by Linda Byler
He paused, then turned and looked Sadie in the eye, and said, “Like you.”
“Not me,” Sadie whispered.
Mark bent over and caught both of her hands in his. He held them, securely, warmly, and kept them. The swing creaked, the night sounds shrilled and warbled and hooted, a symphony of nature resplendent in its variety.
“Yes, yes. Sadie, listen to me. It’s why I ran off to Pennsylvania after I held you in my arms. I figured if I let myself love you, if I went falling headlong over a cliff without any thought to my past, of who I am, look what could happen. And when I saw you at that table with Mr. Caldwell… I … well, I went a little crazy. Can you blame me? You’re so beautiful, Sadie, and how do I know that inside you there’s not a promiscuous heart, like my mother’s?”
“But, Mark, your mother was one in a million! That doesn’t happen among our people. We are raised and kept to a commitment to God. The church, our marriage vows, all are taken very seriously. I have never heard of anyone… I mean, your mother was… Whew!”
Sadie had no words to describe her disbelief.
“I think she joined the church and wanted to do what was right in the beginning. She bore five children in five years, the way the church wanted it, doing nothing to prevent it. And perhaps, she simply couldn’t handle the drudgery, the sleepless nights, the endless work, I don’t know.”
Sadie nodded, quiet now. She pulled her hands free, hesitated one second, then brought her hands to his forearms, slid them up to his shoulders, and pulled him close, laying her head on his hard, muscled chest.
“Mark?” she whispered.
He groaned softly before crushing her to himself, his head lowering.
“I want you to know you can trust me. I can only say that, and the rest is up to you. I’ll try and be someone you can place… I mean, for you to tell me these things, is just amazing. Where have you learned to confide in someone? So often, troubled children aren’t able to do that.”
“You are the only person who knows. Well, the counselor, but…”
She nodded, and stayed quiet.
“Sadie, do you believe in distant courtship? Are your parents very strict about these things?”
“I think that’s pretty much up to us. I can’t imagine… I don’t know.”
Clearly, she was becoming quite flustered, floundering with her words.
He chuckled softly. “I think I know what you mean, Sadie.”
He kissed her softly, then soundly, and Sadie knew she had never felt closer to anyone in all her life. The will of God was so clear she could almost hold it in her hands, like a bouquet of wildflowers on the ridge, their fragrance enveloping them both, promising a future that was not smooth and untroubled. Rocky and steep at times, stormy at other times, their love was a vessel of strength that would bind them together, like two souls in a fortress of might.
And she’d be very careful how she talked to Richard Caldwell.
Chapter 7
IN CHURCH A FEW WEEKS LATER, THE KESSLE-HAUS, where the single girls stood, waiting to be called in and seated on the benches assigned for them, was abuzz with the shootings.
Erma Keim, a garrulous, big-boned girl of 28, who had never bothered about boyfriends or marriage, her white organdy cape and apron wrinkled and limp, her hands pumping the air for emphasis, expounded loud and long about this latest atrocity.
“I don’t believe it,” she was saying in a voice not meant for the quiet of a pre-service kessle-haus.
“I mean, this is ridiculous. Finally, we got those wild horses out of here, and now they claim someone is shooting horses on purpose. I refuse to believe it.”
She tucked a strand of wavy, red hair beneath her covering, which sprang back out in defiance, looking wavier and redder than before. Her covering was limp and out of line, like her hair. She socked herself back against the counter, her green eyes bulging as she folded her arms across her skinny waist.
“It’s true. Reuben’s Cody is dead,” Sadie said bluntly.
“What? Your brother? Is Cody his horse? What do you mean?”
Erma was fairly shouting now, her eyes looking as if they could leave the sockets of her face, were they not attached by strong muscles.
“Yes, yes, and yes,” Sadie said, nodding soberly.
“But shot? I mean, just plain out of the clear, blue sky?” Erma shouted.
Sadie nodded, then told the attentive listeners the story of the race, the shot, the fear that followed.
