by Linda Byler
“So, think about it. The whole horse-thievin’ thing was right under our noses. Kin’ you think about it, Sadie? My children’s daddy! He was the one gittin’ rich. Stolen horses, jewels, cars, anything he could get away with, dozens of people working for him. Livin’ in a mansion. Like a king. Livin’ off stolen goods. These poor innocent children.”
Dorothy’s voice drifted off as grief overwhelmed her. Sadie’s mind raced. Was it the mansion where she had been held? Could it be?
“Them children, though. It was a sight.”
She cut a wide slice of cherry pie, slid it carefully onto her plate. Taking the knife, she cut a sizable chunk off the point, lifting it carefully to her mouth, expertly sliding the knife away. She chewed methodically, then swallowed.
“Needs sugar,” she stated dryly.
“Them children. The joy of the angels came straight down and settled over ’em. They jus’ stood there against my couch. I’ll never forget. The mother came through that door. She’s beautiful. Did I tell you? Black hair, dark skin, her dark eyes. She was dressed nice. She couldn’t talk. She couldn’t move.
“Them children knew her. Right away, so they did. You could see it in their eyes. Louis didn’t say anything. But that Marcelona, ya know how she is. Quick. She said as plain as day, ‘My mama.’
“That’s when it all broke loose. They just crashed together and hugged and kissed and carried on. It was a sight. I may as well not even been in the room. Ol’ Dorothy was forgotten.”
Sadie nodded, understood.
“We talked then. Understood. Said she’ll owe me for the rest of her life. The little blue sack? They ain’t stolen. They … ”
Here Dorothy looked away. When her gaze returned, her eyes meeting Sadie’s, her blue eyes were clouded with guilt.
“They’re mine now,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“What?”
Erma chose to make her entrance at that moment, announcing in her booming voice that she couldn’t get the gardener to believe those pine needles were killing the hostas. Too much acid.
“Sid down!” Dorothy commanded.
Erma sat.
“Eat your lunch.”
“Thank you, I will. I’m starved. That Bertie, he doesn’t listen to anything I say. He thinks he knows everything. He needs to transplant those hostas. Otherwise, they’ll die.”
“You said that before. Get on with your lunch. We have matters to discuss much more important than Bertie’s hostas.”
Sadie nodded soberly. Erma picked up a slice of Swiss cheese, turned the mustard bottle upside down and squeezed, pushing the whole slice into her mouth, chewing a few times before she swallowed.
“Like a frog eatin’ a minny,” Dorothy told Sadie later.
Sadie told Erma Dorothy’s story as briefly as she could, then Dorothy resumed quietly.
“It’s hard. It’s jes’ terrible hard. They stayed till evening to make things easier for me. She brought boxes. We packed up their things. But in the end, I had to let them go.
“They’re going to live with her mother and dad, in New Mexico. She’s gettin’ a divorce. Well, an annulment. They’re strict Catholics. He’ll be in jail for a long time. Maybe always. She cried, said he was a good man till greed, pride, got in the way. She says he fell in with the wrong people. A horrible, bad influence. They preyed on his weakness. I think, in a way, she still loved him but knew she had to get away from him.
“I kissed them good-bye, told them to be good. We all cried, all of us. Even the children, bless their hearts. Now I’m left with them jewels. I feel so guilty. Jim says I shouldn’t. I don’t know how much they’re worth. Jim says I can retire. I’d rather have my children. My angels, I always said. It’ll break my heart at this age. I can’t take it.”
She cut herself another slice of pie, shaking her head.
“I’m gonna give the money to the church. Go right on workin’ here till I die.”
“Dorothy, why? I’m quitting here in September. It might be a good time for you to retire.”
“Retire? What would I do? Crochet? No, that’s not fer me. Where would I get my paycheck? Money don’t grow on trees, ya know.”
“The jewels.”
“I’m givin’ ’em to the church.”
“Dorothy, the Bible says to tithe a tenth. Just a tenth would be perfectly honorable.”
