Sadie’s Montana Trilogy

by Linda Byler

  “Buggy rides,” she said, and none too friendly.

  The broad grin folded in on itself, the white teeth obliterated by fine lips that gave no hint of a smile.

  “I see.”

  Sadie busied herself with the currycomb, brushing much faster and harder than normal, until Anna cleared her throat nervously.

  Mark shoved his one foot against a bale of hay to reposition it, then sat down, loosely, easily, with that cat-like grace he possessed. He pulled out a piece of hay and chewed it. Patting the bale beside him, he smiled at Anna and asked if she wanted to sit there. Anna, gazing at him with adoring eyes, obliged him immediately.

  “I’m sure Paris is brushed well enough,” he said slowly.

  She didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply, just yanked the black harness off the hook and threw it savagely onto Paris’ back.

  “Whoa!” she said, when Paris sidestepped.

  “We’re a bit testy today,” Mark said, his deep brown eyes teasing her.

  Sadie faced him, her hands on her hips.

  “No, we aren’t. I mean, no, I’m not testy. I just have work to do, unlike you, who does only what he pleases all the time.”

  “You look awful pretty when you’re mad.”

  With that, he got up and strode purposefully out of the barn. Sadie watched in disbelief, then remorse, as he strode up to the doughnut stand. Lillian Yoder, in a beautiful lime-green dress, hurried over to take his order, bowing and dipping, her blond hair shining with every toss of her head.

  As Mark became drawn into a serious conversation with her, it was all Sadie could do to turn away from watching the scene at the doughnut stand as she picked up Paris’ bridle.

  Anna giggled, “He bought six doughnuts.”

  “Hmmph.”

  Anna shrugged her shoulders, convinced Sadie would be an old maid forever, the way she acted about Mark Peight.

  Sadie led Paris to the fence near a big handmade sign:

  “Buggy Rides, $2.00.”

  Sadie backed Paris between the shafts, as Anna held them aloft.

  Sadie loosened the britchment straps, making sure the collar was not pinching her neck, and polished the bridle with a clean rag. A crowd was already forming, holding out the dollar bills required.

  Sadie smiled, accepted the money, and helped the first six people into the spring wagon. Then she drove off with Paris acting like a perfect lady. She let Anna take the next six people, secretly gloating at the thought of having already accumulated $24. All the angry thoughts of Mark Peight slipped away.

  The barbecued chicken smelled wonderful, the thick gray smoke rising from the pits as it rolled over the crowd. Sausage sandwiches, doughnuts, funnel cakes, and burritos—there was so much food Sadie wondered how to decide what she wanted most.

  As she pulled Paris to a stop, she saw a middle-aged Asian couple climb up on the auctioneer’s platform, followed by a boy about Reuben’s age and a petite young girl dressed in traditional western garb.

  The barrel racer and her family! The auctioneer introduced them as the Ching family. He told of the shooting, of the loss of their beloved animals, to a crowd hushed with sympathy. When he announced that the proceeds of the sale would go to help them buy more horses, hats went sailing into the air, and the crowd erupted in a cheer of goodwill and charity.

  The Amish men kept their hats on their heads, stoic and quiet, as was their way. More than one straw hat was bent, white coverings alongside, as they wiped furtive tears.

  Mr. Ching took the microphone and spoke in halting English of his deep gratitude. The crowd was completely quiet, listening reverently. He spoke from the heart with the good manners of the old Chinese, his arm at his waist as he bowed deeply, his wife nodding her assent at his side.

  “For all the world like two beautiful little birds,” Dorothy would say later, shaking her head in wonder.

  Mr. Ching introduced his daughter, Callie, who would be the real recipient of this day of unselfishness. She stepped up to the microphone and spoke in a low, musical voice about her loss, the heartbreak of finding the two quarter horses dead in the pasture, the bullet holes, and the investigation that followed.

  “Last, I wish to thank all my friends of the Amish for this day.”

  She bowed, waved, and stepped down, her black hair swinging down her back, her boots clicking on the wooden platform.

