by Linda Byler
Mark nodded. “She did.”
“Nice yer goin’ to see ’er. She’ll be glad. That’s good.”
Sadie felt the goose bumps begin on her arms, and quick tears sprang to her eyes. Those words from this person with no guile somehow seemed prophetic, a good omen.
This worldly girl helped them cheerfully and sincerely wished them well. She was the sort of person who would have helped the poor man in the Bible who was assaulted and beaten, lying in the culvert by the side of the road.
The Spirit of the Lord was like the wind. You saw what it did, but you couldn’t tell where it came from.
“Hey, tell you what. If’n it don’t suit Jeff, jes’ come back. I’ll call my mom to fill in for me, an’ I’ll take ya.”
Mark thanked her, and as they turned to go the girl waved her hand and told them to leave their luggage. It wasn’t in anyone’s road, no how.
Jeff was a portly individual, his overalls grimy with grease and mud. The clasps at his shoulders the only clean thing about him, except for his teeth, which were long and surprisingly white.
He greeted them with a curious grin, quiet eyes, and a hearty, “Ya lost?”
Mark smiled back and told him that perhaps they were. He told Jeff about his mother’s residence on Killdeer Road, and Jeff pondered the length of it in his mind.
“The only place I know out there is that… Naw, that ain’t yer ma. She’s crazier ’n a coyote with fleas. Tain’t her.”
Mark froze, a statue of indecision. The panic and foreboding in his face was almost Sadie’s undoing.
Why had they come? They knew nothing of this strange woman. She meant nothing to Mark. Would they regret this wild-goose chase? Would it hurt rather than help Mark?
“If’n this woman’s yer ma, you gotta be prepared. Talk has it, she ain’t right in the head. Haven’t seen her in a while, huh?”
Mark shook his head.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be a’ gossipin’. Lord knows there’s way too mucha that goin’ on. An, besides, she’s yer ma.”
Jeff called over the half-door to his wife, telling her that he was leaving for a little while. Then he went to get his keys.
Sadie slid her hand into Mark’s. He tightened his hand and gave her a grateful look. But the pallor of his face gave away the fact that he was in turmoil, finding Jeff’s words to be fiercely disturbing.
They made their way to the aging, white pickup, the running board rusted so badly, Sadie stepped over it entirely.
Apologizing, Jeff pushed aside the trash: empty tea bottles, sticky orange-juice cartons, screwdrivers, duct tape, dirty little receipts, crumbling newspaper, an assortment of junk that must not have been disturbed for months.
“Don’t nobody ride in my truck hardly ever,” Jeff said laughing good-naturedly. “Shoulda taken Lila’s car. She keeps it a sight cleaner.”
They eased out of town, Jeff waving at each person on the sidewalk, pressing down hard on the horn when three dogs crossed the street in front of them. A mangy-looking sheep dog, a German shepherd that looked less than friendly, followed by a large dog of various descents, ambled across.
“Ol’ Bertha’s got her dogs loose again. What this town needs is a dog warden. Mayor, such as he is, says we can’t afford one. Well, we can’t afford the accidents these big bruisers cause, trotting all over town as if they own it.”
Jeff shook his head, pushed back his cap, glanced in the rearview mirror, and made a hard left.
“Trouble is, ain’t enough of us. Work’s not so good anymore. Most of us worked for the wheat farmers or the big gas company, only the gas ain’t producin’ the way it used ta.”
Jeff rambled in his friendly manner. The truck swerved around potholes and bounced across skips in the macadam. Jeff turned the steering wheel first one way, then another, grimacing as the right front wheel hit an especially large pothole.
He pointed to tall grain bins, their sides coated with rust, sienna-colored messengers of time and neglect.
“See them?”
Mark craned his neck.
“Part of the ranch we’re headed to. Nothin’ left hardly. It’s yer typical sad story. Good man, that Scout. Scout’s his nickname. His real name is Bill Van Syoc. Hard-working. Owned half the county in acreage. Wheat farmer. Cattle. Married that… Well, I can’t say in front of you people what I normally would. Excuse me, but she ran everything into the ground. The town people saw him go from a proud, ambitious person to a wreck in no time flat. Took to alcohol. It’s a shame.”