Dorothy ate more cherry pie, drank milk, wiped her face, then said she was in no shape to make decisions. She taped pictures of Louis and Marcellus on the refrigerator and on the bathroom mirror. She put other pictures in frames and set them on countertops. She asked Richard Caldwell if he wanted one for his office.
Jim came in for a sandwich, nodding his head as Dorothy spoke of her plans for the future. Jim’s voice was so kind, so rough with emotion when he told her it was her choice, that he’d be here for her no matter what she decided to do. When he laid his large, gnarled, work-worn hand on her shoulder, calling her “Ma dear,” and she lifted her weeping, red-rimmed eyes to his, the beauty of it brought a tightening to Sadie’s throat.
Oh, Dorothy would work on, saying she needed the paycheck. She’d feel guilty about the money, the jewels. In September, though, she wouldn’t last long. She’d sputter, falter, then say her sciatica was flaring up, and the doctor gave her orders to stop working.
She’d be happy, making many trips to the Dollar General for her necessities, enjoying herself thoroughly, tooling that old car all over the Montana countryside, visiting Sadie, taking her places, finally freed from the pressures of her job, wondering why she hadn’t done this a long time ago. That was just Dorothy.
It was all over the news, then. Dat read his paper and whistled, low. Reuben almost popped a blood vessel in excitement, saying he should be given a large reward for tracking those vehicles through the snow that night. Mark and Tim bent over the paper, reading out loud to each other, exclaiming, talking until their supper was completely over-baked.
“Dumb! I mean, what were these guys thinking?” Tim asked.
“I think they actually got to the place where they felt invincible,” Mark answered. “Like, well, we’re big horse thieves and got away with it all these years, so who would care about a few million-dollars’ worth of jewelry heisted here and there. You know? Don’t they say something like this is usually found out because of their brashness, the longer it goes on, the bolder they become? That’s their undoing in the end.”
Tim nodded.
Sadie sat at the kitchen table, her head in her hands, feeling tired and drained after the day’s emotional toll.
Dorothy developed a headache after lunch, but Sadie knew it was more a heartache, mourning the loss of her “angels.” Yet the way she had described the children’s mother, how could you not be happy for them? To be returned to their rightful place, with the mother they had never forgotten, was, after all, a tremendous gift of God. It would take awhile before Dorothy could accept this, but Sadie knew she would.
Dorothy had gone home early leaving Erma and Sadie scrambling to prepare the huge evening meal. Erma made meat loaf with green peppers and bacon, a lavish sauce spread thickly on top, served with fried potatoes, coleslaw, green beans, and onions cooked in a cheese sauce.
Sadie told her the grease and calories were stacked to the ceiling. Erma hooted and chortled, saying nothing would be left, that all men loved meat loaf and just wait till the compliments came rolling in.
Sure enough, one by one, friendly, grizzled, weather-beaten faces appeared at the kitchen door with grins of appreciation. “Great meal!” “Thanks!” all of which Erma answered without the slightest trace of humility. She was the perfect replacement for Dorothy. No one could handle it better. She had self-confidence to spare, was a fast worker, and clean-up time was cut in half when she was there to help.
Sadie’s head sank lower into her cupped hands, her eyes became heavy lidded as Tim and Mark exchanged remarks about the article. It was the talk of the community for quite som
e time. The elderly among them shook their heads in the wise way older people do, saying surely the world was encroaching into their way of life. They had to be more careful.
Well, that Jacob Miller’s Sadie was married, at least, and the way it looked, she wouldn’t be going on with too many shenanigans anymore, which was a good thing. She was the one that started the whole thing, taming those wild horses, now wasn’t she?
Fred Ketty told them sharply that Sadie was as innocent as the day was long, she was just a victim of circumstance. But then old Henry “Ernie” said “God chasteneth those he loveth,” and with Sadie riding around like that against people’s advice, he definitely took her in hand. That shut Fred Ketty up.
