by Linda Byler
Paris!
It was Paris!
It couldn’t be Paris.
The horse was exactly the color of Paris after she had lost her winter coat. Paris was honey-colored then, a rich, amber color that was complemented by the beige of her mane and tail.
This horse was that same color, and it, too, was a mare. She moved behind the black horse as he grazed slowly, clipping the grass with a crunching sound. There was only one thing better than hearing a horse eat grass and that was to hear him eat oats and corn from a wooden feed box. Horses bit deep into the oats, then lifted their nose a bit and chewed. Most of the oats fell out of the side of a horse’s mouth when he did that, but he chewed them later until the feed box was completely clean.
Slowly Sadie got to her feet.
The black horse lifted his head, his ears pricked forward, and he wheeled immediately, lunging back the way he had come. The brown mare looked at Sadie, then ran off with the palomino following.
Sadie stayed rooted to the spot.
Involuntarily her arm reached out toward them.
“Paris!” she whispered.
The black horse disappeared, but Sadie had a feeling the mares’ return to the woods was halfhearted. They hadn’t made an all-out dash for the trees the way the big black had done.
Yes, they ran, but they were curious, too, Sadie thought.
Slowly, with her arm extended and hand reaching toward the mares, she walked through the wildflowers. She was talking, telling them the things she told horses, even if she couldn’t see them through the forest.
“Come, Paris. Come on, you big baby. Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s about time you returned to the fold and started living a decent life after all the mischief you’ve been up to. Come on. Come on. Just let me look at you.”
But she could not coax them out. The horses stayed in the safety of the trees.
“Well, okay, stay away then, Paris. But I’ll be here tomorrow. I’ll bring you some oats and corn and molasses and I’ll leave a salt block. You’ll love that.”
She kept talking to the unseen horses, which may have been silly, but it may not have been either, she reasoned.
Those mares were not terrified. Sadie was certain about that.
Adrenaline surged through her veins as she turned. Yes!
But Dat would never let her come up here alone. Never. Especially if he knew there were any wild horses within a mile of her.
She could tell her parents she was going on a hike to get back in shape. But that wouldn’t work. Her sisters would want to join her, and Leah, she knew, would catch on faster than anyone.
It would have to remain her secret. She’d bring a salt block by herself somehow.
She was running down the hill, her knees bearing the impact which she knew was no good for her newly healed bones.
When she got home, she tried to act as carefree as when she left the house, but she knew her cheeks were flushed. If her eyes showed any of the excitement she felt—which they probably did—she’d be a dead giveaway. So she went to the barn to make plans.
Sadie stood back, surveying the interior of the barn. That Dat. He would never change. He hardly ever swept the forebay. Cobwebs hung from the floor joists above her head, and empty feed bags were strewn beside the wooden feed box. Dusty scooters and bikes and children’s riding toys that should have been discarded a long time ago were all piled in one corner.
Bales of hay lay where they landed when Dat threw them down the hole from the second floor. He never carried the bales of hay over against the wall and stacked them neatly. He just broke them apart and fed the hay to Charlie from the area where they had landed, which meant there was loose hay everywhere. It was embarrassing, the way this barn was always a mess.
Sadie sighed and got to work. At least this would keep her out of the house so she could hide her excitement about the horses and make her plans in secret.
The following evening Sadie was in luck. She could not believe her good fortune. The whole family went to Dan Detweilers for the season’s first cook-out, leaving before Sadie got home from work.
Sadie was ecstatic. It was too perfect.
She immediately changed into her oldest clothes and a pair of sturdy shoes. She grabbed Reuben’s backpack, the biggest one he owned, and hurried out to the barn.
Good! The feed bin was almost full so Dat wouldn’t notice if she took some of it up the mountain. He would just think Charlie had gotten hungry.
There was no extra block of salt, but she remembered to check Nevaeh’s stall just in case.
Nostalgia enveloped her as she remembered that feeling of walking into the stall and being welcomed with Nevaeh’s funny blowing of breath from her nose. It wasn’t loud enough to be a nicker or whinny, just a soft rustling of her nostrils instead.
There was still part of a salt block, and Sadie grabbed it and put it in the bottom of her backpack. Opening a white, plastic Wal-Mart bag, she carefully scooped some of the sticky, pungent horse feed into it. She knotted the bag securely and slipped it into the backpack with the salt. She dashed back to the kitchen for a few apples and stuck them into the pack with the rest of the things.
She slipped one shoulder into the strap. She had to bend over and struggle to get the other strap in place, but determination goaded her. She had to see what those horses would do when confronted with food they were unaccustomed to having. Surely they would remember it and long for it.
In Sadie’s mind, the wild horses had to be connected with that wealthy person who lost his horses—the one she had seen on the news that Richard Caldwell had shown her. As long as the horses weren’t found, there was no proof they had been stolen, so rumors swirled through the valley continuously. That’s all the talk amounted to. Rumors.
Sadie had never entered the conversation at the ranch, but she had listened plenty and formed her own opinions.
Her opinion was confirmed, especially after seeing the horses up close. They weren’t ordinary horses. Wild, yes, and definitely scruffy-looking, but not as small or as mangy as many western mustangs she had seen.
