Disappearances

by Linda Byler

  Dat teased Sadie about changing Paris’s name to Lassie, that it was just like the old classic story of a dog finding its way home. Sadie smiled and smiled, she was so glad to be at home with her family, thinking of Paris in the barn, safe, warm, and secure.

  Timothy would not accompany them to Sadie’s parents, so they left him at home.

  Sadie asked Dat about Tim, what would be the best way to approach him to make the decision to come back to the Amish.

  Dat shook his head. “It’s going to be tough.”

  Mark disagreed, saying he had his share of wild days and was thoroughly sick of the whole scene. He had been sick of it even before he came to meet Jackson.

  “I think he’s just too shy to tell anyone how he feels. To change back into Amish clothes, to make all new friends, feel at home in the community. It’s a big mountain to scale for a person as bashful as Tim.”

  “Bring him sometime,” Dat said. “Christmas would be as good a time as any.”

  Sadie looked at Mark, raised her eyebrows in question. Yes, they would bring him. Or try to.

  Mam’s fried chicken, as usual, was outstanding. And as usual, Sadie could not resist that second piece, followed by a large slice of homemade butterscotch pie. The coffee was perfect. Reuben came dashing in at the last minute just to say Hi, being otherwise occupied, in his words. Two of his friends were waiting in the buggy, so he grabbed a piece of chicken on the run, Mam calling after him about taking one for his friends, and he yelled back they didn’t need any, which made Mark laugh and Dat smile and drink his coffee.

  The atmosphere was so cozy, so homey with Mark beside her, his wide shoulders leaning back in his chair, at ease, happy to be here, confident in Sadie’s love, a place to call his own, a reason for living after the overwhelming ordeal that had been his childhood.

  “Only forward.” Sadie seemed to hear the words, and yet there was no voice. I bet God just put those words in my head, she thought, looking around to see if anyone else had heard them. Just keep our eyes on the finish line, run the Christian race with Jesus Christ our Savior by our sides, and we won’t go wrong. Thankfulness washed over her, along with a deep sense of purpose where Tim was concerned. There was so much good in Tim.

  At work on Monday morning, Erma Keim walked quietly, even sedately through the door, unbuttoning her coat as she went, hanging her scarf neatly on the hook. Turning, she smiled, wished them a good morning, then turned to look at herself in the mirror. Sadie looked at Dorothy, and they both raised their eyebrows. What was going on? Sadie’s heart sank, her sadness for Erma slowly churning in her stomach.

  Dear God, she prayed, please give her the strength. Tears were close to the surface as she begged God to help Erma Keim through this time of trial.

  Erma’s hair was again combed back severely, her covering forward, well over her ears. She walked softly, rocking her feet from toe to heel, then asked Dorothy if she needed help with the bacon.

  “I … guess,” Dorothy stammered in disbelief.

  Serenely, quietly, Erma placed bacon on the hot griddle, averting her eyes. Sadie put water on for the grits, sliced oranges, arranged the apple and pineapple for the fruit compartment, her heart heavy. Should she approach Erma? Offer condolence? Ask her outright whether Steven had returned to Indiana? After they served breakfast and filled their mugs of coffee, Sadie slid an arm around Erma’s narrow waist, laying her cheek on her upper arm.

  “Erma, tell me what’s troubling you. Please feel free to confide in me. I pitied you so much when you looked so sad in church yesterday. You’re just not yourself at all this morning, either. Is it Steven? Did you two … sort of have something going? It…”

  She raced on, feeling as if she was sinking, unable to bring any happiness to Erma this way.

  “Did he … he return to Indiana?” she blurted out, ready to accept Erma’s sad fate.

  Erma slid a long, thin arm around Sadie’s waist, then released her, stepped back, and laid her large hands on her shoulders.

  “Oh, Sadie, you are a dear. It’s nothing like that.” Bending her head, looking over her shoulder, then at Dorothy, she whispered, “I have a date.”

  The breath seemed to leave Sadie’s body, she had no voice or air to start her words after that. She remembered Dorothy’s look of disbelief, then her peal of laughter ringing through the kitchen, slapping her knees, her elbow catching the handle of her cup, dangerously rocking it, spilling a small amount of the steaming liquid on her sleeve.

  “Who with? That long-nosed Mr. Weaver that comes in here?” she screeched.

