Disappearances

by Linda Byler

  “So, we get on 26?”

  “Yeah.”

  Sadie glanced over at Dorothy, quite suddenly looking shorter and older, her arms outstretched, her small feet barely reaching the gas pedal or the brake. Sadie thought of the big rigs passing them from behind, with their furious speeds, and swallowed.

  “Are you used to driving this truck?” she asked, quietly.

  “Who? Me? ’Course I can drive this truck. I drove it for years. ’Fore I worked at the ranch.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t you worry, yer in good hands. You wanna stop at the Dollar General? They have a big one in Rhinesville. Clorox is a dollar a gallon. It’s up to a dollar and 29 cents at Walmart. See what I mean? You can’t beat the Dollar General. You know their off-brand a’ Ritz Crackers? They’re a dollar sixty-nine. Mind you, real Ritz at Walmart’s up to two ninety-eight. It’s a sin. How ’n the world do they expect a person to pay their bills? Now nobody needs three bucks for them crackers. I ain’t buyin’ ’em.”

  Sadie nodded in agreement.

  “I told Louise the other day, there ain’t no way I’m packin’ their school lunches no more. I give ’em three dollars, and they get a hot lunch at school. Bless their hearts, those kids is so good. So sweet. Sadie, the Lord smiled on me the day those kids came into my life. I’d give ’em everything I got. So would Jim. Love ’em to death, so we do.”

  She leaned over to check her mirror.

  “Somepin’ comin’?”

  “No,” Sadie said.

  “Well, here we go, then.”

  With that, Sadie was introduced to the wildest ride she had ever encountered, with Dorothy pressing her foot on the gas, clutching the steering wheel with both hands, passing anything in her path. They shot past tractor trailers, wove in and out of all the traffic, hardly ever going below 75 or 80 miles an hour. Sadie chewed on her lower lip, watching the mirror on her side and then the smaller cars ahead. The scenery was beautiful, with yellow beech trees, dark green pines, large horse farms, and cattle ranches dotting the countryside. Sadie sincerely hoped she’d reach Rhinesville safely and be able to return home without too much anxiety.

  The nursery and greenhouses were worth every tense mile. Acres of land were covered with healthy looking shrubs, perennials, trees, and evergreens, as well as greenhouses containing the last of the season’s flowers. Dorothy walked tirelessly in and out of rows of flowering shrubs and bushes before purchasing a small white pine for $9.99.

  “It’s not so dear,” she commented. “And when I’m dead and gone, this tree will remind Louise and Marcelona of their foster mother, now won’t it?”

  Sadie nodded agreement, settling for two arborvitae, two blue junipers, some ivy, day lilies, and hardy sage. She enjoyed her time at the nursery so much, she was reluctant to leave, buying a birdhouse for her porch at the last minute, Dorothy scolding and shaking her head.

  “Now what’s that gonna do you good? Ain’t no bird gonna build a nest in that teensy hole.”

  “They might. You never know.”

  She couldn’t tell Dorothy the birdhouse was simply “for nice”—for display. She would never get over that, bringing it up every day for a month. That was just how Dorothy was, and Sadie had learned a long time ago not to tell her things she wouldn’t approve of.

  “You know Mark coulda made you that birdhouse fer nothin’?”

  “He doesn’t have time.”

  “Why not? He has to run around shoeing horses as fast as he can so’s you kin spend it all on birdhouses?”

  “I guess so.”

  Dorothy shook her head. Sadie was almost splitting her face to keep from laughing. If anyone else would have said that, Sadie likely would have been offended, but not Dorothy. She didn’t have a mean bone in her body; she just felt it was her Christian duty to warn Sadie.

  They traveled slowly through the town, looking for the Dollar General. It was beside a McDonald’s, which left Dorothy fairly hopping up and down with glee. She parked the truck with a lurch, reached down and got her imitation brown leather purse, and dug, pulling out two coupons.

  “Which one do you want? McDonald’s or Burger King?”

  “It’s your call, Dorothy.”

  “I like McDonald’s. I like their sundaes. Hot fudge. Maybe we better go to the Dollar Store first, make sure our money lasts. Nothin’ else, we don’t have to splurge. Eating out is so dear, you know. We can get a bag o’ chips at the Dollar Store.”