  The auctioneer announced that no one would want to miss the making of egg rolls, wontons, and Chinese chicken and vegetables under the blue and white tent, all made by the relatives of the Ching family who had come from Indiana for the benefit.

  Sadie stepped down from the spring wagon, and Anna took over. Sadie went to find a cold drink of lemonade, her throat parched by the sun and the dust.

  Mark Peight stood by the lemonade stand in lively conversation with Callie Ching and appeared to be quite taken with her.

  Had he no shame? The nerve of him! What a flirt! And she being English and all.

  Sadie took two deep breaths to steady herself. Common sense finally settled in. He was a grown single man and could hold a conversation with whomever he wished. It was none of her concern. They were not dating, and she had no right to these ugly little monsters of jealousy that cropped up every time she saw him with another female. It was ridiculous.

  But when Callie put a hand on his arm, and he bent his head toward hers, Sadie’s emotions skyrocketed into the wild blue sky.

  Why did she care so much? He made her stomping mad with his … his ease and his grace and his smile and his pitiful past. Why wouldn’t he ask her for a decent date and stop being so secretive? She was just going to forget about him, and the next time he wanted to confide in her, she’d suggest he tell Lillian Yoder or Callie Ching. But she knew she couldn’t say that, because what if he did?

  She felt all mixed up and evil inside, so she prayed hard for help right then and there. I need you, I am not being who I should be, she prayed.

  Was love supposed to be like this—a standoff between feelings of wonderful heights and valleys so low they were unbearable, with the unexpected avalanche of emotions she could not understand thrown in randomly?

  Well, she definitely was not thirsty for lemonade anymore.

  She bought an ice-cold Pepsi from Reuben and his rambunctious friends at the drink counter. He threw a handful of ice at her, and she told him he’d better behave or she’d tell Dat. But Dat wasn’t there, Reuben reminded her, because he went to town for more ice.

  Sipping her Pepsi, Sadie made her way through the crowd, smiling to herself at the sight of Fred Ketty leaning intently over a counter watching an aging Chinese woman making egg rolls.

  “Oh, for sure, for sure,” she heard Ketty say, and hoped she didn’t have that ever-present toothpick dangling from her teeth.

  “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry!” Sadie said.

  She had bumped solidly into a broad chest and spilled her Pepsi all over a striped blue shirt. She stepped back and looked directly into the same blue eyes she had met in town.

  “Sadie Miller, right?” he said.

  She could feel the heat in her face and knew the blush quickly spreading across it was a telltale sign of … of what? Remembering him?

  “How are you?” he asked, seeming confident in his ability to win her.

  “I … I’m okay. I … I was on my way…” She jerked her thumb toward Anna on the spring wagon.

  “Don’t let me keep you,” he said smiling.

  “I’m … That’s my horse, Paris. I’m giving buggy rides for $2.”

  “Will you take me for a buggy ride?”

  “But you’re Amish. You’ve been on a buggy plenty of times.”

  “Will you take me anyway?”

  “I will.”

  “Just me?”

  Sadie lifted her chin.

  “Yes.”

  She persuaded Anna to let her take her turn driving. She climbed up on the driver’s side and took the reins. He hit the seat beside her with a soli
d thump, his shoulder landing squarely against hers.

  “This your horse? Named Paris? That’s awesome.”

  He turned to look at her, and their eyes met. They both grinned a happy smile of recognition and shared admiration.

  “I don’t even know your name,” Sadie said.

  “Guess.”

  “Hmm. You’re from Lancaster. Isn’t everyone named Stoltzfus or … um … Zook? Strictly guessing!” she said, laughing.

  “I love how you say Lancaster. LAN-caster. We say LANK-ister, sort of the … well, whatever.”

  “You still didn’t tell me your name.”

  “Guess. Hey, how come you’re circling around? We don’t want to go back yet. My name is Daniel.”

  “Just Daniel?”

  “Daniel King.”

  “Oh. Hi, Daniel.”

  He stuck out his hand and she grasped it warmly, a good solid hand, smooth and strong. She did not want to let go but did so reluctantly, the current between them so strong that they fell silent immediately.

