Sadie’s Montana Trilogy

by Linda Byler

  “Do the horses always come when you’re here?” Rebekah asked.

  “Not always. But more and more it’s a usual thing to see them.”

  Reuben distributed the feed. The wind sighed in the pines. The family whispered among themselves. Anna became extremely restless, making faces and gesticulating silently, asking Sadie, “How long?”

  Sadie shrugged her shoulders, biting nervously on her lower lip.

  Come on, Paris, she thought.

  She watched the tree line carefully for the moving shadows that turned into real horses. This was the expectant moment when she always held her breath, unable to grasp the fact that they had come one more time to eat the feed she had brought. The miracle was new each time.

  The horses did not disappoint her.

  Sadie’s body tensed as she heard them moving through the trees. She held up one finger to quiet everyone, then pointed.

  Paris was first, as usual.

  She stepped out, her ears pricked forward, and nickered softly. Sadie stood in a swift, quiet movement, then proceeded forward, holding one hand out, palm upward. She spoke softly in Pennsylvania Dutch, saying the same words of endearment over and over.

  Paris stretched her beautiful neck, her head lowered. Sadie’s hand touched her nose, a movement as natural as the world around them. As sure as an apple falls from the tree at harvesttime, Sadie’s hand caressed first the nose and then the neck of the honey-colored horse. She combed the unruly mane with her fingertips and removed burrs. She ran her hands along the rough coat where the winter hair still clung, stubbornly refusing to allow the honey color of the new, sleek growth to shine through.

  “If only I had a comb and brush,” she told Paris. “You need a bath in the creek with my Pantene shampoo,” she chuckled.

  She bent to lay her cheek against the horse’s head, and Paris stayed completely still. They stood together, a bright picture against the backdrop of trees while Sadie’s family watched in amazement. There were tears in Mam’s eyes as she sought Dat’s face. Dat looked at her, then smiled and shook his head. Reuben saw the look pass between them and was glad.

  The brown mare stepped out then and walked easily over to Sadie who began talking to her, caressing her face and combing the mane with her fingertips, as she had done with Paris.

  When the huge black walked hesitantly out behind the brown mare, Dat gasped. Mam looked at him questioningly. “Jacob, should we…?”

  Dat shook his head.

  Rebekah moved as if to stop Sadie, but Reuben held her back. “Let her go. She’s okay. Watch.”

  Sadie appeared to ignore the black horse, but she kept him in her sight out of the corners of her eyes. He snorted, pawed the grass, tossed his head, and flicked his ears. He walked then, slowly and with a stiff gait, as if too proud to be beholden to anyone. He grabbed a mouthful of the feed hungrily. Then another.

  The brown mare walked over, bent her head, and eagerly crunched an apple.

  Slowly, Sadie reached out a hand to the black. He lifted his head, his nostrils flared, and his ears pricked steadily forward.

  His coat was a mess, Sadie noted.

  “Come here, boy. Come. Let me touch you. You were once used to it. Sei brauf. Sei brauf.”

  Sadie kept one hand beneath Paris’ chin, the other stretched out to the black. Talking quietly, she closed the gap between them until, like a feather drifting on a newly mowed field, she felt the soft dryness of the stallion’s nose on her hand. He snorted and she removed her hand, but she did not move away.

  Oh, the wonder of it!

  The fearsome creature, the black phantom of the night that had created horrible dreams after Ezra’s death, the snow, the pain—all of it gone. Here he was, standing in the golden light of the evening sun, and, in a different light, he was a different creature. There was nothing to be frightened about now.

  Or was there?

  She looked into the black’s eyes so far above her head. He was huge. There were no whites of his eyes showing, but she could sense the wariness, the ability to whirl away and be gone in a few seconds.

  Slowly she moved her hand up from his nose, stroking the long, broad face like a whisper. The hairs in his forelock were stuck together in a hopeless tangle of burrs, bits of leaves, and twigs, but they would have to remain there for now. No use pushing her luck. She had used up more than her fair share today.