“Upp!” Erma said, nodding in the direction of the kitchen door, where Maria Bontrager, the lady of the house, stood, motioning them to come to the service.
Erma always went first, being the oldest by more than a few years. Today was no exception, with Sadie following on her heels, and then Leah and Rebekah. The group of girls fell in line as they wound their way to the living room to be seated with the remainder of the congregation.
The open windows promised a breath of air in the already stuffy room. Sadie knew all too well how warm it would become before the three-hour service ended.
Her heart jangled a bit when Mark Peight led the row of single boys. He was so tall! So dark. How could she ever remain the same when she saw him? She was so glad no one could tell how her heart jumped and skipped a beat at the sight of him.
She sighed, a small expulsion of air, when she saw the boys being seated in the kitchen, out of their sight. She couldn’t see him at all during the service, but maybe it was just as well; she’d keep her mind on the sermon.
When the strains of the first song began, she opened the small black Ausbund, the old German hymnbook written by the forefathers in prison. She turned to share it with Leah, who shook her head slightly as she busily unwrapped a red and white striped candy, which she popped into her mouth. She rolled the cellophane wrapper into a small bundle and tossed it below the bench ahead of her.
Sadie stuck her elbow out, punching Leah’s arm. She turned to look at her sister with bewilderment in her innocent blue eyes.
Sadie drew down her eyebrows, pointed with her chin at the cellophane wrapper below the bench and mouthed, “Pick up your paper.”
Leah shrugged, enjoyed her peppermint, and opened her mouth to help with the singing, its volume building by the minute.
Sadie leaned over. “Give me one, please,” she whispered.
“Don’t have another one,” Leah answered.
Sadie answered by tapping on the pocket of Leah’s dress below the apron, where the presence of a few candy-sized lumps resulted in a meaningful stare from Sadie and an upturned hand.
“Give me.”
Leah frowned but lifted her apron, producing a candy obediently before settling back to help with the singing.
Sadie unwrapped the peppermint discreetly, bent her head to pop it into her mouth, folded the wrapper, and put it in her pocket along with the ironed handkerchief.
Leah watched from the corner of her eye and mouthed, “Goody.”
Sadie grinned, then ducked her head when she felt the grin spreading.
The girls knew they were to behave with circumspection in the church at all times. But on a warm summer morning, a bit of sisterly fun helped ease the boredom of sitting on the hard benches for three hours, less alluring today than it ever was.
The slow rhythm of the singing swirled around her. The wave of tradition and comfortable Sunday-morning sounds were as much a foundation for every Amish young person as the regularity of the services.
It was a form of worship they could adhere to, be content with, and grow in grace and spirituality without asking hows and whys. Lots of people chose to question, though. They became contentious, berating the ministers and their sermons, and sometimes taking their families to “go higher,” which meant they joined another church that allowed them more worldly things, like cars and electricity.
Parents shushed their crying babies. Fathers with crying two-year-olds looked to give the children to their mothers, who may have been upstairs with other tiny si
blings. So an aunt or grandmother scrambled to relieve the father of his unhappy offspring. After questioning the child closely, she’d offer a drink of cold water or a small container of pretzels or fruit snacks.
When the minister rose to begin the sermon, the congregation grew quiet, eagerly awaiting his words. He did not disappoint. The graying patriarch expounded on the word of God in a dynamic, undulating voice that gripped his listeners.
Sadie noticed a disturbance on the bench where the younger girls sat, a few rows ahead. Anna was extremely restless, her head turning first one way, then another, fixing her cape, then her covering.
Sadie became uncomfortable. What was wrong with Anna? It seemed as if she could not sit still for a minute. Her face was pale, and she kept grimacing in the most unattractive manner.
Just when Sadie could stand it no longer, Anna rose and made her way carefully between the rows of girls, making a hasty exit up the stairs.
Sadie thought no more about it, guessing that Anna went to the bathroom, and resumed singing. When they stood to hear the Scripture, after kneeling in prayer, Sadie went to the kessle-haus for a drink of cold water and noticed that Anna was not among the girls her age. As she turned to go upstairs through the kitchen, she lowered her eyes demurely. She did not want to meet Mark’s eyes, already feeling flushed as she walked past him.