  She almost ran across the parking lot, her green polyester shorts slapping about her knees, her white blouse embroidered in a rich teal thread around the neckline.

  “Here, Sadie. Here’s the carts. You better get one out here. This is a popular store. Never any carts. Never. We’re lucky we got one this time, so we are. Mark my words, the Dollar Store’s gonna put a hurtin’ on Walmart. One o’ these days, we’ll read it in the paper.”

  Dorothy’s hair was sticking straight up, completely electric with excitement, when she discovered the shoes were only $17.99, on sale from $24. She bought two pairs, saying she’d really have to explain it to Jim, but likely they’d last till she was about ready to retire.

  She bought and bought and bought. She exclaimed loudly about every price, stocking up on Clorox, Ritz Crackers, chocolate sandwich cookies, saltines, handkerchiefs for Jim, socks for the children, until her cart was full to overflowing with various useful items.

  At lunch, Dorothy ate a Big Mac with the dressing squeezing out from beneath the sandwich, spreading it across her face and completely unaware of it, talking between bites, saying this was the funnest day she had since she was 50.

  And when she backed into a utility pole, giving Sadie’s head quite a lurch, she got out to check the back bumper and said Jim could whack it out. She’d tell him someone hit her. They had. “They” was the utility pole. Why’d they put a pole at such a busy place? People didn’t think, that’s what. That’s why the world was the way it was. Nobody thought.

  They roared down the highway, the yellow Dollar General bags flapping and waving, the shrubs and bushes tilting this way and then the other, depending which way Dorothy turned in or out of traffic. Sadie prayed they wouldn’t blow a tire. When they wheezed up the driveway and came to a skidding stop, Sadie leaned back and sighed, only not loud enough for Dorothy to hear.

  Dorothy waved away the proffered gas money, saying Jim would fill it up, he had nothin’ else to do with his money except go to the fire hall an’ play Bingo, and she’d a’ liked if he didn’t do that. He was better off at home. Her Jim was a good-looking man. You never knew.

  Chapter 11

  WHEN THE BREEZES TURNED cooler, then cold, Mark said it was time to go. His work had slowed enough to allow him to plan the much-thought-about trip to Oregon. He became withdrawn, pensive, but not sullen or angry. He talked again of his past, the times he remembered Timothy. They discussed the reason his dying mother carried so much grief for him, if she barely mentioned the others.

  Sadie could tell Mark was in an agony of indecision, even after the tickets had been procured, all the necessary arrangements made, and he had talked to Timothy on the phone. Still he wavered. Would it be for the best?

  Timothy would try and contact his siblings, but hadn’t elaborated if he had accomplished this. They were simply stepping out into the unknown, having no reason to believe any good would come from it.

  Sadie could ask questions, but more often than not, she would receive a shrug of the shoulders, or a denial, an “I don’t know,” or words to that effect.

  Sadie had decided to go along. Reuben and Anna would take care of Wolf and the horses. Leah would fill in for Sadie at the ranch. She was Erma Keim’s good friend, so Sadie figured if things got too rocky, Leah could always tell Erma to back off. Mam made a new coat for Mark and a nice one made of wool for Sadie. They bought new shoes, a few shirts for Mark, packed their suitcase, and waited nervously for the driver to take them to the Amtrak station.

  “At least
no one is terminally ill this time,” Sadie quipped, trying to bolster Mark’s mood.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’ll be okay. You might be surprised how normal everyone is. If you feel no bonding, no connection, then just come back home and continue living your life without them. Nothing will change.”

  “But what will they think of me? My being Amish. I’m sure they think I’m just one big joke. A loser, who isn’t even nearly as good as he thinks he is.”

  “We’ll see, Mark. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  He went to the refrigerator, helping himself to a slice of deer bologna, followed by the jar of bread and butter pickles. He folded a slice of Swiss cheese into the bologna, piled on a generous amount of pickles, and crunched all of it between his teeth.

  “Mm, that’s good! Those pickles are the best thing ever.”

  “Give me a bite.”

  Sadie jumped up, eagerly reaching for the bologna combination, only to be slapped away playfully.

  “Come on, Mark!”

