by Linda Byler
“Marriage here on earth is good, and every mortal longs for that certain person to share his life, but it is only peanuts compared to the love of God. Remember that, Sadie. Ezra is in a much better place now, and you can be thankful he enjoyed those last few buggy rides with you. I’m sure he passed on a happy person because of it.”
Sadie nodded, silent.
“Don’t carry any guilt, please. God’s ways are not our ways, and his thoughts so high above ours that we can’t figure these things out. You still have a purpose here on earth.”
“Yes, Dat. I do understand that. I do.”
Rebekah stepped forward.
“You’ve been sleeping a long time, Sadie.”
“How long?”
“Four days.”
“What?”
Rebekah nodded.
Sadie slowly shook her head.
“Then… Ezra… the funeral…”
“Yes, he is buried in the new cemetery beneath the trees. It was a large funeral. There were many vans and buses from out of state. It’s very sad. His family is struggling to accept this. They want to say ‘Thy will be done,’ but it’s very hard to do that for one who died at such a young age.”
“It had to be sad.”
“It was, Sadie. I’m almost glad you weren’t there.”
The remainder of the visit went by as a blur, Sadie only half-listening, struggling to remember.
Why? Why had they gone down over that embankment?
Nurses came and went, but they continued talking about that night. Leah told her part of the story, her eyes still wide with the horror of it.
The doctor arrived and asked the family to step outside. He removed the bandage on her head, and Sadie lay back as he redressed the cut. Then she asked how severely she had been wounded.
“You have a very deep cut with 22 stitches. I suppose the cold saved your life, and the fact that your blood clotted easily.”
“My hair?” she asked.
“Lets just say a significant amount was removed,” the doctor said smiling.
Sadie wrinkled her nose.
“Bald?”
“Just on one side. Don’t worry. It’ll grow back.”
Sadie touched the new bandage tentatively, then turned her head and closed her eyes. She wondered how long this all-consuming weariness would stay in her bones. She heard Mam’s favorite expression ring in her ears. After a day of back-breaking labor, she would say, “I feel as if a dump truck rolled over me.” It was a gross exaggeration, but fitting.
If anyone feels like she was flattened, it’s me, she mused. That accident must have been severe.
The doctor finished jotting on a chart, spoke tersely to the nurses, then probed Sadie’s stomach to check for more internal injuries. He asked questions, patted her abdomen, spoke to the nurses again, and was gone before Sadie thought to ask how long she would need to stay.
Her family streamed in to say good-bye and that they’d all be back that evening. Reuben gave her a bag of M&M’s, a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup, and a small package of salted peanuts.
“You can eat these while you watch TV,” he announced importantly.
Sadie laughed, then gasped, grabbing her stomach as pain rolled across it.
“Oh, I just hurt everywhere,” she breathed.
Anna patted her arm.
“You’ll be okay, Sadie. Hey, you know why Reuben got you all those snacks? Because he loves putting quarters in vending machines and pushing the buttons. He has a whole stash of candy, and not one of us has any quarters left in our wallets.”
Reuben punched her arm, Mam herded them out, and Dat winked at her as the door closed softly behind them.
Sighing, she snuggled against the pillows and closed her eyes.
Ezra. Dear, dear Ezra.
She was suddenly very, very glad she had consented to go with him to the hymn-singing. It was a consolation—a sort of closure—pathetic as it seemed. Dat was right. Ezra had been a fine young man—a devout Christian, baptized, trying to do what was right, listening to his conscience.
Sadie fell asleep, peaceful.
Chapter 12
THE BUGGIES STREAMED TO THE JACOB MILLER home. There were brown horses, black ones, beautiful sorrels, and saddlebreds hitched to the surreys and smaller buggies. Some of them plodded up the curving drive beside the group of trees, others trotted fast, their shining coats dark with sweat, turning into lather where the harness bounced and chafed on their bodies.