Mark sat beside Sadie tight-lipped, so she said nothing and just looked out the window at the landscape.
North Dakota was literally as flat as a pancake. There were no rolling hills, no dips, just long stretches of prairie. The roads were as straight and flat as the land. Weather-beaten grain bins seemed to cling to the earth. Occasionally one appeared slanted, almost as if the wind had pushed at it steadily until, inch by inch, the building had leaned in the direction the wind wanted it to go. Rusted sign posts stood like rail-thin, starving people. There were no fences, which made everything seem loose and free.
An occasional meadowlark warbled from the top of a wooden mailbox post while smaller birds dipped and whirled across the sky. The grasses were showing hints of green, although the entire landscape still showed its brown winter hue. This land seemed foreign, somehow. The vastness of it made Sadie feel like she was in another country.
Jeff looked to the right, squinting beneath the visor, then pointed with a gnarled finger.
“See them buildings?”
They nodded their acknowledgment.
“That’s where we’re headed.”
As they drew closer, Mark’s eyes folded into slits. The mailbox sagged on a post hanging on by a thread. The post stood haphazardly in an opening much too large to hold it upright.
The house was unconventional for the area, built by someone with oversized dreams, as if the builder attempted a sort of mini-castle, then found his funds depleted and stopped all the work, finishing it as cheaply as possible.
The roofline had no sense of balance due to the gable ends, turrets, and balconies. Parts of the house had beautiful gingerbread cornices, but the rest was plain and finished with ordinary vinyl siding. Some of the windows had black shutters, but most of them had nothing at all, making them appear unprotected and unfinished. There was a large front porch with expensive urns that were filled with weeds. Weeds climbed the house too, their sadness spilling over the windows and door frames in brown destitution.
Poison ivy covered the chimney, the massive sandstone apparatus that consumed almost the entire south side of the house.
Jeff drove slowly, trying to avoid the deep washes in the unkempt driveway. Beneath a towering tree were the remains of a water fountain, a hammock, roses growing wild.
When Sadie saw an elaborate statue of a little girl holding a basket of flowers, her skirt blowing in the wind, almost buried beneath wild ivy, she thought her heart would break. Once, there had been a beautiful garden, but time and neglect had turned it into a forlorn picture of sorrow.
Oh, the complete desolation!
Jeff stopped the truck, then looked at them levelly.
“Now are you sure you don’t want me to wait? Let’s just say I’ll set right here until you go knock on that door, all right?”
“I’d be obliged, but we’ll try and make it short. I’m sure you have work to do at home,” Mark said.
“I’ll be fine.”
Sadie smiled at Jeff and was rewarded with a look of sincere warmth. Then she looked up at Mark. He would not meet her gaze, his face having lost most of its color, his mouth set in a grim line.
The sidewalk had been beautiful sandstone laid to precision, but it was covered over now by an assortment of weeds and vines.
Surely no one lived here. Certainly no one visited anymore.
She followed Mark up the steps of the front porch, her heart hammering against her ribs. When he knocked on the lar
ge oak door, still wondrous in spite of the neglect, she bit her lip and clenched her fingers.
There was a chorus of barks, howls, and yips, and then the door swung slowly inward.
At first Sadie thought the woman could not possibly be a real person, only a caricature someone rigged to the door to frighten intruders. She was so thin! Way too tall, too white, the cheeks sunken, the black hair hanging in dirty tendrils around her shoulders.
The woman threw them an angry glance, a black look of suspicion. The look was so that Sadie clutched desperately at Mark’s sleeve, but he shook off her trembling hands.
“Whadda ya want?”
The voice was only a thin rasp, barely audible above the chorus from the dogs. She slapped halfheartedly at the largest, a white Siberian husky, with blue eyes and the dark brows so often seen in that breed.
“I am… I am Mark Peight. This is my girlfriend, Sadie Miller.”