Sadie walked rapidly at first, then slowed. She knew climbing the ridge with 10 or 15 pounds on her back would be a daunting task, but she’d have to try.
She wished she would have taken time to eat. She felt her stomach rumble and hoped the adrenaline rush would propel her up the incline, because there wasn’t much food in her body.
For one thing, it had been Dorothy’s day to make chili, and she sure had been heavy-handed with the ground chilis. The dish was so hot, Sadie gasped and ran for the sink when she innocently put a large spoonful to her mouth.
“Dorothy!”
Dorothy chuckled.
“You’re not good western stock, Sadie! You’re just an Ohio Dutchman raised on milk pudding and chicken corn soup. You don’t know what good chili is.”
Sadie drank water, spluttering, her face turning red. “That stuff is on fire!”
Dorothy laughed and went about her duties, knowing the cowhands would not think the chili was too hot. So Sadie had made a cold bologna sandwich for herself and hadn’t bothered to sit down long enough to eat all of it.
She could hardly keep her secret from Jim and Dorothy. She had even considered talking to Jim about it on the way to work but then decided against it. She didn’t want anyone to know she thought the wild horses were still in the area, mostly for fear of a group of men following her up the ridge to round them up.
Turning off the road, Sadie started across the field on her way to the ridge where the trees met the open grass. She could feel her heartbeat increasing from exertion, but she could climb surprisingly well with the weight distributed evenly on her back. The wind caught her covering, and she grabbed it just before it tore off her head.
Oh, dear, she had forgotten to pin it.
If an Amish girl went outside for a hike on a windy day, she had to put in a few extra straight pins or her covering would not stay put.
/> Stopping, Sadie tied the strings loosely beneath her chin and decided to let it blow off if it wanted to—which is precisely what it did. She walked on, her brown hair in disarray now and her covering flapping about her backpack. The wind tore at her navy blue skirt, whirling it about her legs, but she pushed it down impatiently and kept walking.
Glancing at the sky, she noticed a bank of dark clouds building in the west.
Hmm.
She hoped this was no spring thunderstorm. She knew how quickly storms could come up at this time of year, becoming quite violent.
The wind bent the grasses, tossing the purple and yellow flowers relentlessly. Dry leaves, leftover from the winter snow, skidded down the hill, and still Sadie climbed, her breath coming in gasps.
She stopped, turned to look back, and as always was awed at the sight before her.
She was glad they had decided to stay in Montana. It was home to them now, and she couldn’t imagine moving back to Ohio where the landscape was flat, the homes too close to each other, and the roads crowded with traffic.
She still missed Eva though. Letters and phone calls were not the same as being with someone. Eva was getting married in the fall, and she still had Spirit, her horse. Sadie wished Eva could be here with her now. She’d have a fit. She would just have to write her a letter when she got back.
She watched the bank of dark clouds. They were farther away than they appeared to be, she knew, but the thought of being caught here in a thunderstorm did not appeal to her.
Finally, her breath tearing at her chest, she reached the spot close to where she had been when the horses first appeared. Carefully she tore the grass away and spread the feed in clumps with the salt on one side, the apples on the other. Then she sat down to catch her breath and wait.
The wind moaned in the trees, its intensity picking up as the pine branches bent to its power. The grasses whipped about now, and Sadie knew she could not stay or she’d be caught in a storm. She watched the clouds moving and expanding, and then she shouldered her empty backpack and started down.
“Okay, Paris and company, enjoy your dinner. I’ll be back.” She hoped the horses would find their feed before the deer or squirrels or birds did. Likely the wild creatures would get some of it.
Thin streaks of lightning flashed out of the dark clouds now, and Sadie hurried down the hill, the backpack flopping and her covering whipping around every which way.
She’d better hurry. How would she explain a soaking wet dress and a ruined covering if she got caught in the rain?
As it was, she had to run the last half mile as huge drops of cold rain began pelting down on her bare head.
Chapter 21
IT WAS SUNDAY. NOT JUST AN ORDINARY SUNDAY, but one of those rare days when the breeze is cool, the sun is pleasantly warm, and there are so many puffy, white clouds in the sky that you can lie on your back and find all sorts of shapes and animals and maybe even one that looks like a person you know.
Sadie sat on the glossy, oak bench at the Daniel Bontrager home and tried not to tap her fingers on the windowsill beside her. She also tried not to gaze out the window too much, but instead keep her focus on the visiting minister and the sermon he was preaching.
He was a portly, older gentleman from somewhere in Pennsylvania, and his voice had a thin, squeaky quality that was sort of endearing. His short beard wagged methodically as he expounded upon the Scriptures, telling the congregation about the seriousness of this life here on earth and encouraging them to shoulder the cross and follow the Lord Jesus, even in their younger years.
Sadie gazed unseeingly, knowing deep inside that her very own personal cross to bear was none other than Mark Peight’s disappearance. It would not become any easier just yet.
She had been so sure that God had plopped Mark Peight straight down from heaven. She had been so in love—was still so in love. She remembered the way he walked, the depth of his brown eyes, and his quiet ways. He never talked much at all, but when he did, the sound of his voice was like music. She loved to hear him talk, hanging onto every word and being warmed by the sound of his voice.
