Sadie’s Montana Trilogy

by Linda Byler

  “The whip would hiss through the air, catch my legs, then my back. It burned like fire. After awhile, though, I got used to it, if such a thing is possible. I can still hear the tomato plants being whacked off by the force of his whip. I picked the tomatoes too green. Too rotten. Filled the hampers too full or not full enough. Everything wrong was my fault.

  “But what he did to me was better than what the 17-year-old did to me. Sadie, I’m a ruined person, basically. I’ve seen just about everything there is to see.

  “Betsy was a saint. She even baked like an angel. She lived with that man to the best of her ability, and I bet to this day their community has no idea who he is or what he did.

  “The night he broke my ribs with the hammer, that was the night I left. I just walked away, no extra clothes, no nothing. The dog barked, but I didn’t care. I’d be better off dead, I thought, so I just walked. My ribs burned in my body. I couldn’t lie down, it hurt too bad, so I kept walking. Some guys picked me up. Told them I fell off a wagon. The took me to the hospital. I stayed there for two days.

  “My life after the hospital was basically English. I worked odd jobs in construction, at McDonalds, anywhere I could make a bit of money to save for an apartment. I started drinking, and I can’t tell you what alcohol meant to me at that point. It was the wonderful substance that eased all my pain. It bolstered my self-confidence, it made me happy, it made me laugh, it made me forget, at least for a time. It was like a god that finally had mercy on my torment.

  “You see, Sadie, I hated myself. I still blamed myself for my Dat. And that Wyle, that 17-year-old, I guess I felt that was my fault, too. I was a mess, and I don’t know why I even try to persuade you that I’ll be okay.

  “Do you understand, now? Why I went back home to get away from you? I spent a whole year in rehab, a facility to help people get away from drugs and alcohol.”

  Sadie gasped, “Drugs?”

  Mark nodded. “I tried it all. Anything to make it all go away.

  “The counselors at the rehab were wonderful. Trained professionals who are used to dealing with people who are … well, like me. Or, like I was. I came out clean, sober, and healed, to an extent, I guess.

  “I always leaned toward the Amish, though. I guess they were my roots. When I left rehab, I found out that my parents’ church had sort of fizzled out. It was a bunch of radicals who had lost the frieda with the real Amish of that area. I visited my Grandfather Peight. My Daddy. He is the single source of my greatest healing.”

  “Besides God,” Sadie said softly.

  Chapter 12

  MARK CONTINUED, “NO, GOD WAS IN MY GRANDFATHER in the form of forgiveness, love, tears, and a kindness so huge I couldn’t wrap my warped mind around it. He even looked like God. His hair and beard were white, his face unmarked, his eyes…”

  Mark’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Sadie, if I ever get to heaven, I imagine God’s eyes will look exactly like my grandfather’s. Pools of kindness without end.

  “He told me how their church fell apart, fueled by evil hatred and harsh unbiblical practices. They had no communion for years. They were being led by a group of… Well, I won’t say it. But thankfully they moved away. The rest of the church saw the error of their ways and became better people.

  “My grandfather told me, if there was anyone to blame, it was him. He should not have believed these ministers. He was so glad to see me. He taught me my love of horses, how to shoe them. I stayed with him after rehab until I heard of Montana. I had some money. I just wanted to see what it was like here, you know? A young man’s yearning for adventure and all that. So I came out here by Amtrak. I was here two weeks and was taking a horse to Richard Caldwell’s ranch. It was snowing, there was a dark form on the road, a young girl waving her arms, clearly scared out of her wits, which she must not have had too many of, being out on a slippery road with a dead horse…”

  “He wasn’t dead!”

  Mark’s laugh rang out, his arms went around her, and he held her so close she could feel the fabric of his shirt stamped against her cheek.

  “That was when my real problems began. I almost returned to alcohol. Sadie, I loved you the first minute I saw you. I did. I don’t care what people say about love. For me, it was love at first sight, and God was in that snow, too. He was pure and white and… Well, he was there.