He could not say more or less. It was straightforward, mincing nothing. His family of origin, his marital status, and the Amish religion was all there for her to comprehend and absorb.
The dogs quieted when one thin, white hand went to the husky’s head. The other hand went to her throat, clutched at the black satin robe, then fell to her side. A long, thin breath whistled through her dry, white lips. Suddenly, she lowered her head and the lank hair fell over her face. Sadie thought she was going to fall and moved forward to catch her, when the woman put one hand on the door frame, swayed slightly, then steadied herself.
“Aaah.” It was a hoarse, broken cry.
Then her head came up, the eyes large and black with defiance. She took a step back.
“You’re… A-Amish!” she whispered hoarsely.
“Yes. I am also your oldest son.”
“Just … just go. Leave me alone. You’ll condemn me to hell. It’s where I’m going soon enough anyway.”
“Don’t, Mam.”
“What did you call me?”
Her voice was painfully raw. If a voice could bleed, it would sound like this.
“I called you Mam. You are my mother. You asked to see me, so I came.”
“But … you can’t come into my house.”
“Why not?”
“You … you have to shun me. I am im bann.”
“I know.”
“Just go.” The words were tired, broken, so weary they left a trail of complete exhaustion across Sadie’s heart. But she ignored it, stepping forward bravely.
“No, we’re going to stay here with you for a little while,” she said.
She met Sadie’s eyes, saw the innocence, the guilelessness, and wavered. Her indecision was so apparent, flickering in her large dark eyes.
“Why would you?”
“We traveled all this way to be with you, and we’d love to stay, talk, and…”
“I’m ill. I won’t live long. You don’t want to be here.”
“We’ll just bring in our luggage, if that’s all right,” Sadie answered.
They bade Jeff goodbye. He gave them his cell phone number, shaking his head in worried disbelief that they were actually staying there.
When Mark and Sadie walked through the front door, the dogs rose to greet them. They were quiet now, and Mark bent to stroke them all, fondling their ears like a true dog-lover.
His mother stood by the wall, supporting herself on the back of a red wing-chair, watching with an expression that had no name.
Chapter 20
SADIE NEVER THOUGHT THE WORD “DESPAIR” would be suitable to describe a home, but it was the only word that fit the place where Amelia Van Syoc lived. It wasn’t the dust and grime as much as the atmosphere of a person living without hope.
The house had been full of beauty at one time but now held only decay. The carpet, the hardwood floors, and the ceramic tiles were covered in years of dust and dog hair. Every window was covered with insulated drapes, dark blinds, or simply with fabric. Even the sunshine and fresh air were trapped outside.
There were boxes piled everywhere, as if she had tried to fill the emptiness by purchasing things. Over time she accumulated huge containers filled with all kinds of useless items. There was a path between the boxes through the living room, kitchen, and dining room. Otherwise, they had to set things aside to be able to reach the bedrooms where Amelia had told them to put their suitcases.
They had each sleepless nights on lumpy mattresses. In the morning they sat across from each other at the kitchen table with nothing to say. There was no food in the cupboards, and they found the refrigerator almost empty, so Sadie made coffee and drank it black.
Mark was in that dark place, answering Sadie’s questions through averted eyes. He glanced at the bedroom door his mother had entered the evening before, gasping for breath as she did so, telling them she was tired and going to bed.
Was she still alive? Would she allow them to stay?
Sadie longed to get started on cleaning the house, but Mark had not yet given her permission. So she sat, drank the awful coffee, and gave up trying to engage Mark in any further conversation.
Sunlight filtered through the lone uncovered window, creating a bright patch of light on the ceramic floor. Sadie placed her foot on it, as if it would beat back the darkness creeping into her body and mind as she contemplated this lonely woman’s life.
The heavy oak door creaked on its hinges as Mark’s mother slowly pulled it open from the inside. Sadie looked away from the white face and piercing dark eyes that were creating a sort of panic in her chest.
She never said a word, only shuffled to the bathroom, her black satin robe clutched to her skeletal frame.