  Erma smiled, an angelic version of her usual rich-throated guffaws.

  “Yes, him.”

  That was all she said, smiling sweetly at Sadie before turning to her coffee. Sadie squealed, congratulated her, then begged her to be herself.

  “You don’t have to change, Erma. Seriously. We love you just the way you are. Evidently, so does Steven!”

  Erma looked confused, a bit sad, even. Looking around, making sure no one would hear her, she whispered, “I don’t want to wreck my blessing!”

  Christmas was a time of heightened activity in the Amish community. Hymn singings, school programs, Christmas dinners, caroling, shopping, gift exchanges, baking and cooking among the most important events. So Mark and Sadie had very little time to spend with Tim or fret about Anna’s problems.

  Paris remained lame in the hind right foot in spite of Mark’s expertise, removing the shoe, cleaning the hoof, telling Sadie it may be the start of laminitis, which was like an arrow to Sadie’s heart. They soaked the foot in warm water, applied the secret home remedy, that strong black salve that was a miracle cure for most horse hoof ailments. Still the reddened, infected tissue remained.

  On Christmas morning, a storm blew in. The sun appeared for only a short time, cloaking the valley in shades of lavender and orange, only to disappear behind a heavy gray bank of clouds swollen with churning winds. Icy snow fragments began pelting the earth just as Mark and Sadie tucked themselves into the buggy, the presents and chocolate treats placed under the back seat.

  Truman was a handful, crow-hopping, shaking his head to dislodge the bit in his mouth, pulling on the reins, wanting to break free and run too fast, putting the light shafts connecting him to the buggy in decided jeopardy, the way he was carrying on.

  This was a serious storm, Sadie decided, when Mark opened the window and clicked it fast to the holder on the ceiling. “Can’t see,” he murmured, as he squinted into the steadily increasing snow.

  Sadie wrapped her black, woolen shawl tightly around her shoulders, her gloved hands holding the fringes to keep it in place. Shivers chased each other up her back, and she let go of the shawl to pull the heavy lap robe up over her shoulder on the right side.

  “Cold?”

  Sadie nodded, relieved to see him reach up and unhook the window, letting it slam into place, then adjust the reins through the small rectangular holes in the frame.

  The buggy swayed, slid, then righted itself as Mark slowed Truman, hanging on to the reins with both arms stretched out. Sadie could feel the weight of the buggy being pulled partly by Truman’s mouth and his determination to run at breakneck speed, propelling them along, winding uphill over Atkin’s Ridge.

  The house on the side of the hill was the most welcome sight, the yellow glow of the gas lantern a friendly beacon through the whirling, biting, whiteness. Home was always an anticipated pleasure, but at Christmas, a horse just couldn’t go fast enough. Sadie hopped eagerly off the buggy before Mark had time to pull the reins through the window.

  Even with the long uphill run, Truman wasn’t winded. Steam rose from his body, some hairs on his flanks were frosted from the moisture, his breathing accelerated only slightly as he tossed his head up and down, his way of asking Mark to hurry up and loosen the neck rein so he could lower his head.

  Mam greeted Sadie at the door with a quick hug, taking the presents, then Dat shook hands warmly as he shrugged his coat
on, going to help Mark with his horse. Leah and Rebekah were helping in the kitchen, rosy-cheeked, smiling, so happy to see her. Reuben was sprawled across the recliner, dressed in his “good” trousers and red Christmas shirt. He was definitely turning into a nice-looking young man, an air of confidence in his manner, and a wide, teasing grin. He slapped the footrest of the recliner down before bouncing to his feet to greet Sadie.

  “Hey, Sis! Where’s Tim?”

  Sadie shook her head. “Couldn’t persuade him to come.”

  “Why not?”

  “Claimed he had nothing to wear.”

  “I’ll hitch up Charlie and go pick him up.”

  Sadie shrugged her shoulders. “Good luck!” she said soundly, meaning there was hardly a chance he could be persuaded.

  When Anna came down the stairs, Sadie had to fight the rising panic in her throat. Dear God in heaven. The prayer began before she was even aware of it, automatically switching to a plea for higher help.