  Elaborately, he dropped the last bite into his open mouth, then hunched his back as Sadie rained blows on his arm.

  “Ow! Ow!”

  “You need to learn how to share!”

  Just as he had made another roll, the driver stopped at the end of the walks, with Sadie chewing a great mouthful on her way out. Her garden had yielded well for a brand new one. But then came the tedious job of peeling those gigantic cucumbers, cutting them in halves, scooping out the seeds, cutting them in long spears, and making banana pickles out of them. They were called that because of their resemblance to bananas: long, yellow, and curved, till they were all packed in the jar properly, standing upright, with the turmeric, that orange spice that turned everything yellow (including fingertips and countertops and wooden spoons), making them a beautiful color. Banana pickles were often served in church, fitting perfectly inside a roll of ham or eaten with cheese. Or like now, wrapped inside a roll of Swiss cheese and bologna, creating a burst of sweet and sour in Sadie’s mouth.

  The driver, Tom Nelson, the oldest, most dependable driver, with an impeccable driving record, having driven a huge 18-wheeler for “40-some” years, was in a sour mood, grunting a surly hello, throwing his cigarette reluctantly out the window when they got into the 15-passenger van.

  “Whyn’t ya tell me there was only the two of you? Woulda brought the truck.”

  “I thought I did,” Sadie offered.

  That was greeted by another grunt. “Gonna cost ya more.”

  Mark said nothing, so Sadie kept her peace. Observing Tom from the seat behind the driver, she decided he’d likely be in a better mood if he shaved and got a haircut. That gray hair looked itchy and uncomfortable, growing in stubbles all over his face that way. His glasses could have done with a good cleaning as well.

  Sadie grimaced as he reached for his ever-present bottle of warm Coke, twisting the red cap off and draining it in a few gulps before returning it to the cup holder, wiping his mouth and belching softly, as he scratched the plaid flannel fabric of the shirt stretched across his stomach.

  “So where we goin’?” he rasped.

  “Oregon,” Mark answered.

  “What?”

  The beady brown eyes peered at Mark, the head elevated slightly to see him better, his eyes adjusted to the bifocals in his glasses. Mark laughed.

  Tom bent over his steering wheel, pulling himself into a more comfortable sitting position before saying, “You better be pulling my leg!”

  Mark was still laughing when he told him about the train tickets, which seemed to put him in a better mood, caught up in Mark’s good humor.

  He drove well, the way these retired truckers did, watching for wildlife, his head constantly swiveling from side to side. “Eagle,” he pointed out. Or, “Mule deer.” Sadie would never quite figure out how he kept the van on the road while spotting all the wildlife. Mark wasn’t driving, and he didn’t find all the interesting things Tom did. Sadie guessed if you logged as many miles as this driver did over the span of 40 years, with uncountable hours spent behind the steering wheel, it all came automatically and you didn’t even think about it. Sort of like frying an egg or hanging out laundry for an Amish housewife, repetitive things you never thought about on most days as you did these mundane tasks.

  “I told Thelma, some of these cats is gonna hafta go. I can’t take it. I’m allergic to ’em. Hackin’ and coughin,’ you’d think she’d listen to me. I’m the one has the hairball in my throat, not them cats, she says. Says, I quit smokin’ these cigarettes, I quit coughin’. She says it ain’t the cats. Sure it’s them cats. Hair floatin’ all over th’ trailer, so it does. Cats on my table, cats in my bathroom, on my recliner, all over the house. Shouldn’t a’ got married that second time, that’s what. She told me she had a few cats, she didn’t tell me they’d have little ’uns. Wouldn’t a married her, I’da known.”

  Sadie smiled to herself, wondering how often she had heard this very same story. Who had put in the new pet doors? Or bought the electric water cooler type cat dish that kept their water fresh?

  “How many cats do you have?” Sadie asked, same as she always did just because she enjoyed hearing these cat stories so much.

  “I dunno. Big gray bruiser named Rex. A dog’s name, ya ask me. Rex is big. That cat weights 30 pounds, I bet. We got Lulu, she’s a smart one. Won’t drink out a’ the cat dish. Opens the spigot in the bathroom. Jes’ sits there batting at the handle until she gets it open.”

