. Usually, after dishes, the light in the kitchen was turned off, the one in the living room was turned on, and everyone gathered there to read or write.
She found some lunch meat, which seemed less than fresh, and a pack of Swiss cheese. Montana Swiss cheese was so tasteless, not at all like the Swiss cheese in Ohio. Mam was right; this cheese tasted a lot like the packet it came in.
She yawned, then pulled out the produce drawer. There were two green peppers and a big sweet onion. Mmm. She would make a sandwich.
Finding a soft sandwich roll, she spread it liberally with home-churned butter, and then put sliced peppers and onions on top. She sprinkled it well with salt and pepper and closed the lid.
She was just about to enjoy a big bite when the kitchen door was flung open and Dat stuck his head in.
“Phone!”
“For who?”
“You.”
Grabbing her coat, the sandwich forgotten, Sadie dashed back to the phone shanty. What was going on?
Lifting the receiver, she said, “Hello?”
“How are you, Sadie?”
Sadie’s heart sank. Ezra!
“I’m doing well, thank you. And you?”
“Fine, fine. I’m fine.”
There was a long, awkward pause.
“Sadie, there is a practice hymn-singing at Owen Miller’s tomorrow evening. You haven’t been attending them, and I called t
o inquire why.”
Sadie swallowed her annoyance.
“I … I’ve been busy.”
“Doing what?”
None of your business, she thought, instantly on guard.
“I work full-time at the ranch now. I guess that’s most of it.”
There was a long pause.
“Well, tell me if I’m being impertinent, but I’m surprised your parents continue to allow you to work there.”
“Oh. Why is that?”
“It’s a worldly place. The way I understand it, quite a few men work for that Caldwell.”
“Yes.”
“Are you… Do you meet up with any of them? Do you work with them?”
“No. No, I work in the kitchen with Dorothy, an older English lady. Her husband, Jim, takes me to and from work.”
“I see. Is that all you do?’
“No. I clean. I keep the big house in order—or most of it.”
“I see. Do the ranch hands come in while you clean?”
“Oh, no. Never. They’re working outside.”
“Uh-huh.”
Sadie doodled on a Post-it note with a pen.
“Do you speak to Richard Caldwell or his wife?”
“Sometimes.”
“Is he trustworthy?”
“Who? Richard Caldwell?”
“Yes.”
“Certainly. He’s very kind to me now.”
“The right sort of kindness, I would hope.”
“Ezra, I…”
“Sadie, I worry about you working there. No good can come of it. You are not well-versed in the Bible, and you always did have an inclination toward rebellion.”
Anger swelled up in Sadie. How dare he speak so boldly to her. He had a few faults of his own, too. She wanted to scream at him—tell him to mind his own business—but that would never do. It would be disrespectful, and she would only have to apologize later.
Sadie took a deep breath, “I appreciate your concern, Ezra. That’s kind of you.”
“May I pick you up tomorrow evening to take you along to the practice singing?”
Sadie’s heart sank. No, no, no, she whispered silently.
“Leah, too?” she ventured, looking for a way to avoid another one-on-one date with him.
“If she wants. But it would be more appropriate if you and I went alone.”
“Why would it be more appropriate?”
“I have a question to ask you.”
Oh, help! Just say no. Say it. She did not want to ride all the way to Owen Miller’s with Ezra. It was just unthinkable.
Then she almost pitied him. He was so good and he tried so hard to do what was right—even if he didn’t always have much tact. She couldn’t bring herself to say no, imagining his pleasant, open, sincere face. Why couldn’t she go with Ezra?
“All right.”
A pleased sigh.
“Good. Oh, Sadie, we’ll have a lovely time. All the memories we share. Thank you, Sadie. Are your parents well?”
“Yes, they are.”
“Give them a hello from me.”
“I will.”
“Good-night, Sadie.”
“Good-night.”
Slowly, she replaced the receiver, then sagged against the wall.
No, Ezra, we’re not all well. Mam is going crazy and Dat is a stubborn mule. I don’t like him much. I don’t like you either. I don’t want to live the way I do—working at the ranch with no hope of a future. I want a horse I’m not allowed to have.
So I’m inclined toward rebellion, am I? Am I? Is that what’s wrong with me? Give up the horse the way good, obedient girls do and marry Ezra instead? Maybe if I learned to give up, I could learn to love Ezra.
She touched her eyebrows. She knew they were already elevated into that “holier-than-thou” Ezra attitude.
Sadie began walking toward the house. What should she do? Mam probably did not want to hear all this, and she wasn’t going to tell Dat. He’d start planning her wedding that same hour.
“Who was that?” Mam asked the minute she entered the living room. Thankfully Dat wasn’t around.
“No one.”
“Now, Sadie!” Mam chided.
“Ezra Troyer.”
“What did he want?”
“There’s a practice singing at Owen Miller’s tomorrow evening. He wants to take me.”
“Are you going with him?”
“Yes.”
“I’m surprised.”
