Sadie’s Montana Trilogy

by Linda Byler

  Sadie shook her head. “My mother hasn’t been well, but there is a possibility. We’ll discuss it and I’ll let you know.”

  “Thank you, Sadie.”

  That afternoon, Bertie, the gardener, asked Dorothy if she or Sadie would be available to help him plant the annuals in the garden down by the fishpond.

  Dorothy was taking one of her many breaks, forking cheesy clumps of steaming macaroni and cheese into her mouth from the small microwavable dish in her hand. She washed it down with a resounding gulp of sweet tea, the ice clattering against the plastic tumbler as she set it on the kitchen table.

  “Now, Bertie, I ain’t goin’ down there and breaking my back diggin’ around in that there mud. It ain’t no use. Come September, those plants will be froze stiffer’n my knees, so they will.”

  Bertie waved a hand in her direction, then snorted derisively.

  “Aw, you old grouch. Then stay here in the kitchen and eat your macaroni and cheese. Where’s Sadie?”

  Sadie peeped out of the pantry door and smiled at Bertie, joy in her eyes. She loved Bertie, but she loved the banter between these two salty individuals even more.

  “Sadie girl! You want to help me plant a few annuals down by the fishpond? My old back could sure use some help.”

  “Your old back? Well, why’d ya think my old back would be any different?” Dorothy spat out.

  “I didn’t ask for your two cents.”

  “Well, you got it.”

  Dorothy chuckled loudly before lifting another great forkful of macaroni to her open mouth.

  Surprisingly, Bertie kept his peace and told Sadie he’d be ready in about half an hour.

  “I guess, if it’s all right with you, Dorothy?” Sadie asked.

  “Yeah. May as well help him out if his back can’t take it. We’re havin’ beef stew and rice for dinner this evening, so there’s not so much to do. Go on and help him out, the poor, old man.”

  “You know, if you wouldn’t be settin’ there eating all that macaroni and cheese, you wouldn’t be as…”

  “Say it, Bertie! Go ahead and say it!”

  Dorothy’s eyes were snapping and twinkling at the same time. Bertie smiled, and Sadie suddenly became ravenous for the cheesy concoction Dorothy was enjoying.

  “You want a dish of macaroni? Some sweet tea?” Sadie asked Bertie.

  Sadie smiled to herself, thinking how English she could sound when imitating the lovely people that she worked with.

  She heated more macaroni, punching the buttons of the microwave. At home, she would put her food in a saucepan, add extra milk, and set it on the gas burner of the stove. Then she would wait at least 15 minutes until it was heated through. She cringed at how Reuben burned food every time. He consistently plopped a saucepan on the gas stove, flipped the dial to high, and walked away. Sticking his nose in a magazine, he forgot about the stove until the house filled with the stench of burning food. Then he always blamed the girls for not making him something to eat. Using a microwave in an English person’s kitchen was pretty handy.

  Bertie settled into a kitchen chair, greatly enjoying his glass of tea and tucking into the dish of macaroni and cheese with as much enthusiasm as a much younger person.

  Watching him, Dorothy started on a tirade of the different metabolism rates in people’s bodies. Bertie said he didn’t know, he never went to school for that. What he did know was this—if you ate too much, you got fat.

  “Huh-uh. No. It ain’t true. Look at you hoggin’ that down. If I ate the way you do, I’d weigh 300 pounds!” Dorothy said testily.

  “Is that all you weigh?” Bertie returned, then made a laughing retreat out the door and back to work, leaving Dorothy fussing and fuming and checking the refrigerator for some leftover coleslaw.

  Sadie found the flats of purple and pink petunias, the hose with the gardener’s wand, and a trowel. Bertie wanted the flowers planted beside the brick walkways and on the side of the slope leading to the fishpond, but none in the shade by the trees.

  “Petunias don’t do well in the shade, you know,” he explained. “If you need anything, give me a holler. I’ll be mowing by the garage.”

  Sadie set to work, getting on her knees to dig, plant, and water. She loved the feel of the soil and reveled in the warm sunshine, the beauty of her surroundings, and the drone of bees as they flew busily from different sources of nectar.

