Disappearances

by Linda Byler

  “Sadie!” Ketty boomed.

  “H…hello, Ketty,” Sadie said, floundering a bit, grabbing for composure.

  “Welcome to my store!”

  “It’s nice!”

  “Really nice, isn’t it? My Fred is something. Never saw anyone that can put up a nicer building for less than 2000 dollars.”

  “Really?”

  Ketty nodded proudly, then lowered herself around the cash register to whisper confidentially that Fred is good buddies with Jack from the lumberyard. Gave him stuff he can’t sell anymore.

  “That’s good,” Sadie said, smiling.

  It had to be close to a hundred degrees in the place. Sadie took off her sweater, asking if she could put it by the cash register.

  “You too warm? Well, I got a bunch of cheap apples from the fruit man, and we don’t eat so many apples, me and Fred. I hate to see them go to waste, so I told Fred if he starts me a wood fire, I’d cook down the apples for loddveig. Nothing better than loddveig on a warm dinner roll, gel, Sadie?”

  Sadie nodded, smiled, said all the appropriate things, her eyes looking for the right shade of blue, her fingers searching for a good, lightweight, sturdy fabric. She scratched her head, then wiped her forehead with a clean handkerchief. This was absolutely miserable. What was wrong with this woman? Why didn’t she open a window? Perspiration beading her forehead, she quickly made her purchase, steering clear of the red-hot, potbellied stove snapping and crackling in one corner, a heavy pot of apples bubbling and steaming on the top.

  “Three yards of this, please.”

  “Sure.”

  Fred Ketty made a sweeping motion with her arms, a grandiose gesture of the experienced store owner, one who would become quite well-to-do the minute she had sold Sadie her fabric.

  Sadie looked behind Ketty to the plush recliner, the cup of coffee, the heavy book. What had she been reading? On a Saturday? This early in the morning? A half-eaten cinnamon roll lay haphazardly across the Saran-wrap-covered plate that contained five more.

  War and Peace? Fred Ketty was reading War and Peace? Sadie looked sharply at Fred Ketty as if seeing her for the first time. Was she a genuine intellectual? People said she was way smarter than she looked, which was a blunt statement, but honest.

  She imagined Fred Ketty with her hair down, dressed in English clothes. She was tall, statuesque, actually, her eyebrows quite regal-looking. If she wasn’t wearing the rumpled dress, the too-small glasses, the lopsided covering, she could probably look quite distinguished. A lawyer?

  Sadie imagined Fred Ketty walking the streets of New York City, wearing a black belted trench coat and large, dark glasses, carrying a designer briefcase, four-inch heels coming down on the paved sidewalk. She bet she could do it if she hadn’t been born Amish. But here was Fred Ketty, her keen eyes looking at the world through her plain glasses, perfectly happy, avidly curious about the world’s goings on, about history, especially World War II. It was an innocent outlet for a mind that could have been taught so much more. It was the way of it. No sadness in this birdlike happiness.

  “How’s marriage treating you?” Fred Ketty asked, folding a three-yard length, her bright eyes looking straight through her.

  Sadie opened her mouth to say, “Fine,” but instead, ended up with a catch in her throat, her mouth wobbling. She sat behind the counter with Fred Ketty for an hour, eating the softest, most wonderful cinnamon rolls with cream cheese frosting and drinking chai tea, which Fred Ketty said was good for the sinuses, among other things.

  She told her about Mark, and Fred Ketty clapped a warm hand on her shoulder and said that boy had a rough start. How in the world could she ever figure it wouldn’t show up sometimes? The human spirit could only take so much and not more, and he was likely doing the best he could, and she’d always said that Mark had married exactly the right girl, as strong as Sadie was. She was the perfect helpmate for a guy like him, and if he went into a depression like that, she’d have to detach herself and go on with her life and know she couldn’t change him. And if it got too bad, she could come over and sit in her store and eat sticky buns and drink chai tea.

  She laughed so deeply and genuinely when Sadie told her about Mark sleeping on the couch, that it rolled between them and caught Sadie infectiously until her whole world looked better and better.