  “But since… I dunno, Sadie. It seems as if my enemy is my past and the way it makes me feel about myself. When I think of you and your family, your perfect little life, I hardly have the audacity, the daring to be with you. Or your family.”

  He stopped, shook his head, his hair falling darkly over his eyes.

  “Mark, don’t be sarcastic when you say, ‘your perfect little life.’”

  She was hurt beyond words. As if he was mocking her for being who she was, which was grossly unfair. Her first attempt at dealing with the belittling comment was sort of soothing, assuring him they were far from perfect, to make him feel better about himself. But then she caught herself. He could not shift the blame on her.

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Yes, you were.”

  “Oh, okay. I was. You know better.”

  “Mark, perhaps I do. You carry the blame for the sordid things in your life, but you are much too eager to shift it onto someone else’s shoulders, or you would not have spoken to me that way. You drag yourself down constantly and want to drag others down with you.”

  Now the sarcasm came thick and fast.

  “So where did you go to college?” he asked. “You sound exactly like some trained counselor. You think you’re smarter than me?”

  It was a whiplash of words, ruthless and stinging. It goaded Sadie into action. She sprang up and started running toward home. She ran blindly, uncaring, just to put great distance between them. She ran until her breath came in hard puffs, her chest hurt, and her legs felt as if the bones and tendons had liquefied.

  She saw the silhouette of her home on the hillside, the driveway a winding ribbon of silver. It all swam together in the film of her tears.

  She had never seen him look as handsome as he did tonight. He wore a brown, short-sleeved shirt of some rough-looking fabric, almost like homespun. His dark brown eyes matched his shirt, his black broadfall trousers were neat and clean. When he took off his straw hat and tousled his dark hair, Sadie could not tear her eyes away. There was simply no use.

  Was it all because he was so handsome? Was she so shallow?

  He was impossible. She replayed his words, the story tumbling through her senses. What agonies! So young!

  She cried the whole way up to the driveway—for him, for the father of those children, for life’s unfairness. But mostly she cried because he did not bother to run after her. Where was he now?

  When she heard a car coming, she quickened her steps. If she hurried, she’d reach the safety of the driveway before the lights approached. Reaching the mailbox and paper holder, she relaxed, slowing her pace. She turned to the right, more out of habit than anything else, to see if she recognized the car.

  The headlights went out. Only the glistening of the silver on the mirrors and the bumper were visible. The steady brrm, brrm, brrm of the engine was plainly audible, and the sound indicated it was a diesel. A pickup. It was barely moving, as if it was in slow motion.

  Wait!

  Two smokestacks! It was the same truck! The one that had passed her with Daniel.

  Fear washed over Sadie’s body in powerful chills. It sent her up the embankment where she pressed flat against a pine tree. The needles scratched her face and arms, the sticky resin stuck to the palms of her outstretched fingers.

  The truck beat a loud staccato, her ears pulsed with the beating of it. Then it stopped. The motor was off.

  Sadie turned, grabbed a low branch, and scrambled up the pine. The branches of a pine tree were just like a ladder, only pricklier. The branches were close together and straight so that you could climb easily.

  She climbed up about 1
0 or 12 feet and settled herself on some thick branches. She remained as still as possible and listened. There was no sound at all.

  She craned her neck, peering around the trunk of the pine tree, but there was only an incomprehensible blackness. She could see nothing, not even the silver of the mirrors.

  Had she imagined it all?

  Wait. Voices.

  A truck door opened. As Sadie watched, the tall form of a man emerged, then turned back to help two small … what was it? She squinted her eyes and peered into the darkness. If she moved anymore, she was sure to slide sideways out of the pine tree. Shifting her weight, she leaned back, holding onto a branch above her. There. Two children.

  The tall man helped them out. One of them disappeared in the thicket beside the road. He stooped to speak to the other one.

  Suddenly the lights were back on, a brilliant bluish-white. They startled Sadie so much that her fingers convulsed and she lost her grip. The last thought she had before she fell was the realization that the wicked inhabitants of that pickup truck would kidnap her as soon as she hit the ground.

