Sadie’s Montana Trilogy

by Linda Byler

  Reaching up, she touched her covering, still dangling on the back of her head. Gratefully, she pulled it off and rolled it into a type of tourniquet. Her hands shook. They were too stiff.

  I can’t do this.

  Slumping against the gray rock, she bowed her head as hot tears ran down her face. Tears and seeping blood mixed together and dripped into the snow.

  It was hopeless. Maybe it would be easier to just let go now. She could go to the memory foam.

  I would just let go—but I’m afraid of the ink or whatever that horrible stuff was. Why was it like that?

  She looked up.

  Where was the road?

  She couldn’t have fallen very far off the road. She heard a car but saw no lights.

  Oh, yes. The buggy fell. Ezra must have fallen along with it. Captain ran away, attached to the shafts. So no one on the road at night would have any idea of the accident.

  Oh, Mam.

  Dat.

  Somebody come find me.

  She could feel her strength ebbing, going out like the tide. They had been at the beach once, along the bay, and she watched the tide come and go. Piers that were almost submerged at one point in the day stuck way out of the water later that same day. Reuben said—he always knew these things—that it was because the world tilted on an angle and spun as fast as it could go, and the water tilted back and forth with the moon’s force. Amazing.

  Well, the tide was slipping out for her, and she didn’t know if it would come back.

  So tired.

  She closed her eyes.

  Just for a minute, I’ll rest.

  The wolves aren’t close yet.

  No ink this time. That was a relief.

  Just a white light. So white. So bright.

  Stop yelling at me.

  No. I said, no.

  Mark Peight. Go away.

  But wait, Mark was a small boy. That was odd. His hair was not cut close to his head like the English. So innocent. So … so pathetic?

  She reached out her arms.

  Come, Mark Peight.

  But wait.

  Behind Mark Peight—a large, rotund man. He was smiling, talking, persuading. He had a whip. A real whip. Not a quirt.

  Come, Mark.

  That bright light was so annoying.

  “Sadie! Sadie! Can you hear me? Wiggle your toes. Lift your finger.”

  Well, forget that. Duh, people. I can’t do that.

  “I think she’s hearing us, but she doesn’t seem to be able to do what we’re asking.”

  “Sadie! Sadie!”

  What in the world was Mam doing here on Sloam’s Ridge by the gray rock? She had better get up to the road. She’d fall and hurt herself. And now she was crying, rocking herself back and forth, back and forth, moaning, mumbling.

  “Schtup sell, Mam. Do net.”

  “We’re going to inject a solution into her veins. If she is close to being conscious, this will completely revive her within 30 seconds. If it doesn’t work, she will sleep much longer.”

  Who was that?

  The lights were too bright. She couldn’t open her eyes. She wanted to leave them closed. The lights reminded her of summer daisies when the sun hit them just so in the morning when the dew was still on them.

  So beautiful, daisies. You are so beautiful.

  Chapter 11

  THE FIRST THING SADIE REMEMBERED SEEING WAS the brilliance of the green and red in the large Christmas wreath on the wall—the shining, white wall. The Christmas wreath was much too bright. It made her eyes hurt.

  Was it Christmas?

  “Sadie! Sadie!”

  Dat was crying. Dat never cried. Why was he crying?

  She rested her eyes again, closing them gently, succumbing to the all-consuming sense of total exhaustion. Nothing had ever felt better than closing her eyelids and letting her body sink into the soft, soft mattress, the soft, soft pillow.

  “Sadie, can you hear me?”

  Whoa, better answer. Someone’s at the door.

  She willed herself to go to the door but was much too tired.

  “Sadie, lift your hand if you hear me.”

  Of course I can lift my hand. I’m coming to answer the door. I’m walking to the door. Can’t you see?

  She lifted her hand. Then she opened her eyes, looked around, and saw the Christmas wreath again, the window with the blinds pulled, the flowers on the wide sill.

  She saw Mam, Dat, a doctor, two more doctors, a very large nurse, and another person with a chart. There were hums and beeps and clicks and whirs and a clear plastic bag hanging from a clean, silver pole.