  “It’s called marriage, Sadie dear!” she gasped, lifting her too small glasses to wipe her eyes, and Sadie was so glad Fred Ketty was here in her cheap little store and not a lawyer in New York City.

  Chapter 10

  “WHY DID YOU NOT tell me, Mark?”

  Sadie’s words were ripe with frustration. “Why? Why put me through all these days of silence, the months of not knowing what in the world is eating you, and suddenly, bingo, you let me in on your wonderful secret, which you had absolutely no right to hide from me at all?”

  Mark leaped up, pushed back his kitchen chair, and slammed the door behind him as he left the house, giving Sadie no answer. She was so angry.

  It was sweltering. Dry, hot wind tugged at the curtains, stirring the thick, tepid air but giving no real relief. In Montana the summer was not as unendurable as in Ohio, but there were always a few uncomfortable weeks, and this year had been no different.

  Absentmindedly, she stirred the cold soup, that sweet concoction the Amish still considered a good, refreshing alternative to cookies on days when no one was comfortable. A large amount of fresh blueberries in the bottom of a generous pottery serving bowl, a liberal amount of sugar, a few slices of heavy homemade bread broken on top, and ice-cold milk poured over everything. Kalte sup.

  It was so good. Sweet and creamy and fruity. Dorothy shivered to think about it, which made Sadie smile.

  Wearily she began gathering knives, spoons, and forks, heading for the sink. Why had he done this on his own? Searching, going to the library, asking Duane Ashland, of all people, to use the computer. Genealogy. The word was hostile somehow. Against her. So now, out of the clear blue sky, he announced he had contacted his brother Timothy, and they planned to meet. He lived in Oregon. He was going, and did she want to go?

  What about the months of wondering if she’d actually made a mistake? Marrying him the way she had, thinking her whole life would be one long day of love and adoration. She felt angry, bitter, and betrayed by his secrecy. So angry, in fact, that he was going to know it. She was absolutely not letting him get away with blithely skipping over these past months of hurt and disappointment.

  She rattled the dishes as loudly as she could, somehow taking delight in banging them. She jerked the dish towel off its rack, snapped it into the air, and began drying dishes as if her life depended on exactly how dry they would become. To punish him, she wouldn’t go. He could go by himself. He could pack his own suitcase, too.

  Being all alone in one’s kitchen, letting anger and bitterness eat away at your soul like battery acid, was not the thing to do. It was plain to her after a miserable evening. Something would have to give.

  Dear Father in heaven, I am so mad. I am such a complete mess. I can’t forgive Mark. I can’t stand him, even. You know my heart. All my horrible hatred and bitterness. Cleanse me now. Let my sins be washed away. Give me a new start.

  So she prayed, swinging back and forth on the porch swing, the new porch steps beside her a tribute to Mark’s hard work. She turned her head to listen. A buggy? Yes, a horse and buggy was traveling down Atkin’s Ridge, coming in their direction. Oh, she hoped it was someone from her family. She missed them all so much. It had been too long since she had been back home with Mam and her sisters.

  Listening eagerly now, she stopped the swing. The crunch of gravel on steel wheels was gratifying. It was Reuben and Anna! Leaping up, she began waving long before they reached the house, then ran down the steps and across the yard to greet them.

  “Check out my new buggy!”

  Reuben was 16 years old now and was still eager to tell Sadie everything he knew, blurting out the good news withou
t as much as a hello.

  “Wow! Sharp!” Sadie burst out.

  Anna was grinning widely, and Reuben tried hard to maintain his air of grave manliness, but he couldn’t hide his little-boy delight.

  “Look at this! Gray and red! The carpeting is black and gray!”

  “The glove compartment is very nice, too! Wow! Dat paid a lot for this rig!” Sadie said.

  Mark came up from the barn and duly exclaimed about the new buggy, the harness, and where did he get the horse?

  “It’s Charlie!” Reuben crowed.

  It was Charlie, a bathed and currycombed one. Even his mane and tail were clipped.