  The thing was, she never hit the ground. Instead, she became sandwiched between two branches like a hot dog in a roll, her body doubled-up quite painfully, her breath constricted.

  The truck’s engine started, revved, pulled out onto the road, and moved slowly past. Someone laughed, a voice spoke.

  Now the shot, Sadie thought. I’ll be shot just like the horses.

  The truck moved on around the bend in the road, disappearing into the warm night.

  She had to get out of this tree. Every muscle of her body was cramped. She twisted first one way and then the other, the rough pine bark digging red brushburns into her arms and legs.

  Redoubling her efforts, she twisted, turned, and wriggled, but with no luck. Her arms were becoming quite painful, her hips wedged tightly.

  She needed to stop panicking, think clearly.

  Okay. If no amount of twisting would get her out of here, her best bet would be to find a firm handle somewhere, anywhere. Then using her hands as a lever, perhaps she could pull herself up and out.

  Flailing her arms on both sides, her fingers found a branch to the left, but was it too far away? She twisted her upper body again as hard as she could and was rewarded by the feeling of a good, solid, pine bough. She grasped it firmly and heaved with every ounce of strength she possessed.

  There was a ripping sound as her skirt caught on a broken knob, but slowly she pulled herself upright.

  Glory, Hallelujah! She was out.

  Still shaking, she climbed down from the tree, branch by branch, until her feet hit the soft, spongy, pine-needle-laden soil beneath the tree. She felt like kissing the ground, like weary sea voyagers of old had done.

  She assessed her situation. Her muscles groaned and her back hurt, but she could move both legs without too much pain. She scrambled down the embankment and began the walk up the seemingly endless driveway.

  What if the truck returned? What if it was filled with those horse-killers?

  Her feet pummeled the earth now, as she raced up the driveway. Clattering onto the porch, she flung herself on the swing, her breath coming in hard, short whooshes of air. She imagined that this was how Paris felt after a race with Cody through the field of wildflowers.

  No wonder she was so grouchy at work the following day. Her back hurt, her head hurt, her arms had bruises on them, stinging horribly when she lowered them into the dishwater.

  She was sure she had torn a ligament in the calf of one leg. She hobbled all day about the kitchen, her eyebrows lowered, speaking to no one unless absolutely necessary.

  Dorothy hid her smiles of enjoyment as she ate one leftover dish after another. That was the thing that really irked Sadie to start with: the sight of Dorothy at the kitchen table with a dish of cabbage slaw, a slice of carrot cake, and a large mug of coffee at six o’clock in the morning. Watching Dorothy nauseated Sadie. No wonder Dorothy had trouble with her constitution.

  Finally, when the tension in the kitchen became so thick it was unbearable, Dorothy clapped a hand on Sadie’s aching shoulder, lifted her chin, closed her eyes for emphasis, and said, “Sit down!”

  “Ouch!” Sadie said, rubbing her sore shoulder.

  “Sit down, I said, Sadie darlin’.”

  “Why would I sit down? Can’t you see this place is a horrible mess? And all you do is eat all morning.”

  Dorothy’s answer was a tilted head and a great guffaw of sound.

  “Sit down, Sadie. Either a bear got ahold of you, or you fell out of a tree, or I’d say you got heart problems. And them heart problems ain’t the physical kind, now is they?”

  Sadie lowered her head into her arms and groaned. Dorothy went to the coffeepot, filled a mug, and set it firmly on the tabletop in front of Sadie.

  “Drink this. And here.”

  She went to the cupboard, came back with a bottle of Advil, and shook out two pills.

  “Not with coffee,” Sadie said, peering out of her arms with one eye.

  “Oh, take ’em. Go on. Won’t hurtcha.

  “Now, tell me what happened. For one thing, if’n you’d wear better shoes, ’stead of traipsin’ around in them there sneakers of yours, if you’d go to the Dollar General and get a pair like mine, you wouldn’t be hobblin’ the way you are. You go for looks instead of good, solid quality. I have a hunch you’re doin’ the same thing with that heart o’ yours. Ain’t nothin’ gonna match good, solid, down-to-earth men. Same as shoes.”

