Sadie’s Montana Trilogy

by Linda Byler

  The Amish community was fairly new, so the alms collected at church would not be any significant amount, although they could always depend on other communities for support. Dat told Mark it was a wondrous thing, this arma geld (money for the poor) a blessing, for sure. No one would begrudge this young couple the help that was rightfully theirs. Mark told Dat that was one of the things that brought him back to the Amish. The sense of safety, the love of community, the protection that this love of fellow men really was, coming from the place he had been in his teen years.

  The soft pretzels were buttery and salty, everything a soft pretzel should be. Mam flushed with the heat of the oven and Mark’s praise. The kitchen was bright and homey, Mam and Dat both in good spirits at the prospect of being held in high esteem, having two daughters getting married in one year. That was really something, in Dat’s book, Mam said.

  When they smiled at each other, a song started somewhere in Sadie’s heart, and she knew 30 years from now her marriage would still survive, become stronger, sweeping them along on the tides of time. God was still on his throne, same as he had been for Mam and Dat, and Mommy and Doddy Miller, and their parents before them. They would have their times of anger, pain, despair, but they were stepping-stones to the good times, when the love and trust were remembered, appreciated.

  God had a plan for a man and a woman. A union that was perfect, bringing a blessing on the children, so their lives were sanctified as well. The husband gave his life for his wife (as Christ gave his for the church), doing things to make her happy, giving up his nature to love and cherish his wife. In turn, she was called to give up her own will, submit to her husband’s, as the weaker vessel, which really was not hard if the husband stayed in his place, subject to God’s will.

  The perfect circle of harmony could be ripped apart if the wife rebelled against the will of her husband, or if the husband rebelled against the will of God. That sweet, loving circle of kindness and love could turn into a vicious circle of anger and pain, the husband struggling to be the loving provider he should be, if his wife nagged, complained, and belittled him, or if the wife rebelled against choices her husband made.

  It all sounded so doable the day you became husband and wife, but to actually live day by day with another person was something else entirely. When the minister said we will have rainy days and days of sunshine, he was definitely skimming across the top, sort of like spying the top of an iceberg from the crow’s nest. In actuality, it was much greater and deeper and darker than anyone knew. The thing was, people were people. They all struggled to be saintly, living for each other, but they couldn’t always.

  Amish marriages were meant to stay. Divorce was out of the question, a sense of duty deeply imbedded, as it had been for Dat and Mam. Their days were not perfect. Their time together was good, their lives blessed, but not without the occasional air of tension, Mam tight-lipped, Dat pouting, perhaps a major disagreement erupting at the dinner table. They both knew it was wrong, but it happened anyway. Still, the good times far outweighed the bad. With Mark, Sadie had definitely bumped into the iceberg, knew its width and depth, and respected it.

  Take Paris’s health. Why had Mark become so aloof? Pouting in his chair when he could have supported her so many times. It was as if he tried to turn a knob and make his life go away when a situation arose over which he had no control. The resentment boiled like a pot being carefully watched, but boiling nevertheless. She wanted to shake him, scream at him, make him see the error of his ways. Why sit there like a bump, an obnoxious sort of anger permeating out of his very head, even his socks, when he should have been in the barn with her, supporting, encouraging?

  But no, all he could think of was himself, what a poor victim of cruelty he was. Then he blamed her for this laminitis. How could she take the blame, when quite clearly, it was the neglect Paris suffered while the horse thieves had her?

  Shouldn’t Mark be getting over the fact that he had a rotten childhood as he approached middle age?

  Sadie’s thoughts spun away as she listened to Dat, watched Mam’s flushed face, and kept an eye out for Tim. Where was he? Sadie still wondered what had happened to make Anna leave so suddenly, and Tim looking like a volcano just before eruption.

  Chapter 19

  AS IF TIM KNEW SHE WAS THINKING OF HIM, HE sauntered into the kitchen, sleepy-eyed, his dark, blond-streaked hair tousled, his T-shirt hanging over his Amish broad-fall denims. He was barefoot, something he would not have been when he first arrived.