  When she turned to go, Paris followed her. Sadie’s laughter rang out across the field, a sound of pure and unrestrained joy.

  “Paris!”

  The flowers nodded and sang “Paris!” with her. The clouds rolled and danced in jubilation. The trees joined in the symphony, bowed their heads for an encore, and sang “Paris!” in response. Sadie’s heart overflowed with love, and she turned and threw her arms around Paris’ neck, hugging her as tightly as possible.

  “I have to let you go now. But I’m going to ride you yet. You watch, Paris. I will. Be good now until I come back.”

  When she joined her family on the trek down the hillside, she looked back and found Paris watching after her, her head lowered as if preparing to step down and follow her home if asked.

  She asked Dat why she couldn’t take Paris along home right then. Dat gave her the same wise answer Richard Caldwell had. Until they knew whose horses they were, it was best to let them roam wild.

  That evening when Sadie knelt by her bed, she thanked God for the wonderful way he had shown her family the horses. Her heart was full of gratitude, and she fell into bed tired, but so happy that she felt sure she would be smiling while she slept.

  Despite her utter happiness, her mind turned to Mark Peight as it always did when she drifted off to sleep. The thought of him always brought a certain void, a question mark hanging in the air that never ceased to fill her with an unnamed longing, a particular kind of remorse.

  Why? Why had he entered her life for so short a span? Why had he almost asked her for a date? But no. He had asked her, and she had said yes. Then Mam became ill, and he disappeared to Pennsylvania.

  Was he still there? Would she ever see him again?

  She truly did not know God’s plan for her life as far as a husband was concerned. Ezra was taken from her, and she supposed Mark was very much a dream. Loving Mark had been much more than she had ever imagined, but he had also been taken.

  Or…he just went.

  It was maddening. It was also ridiculous. He was simply a great big chicken. Albeit, a good-looking chicken.

  Sadie giggled, then buried her face in her pillow and cried great, fat tears of longing and frustration.

  It would be different if she could do something about it, but she couldn’t. Amish girls did not ask someone out or write a letter or try to find him or whatever a person could do. It was simply not done.

  Girls were supposed to be shy and chaste, waiting until someone asked them for a date, which happened for most of them. Sometimes a girl couldn’t wait and went ahead and asked a guy out. But girls who did that were considered fast and didn’t usually fare as well with guys, once they got serious about finding a wife.

  Well, she wasn’t going to hop on Amtrak or hire a driver or book a flight on an airliner to go traipsing off looking for Mark Peight.

  She wondered who the Melvin Peachey was the visitng minister had talked about. He had known her family.

  Melvin Peachy.

  Mark Peight.

  Suppose it had been him?

  Sadie yawned, sleepiness settling over her like a warm blanket. She rolled onto her side, blinked at a twinkling star in the night sky, and thought drowsily, “I wish I may, I wish I might have Mark Peight here with me tonight.”

  It was a silly school-girl rhyme, but a sincere young girl’s heart longing for the love of her life.

  Sadie made daily visits to the ridge now, sometimes accompanied by Reuben, sometimes by Anna, and sometimes by her other sisters. She much preferred Reuben’s company, for the simple reason that he now shared her love of horses. He h
ad learned to stroke the horses, and they followed him willingly wherever he went with the feed.

  Sadie and Reuben studied an old Indian book explaining the method of handling horses with a rope. Dat had told them very firmly that they were not allowed to put a halter or a bridle on any of them, figuring that would put a stop to any thought of riding them.

  Sadie felt a wee bit guilty for riding when Dat hoped she wouldn’t, sort of like sneaking a cookie out of the Tupperware container in the pantry an hour before suppertime. But it wasn’t as if they galloped dangerously around the field. It was more like giving pony rides at a kiddie petting zoo.

  One thing led to another after they pored over the old Indian book. They simply put the rope around the horse’s neck. Stopping, starting, and going left or right was much like neck reining, which Sadie was already used to. She accomplished that with a mere shifting of her body.