  Cows bawled, calves answered, horses roamed the paddocks and pastures, dogs barked, and pickup trucks came and went. But Sadie heard very little of these sounds that made up daily life on the ranch. Instead, her thoughts turned to Mark Peight.

  Now why would he call Richard Caldwell? Yes, she knew he was looking for work, but… Did he know her parents forbid her to see him? No. How could he? She hadn’t told anyone. Even her sisters didn’t know. So, he wasn’t coming to the ranch as a way to see her.

  And now these children. A responsibility for someone. Had the police been here yet?

  She was turning away from the dumpster after depositing the used plastic pots, when she spied Louis and Marcellus running toward her. What a difference the soap and shampoo had made! They were beautiful children. They almost seemed adjusted to the ranch, and they’d been here less than a day. Perhaps this was due to Dorothy’s assurance that they would definitely be staying, that they had nothing to be afraid of, and that their mother was coming to get them as soon as she possibly could.

  Sadie greeted them, and they answered with shy acknowledgement, perfectly worded in soft English.

  “Would you like to help me?”

  They declined, shaking their heads from side to side. Then Marcellus spoke up. “Gustav, our gardener, says we are too small to help.”

  Sadie nodded. Our gardener? Ach, my! The children must be from a well-to-do home.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Sadie saw the tall form of Mark Peight enter the garden. He came down the brick walkway in his easy, cat-like stride. An electric jolt charged through her body, and, instantly, her hand went to her hair, leaving a dark smudge on her forehead. The children turned to face the tall stranger, keeping their eyes lowered respectfully.

  “So there you are,” Mark greeted her.

  Flustered, Sadie got to her feet. “Hello, Mark.”

  “How are you, Sadie?”

  “I’m doing well. How are you?”

  “Good, good. Happy to be back in Montana.”

  He looped his thumbs in his suspenders and looked around appreciatively. “So this is where you work?”

  Sadie laughed, “Not always.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “Bertie, the gardener, asked me to help him out this afternoon.”

  “These Caldwell’s kids?”

  Sadie turned to Louis and Marcellus, and then introduced them. “We don’t know their last names. They just came today. They…”

  Sadie’s voice was cut off by Dorothy’s agitated yells, asking the children to come up here right now.

  Sadie got down on her knees, eye-level with Louis, and told them to be very good. Some men were here to talk to them about coming to the ranch. She told the children that they should not be afraid. These were good men who wanted to help them.

  Tears crowded her eyes as she watched Louis take Marcellus’ hand protectively. Together they walked obediently up the brick walkway.

  “What?” Mark began.

  Sadie quietly explained the situation to him, omitting the jewels, then asked if he wanted to sit down. They seated themselves on the iron bench by the day lilies, and Sadie turned a bit sideways, tucking one foot under her leg.

  “But…” Mark was curious.

  “I know. It’s the most unusual thing. You can tell by the way they talk that they aren’t just some squatters’ or sheepherders’ children. Yet their black hair and eyes, their dark skin, all seem to…”

  “They seem foreign.”

  “Mexican. Latino of some kind. The police are here now speaking to Richard and Barbara Caldwell
. You know how it is, if no one wants them, they’ll enter the foster system.”

  Mark looked unseeingly across the fishpond, the pasture in the background.

  “Yeah, well, you’re not going to let that happen, are you?”

  Sadie shrugged her shoulders.

  When she felt Mark’s big hands grasp her shoulders much too tightly and give her a little shake, she snapped her head up in alarm, her eyes weak with fright.

  “How can you sit there with that smug expression and shrug your shoulders?” he asked, his voice grating unevenly on the hard words.

  His face was inches from hers, his eyes blazing with raw fury. The force of his emotion drew the air from her lungs like a huge vacuum. She was too powerless to stop it, and her shoulders slid downward away from his grasp.

  “Don’t,” she whispered weakly.

  He released her, then abruptly turned to lower his face into his hands. She thought she heard the word “sorry” among the murmurings that followed, but she couldn’t be sure.