The minister spoke a stirring sermon that Sunday, setting right any misplaced blame. As was their way, he was thankful. Thankful for the obrichkeit (government). Thankful for rulers who still enforced the law. A community of caring English people who worked together to eschew evil.
On this Sunday, the usual thanksgiving for being allowed their freedom of religion held deeper meaning. To live among the English people, preserving their way of life as much as possible, was something, wasn’t it?
Change would come, but slowly. The adherence to the old ways seemed worthless to some, but they had structure, tradition, order, all the things that kept the people together, dwelling in the Montana countryside. He thanked God for the people of the community, wishing the blessing from above for them all.
It was a moving sermon, the main topic being thankfulness. Hearts were full of gratitude as they assembled at the dinner table. The old practice of having a light lunch after services was more meaningful that day.
The steaming coffee poured from silver coffeepots, the pungent aroma of small green pickles, spicy red beets, platters of meat and cheese—it was all home. It was a place on earth where you belonged, and it belonged to you in return. A safe place to grow, to mature, to learn, to stay.
Being Amish, you knew there were boundaries. If you overstepped these boundaries, you got in trouble. Was not that the way of the English, as well? Of course it is for every person. Here on earth, because human nature is our burden, we all need boundaries. It was when the fear of those boundaries is replaced with audacity, boldness, lack of respect for authority, that’s when people get themselves into trouble, just like the horse thieves, Sadie thought. So our boundaries are a bit stricter, tighter, but if it’s a way of life, it becomes a culture, she knew.
She loved her people, from Dat and Mam to Fred Ketty. She loved Dorothy and Richard Caldwell the same. It was the way God intended, to be friendly, share God’s love, and dwell among the English in peace.
Mark was in a pensive mood driving Truman home from church, the reins loose in his hands, the warm breeze stirring the short, black hair surrounding his tanned face.
“What would you like to do this afternoon?” he asked Sadie.
“Could we pack a picnic lunch and go riding?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Is it okay for you?”
“Certainly. As long as we take it slow. But let’s stay off the road. No use getting anyone all riled up.”
Mark laughed. “You already did rile up a lot of people with your riding.”
“No more,” Sadie said, soberly.
And so they did go riding. It was the most memorable ride in Sadie’s life. The sheer beauty of the country, the gratitude in her heart for Paris’s health, for her husband, her church, the minister’s message, the sun’s warmth, the waving of the wildflowers, was almost more than Sadie could bear.
And when Mark rode Truman close to Paris, reached out and held Sadie’s hand in his strong one, she burst into tears of joy she could not contain. When Mark’s eyes teared up as well, and he told her he loved her today more than ever, that he was thankful for having her as his wife, she sniffled and had to wipe her eyes with her sleeve. She cried and laughed at the same time and said she guessed she was a little crazy, being in the family way, but he was not to worry when she got like this.
They stopped their horses on a high rise, the valley spreading before them in colors of green, blue, brown, and purple, the hills undulating, the colors interwoven, a tapestry no one could duplicate. The wind sighed in the pines, that sweet, mournful sound that was so achingly beautiful. It stirred Paris’s mane, and Sadie reached down to grab a handful, which she held in her hand, loving the feel of the long, coarse hair.
Mark grinned at her. “You’ll always love horses, Sadie.”
“Just Paris. I usually have only one. Like husbands.”
Mark’s eyes darkened with the love he felt, and then he came close and kissed her, sending her heart into a lovely little flutter filled with rainbows of promise.
Chapter 23
Tim was nervous. He paced the floor, wishing Mark and Sadie were home. At least Sadie could tell him what to do. A huge question lay heavily on his mind, and it was driving him crazy. How did one go about asking a girl for a date? The real thing? Not just hanging out with a bunch of his friends, Anna among them. He wanted to ask her for a date, the beginning of a serious relationship. He knew in his heart he loved her. He cared about her very deeply and worried about her battle with anorexia.
