Wild Horses

by Linda Byler

  “We’ll search our farm, first, the house, pasture, barn, the woods. Everywhere,” Sadie said.

  “But what if she’s not here?” Dat asked.

  A great wave of pity rose in Sadie. He knew. He knew it was true, the things they told him.

  “Then we’ll call the police.”

  “But … everyone will know.”

  “Exactly. And they’ll help us look for her,” Sadie said firmly.

  They got into their coats, boots, and scarves, their faces pale, their hands shaking as they pulled on their gloves. They opened the door and stepped out into the brilliant sunshine. Somehow the sunlight was reassuring, as if God was providing plenty of light for them to find Mam. She couldn’t have gone far, surely.

  Dat searched the pasture, Leah went down the driveway calling Mam’s name, Rebekah went to the buggy shed, and Sadie walked off to begin searching the barn.

  Charlie, the driving horse, nickered softly when she opened the door. The barn cats came running to her, wanting to be fed. She looked behind every bale of hay and in Nevaeh’s empty stall, calling Mam’s name over and over. She climbed the stairs to the hayloft, searching it thoroughly.

  Fear dried her mouth, made her breath come in gasps.

  Oh, Mam. We neglected you too long.

  Remorse washed over her. They hadn’t done enough soon enough. Where was she?

  Sadie fought down the panic that threatened to engulf her, making her want to run and scream Mam’s name. She had to remain calm, stay within reason. They would find her. Dat had probably found her already. He had to.

  As the forenoon wore on and there was no sign of Mam, their fear and worry deepened. There was simply nowhere else to look, unless they walked the roads or called a driver to go looking for her. That was a bit uncommon and likely would not help at all.

  “Before we call the police, we need to bring Anna and Reuben home from school. If they see policemen up here, they’ll be beside themselves. Besides, they’ll find out anyway,” Sadie said.

  The little parochial school was situated just below the Millers’ driveway, nestled in a grove of pine and cedar trees, but in plain view of their house. The school was picturesque, covered in cedar shingles, stone laid carefully on the porch, two swinging doors and neat windows on either side, a split-rail fence surrounding it.

  Rebekah offered to walk down and bring Anna and Reuben home. Dat took to wringing his hands, pacing, muttering to himself. Leah cried quietly.

  Sadie stood on the porch not knowing what to do next. What did a person do when their mother was missing? She had prayed, was still praying.

  Yet the sun shone on as brightly as ever, the snow sparkled, the branches waved in the midday breeze. The day went on as if all was as normal as ever. But a sense of unreality pervaded Sadie’s senses. Suddenly it seemed as if this was not happening at all. Surely Mam would come walking out of the bedroom or up from the basement, bustling about like usual, her hair combed neatly, her white covering pinned to her graying hair, the pleats in her dress hanging just right the way they always did.

  Mam, please, where are you? she cried, silently.

  Rebekah came panting up the driveway, Anna and Reuben beside her, lunch buckets in tow. Anna was crying. Reuben was wide-eyed and grim, bravely battling his tears.

  So she had told them.

  They all went into the kitchen, trying to reason among themselves.

  Now what?

  Call the police?

  Certainly.

  Suddenly, Anna sat upright and, without a word, walked swiftly to her parent’s bedroom. They heard the closet doors open, close quietly, then open again.

  “Sadie, come here,” she called.

  Sadie looked questioningly at her sisters, then went to her parent’s room. She found Anna standing, looking up at the top closet shelf.

  “It’s gone, Sadie!”

  “What? What’s gone?”

  “Her suitcase. Their suitcase. The big one.”

  Sadie’s heart sank as she joined Anna at the closet door.

  “Oh, Anna. It is.”

  “Sadie, I heard her. I was working on my English at the kitchen table about a week ago, and she was puttering around the way she does and talking to herself. She kept saying over and over, “Ya vell. Tzell home gay. Tzell.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us, Anna?”

  “She often talks to herself and no one pays attention.”

  “Oh, I know. I know.”

  They hurried to the kitchen, telling the rest what Anna had said.