  He had been terribly self-conscious. His feet were always hidden, he had a shirt on, and he had that constant sniff, averted eyes, the hand going to his mouth to guard against anyone seeing his decaying teeth. He had eaten quickly, his eyes downcast, sliding in and out of his chair, very seldom adding to the conversation.

  Now he smiled widely, a relaxed greeting, an affirmation of his state of acceptance. He was comfortable among them, which was a God-given miracle.

  “How’s it going, Tim?” Dat asked jovially as he upended the mustard container on a warm pretzel slick with melted butter.

  “Good! Hey, you sure you need all that mustard, man?”

  Tim was teasing. Dat accepted it good-naturedly, patted a chair beside him, told him he didn’t know what he was missing. Tim lowered himself into it, bringing Mam like a magnet with a plate of pretzels and some cheese sauce. Did he want coffee or tea? Some deer bologna?

  Sadie smiled to herself. Mam would always be the same. Her whole life, she had fer-sarked (taken care of) others. Bustled about, softly whistling, sweeping, cooking, cleaning, serving, seeing to her family. Everyone must be fed, have clean clothes to wear, a clean bed to sleep in at night, shoes on their feet, coats in the winter-time, the list went on and on. But she was happy doing exactly what she did best. Serving those around her.

  Dat was telling Tim about Reuben’s mishap at work, tumbling backward 12 feet off an aluminum ladder, landing in a snowdrift so deep he was afraid he’d suffocate instead of breaking limbs from his fall.

  Tim’s eyes sparkled, then he laughed a deep down, genuine laugh, thinking of Reuben floundering about in the snowdrift. In the short time they had known each other, they had discovered a shared sense of humor that had grown and escalated.

  “Why didn’t he come along over tonight?” Tim asked.

  “Oh, you know. He’s his own boss now, too old to ride in Pap’s surrey. I think I heard him ask Anna to accompany him over, so I don’t know if they’ll be here or not.”

  Tim nodded and stayed quiet. There was a space of silence, not awkward, one of those comfortable silences when slurped coffee, the chewing of soft pretzels, a cleared throat, were only sounds of companionship, an evening inside a snow-covered house surrounded by pine trees, the white moon rising above them, creating light on the snow almost as plain as daylight.

  The light hissed softly, then slowly turned darker. When a gas lamp ran out of propane, you weren’t sure at first if it was your eyes or if the light was becoming dim. Soon though, you could tell as the light became increasingly insufficient.

  Mam swiped a hand over her eyes. “Either I’m passing out, or we need a new propane tank,” she announced.

  “I’ll get it,” Mark said as he rose from his chair.

  The door burst open, and Reuben and Anna literally spilled into the house.

  “Where’s the light?”

  “We thought no one was here!”

  Sadie hurried to light a few candles till Mark got the extra propane tank and the wrench he always used to change it. This was nothing unusual, only an evening enjoying candlelight until the tank was changed.

  The candlelight, however, did nothing to stop the flow of words spilling out of Reuben’s mouth. Anna stood beside her agitated brother, her eyes large with remembered fright, twisting the tassels of her cashmere scarf in thin, cold hands. Mark stood, the wrench in one hand, the propane tank in the other, forgetting the work he had been about to do.

  “I mean it, you guys h
ave no idea what we just saw!”

  Dat licked the mustard off his fingers before remembering to use a napkin and said it couldn’t be that bad.

  Sadie motioned Mark to go ahead with the propane tank exchange, then wished she’d kept quiet when he glowered at her.

  “Seriously.”

  Reuben paused, pulled off his gloves, took a deep breath, then launched into a colorful account of their trip across Atkin’s Ridge with Charlie and the buggy.

  “What I can’t figure out is how could they have done this for so long, right under our noses?”

