Disappearances

by Linda Byler

  Mam spread the afternoon snacks across the table. There were oranges and grapes, coffee and punch, Chex mix, pretzels, a cheese log, and too many cookies to count, besides all the different candy.

  Tim and Reuben soon got up to load their plates, then went to the basement to start a game of Ping-Pong. Anna watched Tim go. Sadie sat beside her, putting both arms around her and squeezing, quilt and all.

  “How you feeling, Sissie?” she asked lightheartedly.

  Anna fixed her gaze on Sadie’s face.

  “S … Sadie, you know what Tim said?”

  “What?”

  “A girlfriend of his had to live in a mental place because she was so bad. Wouldn’t eat, you know.”

  “What?”

  Anna nodded miserably. “Is that what happens?”

  “Anna, yes. Of course it is. I often tried to tell you.”

  “Yes, but … Tim saw it happen. You never did.”

  “True.”

  “I’m not like that though.” Sadie watched her face. “Am I?”

  “Are you?”

  The quilt lifted slightly, then fell as Anna shrugged her shoulders. How it happened, Sadie was never sure, but the remainder of the day, Anna followed Tim and Reuben. First, she shrugged off the quilt, then slyly, quietly, she went to the basement. After that, Sadie found her playing Monopoly at the kitchen table, sipping tea. She stepped back as she watched Tim break a cookie in two, offer Anna the other half. Anna lifted her eyes to his face, held his gaze, then slowly reached out and took it. It was a peanut butter cookie with a Hershey’s kiss on top, the chocolate candy staying on Anna’s half. Deliberately, she reached out thin fingers, loosened it, and put the whole thing in her mouth, letting it melt, savoring its sweetness, watching Tim’s expression. His eyes spoke his encouragement. Anna blushed faintly.

  Reuben looked from Tim to Anna, then blurted out, too emotional to stay quiet, “You better eat about two dozen more of them things!”

  “Maybe I will!”

  Reuben howled with laughter. Tim laughed, his hand going to his mouth.

  Chapter 16

  THE STORM RAGED. THE wind blew great white whirls of fallen snow into restless, never-ceasing drifts that obscured anything in the line of visibility. Pine trees bent and waved, shaking off any accumulation on their branches. Snow swirled off rooftops, the wind moaned and howled around the eaves, the fire burned high until the wood stove in the living room gave off a tremendous heat, logs being added every few hours. The family popped fresh popcorn, made hot spiced cider and leftover ham sandwiches.

  Reuben won the first Monopoly game, then went to check on the horses. He was gasping for breath when he came back, saying this was not a snowstorm, it was a blizzard, like the one in the Laura Ingalls Wilder book called The Long Winter.

  So they all stayed for the night, Sadie acknowledging happily that it was the smart thing to do. Mark fretted about frozen water pipes at home, but Dat assured him if they filled the stove with wood before they left, it should be all right for a few days. The horses would be hungry and thirsty, but they’d survive till Mark returned.

  They sang Christmas songs, then all gathered around the table in the light of the softly hissing gas lamp and drank hot chocolate. For some reason they began talking about cream of wheat, that soft white cereal mixed with brown sugar and creamy milk poured over it until it had the right consistency. Tim’s eyes shone. He said Aunt Hannah used to make it for him after his egg sandwich, and he put a slice of shoofly pie in it. Dat said he’d like to try that, so Mam produced a pot of cream of wheat and, of course, a freshly baked shoofly, which was almost a staple in the Miller family. They all tasted it.

  Anna watched, swallowed. Sadie urged her to try it, then watched as she looked at Tim. He met her eyes and held them. You can do this. Go ahead. The message was there as plain as day.

  She smiled slowly, then scraped the last of the cereal from the pot, added a teaspoon of brown sugar, a dash of milk. Slowly, she cut only a sliver of pie, let it fall into the cream of wheat, then took up her spoon in those pitiable white fingers. Again she looked at Tim. This time Sadie couldn’t watch. It was too personal. Almost sacred. Slowly, she lifted the spoon. “Mmm,” she whispered, then ducked her head, embarrassed.

