Sadie’s Montana Trilogy

by Linda Byler

  She kept caressing the silky coat, murmuring her words of love, when she looked up to find Reuben hanging on the gate.

  “Why do you have to go and get married?” he asked, his voice cracking in mid-sentence.

  “Reuben, I know…” she broke off, her emotions catching her off-guard.

  She gave Paris one last pat, letting the horse nuzzle the palm of her hand with that wiggling, velvety nose. Then she turned to Reuben, desperately willing herself to stay happy and lighthearted.

  Why did this bother him so much?

  Before she could speak, he wailed, “You’ll never ride with me again! You’ll have a whole bunch of babies the way everyone does, and you won’t ride at all.”

  Sadie opened the gate and put her hands on his arms, looking squarely into his innocent eyes.

  “Reuben. I will always ride Paris, married or not. And if I have babies, I guess Mark is just going to have to stay home and watch them so we can go riding together.”

  Before he could respond, she pulled him into her arms and squeezed him tightly.

  Chapter 24

  THERE WAS NO USE TRYING TO KEEP ORDER THE remainder of the summer. Dorothy and Erma were every bit as bad as Mam. Between the three of them planning the menu for the wedding, Sadie’s mind was full of at least 30 different dishes, none of them even close to what she really wanted.

  Erma, of course, insisted on Dutch apple pie. When Sadie told her that Mark’s favorite was coconut cream, Erma wouldn’t speak to her for two weeks. This bit of news escalated Dorothy to a state of glee, saying she was an expert at cooking homemade, cream-pie filling. Then Mam said there was no way anyone was going to cook coconut pie filling except herself. Dorothy pouted for a week after that, saying no Amish cook could outdo the pies she always made for the fire hall.

  Sadie ended up having a serious heart-to-heart talk with Mam about the importance of give-and-take. Why couldn’t Dorothy have the honor of making the pies? Especially if they decided to bread the chicken with Mam’s recipe rather than Dorothy’s?

  The weather grew stifling hot. The heat rolled off the sun and pressed down on them with its force, like a steamroller made of hot air.

  Sadie worked only three days a week at the ranch now because of all the work to do at home. She looked forward to the times she spent in the air-conditioning, though it did little to cool Dorothy’s and Erma’s hot tempers. Dorothy was always in a dither these days, with Erma wielding her red-haired power. Sadie flung back and forth between them like a tennis ball, until one day when she had less patience than usual.

  She had just fought with Mam about the sleeves for her wedding dress. So when Dorothy and Erma started their bickering, Sadie stood in the middle of the kitchen, balled her fists, squeezed her eyes shut, and demanded some peace and quiet. Couldn’t they both stop bellowing as if they were two-year-olds? She told Erma she did not want the seven-layer salad for her wedding. She didn’t like all that mayonnaise spread on top of the lettuce. Dorothy could forget about making biscuits. Amish people ate dinner rolls. She wanted all whole wheat, and she was going to order them at a bakery.

  That outburst brought an end to the competition, at least temporarily. Dorothy muttered under her breath for a long time afterward, and Erma took to helping Lothario Bean in the office at the stables whenever possible. Dorothy lifted a hand to her mouth and whispered in Sadie’s ear that she didn’t trust that Erma, and if she didn’t stay away from that “little Mexican,” she was going to contact his wife, sure as shootin’.

  Sadie told Dorothy she was being overly suspicious. With Lothario being the staunch Catholic he was and Erma the Amish member she was, there was absolutely nothing to worry about. They just enjoyed each other’s company.

  Dorothy swiped viciously at a roaster, then held the sponge aloft like a judge’s gavel, water dripping off her round elbows. She told Sadie to get off her high horse right this minute. She didn’t care how religious they were, those two were human beings and were spending entirely too much time alone.

  So Sadie approached Erma in church the following Sunday, telling her about Dorothy’s concern. Erma’s eyes opened wide, then wider, before a horrified shriek broke forth from between her open lips. Then she quickly clapped two hands across her mouth as three overweight matriarchs gave her a disapproving glare.

  “Oh, my word!” she hissed with a disgruntled look on her face.