Reuben looked up from his drawing pad. He brushed the hair out of his eyes, then said bluntly, “I thought you didn’t like Ezra?”
“You need a haircut, Reuben.”
“Mam won’t give me one.”
“Mam, don’t you think Reuben needs a haircut?”
“Yes, he does. But I’m afraid I can’t cut his hair straight. It’s hard for me to do that job right—the way it should be done, I mean. His hair is so straight, and…well, Dat said I should do it better.”
To Sadie’s horror, Mam began to cry. Not soft crying, not wiping a stray tear here or there, but huge, gulping, little-girl sobs. Sadie instantly tried to stop them by rushing over and holding her mother’s shoulders firmly, murmuring, “Don’t, Mam. Do net.”
Still her mother cried on.
“Do net heila, Mam.”
Anna and Reuben looked up. Rebekah laid down her book, coming to Mam’s side in one long, fluid movement.
“I just…feel so dumb. Things I used to enjoy are like a big mountain now. Jacob—Dat—is so terribly unhappy with me. I just don’t seem to be able to do some things I used to.”
Sadie sat on the sofa beside her mother, holding her hands.
“Mam, I think you are depressed. I think you need to see a medical doctor and let him diagnose you. They can give you something to help you cope with the worst of this.”
Mam sat up, her eyes alert, cunning even.
“You mean drugs?”
“Yes.”
“No. I won’t take medical drugs. They’re poison to my system. You know that. Dat feels very strongly about that. So do I. I am taking natural pills—building up my body—to cope with these new and strange wanderings. Sadie … my mind will be fine, won’t it?”
Sadie sighed.
“No, Mam. I don’t think it will.”
“Here comes Dat!” Mam hissed, returning to her book, the afghan thrown hastily across her lap.
Sadie turned to look as Dat hung his hat on the hook. He washed his hands, then came into the living room, surveyed it, and said, “Bedtime, Reuben.”
“I’m not done drawing this.”
“What is it?”
“Sadie’s horse.”
Dat bent to look, then he straightened, laughing uproariously.
“I doubt if Sadie’s horse looks like a giraffe!”
Reuben swallowed, attempting to keep his face a mask of indifference. Slowly he closed the drawing pad, put his pencil and eraser in the coiled springs on the side, and got to his feet.
Dat was still chuckling as Sadie rose, pulled Reuben close with one arm, and together, went up the stairs to bed.
Chapter 8
SADIE WINCED AS SHE DRAGGED THE BRUSH THROUGH her thick, heavy mass of brown hair. Her thoughts were tumbling through her head, so the uncomfortable chore of brushing her hair was a welcome diversion.
Why had she promised Ezra she’d go? She seriously did not know. Maybe life was like that. You didn’t know why you said or did certain things, but it was all a part of God’s great and wonderful plan for your life. Maybe God’s will just happened no matter what.
Dat and Mam thought Ezra was truly a special young man who would make a terrific husband for her. But why do parents think they know better than you do? They just didn’t understand. There was not one other person in this community of Amish families for whom she could even try and summon some kind of love.
She often wished she could express her true feelings to Mam. And she wanted to ask questions, too, especially, how
deep should the feelings of love be before you know you are fully committed and ready to marry? How could you know if you were ready to spend the rest of your days here on earth with this one other person?
The Amish were expected to date for a few years before getting married. They were also expected to not touch each other while dating. Not hold hands, not hug, not kiss, not have any other physical contact. The couple would be blessed by God if they entered into a sacred union in purity.
Sadie always thought that this was all well and good. But if she was really, really honest, she wondered how you could tell if you wanted to marry someone if you never touched him. What if you were pronounced man and wife and then discovered that his touch repulsed you? Wouldn’t that be a fine kettle of fish, as Daddy Keim used to say. She didn’t believe every couple stuck to that hands-off policy anyway.
Sadie clasped her hair into a barrette and firmly gathered the heavy mass on the back of her head, fastening it securely with hair pins. Her new covering followed, and she turned her head first one way and then the other, adjusting the covering more securely as she did so.
Some girls spent close to an hour arranging and rearranging their hair and coverings, which always drove Sadie to distraction. If you didn’t get it right that first or second time, you sure weren’t going to get it any better the seventh or eighth round, that was one thing sure.
She was glad she had a new dress and that it was a soft shade of light pink. She supposed it was a bit daring, but Mam had allowed it, though grudgingly. Grudgingly or gladly, it was pretty. The fabric hung in soft folds, the sleeves falling delicately to her wrists. It made her feel very feminine and, if she admitted it to herself, more attractive than usual.
She wondered vaguely how the person who was driving the buggy to take her away to the hymn-singing would feel about the dress. When she thought about it, she was glad she would wear the black coat, as Ezra would never approve of the soft, pink shade she was wearing.
Why did she wear it? She wanted to, that was why—and not for Ezra either. Maybe that was the whole reason after all. She wanted to be who she was—not who Ezra wanted her to be.
Nothing like real old-fashioned honesty with oneself, she thought wryly.