The buggies were filled with smiling occupants, friendly members of the Montana Old Order Amish coming to visit the Miller family to see how Sadie was doing. They brought casseroles, pies, home-baked raisin bread, cupcakes, and heavy stoneware pots of baked beans wrapped in clean towels to keep the warmth inside.
They grasped Sadie’s hand and asked questions. Kindly faces smiled shakily, eyes filled with tears of compassion. Rotund grandmothers clucked and shook their heads, saying surely the end of the world was near; God was calling loudly, wasn’t he?
Shy children peeped from behind their mothers’ skirts, their eyes round with wonder. This was that Sadie—Jacob Miller’s Sadie—who almost died on that snowy hill. They had heard it all—around oil-clothed kitchen tables and as they played in the snow and dirt outside the phone shanties, listening while their mams were busy talking.
Most of them had been taken to the viewing of Ezra Troyer at his parents’ home. Viewing the deceased was part of life, death, birth, a heaven, and a hell. The children were not kept from life’s tragedies and sometimes brutal truths; it was all instilled in them at a young age.
Parents explained gently about death and what happens after someone dies. There was very little mystery. They made it all simple, uncomplicated, a concept any child could grasp. It was enough to soothe them, comfort them when they questioned with serious eyes while mulling things over in their childish minds. Then they ran out to play, forgetting, as children do.
Jacob watched his wife as her face became troubled, her countenance high with anxiety. He was afraid this whole incident would prove to be too much for her, although he didn’t speak of it to anyone. Sometimes, he believed, if you hid your feelings and fears and worries, they all disappeared and no one ever knew. This left your pride and sense of well-being intact.
But still he watched her.
He was drawn into conversation when it turned to gossip at the local feed store in town. Simon Gregory, the feed-truck driver saw it on the news, but everyone knew that Simon stretched “news” to the limit. There was real news and “Simon news” at the feed mill, and everyone grinned and raised their eyebrows when Simon related another new item.
This time it was “them wild horses roamin’ them ridges and pastures. They’s there. I seen ’em. They said on th’ news, they’s stealin’ horses all over th’ place. No one’s safe. You Amish better padlock yer barns. They don’t care if you wear suspenders and a straw hat, or a Stetson and a belt, all’s they want is yer horse.”
“No one’s horse was actually stolen,” Levi Hershberger stated, sipping his coffee and grimacing at the heat. He stroked his beard. Heads shook back and forth.
“No one had any horses taken in this community,” Alvin Wenger agreed.
Men nodded, drank coffee.
“How about that Simon down at the feed mill? Isn’t he the character?”
There were chuckles all around.
“But you couldn’t find a guy with a bigger heart. He’d do anything for anyone. Remember the first winter we were here? How many driveways did he open that year? Not a penny would he take,” Alvin said, reaching for a cookie.
“Elsie baked him many a pie that winter.”
Calvin Yutzy, a young man with a louder than normal voice, chimed in. “Yeah, you know what he says now? He says those wild horses could have caused that accident. He claims they’re running loose up there on Sloam’s Ridge.”
“Nah!”
“Sounds just like him.”
“I know,
but if there’s a stallion, and he’s territorial, a buggy at night…”
Sadie was listening half-heartedly, laying her head against the cushioned back of the recliner, willing herself to keep the weariness at bay.
If there’s a stallion…
He was black! He was so large.
Why did she know this?
She sat up, her mouth dry, her breath coming in short jerks. Somewhere, she had seen that black horse. She knew he was powerful. He was dangerous. How did she know?
She remembered Captain, that faithful, dutiful creature. She remembered his loyalty that night.
It would have been too bold to break in on the men’s conversation, so Sadie sat up and listened, her face pale, her heart hammering, every nerve aware of what the men were saying.
“I dunno.”
“Sounds a bit far-out.”
Calvin leaned forward, his excitement lending more power to his voice, “A stallion will kill another horse if he’s protecting his mares.”
“Ah, I wouldn’t say that,” Levi shook his head.