She closed the door firmly, went softly up the stairs, and turned the knob of the bathroom door. It was locked. She stood back, her arms crossed, waiting until the bathroom was unoccupied.
She heard the water running, a pause, then Anna, very pale, opened the door. Sadie looked at her closely, noticing the swelling of her eyes. Was it just the warm summer weather?
“You okay?” she asked.
“Course, why wouldn’t I be all right?” Anna said, her voice strained. Hoarse? Had she been crying?
Erma Keim thumped her way upstairs, and Anna pushed past Sadie, quickly disappearing down the stairway.
Sadie and Erma entered the bathroom together, Erma saying quite loudly, “Something smells bad! Eww! Someone threw up or something!”
Sadie winced, never knowing Erma to be tactful. She sniffed, then pushed aside the lace curtains to open the window wider.
“How can you tell?” she asked.
“I just can. Hey, my job at the produce market is coming to an end in September. Do they need someone down at Aspen East, where you work? I need to get serious about a job.”
Sadie smiled to herself, knowing they were not supposed to discuss business or monetary concerns on a Sunday. But typical Erma, speaking loudly what was on her mind, no matter the day or the circumstances.
“I can check for you.”
At the thought of Erma Keim and Dorothy Sevarr together in one kitchen, Sadie resigned herself to culinary war, with Dorothy defending her kingdom as queen of the domain, and the invading Erma trying to steal the crown in the first week.
The room was becoming quite warm. Women groped in their pockets for a square of folded, white handkerchief, lowering their faces to wipe discreetly at the perspiration beading their foreheads.
Little boys sat patiently beside their fathers, their bare feet swinging, their bangs dark with sweat, as the fathers swiped at their collars, loosening them slightly. The tired and restless babies grew too uncomfortable to sleep, while mothers patiently held them, their eyes a picture of submission.
The second speaker, a shy young minister who had only been ordained a few years ago, droned on. His monotone voice led the older men down a ramp slick with sleepiness, lassitude, then sleep, until they jerked back to consciousness—and embarrassment.
The minister did the best he could, Dat said. The Lord had chosen him, and someday, he’d overcome his quietness and shyness. Dat always had a soft spot for Phares Schlabach, who Dat said was truly humble, a good servant in the Lord’s vineyard. And don’t you kid yourself; if you paid attention, he said some profoundly interesting things, pointing out bits of Scripture no one else thought about.
Dat was like that. He respected and admired the quiet ones. The simple men of the community who struggled to make a living were often overlooked. They stayed in the background, smiling, and thoroughly enjoying the more talented storytellers who drew all the attention.
Dat said his girls would do well to marry a man like Phares.
After services, Sadie helped set the long tables with the Sunday dinner they always ate at church. The women spread long, snowy white tablecloths on benches elevated by wooden racks to form tables. For each place setting, they supplied a small plate for pie, a cup, knife and fork, and a water glass. Along with plates of sliced, homemade bread, the women served butter, jam, cheese, peanut-butter spread, pies, pickles, sweetened little red beets, and plates of ham.
It was the traditional meal at every church service, and so delicious each time. It was more like a snack or a hurried lunch. There were no elaborate dishes. They did no cooking, except to make a large pot of coffee. But it was a church dinner, a taste of home and community, a meal shared after services, as talk and laughter moved among the good food. Everyone ate hungrily and revived their spirits.
Sadie and her sisters washed dishes, filled water glasses, served coffee, whatever was necessary. They talked with their friends as they held fussy babies so mothers could sit down to eat in peace.
Erma Keim dashed among the tables, every movement well calculated, the picture of efficiency. Sadie couldn’t help but wonder what that presence would accomplish down at the ranch. But she dismissed the notion quickly at the thought of Dorothy’s snapping eyes and her unladylike snort.
“They need pie on the men’s table,” Erma said, whisking past with an empty water pitcher held aloft.
