by Linda Byler
Then they found out about the horses. Richard Caldwell exploded into the kitchen, his face ashen, his mustache bristling with indignation. It took a long time for Sadie, white-faced and trembling, to explain in full detail Reuben’s suspicion, his discovery, the resulting visit from the police, the professional individual who knew exactly which steps to take.
There was a huge article in the paper with the news, Richard Caldwell said. Why hadn’t he known it was Reuben? The Amish had some strange ways. And he should have known Sadie would be in the thick of it, the way she always was.
He did not say this unkindly, but it hurt Sadie somehow. Richard Caldwell was a good man, devoted to his wife, Barbara, and their young daughter. He had always treated Sadie with respect after he learned to accept the ways of the plain people. Why this frustration now?
He told her, then, that he still worried about her safety. Clearly this ring of horse thieves was not giving up. The jail sentences had been handed down to the guilty individuals, but a remnant of them was bolder than ever. It made no sense whatsoever.
Sadie bit her lower lip and tried desperately to keep from crying. Richard Caldwell eyed her still face, then asked if there was anything at all she found unusual about the gates, the lean-to, the animals themselves.
Sadie shook her head. “But, then, I … don’t want to admit it, but I passed out. Fainted. It was … too much. I don’t remember much, besides, perhaps the snow, the carcass.”
Richard Caldwell nodded.
“I still think you need to bring Reuben to the ranch. I need to question him and your sister, is it Anna?”
Which was why they accompanied her to work the following week. They were to have an interview with Richard Caldwell, the three of them.
Reuben grumbled the whole way. He was perturbed, having to leave Dat with too much concrete work in the basement of a log home they were building. Anna didn’t mind a day off work, and Sadie was feeling too sick to care either way.
Signs of approaching spring were in evidence, the way the snow was creeping away from the fence posts. Patches of gray shingles appeared on roofs where the snow had been blown to a thin layer. Water dripped off the spouting as the sun became a bit warmer each day.
The ranch had grown and added buildings every year. It was still beautiful. Sadie loved the handsome brick ranch house surrounded by well kept shrubs and trees, tended lovingly by Bertie Orthman, the master gardener.
Sadie knew, however, that her work days at the ranch were numbered. In the near future she would spend her days at home doing laundry, cooking, baking, keeping her home clean, making their own clothes on her treadle sewing machine, following the footsteps of Amish mothers all over North America. They did not work outside of the home, unless necessity demanded it. Like Fred Ketty, they might start a dry goods store or a greenhouse, perhaps a small bulk food store, but then when a baby was born, they spent their days at home, caring for the child, making do with the money their husbands provided.
Sadie embraced this future; she was thrilled by it. She loved the ranch, especially Jim and Dorothy, but there was a time for everything, in Dat’s words. She was ready to devote her life to Mark and their children, the years coming like gentle waves lapping at the sands of time, living her life the way Mam always had.
There would be quiltings and sisters’ days, shopping trips, frolics, and school meetings, all patches of the quilt, sewn securely, forming the essence of the community. The people would rejoice when they became first-time parents, bringing food, visiting, plunking baby gifts in Sadie’s lap.
Dorothy would come, too, and Richard Caldwell. They would remain friends, but the ranch and its activities would slide into the distance, a memory to be examined time after time. It was the way of it.
When Richard Caldwell ushered them into his office, Sadie kept close to Anna, who looked as if she was being taken to the gallows, her face pinched with fear.
“It’s okay,” she whispered at one point.
Reuben, of course, who had reached the maturity of 16 years, walked resolutely into the office, his hands in his pockets, his neck craning as his head swiveled constantly, taking it all in—the massive oak beams, the taxidermy, (a mounted bighorn sheep, Sadie!) the huge flat-screen TV, all things he saw in the ads from Lowe’s or Home Depot that fell out of the daily newspaper. But to see a television of those dimensions protruding from the wall like that was truly unbelievable. He’d never imagined them to be that big.
And when Richard Caldwell turned it on to show them the news reports he had recorded, Reuben was glued to his chair, his eyes never leaving the screen.