She sighed. Some things weren’t meant to be.
She supposed if she could catch Paris—if that was possible—she’d be happy to have a horse of her own again, which was, after all, something.
Rebekah leaned over and whispered, “I need a tissue.”
Sadie lifted her apron and dug into her pocket.
“Don’t have one,” she whispered back.
The minister droned on.
A fly buzzed by and settled on the windowsill. Sadie watched it and wondered how some people could catch houseflies in their hands the way they did. She had often tried but only hurt the palm of her hand, and the fly flew off unscathed.
She hoped her family would go somewhere this evening. She had been to the ridge only once all week and had not seen a trace of any of the horses. The feed, apples, and salt had all disappeared—every speck of them—but did the horses eat it? She could be feeding horses, deer, elk, even bears, although that was unlikely.
She did not want to go to the supper that would be held for the youth later in the day. She had to come up with a good excuse not to go, one that would be believable to her sisters.
There was always the flu bug going around, which was a good reason for staying in her room feigning serious stomach ailments, but that hardly ever worked with Leah. She could let Reuben in on her secret and then give her sister a whole sad row about Reuben needing to spend more time with her. No, that would be risky.
She looked for Reuben across the room where the men and boys sat facing the women. He was between two larger boys and looked small and innocent. He also looked very, very bored.
She caught his eye and gave him the slightest wink. He grinned and ducked his head, embarrassed at the boldness of his sister.
Sadie smiled, then felt a rush of excitement. She would let him in on her secret after all. He would love every minute of their excursions. He always loved even the thought of an adventure.
After the strains of the last hymn died away, Sadie filed out with the rest of the girls. They crowded together in a corner of the kitchen, waiting until the tables were set up.
Men turned the benches into tables by setting them on legs built for that purpose. The women brought armloads of clean, white tablecloths and spread them on top of the tables. The girls helped carry trays of peanut butter spread, cheese, ham, pickles, spiced red beets, butter, and huge platters of thickly sliced homemade bread, whole wheat on one side and white on the other. They placed a saucer, coffee cup, tumbler, knife, and fork at each setting along the lengthy tables.
Pitchers of water appeared like magic and glasses were filled. Pies—peach, blueberry, raspberry, custard, pumpkin, even a few mince pies—all found their way to the middle of the table.
The men were called in by the person who lived in the home where church was held, and they filed in by their age, the ministers going first. The women sat at a long table next to the men. The ministers’ wives sat down first. The rest of the women sat in order by age.
They bowed their heads in silent prayer. Servers offered coffee to each individual, the only hot item for the traditional dinner at church. It was all very organized, although an English person wouldn’t be able to tell upon observing. The women were constantly moving, the children dodged in and out, and the noise of conversation was amplified by the sheer number of people assembled in one large room.
Sadie ate hungrily, slathering the thick, gooey peanut butter spread on a heavy slice of whole wheat bread, deciding once again that it was truly the best thing ever. If you sat on a hard bench for three hours straight without any breakfast, the lunch at church was simply the most delicious food.
Sadie chewed the rich, nutty-tasting whole wheat bread accompanied by the sticky sweetness of peanut butter, marshmallow cream, and molasses. Spicy little red beets, pickles, and ham on another slice of white bread, washed down with the fragran
t, hot coffee, rounded out the meal. Now she was ready for the grand finale, which was pie, of course.
Of all the pies at church, Sadie always watched for pumpkin. It was her all-time favorite. Pumpkin pie was sweet and custardy and shivery all at the same time, with a spicy flavor that perfectly complemented her cup of hot, black coffee. At home when Mam made pumpkin pie, Sadie spooned Cool Whip on top, but at church there was no extra Cool Whip so she ate it without.
She was finished eating and was piling some soiled dishes in a large bowl when someone tapped her elbow. Turning, she found herself face to face with the visiting minister. He smiled at her, and Sadie put down the bowl of soiled dishes to shake his proffered hand.
“Are you one of Jacob Miller’s daughters?” he asked, his eyes alight with genuine curiosity.
“Yes. I am.”
“Well, we’re from Abbottstown, Pennsylvania. We had a young man come to our community not too long ago—four, five weeks, maybe. We, and the other two families we’re traveling with, got to talking about our planned trip to Montana, and he said he was out here on vacation not too long ago. I don’t remember his name. Melvin something, I think.”
Sadie raised her eyebrows, “Melvin?”
“Yes. He talked of Jacob Millers. That’s your dat, right?”
“Yes.”
“Something about wild horses you had running around out here.”
Sadie nodded.
“You can’t think of Melvin’s last name, can you?” he asked.
“No, I’m sorry. So many young men come and go that we often lose track of who they are and how long they stay,” Sadie answered politely.
“Yes, it would appear so. Well, I sure wish I could think of this young man’s name. It wasn’t Peachy, but…”
He paused. “Anyway, it was nice talking to you.”
He wandered off, and Sadie shook her head ruefully.
Whatever, she thought, a bit irritated. Everyone wanted to know who you were, especially people on vacation checking out these Montana-ians.