  Sadie burst out laughing, then clapped her own hand to her mouth.

  “He’s … half my size! He’s married! He’s … he’s Catholic! I’m just his friend! Oh, Sadie! To think Dorothy… Even bringing up that subject is enough to … to …”

  “It’s okay, Erma. Dorothy means well. She’s just being careful. I think sometimes we Amish girls are a bit naïve. In our culture, married men are so off-limits, it’s like they don’t exist. But it’s different in the English world.”

  Erma chewed on a thumbnail, then shook her head in frustration.

  “That is just the plight of old maids. We’re always being watched, talked about, matched up with someone … Ach, Sadie, it goes on and on.”

  Erma gazed unseeingly out the window, her eyes darkening with emotion, a cloud of sorrow passing over her usual animated glow. She continued, “It would be entirely different if we could … do something about our… Oh, whatever.”

  Sadie watched her, saying nothing. What could she say? Erma shrugged her slouching shoulders and went back to biting the thumbnail. She slumped down farther against the wash-house cupboard.

  “It would be different if we … well.”

  She stopped. Suddenly she straightened, took a deep breath, and self-consciously tugged at her waistband. “See, you’re one of the lucky ones. Mark loves you. You’re getting married. Mine married someone pretty. He was mine, Sadie. We dated for a year. In the end, I wasn’t enough.”

  She put up a hand to her coarse red hair. “My skin looks like … the Sahara. Nose like a crow’s beak. I’m nothing to look at. But, Sadie, he loved me once.”

  “Who?”

  Erma shook her head, closing the conversation.

  “But..” Sadie began.

  Erma closed her eyes and held up a hand to stop Sadie. She didn’t want to discuss it anymore.

  That was how Sadie got the idea of asking Erma to nâva huck with Reuben. Mark had been unable to come up with any distant cousin as Reuben’s partner in the wedding party. They had been racking their brains over whom to ask ever since.

  When Sadie approached Reuben, he all but stood on his head in refusal. He shook his head back and forth so violently, his hair swung in his eyes, and he said no so many times, it became a sort of chant.

  No amount of coaxing would help. Sadie even offered to buy him a new saddle, a brown one, brand new, from the tack shop in Critchfield.

  “Nope. I’m not nâva hucking with her. She’s twice my age. She’s taller than me. She’s too loud. No.”

  As time went on, the thought of a new saddle weighed heavily on his mind, slowly tipping the scales away from the avowed no. The turning point came about a week later. Surely he could do that for his best sister. For Mark.

  Mark was not nearly as hard to deal with as Reuben. He smiled constantly, shrugged his shoulders, and said anything they planned was fine with him. All he wanted was Sadie. She was so happy, so completely in love with him, and so glad she had made this choice to marry him in spite of their rocky courtship.

  He worked tirelessly on his house. He gutted the interior and replaced the old plaster with pine boards. He replaced the flooring and built all kinds of furniture. He hoped to have most of it finished by the day of the wedding for his new bride.

  Sadie spent many evenings with him, sanding and varnishing. He laid the stones of the fireplace himself, working so late that Sadie fell asleep on the dusty old chair in the corner. Wolf laid at her feet, his head resting on his paws, his blue eyes watching Mark’s every move.

  He was as loyal to Sadie as he was to Mark, never barkin
g or showing any hostility. He faithfully followed both of them around the property, keeping an eye out for any intruders.

  Sadie was glad to have Wolf. Mark’s place was so secluded. The road was about a quarter of a mile below the house, without much traffic. There were certainly no neighbors to run to if she needed help.

  The house was surrounded by woods, although there was enough space for a nice lawn in the front. Mark had cut down quite a few trees to make the lawn larger. Then he chopped the trees into firewood and stacked it neatly in a shed for many winters to come.

  Originally Mark had made plans to raze the house. Then he decided to preserve it by keeping the structure, the western character, the odd corners, and the dormers built into the front of the roof.

  The house was brown, covered with stained oak boards. The new windows were a dark brown color as well. The door was made from heavy oak boards with narrow windows on each side. A deep porch ran along the front and left side of the house. There were no steps or sidewalks yet, only a few boards that led up to the porch.