  Paris was tiring, her steps becoming slower as they made their way out Orvie’s driveway and past parked vehicles, the sound of the auctioneer’s sing-song voice fading rapidly.

  “It’s so unreal out here in Montana. I’ve never seen anything like it. I don’t want to go home ever again.”

  “We like it here, although we’ve definitely had our trials.”

  Paris was walking uphill now, her head nodding with each step. Sadie told Daniel about the wild horses, Mam’s illness, the ranch, everything. Words came so easily, they were nearly unstoppable, a brook bubbling in a rich stream of memories and feelings.

  Daniel spoke of his home, the hustle and bustle of Lancaster County, the tourism, the pace, while Sadie nodded her head in understanding. Holmes County, Ohio, was no different. They both agreed that bit by bit, in small devious ways, the world slowly encroached on the old traditions, threatening Amish culture.

  Suddenly, Sadie took notice of their whereabouts, spying a sign that said,

  Atkins Ridge, 3 miles.

  “Oh, my goodness, we’ve come too far. We have to get back. Anna will wonder what has become of us.”

  “Let her wonder. She’ll be okay. Your parents are there.”

  But Sadie felt uneasy now. Anna wanted to give more buggy rides, she felt sure, and she did not want to disappoint her sister this way.

  A pickup truck came over a rise, and Sadie pulled slightly on the right rein, making sure she was on her side of the road. When she glanced at the truck, Mark Peight’s bewildered brown eyes looked directly into hers. She lifted her chin, set her shoulders, and did not answer his wave as the pickup moved past.

  We’re not dating. You are not my boyfriend. You sneak around enough to keep me on a string, and I’m resisting you now. If I choose to live this way and be with someone else, I have the right. It’s up to you to honor my companionship, and you have not been doing that. I’m moving on.

  She became stronger with each thought.

  “Someone you know?”

  “Yes.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  No, just someone who has the ability to tie my heart in knots. Someone who loves me, then hurts me. Someone I don’t think I’ll ever understand fully.

  “We’re leaving next week.”

  He cleared his throat, then turned sideways on the seat. “Sadie, I can’t remember when I felt so… I don’t know. I feel as if I’ve known you all my life. If you don’t… If you aren’t seeing anyone, could I take you out to dinner on Saturday evening? I know that’s not our typical way, but I’m not from around here, and I don’t have much choice. I would like to spend some time with you before I go.”

  Only the space of a second passed, a butterfly movement of hesitation, before she turned to meet his gaze.

  “I would like that, yes.”

  He had said, “Go out to dinner.” Just like classy English people do. They had dinner in the evening and lunch for lunch.

  His hand reached up to touch her hair.

  “I can hardly believe your hair is real. It’s so black, it shines blue. I love the way you comb it. I’d love to see you without your covering.”

  Sadie did not know how to respond, so she said nothing, just shook the reins across Paris’ back to urge her toward the auction where her safety lay.

  “I didn’t count on … you. I mean, I hadn’t planned on meeting someone like you. Now I don’t want to leave.”

  Her conscience jabbed her. She had told Mark she loved him, she wanted him to ask her for a real date, the way normal guys did. But he refused. Was it wrong to go on a date with this Lancaster-County Daniel? Surely she was not doing anything wrong. She could not wait on Mark Peight forever. She wasn’t getting any younger. Besides, someone with a past like his was risky.

  So, no, she was not doing anything wrong. Yes, she would go out with Daniel. It was just dinner.

  Suddenly, without warning, Paris lowered her haunches, then lunged into her collar. She took off running, her ears flicking back and staying that way.

  Grimly, Sadie gripped the reins with all her strength as a pickup truck passed at a dangerous speed, the diesel engine revving, black smoke pouring from two silver pipes, gravel spitting from the broad tires.

  The same color! It looked like the same pickup containing Mark Peight!

  Sadie fought to control Paris, calling out to her in a strong voice, trying to still the panic rising in her own chest.

  Daniel leaned forward, gripping the seat, watching quietly, letting Sadie take control of her own horse.