“In books, maybe,” old Eli Miller said, smiling, his eyes twinkling.
“All I’m saying is, it could have happened the way Simon said. What else caused that buggy to go down over?”
Sadie put down the footrest of the brown recliner. Instantly Mam was on her feet, going to her, reaching out like a nervous little hen always expecting the worst. Frankly, this drove Sadie’s endurance and patience to the limit.
“I’m all right, Mam. Just go sit down.”
The men’s conversation slowed, then stopped as heads turned to look.
No doubt about it, Jacob’s Sadie was a beautiful girl. Almost too beautiful—if there was such a thing. No one meant to stare, but they did just for a moment, perhaps. Beauty was appreciated among them.
It was God-given, this thing called beauty. A face in perfect symmetry with large, blue eyes, a small, straight nose, clear complexion, and a smile that dazzled was appreciated and admired. Who could help it?
But the women knew that beauty could be a curse as well. The girl may become completely self-absorbed, loving only herself. She may turn down many suitors, because she could marry anyone she wished. Plain girls, on the other hand, knew they were fortunate to be “asked,” and they made good wives—thankful, obedient, loving to their husbands, glad to be married.
This mostly held out, but not always.
Most admitted that Sadie Miller was a mystery. She was soon of age—nearly at that 2st birthday when she would be allowed to keep her money and everything she earned. She could open a savings account at the local bank and be on her own financially, although still living with her parents.
When a girl like Sadie turned 21, eyebrows rose. Knowing she was past the age when girls dated and were betrothed, everyone wondered why she was not.
She must be too picky, they thought.
Independent, that one, they said.
She has it too nice with that good job down at the ranch. I wouldn’t let my girls work there. Mark my words, she’ll fall for an “English one.”
No, not her, they said.
And now Ezra was gone, so what would Sadie do?
Sadie reached out to the arm of the recliner to steady herself. She lifted blue eyes to the men and addressed them quietly.
“I … was listening to your conversation. And…,” she hesitated and then shook her head.
Everyone waited, the room hushed.
“You know I don’t remember much, if anything, about the night the … the … buggy … you know. Well, you mentioned the wild horses.”
Suddenly she sat up straight and began to talk.
“That night, there was a huge, black horse. I don’t know why I remember this. I don’t really. All I know is that a really big, black horse was running beside the buggy. I could have reached out and touched him. He was so powerful, so wild-eyed, and angry. Like the devil. He reminded me of an evil force in the Bible story book when I was a child.
“And I remember, or I think so… I remember Captain, Ezra’s horse, trying so hard. He was so loyal. Oh, he was running—running so desperately.”
The men leaned forward. Coffee cups were set on the table, forgotten. Sadie fought her emotions, her chest heaving. Mam came to her side, her hands fluttering like a helpless bird.
“I wanted Ezra to stop. I … we would have been safer out of the buggy.”
Dat sat up, then got to his feet.
“Sadie, you don’t have to put yourself through this.”
“I’m all right, Dat. Really.”
Calvin Yutzy was on his feet.
“Hey, if this stuff is true, we have got to do something. Simon may be on to something.”
“Sit down,” Dat said smiling.
Calvin’s wife, Rachel, holding her newborn son, smiled with Dat.
“Sounds like some real western excitement to Calvin,” she said.
Old Eli Miller shook his head.
“Sounds a bit mysterious to me.”
He turned to Sadie.
“Not that I’m doubting your word—I think you do remember some of what happened—but if there are horses out there, whose are they?”
“Where do they come from?” Calvin asked, almost yelping with excitement.
Everyone laughed. It was the easy laughter of a close-knit community, a comfortable kinship. It was the kind of laughter where you know everyone else will chuckle along with you, savoring the little moments of knowing each other well.
“Mam and I both saw them a few weeks ago.”
“Seriously?” Calvin asked, his voice breaking.
Laughter rippled across the room. Men winked, women cast knowing glances as comfortable and good as warm apple pie.