  “Hello, Sadie.”

  She tried to smile and say “Hello,” but her eyelids wanted to fall down again, completely on their own.

  “Hi,” Sadie croaked, then fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

  Sadie woke on her own, no one calling her. It was nighttime and the room was dark. There were still clicks and buzzes, whirs and hums, but except for these machines, it was all very quiet.

  She tried turning her head to the right to see what was beside her. That worked okay. There was a night stand and a pitcher—a plastic one, covered with Styrofoam.

  Hmm.

  She turned her head to the left and closed her eyes as great spasms of pain shot through her temple. She sucked in her breath, squeezed her eyes shut to bear the pain, and cautiously opened them again.

  Wow! That hurt.

  Gingerly then, her hands traveled across her body. Shoulders intact, face weird, bandage on head, hand wrapped in bandage, waist and hips hurting but tolerable.

  Whoops. That leg.

  Opening her eyes wide, she saw her right leg held upward at an angle, encased in a heavy cast, wrapped with that white stuff where people could sign their names.

  Oh, boy. She was really banged up.

  She pieced together the remnants of what happened as best she could, although there was very little she actually remembered.

  Snow.

  Cold.

  And that was about it.

  Sighing, she lay back. She was in the hospital being taken care of by competent people—competent, trained personnel who knew how to operate the machines that clicked and hummed around her, she thought wryly.

  She wondered vaguely whether Mam and Dat had gone home and she was here alone, or if someone from her family was here sleeping at the hospital.

  She thanked God for the fact that she was alive. Her heart was beating, battered, but alive.

  Himmlichser Vater, Ich danke dich.

  “You awake, Honey?”

  Sadie started, smiled, then nodded slowly.

  “You are! Welcome aboard, Sweetie! Good to see you awake.”

  The nurse wore a flowered top. Her round arms turned machines, released the rail on the side of the bed, and checked the IV drip in swift, fluid motions, confident and sure.

  “You in pain?”

  Sadie winced.

  “My back.”

  The nurse clucked.

  “Let me tell you, Honey. We’ve got you as comfortable as possible, but you’ll be experiencing some discomfort, ’til it’s all said and done. You are one fortunate cookie, you are.”

  “Am I?” Sadie asked, her voice hoarse.

  “Indeedy. If it’s all true what they say.”

  “Is … my family here?”

  “No. They went home to get some sleep. You’ll be fine. How badly are you hurting, Sweetie? From 1 to 10?

  Sadie grimaced.

  “Eleven.”

  The nurse laughed.

  “You’re awake, Sadie.”

  She pushed a few buttons, wrote on a chart, asked if she needed another blanket, pulled up the sheet, patted her shoulder, and was barely out of the room before Sadie drifted into a wonderful, cushioned sleep.

  The heavy blinds were yanked open, the sun streamed through the window, the nurse trilled a good morning, and Sadie turned her head away, moaning.

  Everything hurt. Everything. E
ven her fingers and toes. She groaned.

  “We’re getting you out of bed this morning!” the nurse chirped.

  There was no way. Absolutely not. They can’t. I can’t, she thought.

  “My leg is … uh … sort of attached!” Sadie said.

  “Oh, we’ll get you a pair of crutches. See how you’ll do.”

  “I’ll pass out.”

  “Oh, no! No, you won’t.”

  And she didn’t.

  They sat her up, and she thought her head would explode. They held her, prodded her, stuck crutches under her arms, held the heavy cast, and watched her wobble down the hallway. The nurses talked and encouraged her, and Sadie gritted her teeth in determination. Her forehead seeped perspiration, but the heroic effort she made was evident to the hospital staff.

  When they finally reached the bed, Sadie sank onto the edge of it. She felt as if she had run a marathon, which they assured her she had.

  After a bath, clean sheets, and a clean gown, she was exhausted. Hungry, too, although she was too shy to ask about breakfast. Maybe they allowed only juice or ice water.