  When Paris slowed, he grinned and put a hand on her shoulder. “Good job. I can tell you’re one with this horse. It’s awesome.”

  Then, a high, whining, deadly sound.

  The reins snaked out of Sadie’s grasp as Paris went up, up, and came down, hitting the macadam at a dead run.

  Someone was screaming and screaming, a volume of sound that made her throat hurt. Who was it? Daniel? Herself?

  Paris was galloping in a complete frenzy. She had no one to guide her, no rein to hold her back, all her instincts goading her away from the sound of that gunshot. She ran at full speed.

  Sadie remembered. The dark night. Captain. Ezra. The ridge. The black beast running, running, gaining on them. Was this how it would all end? She had been spared before. This time, instead of snow, the sun was shining and the cornflowers were blooming. Yet once again, the specter of death loomed before her.

  Chapter 10

  GRIPPING THE SEAT WITH ONE HAND, SADIE CLUNG to Daniel with the other. The spring wagon swayed and bounced, and the dusty air made breathing difficult. The black reins slapped the surface of the road, then flew away, as out of control as everything else.

  “Should we jump?” she screamed, falling onto her knees as the spring wagon lurched.

  Daniel shook his head. “Call Paris! Keep talking to her!”

  When he saw Sadie’s whitening face, he screamed, “Sadie! Stay with me! Talk to your horse!”

  She was so frightfully dizzy. How could she get up and call Paris if the whole world was out of control? Bile rose in her throat.

  “Sadie!”

  Daniel reached out and slapped her, hard. Her head flew back, then up, and back to reality. Sadie called and called.

  “Paris! Come on. Whoa, whoa, good, good girl. Stop, Paris. The bullets are gone. It was only one. Slow down, babe. Slow down, Paris. Stop running now. You’re going to upset us.”

  Was Paris tiring? Was she responding?

  Without warning, Daniel got up and stood on the shafts, steadying himself on the dash of the spring wagon. His face was white, his mouth set in concentration as he calculated the distance.

  Oh, those flailing hooves. Sure death if he fell! The steel wheels! If they rolled over him, he would never survive.

  “Don’t scream, Sadie! Keep talking.”

  She had never been called on to muster all the reserves of courage she had. Wit
h extraordinary effort, she continued talking, pleading with Paris.

  Daniel crouched, then sprang, a released tension, propelling himself forward by sheer force of will, until his legs grasped Paris’ haunches. Searching and finding the reins, hauling them back, he eased Paris into a controlled run.

  They came to a stop beneath an overhang of pine branches. Paris was a deep brown color, soaked with her own sweat, her sides heaving, her nostrils moving in and out by the force of her panting.

  Daniel slid off her back, went to her head, put his hand on her mane, and slowly lowered his forehead against hers.

  Sadie fainted, evidently, and awoke lying by the roadside under the pine boughs, heaving and gagging, as she threw up like a little child who had become thoroughly carsick. Daniel held her head, rubbed her back, and offered her a clean, white handkerchief. She thought she would surely never look at him again, gripped in a fit of nausea.

  “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

  “It’s all right. You did an awesome job.”

  Sadie wiped her mouth, blew her nose. There was that word awesome again. It must be his favorite word.

  “I have to go to Paris,” she said.

  He quietly helped her up, supporting her as she clung to Paris’ neck, weeping softly, whispering heartbroken endearments.

  “I couldn’t live without you, Paris. You are the best horse ever. Thank God we’re alive,” she murmured, over and over.

  A car passed, the driver watching them, presuming their horse got a bit overheated and they’d be fine, waved, and moved on down the road.

  Daniel remained quiet as Sadie wiped her face, kissed Paris’ nose, and laughed shakily.

  “Sorry. I love my horse. Oh, Daniel, who is shooting these bullets? Who is endangering these lives? I’m so afraid.”

  He looked into her eyes. “We need to report this when we get back.”

  “No! Not to the whole crowd. I’ll do it later from our phone shanty at home. Please? I don’t want the … fuss, the publicity.”

  “Whatever you want.”

  His quiet strength was hers now. Calmly, he helped her into the spring wagon, a hand on her back to support her.