  During the night, Sadie began coughing, an annoying itch in the throat, and couldn’t stop. Mark snored, rolled over, and grabbed all the covers, so she gave up, scooped Leah’s flannel robe from its hook, and made her way downstairs to the kitchen. She needed some honey and lemon or some over-the-counter cough medicine, even a lozenge of some kind. She was surprised to find a kerosene lamp on in the living room. Someone forgot to turn it off, she thought, and she walked through the wide doorway to take care of it. No use wasting kerosene.

  “Oh!” They scared her.

  Tim. Anna. They were sitting on the floor by the fire, both looking up at her. They were clearly at ease, innocent, neither of them offended by her appearance, waiting to hear what she wanted.

  “What are you two doing still up?” she asked.

  “We’re talking.” Anna offered shyly. “Reuben just went to bed.”

  “Oh. Well, I can’t stop coughing, so I need some medicine.”

  There was no answer, so Sadie decided to leave well enough alone, found her medicine, and returned to bed. She shook Mark awake, whispering her concerns about Tim and how good was it that he sat down in the living room with Anna? And how could they know he was sincere? Just because he came to the Christmas dinner with Mark’s clothes on didn’t mean he wasn’t the same lost teenager he’d been when they met him, and he knew how vulnerable Anna was, and how in the world could they ever feel comfortable having those two together? Mark told her to go to sleep, they weren’t getting married, and hadn’t Anna eaten that shoofly pie?

  After Christmas, everyone dug out of the snow and life continued. Tim cut his hair, becoming quite embarrassed when Sadie made a fuss about how neat he looked, how manly, so much older. Mark’s praise brought a grin, a punch on the arm, and Sadie knew his eyes smiled the rest of the evening. They paid for his dental work.

  He went to church for the first time, making sure no one else knew he was planning to go. Sadie hoped she could see Anna when he walked in and was completely surprised to see how strong Anna’s reaction really was. She watched the row of boys file in, then sat up straight, shocked, visibly shaken at the sight of Tim with his hair cut. Just as suddenly, she lowered her head, embarrassed, trying hard to hide the onslaught of feelings.

  Ah, Sadie thought. And then she prayed for both of them. The long prayer, after both sermons were over, was extra meaningful. The prayer for a godly life, to be more Christlike. It was all a plea for her own life, the wisdom to deal with Tim as well as Anna. Was it God’s will? Would they be able to make it work, in spite of all the adversities in their lives? And what about Neil Hershberger? He always managed to reappear somehow.

  Erma Keim remained sedate, walking quietly through the kitchen, beaming her happiness, a halo of angelic goodness following her. She praised Dorothy’s biscuits, and Dorothy acknowledged her praise with a bowed head, then proceeded to tell her she should never have turned her back on that Dollar General, that their shortening was still the best and cheapest by far.

  “Ya see, Erma, I can’t drive by the Dollar General, keepin’ the grudge against them shoes. They’s still good shoes. I’m jus’ gittin’ old, is all it is. I like my Crocs, don’t get me wrong, but I gotta return to the Dollar General. It’s muh store, so it is. You know they got toothpaste, Colgate, for a dollar? Now I told you, they’re gonna hurt Walmart, you mark my words. And sauerkraut to cook with my pork? Ninety-nine cents!”

  Erma nodded her total agreement, buttered a biscuit, and proceeded to tell them both about her first date. She started out humbly enough.

  “We went out to eat in his horse and buggy. We could tie at the hitching rack behind Lowell’s in town. He ordered a steak, and I had roast chicken and filling. We talked and talked
. He’s so easy to talk to. He intends to stay in Montana, asked if I’m happy here. I said I am. So I figure we’ll get married. He sees me here at work, knows what a good worker I am. I’m old, though, so likely we won’t have a big family. I plan on having fried chicken and dressing at my wedding.”

  Dorothy snorted. “What’s dressing? You mean, like French and ranch and stuff?”

  “No, it’s filling. Like stuffing, only better. It has chicken and carrots and celery and potatoes.”

  “Sounds like slop to me.”