  He stayed in that position until a sick fear began in the pit of Sadie’s stomach. What if he was mentally deranged, violent, or dangerous? Why would he become so agitated at the slight shrugging of her shoulders?

  Just as suddenly, Mark sat up, brushed back his hair, cleared his throat, and turned to her.

  “You have no idea, Sadie. None. If you did, you wouldn’t sit there one second longer, knowing those sweet, polite children would be put in foster homes. Believe me, it’s not a good place to be.”

  “How do you know? And how do you expect me to know, living the sheltered Amish life I have always lived?”

  “How do I know? Because I was a foster kid,” Mark said, emotion causing him to whisper.

  Sadie was incredulous. “You were?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? I mean… How could you have been? Your parents were Amish. Why didn’t your relatives keep you? Why in the world were you put in a foster home? Didn’t you have any sisters or brothers? No aunts or uncles?”

  The questions poured from Sadie, like water rushing and tumbling toward the ocean. Her desperate need to know more about Mark’s life crowded out all reason.

  “If I tell you why I was a foster kid, you will never look at me again.”

  The words were stiff, forced between clenched teeth, as if keeping his teeth in that position would keep Mark’s past hidden and intact.

  Sadie faced him, forced him to look at her. “Try me.”

  She had never seen eyes change the way his did, going from brown to deep black then back to brown. But it was a hooded, reserved brown. Suspicious even. Mistrusting. Finally, when Sadie’s gaze did not waver, his eyes acknowledged her request, but without faith, barren and afraid. Then he took the plunge, baring his soul.

  “I found my father. He was drowned. On purpose.”

  “No!” The word was wrenched from Sadie and she lowered her head, sobs completely controlling her.

  “See. I told you. Now I did it. You will never speak to me again.”

  There were no words from Sadie, only the heaving of her shoulders as he got slowly to his feet.

  She felt his presence leaving and was jolted to reality. She raised her tear-streaked face, and in a desperate need to keep him there, blurted out, “Oh Mark, you poor, poor thing! How old were you? I cannot imagine. Please don’t say you’ll never speak to me again. Don’t even think it. I care about you, Mark. I do.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes … I do. Please, Mark. You said…”

  “Just forget what I said. Go back to work now. Go find yourself a good, normal guy who will make you a good, normal husband. Forget about me and the fact that I came back to Montana.”

  Suddenly Sadie grasped both of his arms, held on, and said clearly, “I am not going to do that. And neither are you. I’m only going to say this once, and then it’s up to you. I love you.”

  Chapter 4

  MAM WAS ALARMED WHEN SHE SAW SADIE AFTER work that day. Her oldest daughter’s face was so pale, she looked sick. Her typically sunny, blue eyes looked dark gray, as if thunder had hovered over them all day.

  “Sadie? Are you all right?”

  It was the tone of her mother’s voice, the kindness in her face, that unraveled Sadie completely, a spool of yarn with one end tugged relentlessly.

  She threw herself into her mother’s arms, and like a six-year-old who felt she was punished unfairly, she hiccupped and warbled and cried and talked. Her sisters gathered around the kitchen table, clucking and oohing and aahing and sympathizing until the whole day had been laid bare for the entire family to examine. Even Dat caught the tail end of the story when he came home from work an hour later.

  They laughed at Dorothy’s view of Bertie, exclaimed at the jewels, and became doe-eyed when Sadie described how Mark Peight walked down the garden walkway. They all added their opinions, but grew completely embarrassed at Sadie’s announcement of love to him.

  Dat caught Mam’s eye, and shook his head.

  “So there you are. I know I’m not allowed to see Mark, but I also know I want to be with him until the end of my days. I love him. I know my life will not be as easy as some, but I need to be with him. I feel it’s my destiny.”

  After a pause, Dat spoke softly, gravely.

  “Well, Sadie, if you believe that it is God’s will, would you give Mam and me a few weeks to pray about this? We’re not going to forbid it, but we need to be very, very careful. Then we will see what unfolds.”