“Sadie, tell them about the … your horse.”
“Go ahead, Dat. You tell them.”
Immediately Dat launched into a colorful account of her ride to work with Jim Sevarr, the snow and cold and the black and white paint. He described how Richard Caldwell kept him at the stable and what an unbelievable horse he would be, if he regained his health.
Calvin sat on the edge of his chair, chewing his lip.
“I bet you anything this horse of Sadie’s is connected.”
“Huh-uh.”
“Aw, no.”
Sadie sat back then, the room whirling as a wave of nausea gripped her. It was time to return to her bedroom, although she didn’t want to. The weakness she felt was a constant bother, and she still faced weeks of recovery.
Rebekah and Leah helped her to her bath and finally to bed as the buggies slowly returned down the drive. Anna and Reuben would be helping their mother clean and wash dishes while Dat went outside to sweep the forebay where the horses had been tied.
Lights blinked through the trees, good-nights echoing across the moonlit landscape accompanied by the dull “think-thunk” of horse’s hooves on snow.
And now Christmas was a week away.
Sadie sat at the breakfast table, her foot and cumbersome cast propped on a folding chair. The bandage was gone from her head, leaving a bald spot showing beneath the kerchief she wore, although, if you looked close enough, new growth of brown hair was already evident. Her eyes were no longer black and blue, but the discoloration remained and cast shadows around them.
It was Saturday, and Rebekah and Leah were both at home, a list spread between them on the table top.
“Where’s Mam?” Sadie asked.
“Still in bed.”
Leah rolled her eyes.
Rebekah sighed.
“Are we just going to go on this way? Just putting up with Mam?” Sadie asked. “I could spank her. She acts like a spoiled child at times.”
“Sadie!”
“Seriously. She‘s been driving me nuts since the accident. She’s not even close to being the mother we remember back in Ohio. She does almost nothing in a day. Just talks to herself. She irritates me. I just want to slap her—wake her up.”
“I
t’s Dat’s fault.”
“Her own, too.”
“Why won’t they get help? Sadie, it wasn’t even funny the way she caused a scene at the hospital when you got hurt.”
“Someone should have admitted her then.”
“How?”
“I know. The rules are so frustrating. As long as Dat and Mam insist there’s nothing wrong, and she doesn’t hurt anyone or herself, we can’t do anything.”
“In the meantime, we have Christmas coming,” Leah said, helping herself to another slice of buttered toast and spreading it liberally with peanut butter and grape jelly.
“I hate store-bought grape jelly.”
Leah nodded. “Remember the strawberry freezer jam Mam used to make! Mmm.”
“I have a notion to get married and make my own jelly if Mam’s going to be like this,” Rebekah said slowly.
Sadie howled with laughter until tears ran down her cheeks. Her face became discolored and she gasped for breath.
“And, who, may I ask, will you marry?” she asked finally, still giggling.
Leah and Rebekah laughed, knowing the choice was a bit narrow.
It was a Saturday morning made for sisters. Snow swirled outside, Dat and Reuben were gone, Anna was working on her scrapbooks in her room, the kitchen smelled of coffee and bacon and eggs, the cleaning was done, and laundry could wait until Monday.
They were still in their pajamas and robes, their hair in cheerful disarray, all of them feeling well rested after sleeping late. Rebekah was trying to think of things they could buy for Reuben and Anna and the person she got in the name exchange at school.
“Gifts, gifts, gifts. How in the world are we ever going to get ready for Christmas if Mam isn’t in working order?” Rebekah groaned.
“Well, she needs to shape up,” Leah snorted.
“And, then, here I am, leg in cast…,” Sadie began.
“You’re going to get fat.”
“Another slice of toast! Did you guys eat all that bacon?”
“Well, you’re not getting more.”
“I’m not fat!” Sadie finally said, quite forcefully.
“You will be. You don’t do a thing.”
Sadie threw a spoon, Leah ducked, and Rebekah squealed.
“Watch it!”