  Erma’s halo slid off center a bit before she could catch herself, and she told Dorothy she shouldn’t say that before she tasted it. Dorothy said she wasn’t about to taste it anytime soon, and what, pray tell, is wrong with plain old stuffing anyhow? The halo disappeared completely when Erma wagged a finger under Dorothy’s nose and said that’s what set Amish cooking apart, the know-how passed down through the ages that English people knew nothing about. Sadie was seriously afraid Dorothy would pop a blood vessel after that. She became highly agitated, telling Erma it was all a matter of acquired taste, that alcoholics liked the taste of alcohol, too, and it was slop, same as dressing.

  Luckily Steven Weaver came in with a box of turnips from the Giant in town, and Dorothy was beside herself with joy, saying she hadn’t had a good dish of mashed turnips in a coon’s age. Erma smiled sweetly and said she bet they were delicious, although she had never acquired a taste for them, which mixed Dorothy up a bit, unsure how to take that comment, so she let it go.

  Sadie decided it was why she came to work, this constant sparring between these two interesting characters whom she loved. Richard Caldwell and his wife were good friends, too, not just employers, and every day at the ranch held some new adventure, argument, or challenge.

  After Steven left, Dorothy asked Erma what made her think Steven would ask her to get married. Erma said it was just the way he looked at her when he asked if she was happy here.

  “Just such an intimate look,” Erma finished, clasping her hands across her stomach, looking reverently at the ceiling.

  “That don’t say nothing,” Dorothy said, not quite loud enough for Erma to hear.

  Sadie had to go clean the steam table, so if there was more drama after that, she was blissfully unaware of it.

  At home that evening, Mark bent over Paris’s hind foot, prodding gently as Sadie came over to look at the swollen tissue inside the hoof. Mark smelled the infected area. His eyes were clouded with concern when he released the foot and straightened to his full height. Sadie stroked Paris’s flank, her eyes going to her husband’s.

  “Should we call the vet again?”

  Mark sighed. “I don’t know.”

  No amount of antibiotic, salve, hot water baths, or any other remedy would heal that foot. Sometime Paris had become foundered or eaten too much grain, perhaps made her way out of her stall while unattended and broken into a sack of grain. Whatever the cause, the result was swollen, red, infected tissue, causing severe pain and lameness. Sadie had felt so confident when Paris returned, so glad to be able to nurse her back to health.

  But the Paris of old was not to be found ever since. Her coat still shone after the extended grooming and the minerals on her portion of feed. But the foundering had slowly progressed to a serious case of laminitis.

  Now when Sadie entered the barn, she could smell the infection. Paris no longer threw up her proud head, nickering that soft rumbling of her nostrils, her eyes bright, alive, eager to see Sadie, wanting to run down the driveway with Sadie astride her back. The thing was, she was in pain.

  “How bad is it?” Sadie asked finally.

  “It’s pretty serious.”

  “Isn’t there anything you can do? Can’t we call another vet? Someone who specializes in horses?”

  Mark answered wearily. “We did.”

  “Someone better?”

  Sadie laid her forehead on Paris’s, taking both hands to massage each side of her face.

  “Good girl, Paris. You’re doing great. You’re a brave lady,” she murmured, her throat swollen with unshed tears.

  Mark walked her, but it was too cruel, so Sadie made him stop. “Mark, it’s not just one foot anymore. It’s both front feet, too. It’s like she’s walking on eggshells.”

  “I hoped you wouldn’t notice.”

  He held her securely when she let the tears come, releasing the tightness in her throat. She had to accept this, she knew, but why had God allowed her to return, only to put Sadie through this pain?

  “We’ll try a different vet,” Mark said, kissing the top of her head, stroking her back to console her.

  He made the phone call that evening, Sadie by his side as they ran their fingers through the Yellow Pages, looking for the best equine veterinarian available.

  Tim returned from his job, cold, his face wind-bitten, his hands blistered and bruised, his beanie lowered so far Sadie had to lift it to find his eyes. Laughing, he said it was warmer that way.

  “Doesn’t the wind ever stop in Montana?” he asked.

  “Never,” Sadie answered.