  Sadie didn’t mind. She knew everything would take time. She often wondered if it was right to love a house so much. She adored the looks of it. She loved the way the house blended with the surrounding trees and how the large, old barn complemented the whole area.

  She couldn’t wait to put her brand-new furniture in the house, decorate the interior, keep it clean, do laundry, make meals, and do all the other everyday things married women did in their homes. It was a joy to think about and imagine.

  Then one Sunday in church, the deacon announced Mark’s and Sadie’s upcoming nuptials. Mark had gone to speak to the deacon previously, who came to visit Sadie and confirm her desire for marriage. It was an age-old tradition and one that Sadie fully appreciated.

  After the services, members of the church approached the Miller family wearing wide smiles of anticipation. Women offered to make food for Mam. Men shook Dat’s hand, clapping his shoulder with work-gnarled hands. It was their way of saying, “We’re here, we’re happy for you, we’re looking forward to a wedding. What can we do to help?”

  Dat grinned and grinned, then he batted away his tears when Sadie’s uncle came to tell him he had raised a remarkable daughter. The way she had placed her love and trust in this Mark Peight was commendable.

  “They’ll be blessed,” he said wisely, shaking his head.

  “I think that boy’s come a long way, from what I’ve heard about his family.”

  Dat nodded, unable to speak.

  On the other side of the room, poor Mam threw up her hands with laughter. So many people offered to make food that Mam asked Leroy Betty for a notepad to write everything down.

  Betty would bring bars the day before the wedding for the relatives to eat while they gathered to prepare the food, the shop, the tables, or whatever else was to be done.

  Leroy Betty – Banana Nut Bars.

  Leroy Betty was the traditional way of identifying Betty. She was not referred to as Leroy Troyer’s wife, Betty, but just Leroy Betty.

  Simon Mary – Oatmeal Cookies.

  Dave Lavina – Molasses Cremes.

  Lod-veig Andy Sarah – Macaroni Salad.

  The name Lod-veig is Dutch for apple butter. Who knew how Apple-Butter Andy got his nickname? He likely came from a long line of men who cooked apple butter and sold it, or made it exceptionally well. At any rate, once a nickname like that was applied, it stuck for generations.

  Sometimes, there were simply too many Andy’s within a 20-mile radius, and that was a sure way of knowing which Andy was being mentioned. There were also Pepper Bens and Cheese Haus Sams, and on and on.

  Later that day, Mark went to the Miller home for supper. Mam had made fried chicken with the breading recipe they would use for the wedding. She wanted everyone’s opinion of it so she could perfect it before the wedding. She also cooked potatoes mixed with an onion sauce and cheddar cheese. There was a roaster of homemade baked beans that had bubbled all afternoon, the bacon and tomato sauce sending up a heady fragrance.

  Right before they ate, Rebekah tossed a salad, Leah made the dressing, and they all sat down to a table of happy laughter and endless chatter about the coming wedding. It was less than three weeks away.

  Dat said the shop was ready, but everyone protested loud and long, contesting his statement that it was “ready.”

  The shop was a sort of large garage. It served as Dat’s workshop and was where he kept the carriage and spring wagon. Bikes, extra picnic tables, folding chairs, express wagons, and pony carts were also stored there. So was anything else Dat bought or found or thought he needed.

  Amish weddings are mostly held in the shop instead of the house because it is a huge areas of unfettered space and 200 or 300 people can be seated there. Tables are set up the day before with white tablecloths and dishes. A neighbor usually offers to host the service, where the actual ceremony is performed during a church service of three to four hours.

  David Detweilers agreed to hold the service for Mark’s and Sadie’s wedding in their shop. Then the wedding guests would walk or drive the half mile or so to the Millers’ home for the remainder of the day.

  “You’ve only power-washed the shop,” Mam gasped.

  “The windows! All those windows!” Leah shrieked.

  “The fly-dirt on them!” Anna joined in.

  “What did you do with that old picnic table? Surely you’re not going to leave it in there?” Mam asked.

  “What picnic table?” Dat asked defensively.