“Watch closely now. Isn’t there anything that seems unusual to you? I mean, this thing is chewing on my nerves. It can’t be just about horses. Why horses? If you’re going to steal them, shoot them, mistreat them … ”
His voice trailed off as he shook his head in frustration. He recovered when an image of the carcass flashed on screen, the pitiful bones swelling up from the snow.
“I mean, look at that. How can you make sense of it? Why steal horses if you’re not going to make a profit?”
They had no answer. Not Reuben, either.
They watched the different scenes and news reports. Sadie shuddered, wishing it would stop. She felt a thin elbow in her side and turned to find Anna, her eyes huge in her thin face, pointing at the screen with shaking fingers.
“What?” Sadie whispered.
Richard Caldwell was quick to notice the disturbance. “Speak!” he ordered.
Anna obeyed, her voice gathering strength as she spoke. “The … dead horse? The head, lying in the snow. I noticed the day we were there. The dead horse has no halter. And … I thought it seemed weird that every horse, no matter how thin and sick, all wore an expensive leather halter, the leather, the straps, extraordinarily wide and thick. But who removed the dead horse’s halter? And why?”
Reuben sat upright, his eyes wide with understanding. “Yeah!” he burst out. “I thought about those halters, Anna. But I figured it was people from a wealthy stable. Like the place the horses were taken from was a ranch like this and all their horses wore those halters.”
Anna nodded agreement.
“But still, those halters aren’t worth that much. Why not remove the halter? Why are they all wearing them?”
Richard Caldwell nodded, his eyes sharp, observing Sadie’s face. “What do you think?”
He had respect for Sadie’s opinion, having been involved in the episodes that had occurred from the very first.
Sadie shook her head. “Would it be worth trying to find a horse? See if you can examine the halters?”
Instantly Reuben was on his feet, his hands waving, as he told Richard Caldwell he bet anything those halters were made of some expensive substance and were worth a few thousand dollars apiece.
Sadie cringed when Richard Caldwell stroked his gray mustache, his eyes twinkling, hiding the smile that wanted to form.
Sadie knew Reuben was just being Reuben, completely carried away by his own enthusiasm, his guilelessness making him blurt out any nonsense, a man of the world like Richard Caldwell seeing straight through him.
“It would be worth a try.”
Sadie exhaled with relief.
“Hey, you know those Chinese? What were they? Japanese? Those people whose horses were shot? You remember? We had a benefit auction for them? They got one!”
Reuben was shouting now, but it was no louder than Richard Caldwell’s own booming voice.
Dorothy glared out the kitchen window, washing celery at the sink, wondering where that Sadie was traipsing off to now, riding around in the boss’s diesel pickup that way? She told Erma Keim to come look, and Erma said it was likely none of their business. Dorothy said it was, too, her business. Sadie going off like that without her lemongrass tea and peanut butter crackers. She’d fall out of the pickup in a dead faint, and then what? Her well-kept secret would be out, the boss would know and make her quit her job. Then where wo
uld they be?
Erma Keim told her she’d be nauseated, too, if she was given a cup of lemongrass tea every morning, and didn’t she know Sadie only drank that vile brew to please her? Dorothy said if she didn’t know anything about tea it would be better for her to keep her mouth shut, so Erma did, for the remainder of the day, the fear of losing her flesh and blood blessing named Steven Weaver, a very real fear in her life.
Chapter 21
THE DIESEL TRUCK STOPPED at the barn, the vehicle’s occupants spying the small, lithe form in the barnyard—a horse on a long rope loping in a relaxed circle around its owner.
The barn was small, old, but in good repair, the long pieces of sheet metal replaced with a newer variety, shinier, but with the appearance that someone cared about the place. The small ranch house was covered with new gray siding, the shutters black, a new oak-paneled door on the front. There were curtains in the windows, a tidy front porch containing only a snow shovel and a stack of firewood, neatly piled along the left side of the door.
An older pickup truck was parked beside a four-wheel-drive SUV that was also not a recent model, but it was clean and well kept. Two dogs came loping out of the barn, their tails wagging, their barking friendly.