  The news was Dat’s undoing. He bent his head, shook it back and forth. No one spoke as Dat fought with his own thoughts. It seemed as if they could see his spirit breaking before them, a thin, glass vase shattering beneath the weight of a heavy object, ground to a thousand pieces, shattered with the knowledge of what he had always known. He had put his will before his wife’s. He had loved his own life instead of giving it for her. He had not loved his wife as Christ loved the church.

  He had wanted to move to Montana so badly. He had. And they had all honored his wishes as happily and contentedly as possible.

  But was it right?

  When he broke down in great, awful sobs, five pairs of arms encircled him, held him up. They were the arms of angels for Jacob Miller.

  Chapter 19

  IT WAS AN UNUSUAL thing, an Amish girl hugging her father. In an Amish home, love was an unspoken attitude, as common and as comfortable as the air you breathed or the clothes you wore. No one said “I love you” or hugged you, but there was no need. Home, church, school, it was all an atmosphere of safety. Because of this love and safety, everyone had a place and belonged. There was no need to find oneself. Your parents had already found you on the day you were born into the well-structured Amish heritage.

  But seeing Dat’s bent head and his heaving shoulders was more than any of them could bear, so surrounding him with their arms seemed the most natural thing in the world.

  When they stepped back a bit self-consciously, Dat kept his head lowered. Digging into his worn, denim trouser pockets, he procured his wrinkled, red handkerchief, shook it, and blew his nose. Then he removed his glasses and wiped his eyes.

  “Ach, my,” he sighed.

  The girls stood silently surrounding him, supporting him with their quiet presence. Reuben marched to the cupboard, swiping viciously at his eyes. The set of his shoulders said how shameful it was for a big guy like him to be crying. He opened the cupboard door, yanked at a glass, and went to the refrigerator to pour himself a glass of milk.

  He sat down at the table, took a sip, then said angrily, “Well, I guess if Mam went so far as to take a suitcase, we better call the police.”

  Dat looked at Reuben, unseeing.

  “Somebody better go out to the phone shanty and dial 911.”

  Did they actually have to?

  Sadie took a deep breath to steady herself.

  “Well?”

  “If the police arrive, we all need to make sense. We have to tell the whole truth, Dat. She’s mentally unstable and has been for…”

  “Longer than any of you know,” Dat groaned, holding his head in his hands.

  Leah raised her eyebrows and looked at Rebekah.

  “I … I persuaded her for much, much too long to carry on for her children’s sake. I kept telling her there was nothing wrong—that it was all in her head. I told her to swallow all the pills she wanted, but to keep it from all of you, the church, and our community. No one needed to know.”

  He stopped, averted his eyes.

  “This is my fault. She cried during the night. She cried a lot. She wanted to go back home to Ohio. I thought she’d get over it. It’s worse in the wintertime.”

  Sadie was horrified.

  “Dat! Why didn’t you tell us? Why?”

  He sighed. “Because I was afraid you would all want to return to Ohio with her.”

  “Well, we’re here now,” Sadie ground out. “I’m going to the phone.
”

  She could never remember feeling such anger, such a gripping disgust that she actually felt like vomiting. What horrible pride controlled Dat? Why had Mam been so passive? What caused a person to slowly tilt outward and move toward the edge of reasoning? Was it all because, if it boiled right down to it, Mam refused to give up her own will and submit to Dat’s will?

  She yanked open the phone-shanty door, punched 911, and briskly told the dispatcher what she needed to know.

  No sirens, please, she begged silently. The school children will go home and tell their parents there was a policeman at Jacob Millers’ and tongues will wag. Well, it couldn’t be helped. There was no time for her own foolish pride now.

  The crunch of gravel heralded the policemen’s arrival. Two of them stepped out of the unmarked vehicle. Sadie’s heart beat loudly, and for a second she was glad it was a car that was not the usual kind the police drove with flashing blue lights and “Police” written across it in big letters.

  The two men strode purposefully to the door, knocked, and stood aside politely when Dat opened it. They were kind but firm, writing on clipboards, searching the room with their eyes, speaking in short but professional tones.