  Mam laughed and waved a hand, assuring everyone that they had plenty of time. Then she promptly sat down, took off her glasses, and began rubbing them so vigorously that a lens popped out. She quickly got to her knees, scrambling furiously for the missing necessity.

  The pandemonium continued when Dat couldn’t find the kit to fix Mam’s glasses. Sadie upset her glass of water, soaking the clean tablecloth. Leah shrieked and jumped to get a clean tea towel, spilling another glass of ice water with her elbow. Reuben threw up his hands, declared everybody nuts, and went to the refrigerator for more ice.

  Mark laughed more than Sadie had ever seen him laugh before. He seemed relaxed, his eyes calm, his smile quick and broad as he reveled in the joy of “his” family.

  “Everybody needs to keep calm,” he observed, laughing yet again.

  “I agree!” Dat called from the living room, followed by a frantic question as to the whereabouts of the eyeglass kit in a tight voice about two octaves higher than normal.

  It was a happy time of joy and anticipation, but also of quick, loud responses fueled by worn and edgy nerves. That was what an upcoming wedding did to a family, and you simply couldn’t help it. At least that was Sadie’s conclusion.

  The girls pressed their dresses and hung them neatly in the closet. They had made a dress for Erma, too, planning and scheming how best to help her with her hair without hurting her feelings. Between sewing projects, they cleaned the house.

  Dorothy smirked all week long, batting her eyelashes coquettishly, baiting Sadie with little remarks.

  “I went to the Dollar General store, Sadie. Gittin’ close to wedding time, now ain’t it?”

  Sadie nodded happily, her eyes sparkling as she carefully extracted an English muffin from the toaster. She spread a liberal amount of butter all over both halves, took a big bite, and closed her eyes in contentment, her lips glossy with butter.

  Dorothy watched her, then sniffed. “Y’know, that’s an awful lot of butter on there, young lady. You gonna turn into one of those women that double their weight after they git married?”

  “Dorothy!”

  “Well, I’m jus’ sayin’ is all.

  “Yep. I went to the Dollar General.”

  When that bought no response, she cleared her throat loudly.

  “Yeah, just thought I should go. Don’t really need new shoes but had other stuff on my mind that I needed to get.”

  Sadie munched her English muffin, sayin
g nothing. Dorothy cleared her throat loudly.

  “They got some awful nice wedding wrap.”

  Sadie’s thoughts were far away, thinking of Leroy Betty helping Mark with his wedding suit. She had generously offered to order the suit and all.

  “Didn’t know if I should get the bag shaped like a gold bell, or the pink with gold polka dots. I told myself that a purple bow would look awful nice on a package like that.”

  Leroy Betty had even hemmed the sleeves and trouser legs for him and pressed the whole suit afterward. She certainly was the salt of the earth.

  “You listenin’ ta me?” Dorothy stood over Sadie, hands on hips, her head tilted like a little robin waiting for the earthworm to emerge from the dirt below.

  Sadie stuffed the last of the buttered muffin into her mouth. Then she looked up wide-eyed and startled.

  “What? What?” she stammered, thoroughly confused.

  “Well, I ain’t repeatin’ myself.”

  Sadie shrugged her shoulders, gathered up the cleaning supplies she needed for the morning, and headed to the bedrooms.

  While dusting the dresser in the master bedroom, a movement in the yard below caught her eye, so she laid down the dust cloth and went to the window.

  There was little Sadie Elizabeth, toddling toward the bent form of Bertie, shrieking with glee when he scooped her up in his arms. The regal form of Barbara Caldwell moved across the lawn toward them. She was dressed in the latest fall fashion, her hair coiffed to perfection. Sadie watched the sweet-mannered way she patted Bernie’s arm.

  It hadn’t always been like that. The darling baby girl had done wonders, completely changing Richard and Barbara Caldwell. These two wealthy landowners had it all, but their one real source of happiness was their cherished daughter.

  Sadie sighed, then turned back to her dusting, polishing the top of the dresser to a rich sheen as she contemplated the people and her work at the ranch.

  Did she really, for sure, want to give up this to become Mark Peight’s wife? She knew she’d no longer be able to keep her job at the ranch when the first baby arrived.