The girl in the barnyard pulled the horse, a lean appaloosa, to a stop, then turned to lead him into the barn as they all stepped out of the truck. Effortlessly, she climbed over the fence, a weather-beaten one but in good repair, her hair tied back in a ponytail, hatless, her ears red with the cold. Her flat, dark eyes in the flawless face shone a welcome as she reached down to hush the dogs.
“Hello!” Richard Caldwell’s voice never failed to take strangers by surprise. It was just so strong, so powerful. He put out a huge hand, swallowing the small gloved one. “Richard Caldwell from Aspendale East.”
The girl nodded, recognizing him.
He turned. “Jacob Miller’s kids,” including them all with a wave of his arm.
They smiled their acknowledgment, voiced their greetings politely. Richard Caldwell told her their mission, and was it true that her family had been given one of the stolen horses?
“Doo!” Proudly, she held up two fingers.
“You got two?”
She nodded and motioned for them to follow her. The barn was well lit, smelling of fresh shavings and the molasses in the horse feed. Sadie never tired of that good, pungent odor. There was no one else at the barn, she informed them. Her parents had gone to work at their restaurant in town, but her brother was at home, coming to exercise the horses as soon as he finished his schoolwork.
“Home-schooled?” Sadie asked.
“No, no. Medical studies. Home for short time.”
Sadie nodded. Hardworking, so industrious. An admiration for this family made her heart glad. Many immigrants, people seeking better lives generations before, were what made this country so good. An undeserved blessing, she thought.
The horse was brought out. Still undernourished, his neck so thin, the hairs long, every rib visible. He snorted, the whites of his eyes showing as he tossed his head in fear. Sadie had to hold her hands behind her back to keep from reaching out and stroking that thin neck, to try and calm this animal that remembered too much.
The halter was not there. Reuben caught Sadie’s eye. She shook her head. The horse was wearing a blue nylon halter, a typical, ordinary one bought at any animal supply store.
Anna could not be patient.
“Was … Is this the halter the horse was wearing when you received him?” she blurted out much too eagerly.
Innocently, the girl shook her head. “Oh, no! Leather. Much doo ’eavy!”
She walked to a cupboard, opened it, and took down a brown leather one, which she handed over for them to examine.
Richard Caldwell lifted it up, turned it around to the light. His fingers felt along the leather, the side panels, the chin strap. He rolled the thick leather between his thumb and forefinger, his shaggy eyebrows drawn down in concentration. Suddenly, with urgency, he asked for a knife.
The girl ran to the adjoining shop, returning with a retractable utility knife, which Richard Caldwell grasped firmly. His eyes intense, he lowered the halter to the floor, grunting as he got down on his knees. Instantly, Reuben and Anna followed, as Sadie’s eyes met those of the girl’s.
“Your name? I forget,” Sadie offered.
“Kimberly See. Kim,” she said, smiling.
Richard Caldwell was slicing expertly along the seam, severing the heavy thread that held both pieces of leather together. A strangled cry emerged from his throat, followed by words Sadie had never heard him use. Reuben whistled. Anna gasped. Sadie bent to see.
A small trickle of … what was it?
“If these ain’t diamonds, I’ll eat my hat,” he ground out, a visible tremor in his hands now.
Sadie could feel her heartbeat in her temples as she saw the trickle of whitish-blue objects hitting the concrete floor of the barn. Reuben whistled, then looked over his shoulder, as if already the thieves knew they had stumbled on their secret. Anna remained quiet, which was her way, keeping strong emotions to herself. Sadie had to know why.
They all began talking at once. Kim See was genuinely alarmed, asking them to call someone, anyone, immediately. She would not be going to prison, would she? Reuben must have felt such a genuine sympathy that he assured her no one was going to prison, everything would be all right, obviously savoring his moment of being a hero in her eyes.
Kim gave the second halter to Richard Caldwell. It contained a dark red jewel, spilling out like fractured frozen blood clumping on the hard barn floor.