  Dorothy paused. “Ain’t you gonna tell me what happened?”

  Sadie lifted her head, swallowed the pills with coffee, and grimaced.

  “No.”

  “An’ why ever not?”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “Has nothin’ to do with that Mark guy, now does it?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.”

  Sadie stared miserably into the distance.

  “He’s quite a looker,” Dorothy continued. “Even Barbara commented on it. Caught that doctor’s wife checkin’ him out, so I did. Jes’ shook my head to myself and thought, he can’t be easy. He’s got that brooding look about him. Too quiet. Never smiles right. Just one of them there plastic smiles he hides behind. You love him, don’t you?”

  “I did.”

  “You don’t now? You want some more of that carrot cake? I’m havin’ me another slice. I run my feet off last night. Not that I minded it, not that I minded it. Not with my Dollar General shoes, mind you.”

  She cut herself a generous slice of cake, scraping the cream-cheese frosting from the wide knife with her tongue as Sadie watched, swallowing her nausea.

  “So, what happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Now don’t give me that. You come to work looking like you got run over by a truck, and you say nothing happened.”

  Sadie eyed her warily, sighed, then told her everything, ending with her stay in the pine tree.

  “I mean, suppose Mark is the shooter, going around killing horses? And what about Louis and Marcellus? It could have been them, all these mysterious goings-on. We don’t have any idea where they come from either. For all we know, they’re little spies or something, planted here to find out where the horses are.”

  Dorothy snorted so loudly, Sadie jumped.

  “You ain’t got a grain of common sense, girl. Now don’t you go belittling my Marcelona or Louise. Them kids is definitely victims of domestic abuse. Rich kids. Their parents likely involved in some illegal mess. We know their names now. Police contacted ’em, or tried to. Couldn’t come up with nothin’. They evidently skipped the country. No, that pickup you saw. Likely some dad cartin’ his kids around and one of ’em had to go potty. Your mind blows everything way outta line.”

  “Huh-uh, Dorothy.”

  “Oh, yes it does. Even with Mark, it does.”

  “What do you know about Mark Peight?”

  “Probably more than you think.”
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br />   Sadie blinked and looked away. Now she was curious. But she was too proud to ask Dorothy what she meant by that remark, so she dropped the subject.

  They served leftover steak and fried eggs for breakfast. They made toast with store-bought bread and pancakes from the big commercial box of mix. Since everyone had overeaten the night before, they figured breakfast could be scant. Besides, they had the whole flagstone patio to hose down and chairs and tables to wash and put away. The work loomed before them.

  Jim brought Marcellus and Louis, who were each set to work with a plastic bucket of hot soapy water and a rag, and promises of a swim in the pool as soon as the job was completed.

  The children were blossoming under Dorothy’s care. They loved to help around the ranch when they could. Jim hovered over them, seeing to it that the job was done properly. Bertie came to the patio, engaging Jim in a long, heated conversation about politics, which made Dorothy hiss beneath her breath until she was fairly steaming. She told Sadie if that old coot would get off the porch and let Jim go, he’d get more work done.

  An hour later, the men were still standing at the exact same spot, and Dorothy’d had her fill. Marching up to the grizzled old gardener, she placed her fists on her hips and told him if he’d shut his trap, her James could get something accomplished, but she guessed people who worked for the government didn’t need to worry about working to earn their money.

  Bertie waved his arms and yelled. Then he stomped off the porch and went to find garbage bags, while Dorothy turned on her heel and marched self-righteously back to her domain, the kitchen.

  Sadie turned the garden-hose pressure nozzle on high and washed down the flagstones from the previous night’s party. She was sleepy, the flies were pesky, and her leg hurt worse as the forenoon wore on. She had never felt quite so depressed in her whole life.

  What was the point of hanging on to Mark Peight? He obviously was not an easy person to understand. What made him say those unkind things one minute, then become one of the nicest people anyone could ever hope to meet in the next?