  Huge dark circles lay like harbingers of death below each eye. Her cheekbones were prominent, the white skin taut over them. Even her teeth seemed to protrude from the pale lips, the square jaw containing only a hint of flesh. Her eyes were enormous, filled with fear. Did she know she was being controlled by something she could no longer handle?

  “Hello, Anna! Merry Christmas!”

  Her voice came out cracked, high, breathless. When Anna smiled, it was only a parting of those pale lips. The eyes remained flat, afraid. She gripped the back of a chair, then slid into it, folding her skeletal frame weakly against it.

  Reuben scurried through the kitchen, pulling on his beanie, his coat buttoned against the cold on his way to collect Tim, as he put it, grinning assuredly at Sadie. Numbly, she went about the kitchen, grating cabbage, washing dishes, putting whipped cream on the coconut cream pie, watching Anna from the corner of her eye. She sat in her chair, her breathing coming in short gasps, then actually reached down for support, her long, thin fingers gripping the sides for a prop, her shoulders sagging weakly when she let go.

  Instantly, Sadie was by her side. “Anna.”

  There was no answer.

  “Anna, do you hear me?”

  Anna stared ahead, her eyes seemingly locked.

  Suddenly, very afraid, Sadie shook her by the shoulders. “Anna! Talk to me!”

  As soon as Sadie’s hands left her shoulders, Anna began to slide in slow motion, her head outweighing her neck and shoulders with no strength to hold it, like a sack half-full of feed sliding along the back of the chair before crumpling to the floor. They were all around her then, Dat lifting her to take her outside to revive her from her faint, Mam hovering over them, her face ashen, Leah and Rebekah angry, then crying, Reuben running from the barn, his eyes wide.

  Grimly, Sadie heated milk in a saucepan, added sugar, then chocolate syrup. Likely her blood sugar was so slow it wasn’t even readable, or else she hadn’t eaten in days. Or—she had eaten too much and then purged the food from her body. How had things gotten so out of control? Catching Mark’s eye, Sadie shook her head.

  When Anna came out of her unconscious state, she lay weakly on the sofa, her eyes dry, still terrified. There were no tears, just this dry-eyed lethargy, coupled with the wide eyes of fear. Sadie brought the hot chocolate and asked her to drink it, which of course, Anna refused.

  “I’ll be fine. I have the flu,” she croaked, her voice edged with panic.

  “Drink it!” Sadie hissed.

  Anna remained adamant, her lips compressed into a straight, thin line of determination. Sighing, Sadie got up from her crouched position, sighed, dumped the hot chocolate down the sink drain. The light of Christmas was only a flicker, tossed by a harsh wind of fear and doubt, for the remainder of the forenoon. The ham was carved, the pineapple sauce falling away with each slice, the mashed potatoes were piled high, browned butter dripping from each cavity. No one wanted to eat, but, like robots, they went through the motions, their eyes sliding to Anna, a mere bump under the quilt she had pulled over herself.

  As Sadie helped wash dishes, she formed a plan: There would be no presents until the family held a conference, a no-holds-barred meeting about Anna. Reuben still had not returned, and if Tim showed up with him, he’d just have to sit in. Something had to be done, Christmas Day or not.

  How to approach Mam was the next problem, but when she came to dry dishes while Sadie washed, she plunged right in, grateful for Mam’s understanding. With tear-filled eyes, she nodded in agreement. Dat remained aloof but finally gave his consent. So they seated themselves around the still form on the couch, her eyes closed, as still as death itself. Just as Sadie was about to ask Anna the first question, a buggy flashed past the window.

  Charlie! Reuben had returned. Would he bring Tim along in?

  It was Tim all right, dressed in Mark’s clothes, sniffing self-consciously, throwing his hair out of his eyes. He was wearing black trousers low on his hips, a beige shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, a black vest hanging open, appearing relaxed, completely at home in his Amish clothes. Reuben was jubilant, proudly producing Tim to his family as if he had discovered him all by himself.

  “Look it!” he beamed.

  Tim tried to shake it off, but the huge grin on his face gave away his true feelings.

  “Does this mean … ?” Mark stammered.

  Sadie put a hand on his arm, steadying him as Reuben yelped gleefully, “What does it look like?”

  Anna’s head rolled to one side, and she fixed her large-eyed gaze on Tim, her expression as vague as the thin body under the quilt.

  All Tim said was, “Guess I’ll try it; see how deep my roots go.”