  A rumbling in the hallway and a jolly voice calling out made Sadie listen eagerly. She hoped it was some sort of food. Even a package of saltines would take that dull ache away from her stomach. She wondered if this was how the poor, starving children in Africa felt. Innocent victims of civil war, suffering and dying, so hungry.

  Sadie grimaced, then turned her head to watch eagerly as a small, stout woman bustled into the room. Her head was covered with an aqua-colored cap that closely resembled what Mommy Yoder wore to take a shower if she didn’t want to wash her hair. The woman balanced a dish covered with a plastic lid.

  “Breakfast!” she called out gaily.

  Sweeter words I have never heard, Sadie thought, smiling to herself.

  The woman hurried to Sadie’s bedside, pulled up the tray on wheels, and plunked down the dish.

  “There you go. Piping hot. Have a wonderful day!” She bustled back out, the aqua shower cap bobbing with each step.

  Sadie lifted her right hand quickly, eager to lift the lid and peek underneath. Stopping, she looked at the bandage in dismay. But then she shrugged. Food could be conveyed to your mouth with your left hand if that was what needed to be done.

  Removing the plastic lid was relatively easy, but unwrapping the utensils from the napkin was not.

  The food looked all right—scrambled eggs, a few pieces of bacon, and an orange slice arranged on dark, curly lettuce—a bit wilted, but still inviting. Buttered wedges of whole wheat toast, juice, and milk completed the meal.

  She lifted a slice of toast, eating half of it in one big bite.

  Mmmm. Delicious.

  She remembered to bow her head and thank God for the buttered toast in a silent prayer of gratitude. The fact that she was alive and able to eat brought tears of gratefulness—and completely renewed thanks.

  The toast was a bit squishy and thin. Sort of flat. It was not the thick, heavy, whole wheat toast her mother made in the broiler in the gas oven at home

  Reuben told her once that the cheap, whole wheat bread they bought in the store in town wasn’t one bit whole wheat. It had artificial coloring so it looked like whole wheat. It was the same as white bread, but because it was the color of whole wheat, people felt they made a healthy choice.

  He probably learned that around the same time he learned about the earth being tilted and spinning as fast as it could go, causing the tide to go in and out.

  Sadie realized that she had not known these things before he told her, but she would never, ever tell him—that little know-it-all.

  Quite suddenly, then, she was overcome with love for Reuben, for that sweet little troublemaker. Oh, she hoped he would be allowed into the hospital to see her.

  She was filled with light, a joyous light of love for her family. She could hardly wait to see all of them! Mam, Dat, her dear sisters—everyone—even annoying Anna who always stuck up for Reuben.

  Quite a bit of the scrambled eggs landed on the tray or in her lap, but she could eat enough to feel comfortable. The orange juice created a certain nausea—like a summer virus when you knew it was not going to be a good day for your stomach—so she pushed the tray away and lay back on the pillow, turning her head and closing her eyes.

  Her head felt as if it was twice its normal size, but she supposed that was because of the bandage around it. I hope I’ll be normal again soon, she thought.

  And then the room was filled with her family. All of them.

  Dat was there, and Mam. They cried, hugged her carefully, held her hand, exclaimed quietly, talked in their Dutch dialect, and asked questions. Tears streamed down Sadie’s face as she nodded or shook her head. She smiled in between the tears and was grateful.

  Reuben hung back, clearly not wanting to be there. Sadie called out his name. The rest of the family stood aside, Mam prodded his shoulder, and he came reluctantly to stand by her bed—self-conscious and obviously uncomfortable.

  “Reuben!”

  “Hey, Sadie.”

  “What do you have in your hand?”

  Instantly, a wrapped package was thrust into her lap.

  “Here.”

  “A package! Thank you, Reuben!”

  She struggled with her left hand, trying to undo the Scotch tape, until he stepped forward saying, “I’ll do it.”

  Sadie peered into the cardboard box, then gasped.

  “Nevaeh! My… The horse! Reuben, where in the world did you get a picture of Nevaeh?”

  “Jim.”

  “Jim? He gave this to you?”

  Reuben nodded.

  “I made the frame.”

  “It’s gorgeous, Reuben!”

  Anna stepped up proudly.