“We need a bag. A pouch.” Richard Caldwell said, urgently.
Kim ran off as lightly as a deer, returning with a Ziploc bag. Carefully they scooped the glistening jewels into the plastic bag and handed it to Richard Caldwell, who ran his fingers thoughtfully along the closure.
Sadie stood back, deep in thought, remembering a time in the Caldwell’s bathroom when she was depositing the ragged garments into the laundry chute. Marcellus and Louis. Those dear children who had shown up at the kitchen door dressed in filthy clothes, carrying a bag from a designer shop, a bag with a small drawstring pouch of jewels. Why jewels? Was there a connection?
“It was too far out,” she said aloud.
When they all turned to listen, Sadie realized she had spoken out loud, then told them about the blue drawstring bag.
Richard Caldwell nodded, then shook his head. “It does seem crazy, but … ”
He seemed to connect his train of thought, then, saying they’d take these to the police station, assuring Kim that everything would be fine. Her family may be questioned, and of course, they’d have the media to deal with, but she was not to fear anything. She nodded soberly, her eyes wide, waving as they made their way to the truck.
Richard Caldwell took them all home for the day, telling them he had a feeling this was the beginning of the end. Justice took awhile, he said, but there was far more to this than horse thieving.
Lots of questions rolled through Sadie’s mind. Why didn’t the horse thieves take better care of the horses they had stolen? Maybe they were thrown off track when they discovered jewel-packed harnesses, Sadie reasoned. Greed makes people do crazy things, she thought, trying to imagine the mind of a horse thief.
She wondered if maybe they had a disagreement among themselves, remembering how panicked the fat man became while he was guarding her in the mansion. Maybe some thought the horses were more valuable and others got carried away by the glittering jewels. Dumb stuff happened when people grabbed things that weren’t theirs.
Sadie could not face the day at home alone, so she got off with Reuben and Anna, exploding into the kitchen the way they had done as children, all three of them talking at once.
Mam had just put on her glasses, thankfully sinking into the soft, brown recliner with The Budget, the Amish newspaper she hadn’t had time to read all week. She had planned on a long wonderful nap, cove
red with the blue fleece throw Sadie had given her for Christmas. She hadn’t even opened the newspaper when the diesel truck wound its way up the drive, three of the children (as she still thought of them) tumbling out and crashing her peace and tranquility. It was motherhood, she thought, as she reluctantly laid down the paper, folded the throw, and stood to face whatever had them all in a dither now.
They ate hot dogs slathered in ketchup and mustard, piled chopped onions on top, drank tall glasses of orange soda, and munched piles of potato chips. They all agreed it was the best, most unhealthy meal you could think of, especially rounded out with a huge slice of Mam’s fresh chocolate cake spread with caramel icing, a small river of fresh creamy milk poured over it.
Mam said she had eaten after doing laundry, and Anna ate mostly ketchup, mustard, and onions on half a roll. But it was home, where you could say anything and everything you wanted, and you didn’t need to worry about offending anyone or being responsible for black moods. Everyone laughed about the same thing, and you could punch someone if they said something wrong. They could punch you back the moment they felt like it.
They talked endlessly about the horses, the jewels, the what-ifs, the might-have-beens, adding, embellishing, but always coming back to the basic truth. It was a ring of horse thieves to begin with. It was bigger, now, as Richard Caldwell always knew it was. Reuben said he was a smart man. Anyone that owned a ranch that size was plain down brilliant. Or lucky. Maybe both.
Sadie told him Amish people wouldn’t be allowed to have a ranch that big, which Reuben corrected, saying they’d likely be allowed, they just wouldn’t have the brains to do it.
“Fred Ketty would,” Anna observed dryly.
“She’d be way too lazy,” Reuben said, stuffing another potato chip in his mouth.
“Now,” Mam warned.
Being called lazy was not allowed within Mam’s earshot. Folks were relaxed about their work, which was not always a bad thing, being talented in other areas of life, and no one was to judge. Some of them who hurried and scurried their way through their work, living in immaculate homes, may be missing the roses along the way.