The dogs had been sleeping at Mark’s feet calmly, as if they knew help had arrived and were glad of it. Obediently, the dogs rose as if she had called them. They followed her down the hallway and laid outside the bathroom door.
Sadie tried desperately to met Mark’s eyes, but he had shut her out. His face was like cut granite, his eyes flat and black.
There was a hoarse cry, a shattering of glass, and a thump from behind the closed door. Instantly, Mark was on his feet with Sadie at his heels.
“Are you all right?” he called.
When there was no answer, he turned the knob, then went in. Sadie gasped when she saw the pathetic figure huddled by the commode, a glass shattered beside her and a bottle of pills scattered around her, absorbing the puddles of water on the floor.
Mark knelt beside his mother and called her name.
“Meely! Mam!”
The face was even more colorless now, the eyes closed.
Mark felt for a pulse, put his ear to the thin chest, then scooped her up in his arms like a child. He carried her from the bathroom to the living room, folding her long, thin body on the cluttered, brown sofa.
Out of habit, Sadie quickly returned to the bathroom to pick up the shards of glass and mop up the water. When she returned to the living room, Mark was calling his mother’s name yet again.
When she finally responded, he was so visibly relieved it was heartbreaking. Meely cried in low moaning sounds, her thin lips drawn back in agony. She turned her face away, a gesture to save her withering pride.
“I’m…,” she whispered.
Mark bent, then went on his knees beside the sofa, his hands hanging awkwardly by his side as if afraid to touch her.
“I’m…,” Meely tried again.
A long, broken breath.
“I’m … going to die.”
“Not yet, Mam. We’re here. Sadie and I.”
She nodded, struggled to sit up, then fell back on the sofa, closing her eyes. Her hands fluttered restlessly over the satin robe.
Sadie reached out, pulled up the heavy fabric of the robe, and laid it gently across her stomach.
“Meely.” The word was new, but she said it quietly, bravely. “We’re here to stay. We’re going to take good care of you. Is it okay for me to clean and buy some food?”
Another weary nod, then she twisted her body
as she strained and heaved, completely sick to her stomach.
Sadie glided noiselessly to the kitchen, found a container, and returned to the living room, stroking Meely’s back as she strained.
“It’s okay. We’re here. You’ll be all right,” she crooned.
Mark watched her and remembered. The snow, the cold, the horse so thin, so evidently dying. Sadie kneeling by the horse, holding its head, stroking the mane, whispering words of endearment in Pennsylvania Dutch. It was then he had fallen in love with her, and that love had only grown stronger with time.
He was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion and put a hand reassuringly on Sadie’s shoulder. He did not look away when she turned to meet his gaze, burning now with intensity.
Meely wiped her mouth with a crumpled tissue, then moaned softly, waving her hand in dismissal. Slowly she turned to face the wall.
Sadie watched as Meely’s eyes closed, then turned and headed for the kitchen. Mark was suddenly behind her. He slid his arms around her and held her as if she was the anchor that grounded him to his very life.
“I love you so much,” he whispered in her ear.
“And I love you, Mark. Always,” she returned.
Anything was possible with Mark’s love. Her spirit lifted to new heights.
They cleaned all morning. They carried boxes to one designated room, swept, pushed aside the drapes, cleaned windows, scoured bathrooms, emptied waste cans, and moved furniture. By mid-afternoon they were absolutely ravenous.
They called Jeff, who whisked them off to the local grocery. They bought fresh meat and cheese, salt, flour, oatmeal, cereal, and all the staples they would need to cook nutritious meals that they hoped would tempt Meely’s appetite. They returned and filled the freshly cleaned cupboards and refrigerator.
They toasted bagels in the toaster, cooked thick sausage patties, and melted Swiss cheese all over them. They scrambled eggs and built huge breakfast sandwiches with ketchup slathered liberally in the middle.
They drank cold orange juice, talked with their mouths full, licked their fingers, and then Sadie jumped up for a roll of paper towels.
“No napkins. Mark, we forgot.”
“Sit down, Sadie.”