  It had been a memorable evening when Reuben helped her climb onto Paris’ back. She was unaccustomed to the feeling of riding bareback, especially without a bridle, so she felt a bit at odds. Her knees shook and her breath came in short gasps, making her mouth feel dry.

  She laughed nervously when Reuben told her to calm down, that Paris wasn’t going anywhere.

  It was quite unlike anything she had ever experienced, the dizzying height of the horse, along with the feeling of riding a horse with no bridle, and then Reuben walking along, assuring her that Paris wasn’t going anywhere.

  It was exhilarating, a freedom Sadie reveled in, a butterfly emerging from the stuffiness of its larva.

  In time, Reuben rode the brown mare and Sadie rode Paris. Sometimes they walked and sometimes they trotted until they perfected the rope technique. In a month, there was no holding back. They raced through the wildflowers, the black stallion watching or sometimes running along beside them.

  The days were long, and their evenings together remained the joy of their lives. Their faces turned brown and their hair lightened in the summer sun. They formed an unbreakable bond, their horses the tie that bound them.

  One evening as they sat side by side, their horses grazing quietly, Sadie voiced her longing to have Paris in the barn.

  Reuben wagged his head wisely.

  “Can’t do it, Sadie!”

  “I know.”

  “It’s too risky.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “One more ride?”

  “Race ya!”

  Sadie hopped up, ran over to Paris, grabbed a handful of her mane, and leaped up from the side, the way they had practiced over and over. Reuben was more agile, bounding up as if he had wings on his shoulder blades.

  The horses lifted their heads, wheeled in the direction the riders’ knees prodded, and were off flying through the long field of grass. Hooves pounded, and the grass made a funny sort of rustling noise, an insistent whisper like a weaving sound.

  The wind rushed in Sadie’s ears as she bent low over Paris’ neck, urging her on. Reuben looked back, laughing as they completed the long circle, coming back up the slope as if their lives depended on being the first to arrive at the starting point.

  They slid to a stop, laughing breathlessly, their horses panting.

  “Forget it, Reuben. It was nose to nose.”

  “No way!”

  “Yes, it was!”

  “Paris isn’t faster than mine, Sadie!”

  “She beat her though.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Give your horse a name, Reuben. You can’t just call her ‘the brown horse.’”

  Reuben squared his shoulders and looked out across the valley, a serious expression stamped on his face.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “If I do, it’ll be much harder to let go of her. You have to realize, Sadie, we can’t always come up here on someone else’s land and ride someone else’s horses. I mean, come on. Duh!”

  Sadie glanced sideways at him, shocked to find his eyes bright with unshed tears. He was very sure of himself in reprimanding her, but it was still hard for him to hide the feeling he had for the horse he had grown to love.

  “I mean, what’ll happen this winter? We can’t come up here. You know that.”

  Sadie nodded.

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “Let’s go home. Sun’s sliding behind the mountain.”

  “Okay. See you, Paris.”

  Sadie turned, loosening the rope, stroking the honey-colored neck. The horses had been brushed over and over, their manes and forelocks trimmed, burrs removed from their tails. Still, they had never been bathed and shampooed the way Sadie would have liked. But it was something the way they were able to groom them at all, even the black.

  Sadie stood by her horse’s head murmuring, when she heard Reuben’s short, “Shhh!”

  She raised her head and froze when she saw two men standing close to the tree line watching them. Her hands dropped away and her arms went numb as she watched them approach. They were dressed in black, one much larger than the other.

  “Sadie, let’s run!” Reuben hissed.

  Sadie shook her head. She blinked her eyes and squinted into the shadows.

  Could it be?

  Yes. It was.

  Richard Caldwell.

  She felt the tension leave her body, then smiled when he threw up a hand.

  “Hey, Sadie.”

  Reuben came over to stand very close to her, and she welcomed his nearness.

  “Richard Caldwell! This is a surprise! What brings you up here?”

  Paris and the brown horse stood alert, their ears forward. The large black stallion was back farther, his head held high, his nostrils quivering, ready to bolt.

  Richard Caldwell stopped, his hand indicating the smaller man at his side. Sadie watched warily as he stepped forward.