  The Millers answered truthfully. Dat spoke and the girls answered when they were asked. Reuben was white-faced, silent, frightened out of his wits. He slouched in his chair at the kitchen table, trying to appear brave, even nonchalant, but his huge blue eyes completely gave him away.

  When Dat described Mam to the men, Anna stifled a sob, and Sadie’s arms were instantly around her shoulders. She slid her face against Sadie, struggling to conceal her emotions.

  The policemen’s radios crackled, their badges and holsters gleamed. It all seemed like one big, awful dream that would come to a welcome halt the minute Sadie woke up.

  One policeman went to the car while the remaining one told them he was alerting every radio station, television news channel, and airport.

  “Why an airport?” Sadie blurted out. “She would never fly. We don’t go… I mean, our beliefs forbid us to fly in an airplane. She wouldn’t be in an airport. Perhaps a bus station? A train station? An Amish driver?”

  “Amish driver? I thought you don’t drive cars?” Mr. Connelly, the elder of the two, inquired.

  “No, I mean, she would have called a person who provides transportation for us.”

  They made phone calls to every driver and neighbor on the list, but to absolutely no avail. Trucks and more troopers arrived, search parties sent to comb the entire region around the house and throughout the neighborhood.

  Amish friends and relatives arrived, wide-eyed and in different stages of disbelief. Dat remained strong, his face a mixture of despair, agony, pride, shame, and finally, acceptance. There was nothing left to do as wailing sirens climbed the driveway, lights flashing, radios crackling messages.

  Someone from the firehall set up a post inside the buggy shed with thermoses of hot coffee and sandwiches. Neighbors brought kettles of chili and vegetable soup, homemade rolls, smoked deer bologna, pies, and cookies. They comforted Dat, hugged the girls, whispered endearments.

  Then darkness fell. With the darkness came a fresh despair, a sense of loss felt so deeply that Sadie thought she could not hold up against its crushing force. She cried with Anna. She went into the bathroom with Leah and sat on the edge of the bathtub and cried some more.

  “Why? Why on earth did Dat let her go like this? How long has she been sick and we didn’t know?”

  Leah peered into the mirror and fixed a few stray blonde hairs. She shook her head in disgust at her swollen, red eyes.

  “Well, I know one thing. Remember last year when we had church at our house? Sadie, I mean it, I honestly don’t think we would have gotten ready without you. Mam got nothing accomplished all day. She just puttered around the way she does, you know.

  Sadie sighed.

  “There were lots of signs—if only we wouldn’t have been so dense.”

  They sat for a few moments, Leah on the floor, Sadie on the edge of the bathtub.

  “Do you think she became mentally ill from wanting to go back home?”

  “Home?” Sadie’s head jerked up in an angry motion. “Where is home?”

  “For me, here. In Montana,” Leah said flatly.

  “Is it home to you?” Sadie asked.

  “Of course.”

  Sadie said nothing.

  There was a knock on the door. Richard Caldwell and his wife, Barbara, had come and wanted to speak to her. Surprised, Sadie went to the living room.

  Sadie’s boss and his wife sat uncomfortably, glancing at the softly hissing propane lamp. In spite of herself, Sadie hid a smile, knowing they had never set foot in an Amish home.

  Despite their uneasiness, their concern was genuine, and their hugs bolstered Sadie’s courage. Once again she was amazed at the change in Barbara, the tenderness in Richard Caldwell, and she was grateful.

  “They’ll find her, Sadie,” Richard Caldwell boomed.

  And then Dorothy came bustling into the living room, the soles of her inexpensive Dollar General shoes squeaking on the highly varnished hardwood, oak floor.

  “Oh, my, oh, my!” she kept saying over and over as she gathered Sadie into her heavy arms. “You never let on! You never let on!” she kept saying.

  Sadie knew that never again in their household would they take for granted the wonders of human sympathy. It was the genuine caring—that giving of oneself—that brought so much warmth to Sadie’s heart. It was like an Olympic runner carrying the flaming torch, relaying hope from one person to the next.