He had started instruction class, his heart yearning for God, wanting a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, his Savior. He felt at home now, knowing this way of life was what he wanted. So with all the peace he felt, why was his heart banging around somewhere in the region of his ribs? He was short of breath, his head hurt, the palms of his hands were perspiring, and he couldn’t hold still. He was completely miserable.
He sat on the couch, punched a green pillow, then sent it flying across the room. He wished Reuben would show up, just to take his mind off this looming mountain labeled “a date with Anna.”
Finally he went upstairs, leafed through the shirts in his closet.
Brown? Nah. Blue. Not that blue. And on and on. Indecision is a terrible thing, he decided.
When blessedly, Reuben did show up, driving Charlie to the hitching rack and then jumping out and yelling, Tim began laughing before he opened the window and stuck his head out.
“Come on up!”
“Right!”
In a minute, Reuben was clattering up the stairs.
“Where are Mark and Sadie?”
“Went riding. They left a note.”
Reuben was hungry and couldn’t believe Tim wanted nothing to eat, insisting that he had eaten, which wasn’t strictly a lie. He had choked down a slice of bread and peanut butter after church.
When had this conviction started? This steady pulverizing of his insides, this nervous churning of his thoughts? When he saw Anna sitting in church? Dressed in that dark royal blue with her snow-white cape and apron, her hair as smooth and dark as the night sky? Her eyes downcast, perfect dark half-moons framed with eyelashes. Her complexion was like pearls. Her mouth so perfect. Her innocence, the way she lacked confidence, made him want to stand tall by her side the remainder of her days.
But he was only who he was. That was the scary part. He checked his appearance in the mirror. Bad skin. Flat, nondescript eyes. Hair nothing that would turn heads. He was a nobody, really. What made him think he would ever be good enough? He knew that when a youth asked a girl for a date, it was supposed to be prayed about. He was supposed to seek guidance and obtain God’s leading and wisdom. But whenever he prayed about it, he got the same bunch of butterflies he had today.
He would just go ahead and ask and get it over with.
“What’s eating you?” Reuben wondered, opening a bag of potato chips with his teeth.
“Nothing. Why?”
Reuben shrugged.
The supper crowd was a nightmare. Neil Hershberger was there, looking better than ever, the most confident youth in attendance. Anna stood beside him to play volleyball, the whole game making Tim so miserable he left his place for someone else to take.
The hymn singing was no better. Anna sat across from Neil
, her eyes alight with happiness, Tim watching the two of them from his vantage point at the end of the table. Finally when the singing came to a close, he knew he couldn’t take one more week of this. He was going to jump off this cliff of uncertainty. A flat no would be better than living like this.
Outside the night was almost heavenly. Every star in the sky twinkled and shone, spreading enough light with the help of the white half-moon, to be able to discern faces. Would she be out soon? He figured his best chance was to detain her as she went to Reuben’s buggy. He had brought his own team, which took some heavy explaining to Reuben. He needed the experience, his horse needed exercise, he wanted to get home earlier, they had a big roofing project to start in the morning. He could tell Reuben didn’t believe any of it.
Suddenly she was there. Straight across from him.
“Hey, Tee-yum!”
He thought he would crumble away in a dead faint, his heart’s rhythm being so severely taxed the way it was. Steady, now. In his mind, he felt like the captain of a ship, using every keen sense to guide it safely through uncharted waters.
“How are you, Anna?”
“I’m good.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Getting better.”
“Good.”
He kicked at the grass at his feet, already wet with the night’s dew.
“Can we … would you … ”
He stopped. This was all wrong. His ship had hit a sandbar.
“Anna, I’m too nervous to make any sense, okay? Would you allow me to take you home tonight?”
When her head went a bit sideways and she caught her breath, her hands going to her mouth, then a slow shaking of her head back and forth, his ship settled into the sandbar, broke apart, and sank to the bottom. His hope was gone. Maybe he hadn’t worded that right.
“Anna … ”
She was whispering something. He stepped forward, lowered his head.
“I said … I thought you would never ask.”