  “I’m Harold Ardwin of Ardwin Stables.”

  “Yes?” Sadie was puzzled. She had never heard of this place, and why should she? What was he doing up here with Richard Caldwell? She thought she could trust Richard. Now he had blown her secret, and this would be the last evening of her life with Paris.

  Richard Caldwell stepped forward.

  “Harold Ardwin is the owner of the ranch where all the horses were stolen.”

  “Oh. So…”

  “We’ve been watching you and your brother for close to an hour.”

  Sadie’s face flushed, and she looked down at the toe of her boots, her long lashes sweeping her tanned cheeks.

  Reuben coughed self-consciously.

  No one spoke.

  Harold Ardwin looked at the horses. He looked at Sadie and Reuben. He cleared his throat. “I believe I’ve found my horses.”

  Sadie kept her eyes on her boots and bit her lower lip. The bottoms of her denims were frayed and torn, her skirt dirty and dusty. She blinked hard. She swallowed. She tried to look up, but if she did, she knew the men would see her misery, so she kept her gaze on her boot tops.

  She heard Harold move away, his highly polished boots with the intricate design moving through the grass with a soft rustle. His shoulders were powerful beneath the black shirt, his waist trim for a man she guessed to be close to 60 years old.

  “This is Black Thunder of Ardwin Stables, the sire of our finest colts,” he said firmly. The black stood as if carved in stone. He trembled, then turned and bolted, but only a short distance.

  “Sadie, can you get him back?” asked Richard Caldwell.

  Reuben nodded, and Sadie walked after the black. She touched his nose with her outstretched hand, then cupped his chin, murmuring as she did so.

  Harold Ardwin blinked and blinked again. He sniffed, then cleared his throat. He watched in disbelief as Sadie came back, the black following, a faithful pet who was as obedient and helpless as a kitten.

  “Come here, boy! Don’t you know who I am?” Harold Ardwin asked, his voice thick, his eyes misty.

  Black Thunder whinnied. He had found his owner. You just couldn’t deny the
recognition between a man and a horse.

  This was a different kind of relationship than Sadie had with the big, black stallion. The black horse knew and respected Harold Ardwin, but Sadie had a hunch there was a stable boy at Ardwin Stables who spent more time with the horse than the wealthy owner did.

  “After all this time. This is amazing,” Harold kept repeating.

  Finally he turned to the remaining two horses. “Butterfly and Sasha,” he said, nodding toward them.

  Sadie’s heart sank. She had been foolish beyond belief. She had known this time would come. Paris was never hers. Never had been.

  She felt old and weary then, and she wanted to run down the hillside without saying one more polite word to anyone. She wanted to get away where she could hold her sorrow and loss all by herself, stoic, accepting, and dry-eyed.

  Reuben scuffed his foot against her boot.

  “Answer, Sadie.”

  She raised her head.

  “I’m sorry. What?”

  “I asked, had you named the horses?”

  “Only one. The … the palomino.”

  “Sasha?”

  Sadie could only nod.

  “Your riding is impeccable. I have never seen such a display of trust between a horse and a rider.”

  “Thank you.”

  Reuben grinned and grinned until Sadie elbowed his ribs slightly.

  Richard Caldwell saw every emotion as it took control of Sadie’s features—the horrible despair upon learning these were Harold’s horses, the blaming of herself for getting too attached to Paris, the courage she had tried to muster when answering Harold, and how she failed miserably. It was every emotion he remembered feeling as he wrapped the body of his beloved dog in the pink towel and laid it gently in the cool, wet hole in the earth.

  Courage was admirable, but sometimes your heart was so crumpled by pain that you couldn’t really hold all the fragments together. Sometimes a broken heart couldn’t be helped.

  But not this time. Not if he could help it.

  “We’ll pay a visit to your house this evening, Sadie,” he said, too tersely even to his own ears.

  She nodded. There was nothing else to say, and besides, talking just didn’t work around a lump in your throat. So she turned and walked down the hillside, Reuben at her heels.