  “Go tie Charlie and come in,” Mark ordered.

  They needed no second invitation, quickly gathering on the porch in the hot, still evening. Reuben seemed almost shy about the fact that he had turned 16. There was always a big fuss when one of the girls reached that age, which he never understood, displaying plenty of disbelief in the entire ritual. But when it was his own turn, he soaked up the attention like a dry sponge.

  “So now Anna has a ride to the suppers and singings, right?” Sadie asked, smiling appreciatively at Reuben.

  “I guess so,” he said gruffly.

  Anna winked broadly.

  “How’s life treating you, Anna?”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  The usual noncommittal answer from Anna.

  “No Neil Hershberger yet?”

  A look of pain crossed Anna’s face, and she bent her head.

  “I guess not. He’s dating Sheryl.”

  “He’s what?”

  Sadie was clearly disturbed.

  “Sheryl?”

  Anna nodded.

  “Why?”

  Anna shrugged her shoulders, her eyes downcast, biting her lip. Reuben shushed her with his eyes, drawing his eyebrows down with a slight shake of his head, rolling his eyes in Anna’s direction. Sadie nodded slightly, then changed the subject.

  Mark suggested they go fishing. He was hungry for some fresh trout, and with Danner’s Creek this low, they’d have a good chance at a few fat ones. Reuben jumped up, clearly beside himself at the opportunity to show Mark his fly-fishing skills, which left Sadie with Anna for another hour or so before darkness folded itself across the land.

  Sadie went to the kitchen, bringing back tall glasses of lemonade, the fresh-squeezed kind that Mark loved so much. Anna sipped daintily at hers, making a face afterward.

  “Sour,” she commented.

  “It’s the way Mark likes it.”

  “I’m never getting married,” Anna said bluntly.

  “I wouldn’t.”

  Anna’s head came up, and a smile crinkled her eyes at the corners. Her face was still gaunt, but not as angular, not quite as skeletal as it had been in the spring. The belt on her apron was tied loosely, so she still had the appearance of being painfully thin.

  “Why do you say that?”

  Sadie shrugged. “We just aren’t … It’s been a difficult summer. He finally came out and told me today, today, mind you, what has been so heavy on his mind.”

  Sadie told Anna the story, coming to a close with a frustrated, palms-up, arms-outspread jerk of her arms.

  “Go figure! Go around leaving me in the dark.”

  Anna nodded. “I know how he feels.”

  “You do not.”

  “I do. I know exactly.”

  “Tell me.”

  Anna was quiet, sipping her drink, alternately making horrible faces till Sadie laughed, asking why she put herself through all that misery drinking that lemonade.

  “I don’t know how to explain it, but I know how he feels.”

  “Please, Anna.”

  “Well, you don’t talk as if you’re afraid people will think you’re dumb if you say what you think.”

  “Can you say that differently?”

  “I’m not a good talker. Like now, I can’t.… Often the words don’t come out right. Then if I do say … say how I feel, I imagine you … all my sisters think I’m dumb. So I don’t talk.”

  “Why would we think that?”

  “You do. Often I am dumb.”

  “Anna!”

  “Well, all my older sisters are beautiful and smart … and … and someone. If you love others a lot, look up to them, it’s pretty scary. Because if you do give an opinion, they’ll think it’s stupid. I am not smart like the rest of you. So I stay quiet.”

  “And then you don’t eat because it’s something you can control?”

  Anna shrugged, sipped her lemonade, and pursed her lips, which Sadie saw but was thinking too deeply to notice. What were the right words?

  “So you think Mark feels the same way?”

  “Probably.”

  “He was afraid I’d laugh at him for looking for his brother? But we had talked about it before!” Sadie burst out.

  Anna nodded. “Still, think about it. He’s afraid of you, in a way.”

  Anna looked off across the lawn, her eyes softer than Sadie had seen them in a long time. “He’s afraid you’ll laugh at him. Think he’s bupp-lich.”

  Sadie shook her head in disbelief.

  “Ask him,” Anna finished.