  “I can tell you what’s unfolding right now, and that’s my stomach. Whatever is up with having no supper?” Reuben announced, getting out of the recliner and clutching his empty abdomen.

  “Let’s get pizza!” Anna shouted.

  “Pizza!” Reuben echoed.

  “Who has money?”

  “Not me.”

  “I would if we’d just get pizza, but till everyone has their cheesesteaks and ham subs and Pepsi, the bill will come to more than $50.00.”

  “I’ll make a homemade pizza. We have leftover chicken corn soup…”

  “No-o-o!” Reuben wailed.

  “I’ll pay 20,” Dat volunteered.

  “I’ll pay 10!”

  “Ten!”

  “Who’s going to order?”

  “Who do you think?” Mam asked, pointing to Sadie.

  Sadie laughed and got a scrap of paper and pen, wrote down the order, and went to the phone shanty to call the little rural pizza shop that delivered pizza to the homes spread around the lovely, Montana countryside.

  On the way back to the house, Sadie’s heart filled with love for her family. Her emotions had run a gauntlet that day, but how wonderfully firm was the foundation under her indecisive feet. The love and devotion of a family was a solid structure that held together through all of life’s trials, above any storm that blew in. And how would life ever be manageable without her sisters and Reuben?

  When the pizza arrived, the family was prepared with a stack of plates, tall glasses loaded with ice cubes, and Mam’s bread knife to cut through the thick crust.

  They remembered to bow their heads, their hands folded in their laps while they all prayed in silence. The girls had their own private joke about “putting patties down,” the Pennsylvania Dutch version of saying a blessing, when pizza was ordered in. Dat never seemed to pray quite as long, and tonight was no different. Sadie was pretty sure Reuben didn’t pray at all, the way he shrugged his shoulders and swung his feet. His head was only bowed halfway, and he watched the pepperoni on the pizza the way a cat watches a mouse nibbling on oats in the forebay of the barn.

  When they raised their heads and Mam reached for the knife to cut the pizza, Sadie caught Rebekah’s eye. They ducked their heads before Dat could catch their smiles.

  It was delicious, as usual, the great slices of thick, crusty pizza dripping with tomato sauce, cheese, pepperoni, and mushrooms.

  The subs were made with a special bread recipe, brown and firm, the h
am and cheese melted to perfection, the lettuce and tomato still fresh and colorful.

  No one said much, as they ate hungrily, then pushed back their plates and relaxed with their drinks.

  Sadie watched Anna reaching across the table for one of the last slices, her third. Then she settled back happily on the bench beside Reuben, enthusiastically sinking her teeth into the thick pizza.

  Reuben wiped his mouth with a napkin, surveying his hungry sister. “Boy, Anna, you ate a pile of pizza. Must be you were really hungry.”

  “I was!” Anna said, swallowing and nodding her head.

  Reuben eyed her with concern. “You’re getting chunky.”

  “So.”

  Her answer was about as indifferent as it could be, so Reuben shrugged his shoulders and said he was going to the barn.

  “Are you riding?” Sadie asked.

  “No. I have to clean my rabbit pens. Dat said.”

  Sadie figured she had better not persuade him to ride with her. Those rabbit pens were desperately in need of cleaning. Anna had told him that if he didn’t clean the rabbit pens more regularly, she was going to call the Humane Society to come get the rabbits, and the animal rights people would put him in jail.

  Horrified at the thought of being put in handcuffs, which Anna had explained in full detail, Reuben went crying to Mam. Anna was sent to her room after that. This had all occurred when Reuben was seven or eight, and things had not changed much at all. Reuben still loathed cleaning those pens.

  Sadie slipped away from the house, telling Mam she was going for a ride on Paris. Mam nodded absent-mindedly while listening to Leah recount an episode from her day.

  Paris and Cody were at the lower end of the pasture, as far away as possible. Usually when Sadie called, they came trotting to the gate, but not always. Depending on their mood, they stayed where they were, tails swishing, teeth crunching as they went on grazing.

  Sadie climbed up and sat on the gate.

  “Paris! Cody! Come on girls! Come on!”