Sadie turned to the pie rack to extricate one, then slid out another before turning to head for the men’s table, where she found Reuben enthusiastically spreading a huge glob of the peanut-butter spread on a thick slice of whole wheat bread. She held her breath as he lifted it to his mouth, then grinned when he gave her a thumbs-up sign, peanut butter spread all over his fingers, the knife, and his face.
Sadie chose to walk home in spite of the heat. It would be worse, packed in the surrey with her sisters, Reuben yelling and complaining as always. Rebekah said she would accompany her and invited her friend Clara and, of all people, Erma Keim.
“Why Erma?” Sadie hissed behind a horizontal palm.
“She gets lonely on Sunday afternoon,” Rebekah said quietly. “Besides, you’re almost the same age. Both entering spinsterhood.”
There was no time for an answer. Erma caught up from the rear in long, purposeful strides, her face alight with the prospect of spending an afternoon at the Miller home.
“Boy, that pie was nasty!” she bellowed into Sadie’s ear. “Must be Ketty was baking again!”
Sadie shrank from the grating sound of Erma’s raucous laugh, but smiled politely.
“Poor Fred Ketty.”
The whole afternoon was spent in the kitchen, making popcorn loaded with melted butter. They tried all different kinds of seasoning, laughing uproariously when Reuben sprinkled hot pepper sauce on top of his dish, then raced for the water faucet, his tongue on fire.
Mam even joined in the fun, and Dat read The Budget, grinning behind it, sometimes lowering the paper to peer over his glasses when Erma said something exceptionally peculiar.
There was no doubt that she eyed the world in a different light and with strangely colored lenses. Men were a huge bother, not worth the ground they walked on, except for Moses in the Bible, Abraham Lincoln, and maybe John F. Kennedy, although he was a Democrat and they were a bit liberal for her taste. She thought the locals all looked alike in their cowboy hats, though the hats vastly improved their faces, which, the way they spent all their time outdoors, resembled the surface of the moon.
Not one boy had ever asked her out. Not one. She was as uncaring about that fact as she was about her looks, though Sadie wondered if this was really true.
&nb
sp; She made a homemade pizza from scratch that tasted better than anyone’s, she assured them airily. She ate four square slices of it, belched, wiped her mouth, excused herself, and decided it was time to go home.
“I know we’re not supposed to call a driver, but I don’t have a horse and buggy, so how else am I supposed to get home?”
With that, she marched to the phone shanty and called her neighbor lady, then sat on the porch swing to wait for her.
“Why don’t you go along to the supper and singing at Melvin Troyer’s?” Leah asked.
“Me? You want me to? Nah. People would say I’m setting my hat for Yoni’s Crist. He’s 40 now, did you know that? Everybody thinks he should ask me for a date, then, you know, marry me. I wouldn’t take him. He has no ambition. You can tell by the way he walks that he doesn’t like to get up in the morning. Not for me, no sir.”
Sadie laughed. “Come on, Erma. I’m going to set up a blind date for you.”
Erma leaped out of the porch swing, coming down squarely on both feet, her hands in the air, her mouth open wide.
“No!”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Come on, Erma. Please? We’ll get a driver and go to Critchfield. You pick your favorite restaurant, okay?”
“No. Absolutely not. I do not want a man. Certainly not Crist.”
“Why not?”
“I told you why not.”
“If I ask Mark Peight to go?”
Erma’s eyes narrowed. She plopped back on the swing.
“Sadie Miller, you are crazy for hanging out with that guy. If anyone is shooting horses around here, it’s him. He’s not really right, is he? Good-looking, yes, but he scares me.
“Upp, here’s my driver coming. Hey, thanks for the popcorn. I had fun. Come see me sometime. I live behind my Dad’s house now. In a trailer.”
“Do you really? We’ll come see it,” Leah assured her as Erma was off in a cloud of dust.
The supper and singing proved uneventful. Mark Peight was absent again. He never came to the suppers and singings anymore, which irked Sadie more than she cared to admit.