  “What? Who? Done what?” Mark asked, as he squatted to open the oak door of the lamp cabinet.

  “We were just driving along, Charlie slowing to a walk up the steepest part of the ridge road, when these two vehicles passed, and I mean, not just passed, but zoomed past, slipping and sliding, zigzagging, fishtailing, whatever you call it. They were flying! We no more than rounded the curve, you know, just before you get to the place where Sadie and … well, you know, where the buggy went down over, that night.”

  He looked at Sadie apologetically. She gave him a smile of reassurance.

  “Just before you get to that steep place, these vehicles slowed and turned sharply into a space I had no idea existed. Their cars, well, one was a pickup, bounced up and down terrible. You’d think they’d have busted a tire. I had a feeling … I don’t know. I asked Anna if she wanted to watch Charlie. She didn’t. So we pulled off. You know the right side of the road has a big turn-off before that bank goes straight up?”

  Sadie nodded.

  “We tied Charlie to a tree, put a blanket on him. I told Anna I was going to find out what was going on down there.”

  Sadie shook her head. Mark told him he had more nerve than common sense. Dat said he was nuts. Mam said that about Anna.

  Reuben ignored them all and went on with his story.

  “It was rough going. The rocks and ravines, no road to speak of, and it was all covered with snow. There is a road, sort of, though. I don’t know why we never noticed it before. Anyway, it goes way down, through the rocks, trees, an open field, then takes a sharp right. You have to cross a creek. It’s frozen though.”

  Sadie was horrified.

  “Reuben, what were you thinking? What about Anna? Suppose she would have fallen in? You could have been shot!”

  “Oh, you’re a good one to warn me!” Reuben shot back.

  “Now, now.” This was from Dat.

  Mam shook her head.

  “Am I allowed to continue or not?” Reuben asked, slapping his paired gloves on the table top.

  Anna reached out and grabbed them.

  “So these vehicles had already gone out of sight. They went the long way out around, but we sort of took a shortcut. We had to climb another ridge, then walk through the snow another, oh, I don’t know, quarter of a mile through the trees. We couldn’t hear a thing. Then all of a sudden, below us we could see the lights of the vehicles.”

  “And Sadie…!” Reuben was fairly vibrating with intensity. “You’re not going to believe this. I guarantee it’s exactly where Paris was! There were vehicles’ lights shining, a trail of light, rickety metal gates sort of wired together, a rough shed open on one side, more like a lean-to. Some bales of hay, some rope, some rusted drums, you know, those old oil barrels, drums, whatever.

  “We heard horses then. They came crashing through the trees, strained against the metal gates, and pawed the air with their hooves. You can hardly tell they’re horses. Their hair is so long they look like donkeys. And skinny! Sadie, you couldn’t stand it. They’re so skinny they look like walking fossils. Some of them pawed the air, but most of them had already lost their spirit.

  “They just stood there, their skinny necks hanging out, barely supporting their heads. Some men got out, pitched in a few bales of hay, and those horses went crazy. They fought, tore at the hay, but a few of them were so far gone they just stood there and … I don’t even know what kept them on their feet.”

  Reuben’s voice ended on a note of desperation, and Sadie knew if he was 12 years old, he would have cried. He was crying inside now, but he was too old to allow any emotion to escape.

  The usually quiet Anna forgot herself and burst out, “It’s awful. Seriously. There are at least 30 or 40 horses, and if nothing’s done, they’re all going to die. It simply makes no sense.”

  Tim watched her face and couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  “Two bales of hay, that was it. The hay disappeared in less than 10 minutes. I was shaking all over. The guys got into their vehicles and left. We just stood there. We didn’t know what to do.”

  Reuben took over. “Finally, we went down. We got to the fence. The horses stand on frozen ground, their unshod hooves are cracked, bleeding. The burrs in their manes and tails, the filth, there’s so much disease. If we do decide to help them, where do we start? Who do we call?”