  Mark lowered his head as tears rose to the surface, and Sadie slipped her arm through his.

  Mam went to set the warmed food on one end of the table, stooping low to talk to Reuben as Tim strained to hear her words. They ate hungrily, bending their heads to the delicious food the way growing young men do when they can’t fill themselves up fast enough. After they finished, the family opened the subject of Anna’s sickness, confronting her with the sad facts of her slide into the delusional state she was in. Dat and Mam both talked to her, asking her if she was willing to go for help.

  Anna shook her head from side to side. “I only have the flu.”

  She kept insisting. No amount of coaxing would change her. Leah promised her a new rug for her room. Rebekah pleaded with her for Mam and Dat’s sake, but nothing changed. Reuben finally became quite frustrated and told her he hoped she was happy now, ruining everyone’s Christmas this way. Sadie saw Tim wince. She saw his eyes as he watched her, listened to the family’s pleading without comment, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. A few times he looked at Mark, opened his mouth slightly as if to speak, then shut it. Finally he walked over to the couch and placed his hand on Anna’s forehead.

  “Yeah, you are running a temperature. I think you do have the flu.”

  Turning, he addressed the family, saying she did have a fever, then looked at Anna and asked if she wanted some chicken soup, a cup of tea? Anna’s eyes were fixed on Tim’s face, as if a savior had indeed presented himself.

  “Soup, I’ll have soup.”

  “I’ll get it.”

  Mam followed him to the kitchen, flitted about like a nervous bird, emptying a can of Campbell’s chicken noodle, filling a mug with tea. Anna insisted on coming to the kitchen, the quilt wrapped around her shoulders, then sat at the table, bent her head, lifted the spoon methodically to her mouth, until it was all gone, then started busily slurping the hot, sugary tea. Tim sat with her, saying nothing. The color in her cheeks slowly returned. Sadie wanted to go to her so badly, but Mark shook his head no.

  They began to talk. Mam suggested they begin opening gifts, which they did, fully aware of the miracle taking place in the kitchen. Dat was presented with a very expensive fly-fishing rod, the product of everyone chipping in, leaving him wide-eyed, exclaiming over and over about his
wonderful gift.

  “He’ll never go to work now,” Reuben chortled, leaning way out of his chair to watch the progress Tim was making in the kitchen. Sadie grabbed his shirt sleeve and hauled him back.

  Mam was given a new canner and a cultivator for her garden, both items to make her life easier, which she exclaimed about in great detail, saying she had no idea anyone would spend so much money just for her. For Reuben there was a huge package, containing a brand new black leather saddle with a bridle to match. There was a moon inscribed on both, in memory of his horse named Moon, which he accepted with a quiet, controlled coolness, but Sadie could tell inside he was jumping up and down with pure glee. The girls had their usual dress fabrics, decorative items for their rooms, harmonicas, which Rebekah promptly began to play, getting Tim’s and Anna’s attention.

  Anna smiled weakly, then came in to sit on the couch, Tim following to sit cross-legged on the floor by her side.

  Rebekah was good. She played a rendering of “Silent Night,” followed by “What Child is This?”

  Sadie opened her package, a new bathroom set, the rugs reversible, something she had wanted ever since she had her own bathroom. The rubber-backed bathroom rugs never lasted very long, having to be put through the wringer of the washing machine. They were suitable for awhile, but eventually the rubber backing became pinched between the covers of the wringer, resulting in a tear, then bit by bit the rug deteriorated. These reversible ones would be much more serviceable, much easier to wash.

  Mark received a German-English dictionary, which Tim promptly tried out to see if he remembered any German from his school days. Every Amish student learned German but spoke Pennsylvania Dutch, a sort of pidgin language derived from real German with English mixed into it, a product of hundreds of years of being the minority among English-speaking people.

  Wunder. Wundfieber. Wundstarrkrampf. Wunsch. Tim rattled off a row of words pronounced correctly, then grinned, his hand going to his mouth unthinking, a motion to hide his decaying teeth. Anna watched him, her eyes slanted downward on his thick blond-streaked hair, then pulled the quilt around her thin shoulders. That began a volley of German words and their meanings, arguments, fists banging on chair arms, resorting to the dictionary many times, accompanied by raised fists and shouts of glee.