  One by one, he ticked off the cats’ names, their attributes, as proud as any father with his family. When Sadie told him this, he denied it so vehemently she was actually afraid she had offended him. She was relieved when he changed the subject to something more interesting, in his opinion.

  Trains are funny things. You sit quietly and don’t really know you’re moving until you feel a faint shudder and the buildings beside you start moving of their own accord, or so it seems. Sadie had been looking forward to the ride, remembering well the long, quiet, time they had spent prior to their marriage going to stay with his dying mother in North Dakota. There was just something soothing about sitting close to Mark, relaxed, knowing she was doing something for him, something he cared about deeply, a service she did gladly. Enjoying the sights, the sounds, and rhythm of a train, the atmosphere of togetherness where people of all ages, names, backgrounds, sat together in a common bond of traveling, all depending on the power of the wheels beneath them to take them to their destinations. There were always talkative folks, friendly, inquisitive, and those who ignored you, pretending you didn’t exist, which was okay with Sadie either way.

  Mark was quiet, falling asleep an hour after the train began moving. Sadie traced the soft line of the black hair growing along his jaw line with the tip of her finger, watched the way the thick eyelashes fluttered as she did so, and smiled to herself. So big and so strong, shoeing horses, building houses and barns, wielding a chain saw, swinging an ax, and yet so vulnerable when it came down to it. Victim of a puzzling past, he was now hurtling through the state of Montana, across Idaho, and into an unknown city in Oregon to find a brother he had never known, perhaps to uncover another painful, long-buried incident and face down yet more demons of his complex nature. Well, if it was too difficult, they’d leave. Sadie would not allow it to become a situation that would only make his life harder.

  She smoothed his blue shirt collar, flicked off a piece of thread from the sleeve of his new gray coat, then adjusted her own seat to a more comfortable position before closing her eyes. But she was too excited to sleep, so she sat up and looked around her.

  A portly gentleman was unwrapping a cupcake. Sadie’s mouth watered as she watched him unwrap the entire cake and fold the creased paper carefully before holding it up to the light for closer inspection. It had to be carrot cake, according to its orange color. The tiny white flecks were undoubtedly coconut, the heavy frosting applied so liberally it had to be cream cheese. When he inserted i
t into his mouth, easily biting off half of it, she had to restrain herself from reaching forward and extracting a tantalizing morsel for herself.

  When the complete cupcake disappeared entirely with one more wide-open chomp, and he leaned down to rummage in a small box, his face growing quite florid with his efforts, he produced another one as big as the first. He proceeded to unwrap as precisely as before, licking his fingers carefully before folding the paper perfectly. Sadie swallowed. She was really hungry.

  She wondered what a person had to do to acquire some food. She blushed when the portly gentleman caught her eye and smiled. Surely he couldn’t read her thoughts? Had she appeared as beggarly as she felt?

  The ring of white hair around his red face reminded Sadie of a white bottle brush bent in a V-shape and Super-glued to his bald head. She wondered if his hair was like Mam’s, each new white hair having a will of its own, in her words. He was just as round as a bowling pin, his shirt front gleaming with buttons, his little round knees protruding not too far away from his rotund stomach. To her embarrassment, he caught her eye again, chuckling out loud now. Quickly, she turned her head, desperately hoping he hadn’t seen her close observation.

  “You know, if looks alone could get one of these cupcakes, they’d be flying across the aisle,” he chortled, reaching below the seat with a grimace and a grunt, producing a plastic container.

  “Will you do me the honor of sharing my dessert? Compliments of Sir Walter Bartlett.”

  His little blue eyes were diamonds of merriment, topped by a shelf of bristling white eyebrows, small bottle brushes to match the one around his head. His nose was so small and red it almost eluded the observer, his mouth wide, hid by his sagging bulbous cheeks, filled to capacity with his dessert.

  “If you want, I’ll allow you one!”

  “Oh, no! I couldn’t. They’re yours.” Sadie said demurely.

  “Of course not. I bring these on the train to share. Last time it was cherry croissants, which, I believe, are the lesser dessert, according to my way of judgment. But you know, never take a treat for granted, and the bakery on Second Street has a vast array. A vast array of yet untried possibilities.”