  “I sanded and varnished it. Three coats. Dat said to do it that way.”

  Sadie looked questioningly at her father and was rewarded with a look of such tenderness, so much love, it took her breath away. Dat never expressed his feelings in such a way. He shuffled uncomfortably.

  “You… I just thought you may as well bring the horse home if he’s yours.”

  “Oh, Dat!”

  That was all Sadie could say, but it was enough.

  Rebekah cried, grabbed a few tissues, and hid her face in the white softness she held to her nose. Leah smiled a crooked smile, then gave in and cried with Rebekah.

  “We cleaned the box stall and put down three wheelbarrow loads of sawdust,” Anna chirped proudly.

  “I’m so glad. Did you really? Someone had to work hard to clean that box stall.”

  “We did!” Reuben announced triumphantly. “Me and Anna!”

  Sadie laughed, her throat swelling with emotion. Her dear, dear family.

  Mam stepped up then, took Sadie’s hand, and asked her how much of the accident she remembered. Sadie shook her head and lowered her eyes from Mam’s gaze. Her hand grabbed the sheet, pleating it over and over.

  “Do you remember being picked up at our house? With Ezra?” she asked, very gently.

  Sadie was puzzled.

  “Well, he … took me to a singing once.”

  “Yes. But do you remember this time—the second time?”

  Sadie shook her head, her brow furrowed as she tried to remember. Then she shook her head again.

  “Well, we need to tell you if you feel strong enough to hear everything. Do you?”

  Sadie nodded.

  With Dat leading, her family pieced the story together, like sewing scraps of fabric for a quilt. They told her about the ride, the unexplained slide down the side of the steep embankment, the long wait when she did not come home, the hours of agony for her parents. They knew she had gone to the singing with Ezra, but she never returned that night. When daylight arrived, they hired a driver and went to Amish homes asking questions. No, they had not been to the hymn-singing. No, Ezra’s horse and buggy were not at home.

  They found Ezra’s parents in the same state of anxiety. They
searched the roads between homes. Word spread fast and more men came to help. The local police were contacted—English people coming to help.

  Then, they found Captain. He was hurt and bleeding, and his harness was partially torn. There were parts of the shafts, too. It was worse then, in those hours when they knew there had been an accident, but they still hadn’t found the buggy.

  Jesse Troyer found it first. The buggy was in pieces, smashed on the overhanging rocks. Ezra was nearby.

  “Life had fled,” Dat said quietly.

  “What do you mean, ‘life had fled’?” Sadie asked, bewildered.

  “Ezra is gone. He was killed. The autopsy showed his neck was snapped. They think he died instantly and didn’t suffer.”

  “But … but … how could he die? It wasn’t that far down the cliff, was it?”

  “Oh, it was, Sadie! We’ve been back to the site, and it was only the hand of God that kept you alive. You were in that snow for almost 20 hours. You were, Sadie,” Mam said, the fear and agony of those hours threading through her words.

  Ezra gone. He died. But how could he?

  She would have dated him. Married him. She and Ezra and Captain and Nevaeh would have lived together in a new log home, the home of Ezra’s dreams. He already owned a large tract of timber on Timmon’s Ridge, and he had spoken of his dreams to her. He may have told her in an off-hand manner, but still, he couldn’t have made solid plans that included her without knowing how she felt in her heart. Towards him. About being his wife.

  Great walls of black guilt washed over Sadie. She lifted agonized eyes to Mam.

  “I would have married him, Mam! I would have. I was planning on dating him. That night. I would have. And now he is dead, and he never knew that. I would have come to love him. God would have provided that love for me,” she said, sobs shaking Sadie’s battered body.

  Then Dat spoke, his roughened carpenter’s hands gently, clumsily, stroking her hair.

  “But, Sadie, you must come to understand. The love you would have had with Ezra is only a drop compared to the love of our Himmlischer Vater im Himmel. We mortals will never fully grasp a love that great, joyous, and all-consuming. Ezra will be much, much, better off in his heavenly home than he could ever hope to be here, even if it meant having the love of his life.