  Dat shook his head in disbelief. “We all thought the end of the horse-thieving had come. None of the Amish have had their horses stolen for a long time. Where do they come from and why? If they wanted to make a profit, surely they’d feed them better, care for them, and not hide them away like that.”

  Mark spoke up. “The first thing would be to call the police. They would know of any organization to rescue the horses.”

  Tim nodded, his eyes dark. “We have to do something. We can’t let those horses starve.” His eyes met Anna’s, and she lowered hers first.

  All talk of wedding plans, community news, or any other subject was dropped, forgotten, as the men planned the following day’s activities.

  They would call the police in the morning, meet at Dat’s house, and proceed from there. They would need direction, not knowing the course that would need to be taken.

  After the good-byes were said and the buggy lights turned left onto the main road, Mark came back into the laundry room, kicked off his boots, hung up his coat, and found Sadie washing dishes, Tim beside her with a dish towel, drying. She was telling him about the misadventures of the previous years, more animated than he’d seen her in a long time.

  When she heard Mark’s approach, she turned, her eyes glad to see him. They clouded over with bewilderment when she received only a scathing look, a back turned, his whole being telling her he disapproved of something. Immediately her voice died, she became intense, her dishwashing taken to a tremendous speed.

  When Tim went to bed, he could tell Mark was not in a good mood, and he vowed to treat his own wife better. That guy had his times. Big baby.

  But then …

  Tim was like a fledgling bird, his wings not used to supporting his weight in flight. God was not an intimate friend; his Christian life had just begun. He stood by his dresser, running his hand over and over across the chest Sadie had given him to keep his deodorant and cologne, his loose change, keys, or whatever.

  She was too good for him. He wished he’d met her first.

  Ahh … no, he was too young.

  But … Mark …

  “Okay, God, I don’t know for sure if you’ll hear me, but you need to watch that Mark.”

  With that, he climbed into bed.

  Sadie swiped viciously at the table top. Now what?

  Well, she had had enough. Being submissive was one thing, but Mark was simply acting terribly toward her, and enough was enough. He could be so friendly, the life of the evening when Dat and Mam were around. But the minute they left, he continued his dark mood, which had been hanging around for days now, while she scuttled around like a scared rabbit trying to make his life better. This scenario was not working out.

  It was going to take courage, but this would have to be dealt with.

  Instead of heading for the bathroom and a long, hot shower she hung up the dishcloth, straightened the mug rack, and almost tripped over the rug as premature fears blinded her. Quickly she swiped at them before kneeling beside Mark’s chair, reaching out and taking his magazine away, firmly placing it in
the oversized crock with the others.

  Mark looked up, surprised.

  “Okay. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You know there is.”

  “Just go away. Leave me alone. I don’t want to talk.”

  “No, Mark.”

  “What?”

  “This is not what I bargained for when I married you. There are no instructions for your husband treating you with complete disdain. I think it goes beyond what the minister called a rainy day. It’s more like a monsoon with hurricane-force winds.”

  No answer. A log fell in the stove, the sparks pinging against the glass front.

  “What did I do wrong now?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then why do you hate me?”

  The word hate got his attention. It was a strong word, one he would never have chosen to describe his feelings toward his wife.

  “I don’t hate you.”

  What had happened? How had it come to this? That day when Nevaeh lay sick and dying in the snow, the jays screaming in the treetops, hadn’t her knees gone weak with … what? His perfect mouth, that cat-like grace with which he jumped down from the cattle truck. Could she ever remember that feeling? Here was this same person, the perfect mouth in a pout of self-pity, slumped dejectedly in his lair, that same recliner he always slouched in when he was in a bad mood.

  Was love meant to be this way? Was it truly all her fault? She knew firsthand what it felt like to be heartsick. She was shaken when Mark sat up quite suddenly, slapped down the footrest of the recliner, grabbed the armrests but stayed seated. His face changed color as he spoke. Why did she remember the color of his anger when the words pelted painfully in a hailstorm of hurt?