  She dished up the barbequed meatballs, fried potatoes, and green beans, adding a side dish of pickled red-beet eggs. She watched as Mark and Tim loaded their plates, slathered homemade ketchup all over the potatoes, bent their heads, and ate without saying a word. They were so much alike, these brothers. Yet so different.

  Since Tim had gone to the dentist and had teeth filled, capped, and cleaned, he smiled so much more often, so effortlessly, that it endeared him to her more than ever. He was definitely a work in progress. He had fewer scars from his early childhood years than Mark, but he was still a child adrift, without biological parents, anchored to Aunt Hannah in some ways, yet left to find his own way through the maze of a life divided by two cultures.

  He had never stolen from anyone, but he had spent a few weeks in jail for repeated underage drinking arrests. Sometimes he talked of these things. At other times, he would retreat to that dark place, brooding silently for an entire evening for no apparent reason. The next day he would grunt to Sadie’s “Good morning,” wolf down his breakfast sandwich, and head out the door with his plastic cooler containing vast amounts of food. He’d return in much better spirits. Sadie just never knew. They talked about it, and Tim tried to explain it, saying he wasn’t really angry, just tired of trying to be happy, in plain words.

  “It’s sort of like walking along a narrow road that’s slippery, and for a long time you can keep going, stay out of the ditch. Then you get tired and let go, fall in it, and stay there awhile. You know it’s not good, that you can’t stay there, but for a while it rests your spirit to remove yourself from everything.”

  Sadie shook her head. “But why?”

  Mark’s face was taut with suppressed emotion. “It’s the remembering. It’s the thinking back to times when life was a battle, when it took every ounce of energy to stay afloat, when circumstances were so overwhelming you will never, ever forget it no matter how hard you try. It’s a scab you pull off repeatedly. It heals over, sort of, but sooner or later, you’ll pull it off again.”

  Tim nodded, his eyes moist. “I probably had a much more normal childhood than anyone thinks I did. For one, I went to a one-room Amish school. Even if the children tried to make fun of me in any way, Aunt Hannah would report it, either to the teacher or the parents. So, in a way, I had that protection, which you probably never had.”

  Mark nodded agreement. “Still, there were good people. I remember the butcher on Second Street. He was a Jew. Had all those kosher meats. Different days they did different things. But he was good to me. He used to call me in if I stayed outside his windows, looking at the cheese and meats, my mouth watering like crazy.”

  Tim smiled.

  Mark continued. “He used to give me a paper bag full of cheese rinds, pieces of little beef sausages, and a stack of dark brown rye crackers. His accent was so different I could barely understand what he said, but we’d commun
icate somehow. Sometimes he’d throw in a jar of pickled herring, and I’d eat them with mustard. He was a kind man, devoted to his stout wife and all their good-sized children.”

  Tim laughed. “At least they had enough to eat.”

  “Right.”

  Sadie could not begin to fathom the times of hunger, of not having the security of Mam and Dat, her sisters, the loving home. Yes, their family had problems, still had, but not without the foundation of God and good parenting. The path Mark explained was completely foreign to Sadie. That same evening they sat up late discussing the Amish church, the rules of the ordnung, the new birth, what was expected of Tim when the time came and he dedicated his life to God, accepted Jesus Christ as his personal Savior, took up instruction class, and was baptized into the church.

  It was a long and serious conversation. Tim stumbled as he tried to explain what kept him from committing his life to God. The year of not being good enough, mostly. Mark told Tim how that had been the biggest hurdle for him as well. Grasping the fact that God loved him just as he was. That just blew him away. He explained the years of counseling, the difficulties after he met Sadie, his inadequacies.

  Tim kept nodding, understanding. Then, “How’s Anna?”

  Sadie looked up sharply. “Why?”

  Tim shrugged his shoulders. “It’s been awhile since I heard anything.”

  “You think she’s pretty bad?”

  “Yes, she is. I’m not sure if my girlfriend was any skinnier when they hospitalized her.”

  A dagger of fear shot through Sadie. “You can’t mean it.”

  Tim nodded. “She desperately needs counseling. Although … I don’t know. I learned a lot with my former girlfriend. If I could see her more, talk to her, I might be able to help her some.”