  She told Sadie, then, about her return to the youth’s events, how Neil acted as if nothing ever happened and that their friendship would continue, begging her to go out with him in his car. She had gone, of course, she would always go with him, so glad he wanted her back, telling herself he was too shy to meet her parents or ask her for a real date. How she loved him! Sadie nodded, understanding.

  Then one night about a month ago, she realized he had no good intentions toward her and, selfishly, wanted her to leave her family and the Amish community for good. How he had pleaded. He said if she loved him she’d prove herself and go away with him. She almost went. She hadn’t told anyone, knowing they would think she was foolish.

  One night she dreamed Neil was leading her with a rope, the rope tightening around her neck, and she woke up screaming and screaming, choking and crying.

  Mam had mentioned Anna’s nightmares to Sadie. They had both agreed it was only normal after her accident. But this?

  After she told Neil she would not leave the community, he had retaliated by dating Sheryl, a good five years his senior, and certainly a pitiful choice, leaving only a trail of heartache.

  Anna finished miserably, “Now, he’s trying to prove to me that he’s staying Amish, obeying his parents, only not doing it for me.”

  “You don’t care, do you?”

  Anna shrugged her thin shoulders.

  “Are you eating?”

  “Better.”

  “Good girl, Anna. I’m so glad to hear you say that.”

  Anna smiled, a small timid lifting of her lips, but a smile nevertheless.

  The following Saturday, Dorothy insisted they were going to the nursery. The summer was almost gone, and early fall was a good time to plant evergreens. She wanted a white pine of her own.

  Sadie had hoped she would forget about it, especially when she remembered the steering wheel of the old pickup being stubborn at certain times. With Dorothy, though, there was no forgetting. Erma Keim could cook by herself, she said, since she knew how to make everything better than Dorothy did, anyway.

  So Sadie dressed in her lightweight blue dress, combed her dark hair carefully, spraying it liberally with hair spray and pinning her covering with extra pins. She knew that with the lack of air conditioning and Dorothy’s love of a strong breeze, the windows would be lowered the whole way down, as they hit speeds nearing 75 miles an hour if there was a good highway.

  Mark watched her pin her covering and laughed.

  “I can only guess what you’ll look like coming back.”

  “If I come back!” Sadie laughed.

  Mark sobered, then walked over and put his hands on her shoulders, bending his head to kiss her deeply before holding her tenderly against his body.

  “Please be careful. I couldn’t live witho
ut you. You are my life, the reason for my existence. Nothing else makes any sense.”

  Sadie clung to her husband, turned her face away, and felt the bitterness, the sadness, the impending sense of failure, leave a trail of debris as it was ushered out the door of her heart. When she cleared her throat, the debris followed, leaving a clean, white trail, sparkling with stardust, accompanied by the strains of angel harps.

  Forgiveness, then, was incredibly important when two people became one, united in holy matrimony, as the minister had said. Sometimes their union had certainly not been holy. Or sacred. Why didn’t someone write a manual about after your wedding day? A complete list of how-to’s in every situation.

  Well, for now, on this wonderful, glad morning, hope sprang up, completely new, stronger than ever.

  “I love you, Mark,” she whispered.

  “I love you, too,” he answered, taking a deep breath.

  It’s one of life’s greatest mysteries. No matter what, you simply were not happy if you were angry with your husband. Even if you had more than enough reason to be. Even if you believed yourself to be a victim of his selfishness, his manners, you still did not have the all-consuming happiness that came with forgiveness. She felt like skipping out to the truck when it ground to a halt at the end of the new walkway Mark had finished.

  “Good morning, Dorothy!”

  “Don’t you look nice, Honey?” Dorothy said, her way of greeting.

  “Thank you!”

  She slid the truck perfectly into drive, shifting gears much better than her husband ever did, her short arms and round fingers finding the gears as expertly as any truck driver. They wound their way along the rural roads, the morning air cool enough to keep the windows closed except for an inch or so at the top and still be comfortable.

  “Where are we going, Dorothy?”

  “To Rhinesville.”

  “How far away is it?”

  “’Bout an hour.”