  How could one be crushed beneath despair when so many held them up? Rough cowhands, wealthy ranchers, plain Amish people, men of the law—they were all there, bound by the soft, gentle cord of caring. White-covered heads bobbed in conversation with permed and dyed heads, earrings twinkling beneath them, as tears flowed together.

  Mam couldn’t have gone far. She’d be okay.

  Was there anything they could do?

  Poor lady, she must have been in agony.

  Sadie could almost see her father aging before her eyes. It was hard to look at him. Remorse is a terrible thing, she had read once. It’s the hopelessness of wishing that you had not done things in the past, or that you could undo something you knew you couldn’t.

  That’s where Jesus came in, Sadie thought. He died for pitiful creatures like us, people who make mistakes because of their human pride and wrongdoings.

  Dear God, just stay with Dat. He didn’t do it on purpose. He thought he was doing the right thing.

  And then Mark came. Mark Peight. Would she ever tire of just thinking his name?

  He was in the kitchen, taller than everyone else except Richard Caldwell. He was talking to Leroy Miller who was moving his hands to accompany his fiery red curls that flew about his head with every movement. His hair was plentiful, and it looked even more so the way he shook his head when he became agitated. His beard was as red as his curls, and it wagged up and down at an alarming rate.

  Sadie wished they would all go home now and leave her with Mark. She knew that was quite selfish, but she wished it anyway. Finally she was able to catch his eye and almost swooned when he conveyed all his feelings in his direct look.

  “Sadie, how are you?”

  She turned into the waiting arms of Nancy Grayson, the taxi driver, as Leroy Miller broke into another passionate tirade, this time to Mark.

  The clock’s hands turned to ten o’clock, and still the Miller house was full of people who came to wish them well. Dat was becoming weary, his eyes drooping behind his glasses the way they did at the end of a long day. Reuben was curled up on the recliner covered with a blanket, his hands tucked beneath his cheek. He looked so young and so vulnerable, his usual tufts of hair on the back of his head sticking straight out, the way they always did when he hadn’t brushed his hair completely.

  Mark moved across the kitchen to stand by Sadie’s side, being careful t
o keep an appropriate distance between them.

  “Sadie, tell me what happened,” he said quietly.

  Tears immediately sprang to her eyes. It was the soft urging in his voice that showed how much he cared. She raised her eyes to his, then looked down as she saw Leroy Miller’s flinty eyes watching their every move.

  “Can you come upstairs with me?” she asked.

  “You go first; I’ll sneak away later,” he said quietly.

  Sadie went over to Reuben and took him upstairs to his bedroom, waiting outside his door until he had his pajamas on. Reuben would never change clothes in his sister’s presence, properly locking the bathroom or bedroom door when any change of clothes or showering was necessary.

  After the door was unlocked, she caught his shoulders and drew him against her. He did not pull back but laid his head against her shoulder as she held him, rocking him the way she did when he was two years old.

  His hair smelled of shampoo and hay and little boy sweat and his hat. She could feel his thin shoulders shaking beneath his t-shirt as his breath caught in suppressed little sobs.

  “Reuben. Listen. They’ll find Mam. In this day and age, people don’t disappear the way they used to. They have computers and video cameras and stuff we can’t even imagine to track every traveler that moves through train or bus stations.”

  “But what if she’s lying outside somewhere and she’s cold?” Reuben asked, his breath catching on a sob of despair.

  “Don’t think that. Don’t let yourself imagine such things. Remember to pray earnestly tonight, and God will watch over Mam and over you if you can’t sleep, okay?”

  Reuben nodded, crept into his bed, and pulled the covers up to his chin.

  “You want the lamp on?” Sadie asked, brushing back a lock of hair.

  “Nah.”

  Sadie blew out the steady, yellow flame that lit a room so cozily, then whispered, “Good-night.”

  She met Mark coming down the hallway uncertainly, never having been upstairs in the Miller household. It was not uncommon for a girl’s friends to come upstairs to her bedroom on Sunday afternoons when church was over. All girls had chairs or loveseats in their bedrooms for that purpose.