Disappearances (10 page)

She watched as he helped himself to a large portion of the spaghetti and meatballs, ignoring the string beans and garlic toast. Going to the refrigerator, he bent to find the applesauce, then dumped half the container onto his plate, spooning it up as fast as he could. Like a hog.

Sadie couldn’t help her thoughts. She had a notion to say it, but instantly knew she wouldn’t. Well, okay. If this was how he was going to be, she’d learn from it. See what works. See what don’t. Learn from it.

She spent another night alone in bed, but she did not cry. She read part of a book called
Love and Respect
she had received as a wedding gift, her feelings numb, the words jangling through her nerves that only felt dead.

In the morning, when she sprayed the couch with Febreeze and threw the beige-colored afghan into the rinse tubs to be washed, she cried great big tears of disappointment and hurt.

When she arrived at the ranch, there was an ambulance parked at the barn. She forgot all her personal struggles. A hand went to her mouth as she lifted questioning eyes to Jim Sevarr’s concerned face. He hopped down quickly, disappeared behind the entry door, and reappeared after a heart-stopping few minutes.

“It’s Lothario Bean. The Mexican. Got kicked by the new mustang. Better git off to the house.”

Sadie did as she was told, finding Dorothy and Erma by the window, their eyes wide with concern.

“It’s Lothario Bean. He was kicked.”

Erma’s hand went to her mouth, her eyes opened wide, popped out the way they did when she was concerned or surprised. There was an air of solemnity about the three of them all morning after the ambulance careened out the drive, lights flashing, sirens screaming, sending chills of dread up Sadie’s spine. When Jim Sevarr came slowly into the kitchen, his eyes soft, Sadie knew before Jim said a word that Lothario Bean had died.

“Smashed his skull. Bled internally. Didn’t last long.”

Erma cried quietly. Dorothy shook her head, brought a box of tissues to her, said it was a pity. That dear man was the salt of the earth, and what would that poor widow do? And those beautiful daughters? Sadie cried for the little Mexican. She was glad he was a Christian. She imagined his great enjoyment in this wonderful place called heaven. He had been such a loving man.

When Mark came home from work, he found Sadie curled on the recliner, still numb, her eyes red from crying. There was no supper on the table, the house was dark and cold, the laundry still hung on the rack stiff and dry. Sadie was beyond caring. If he wanted to go ahead and muddle around in his black fog of silence and self-pity, he could. She was not going to apologize if she didn’t do anything wrong. So she turned her face away and did not say one word. If he wanted to know something, he could ask.

She heard him go outside. Wearily, stiff with cold, she got up, made her way to the bathroom, then soaked in a long, hot bath, shampooing her hair over and over. Wrapped in a heavy robe, she took two Tylenol for her pounding headache and laid back on the recliner.

It was 8:00 before Mark came in. He stood awkwardly by the table, his arms at his side, watching her. He turned to go to the refrigerator, then changed his mind, going to the pantry, and emerging with a box of cereal. His shoulders were as wide as ever, bent over the dish, as he hungrily shoveled the food into his mouth. His dark hair was disheveled, in need of a good wash.

She would have to tell him about Lothario Bean. If she waited for him to speak first, they’d grow old like this. It was ridiculous. She would have to be the one to make amends, innocent or not. She knew better now. See what works. See what don’t. Learn by it.

Slowly, she let down the footrest of the recliner. Mark turned, a question in his eyes.

“Lothario Bean was kicked by a horse at the ranch. He’s dead.”

“No!” Mark’s voice was incredulous, filled with raw disbelief. Then, “Aw, the poor man.”

He came over, scooped her out of the chair as if she was a child, then held her on his lap as he kissed her, gently, tenderly, murmuring words of endearment. Sadie told him she was sorry about the quirt, and he said it was okay, he was acting childish as well. All of Sadie’s happiness came back multiplied by 10.

T
HEY ALL ATTENDED LOTHARIO
Bean’s Catholic funeral service, Richard Caldwell and his wife, Barbara, seated with the many Latino relatives. Mark and Sadie were amazed at the similarities to the Amish, the close sense of community, the caring love shown for each other by these dark-skinned people from Mexico. Lothario Bean’s daughters surrounded their mother, who was dressed in traditional black, a veil over her face. Bravely his wife received condolences from the many people he had encountered in his life.

Afterward at the ranch, they had a memorial service of sorts, seated informally in the dining room, eating pulled pork sandwiches and scalding hot bean soup, coffee, and Erma’s banana cream pies, filled with sliced bananas and piled high with genuine whipped cream. They reminisced about past events, Lothario Bean’s eagerness to please, the humility he possessed, his outstanding love and support for his wife and daughters. A new sense of closeness enveloped them. This mixture of cultures, all human beings now, wrapped in a sense of loss felt so strongly that it was touchable, a thing to be cherished.

Sadie never wanted to quit her job at the ranch, knowing she had an extended family in all of them. Mark told her she could work as long as she wanted. They didn’t need the money now, but if that’s what she wanted to do, she should.

Richard Caldwell hired an Amish man to replace Lothario Bean. He had just moved into the area from Indiana. Richard Caldwell asked Sadie if she knew him at all. She didn’t.

“He says he’s worked with horses since he’s three years old, which I think is a bit unlikely, but you never know. Check him out for me tomorrow morning, okay?”

So when breakfast was served, she lingered, wrapping silverware, filling the ice bin, observing from the background as the ranch hands filed in. She heard him before she actually saw him. He had a deep, hearty laugh, which seemed to never stop. It rolled out of him after every sentence, each of which was punctuated by what could only be described as enthusiastic listening. He had to be a great personality.

His hair was longish in the back, which was good, helping to balance the long neck, the beaked nose, and the dark rimmed glasses he pushed up or down on his nose, depending who or what he wanted to examine. Clearly this man was a great lover of life. No beard. Single.

The cogs in Cupid’s wheel were matching perfectly. Sadie wrapped her arms around her waist and held very still, listening, observing, and then fairly skipped through the swinging oak doors to the kitchen.

“Where’s Erma?”

“Upstairs,” Dorothy said, from her sink full of dishes.

Grabbing her apron strings, Sadie pulled her in the direction of the dining room.

“You have to see this. The perfect man for Erma Keim!” Pushing her through the doors, Sadie stepped back, giggling, waiting for Dorothy’s return.

“I ain’t never endorsing no man for that giraffe. I told you!” Dorothy exploded the minute she was back in the kitchen.

“Dorothy!” Sadie wailed, her disappointment keen.

“I mean it. He’s much too nice lookin’ for her. She’d completely make his life miserable. The poor man. I ain’t sayin’ a word, and you better not, either. I’m serious.”

When Erma came back to the kitchen for a Diet Pepsi, she popped the top, took a long swig, and spilled a rivulet of the freezing soda down the front of her dress. She snorted with impatience before lifting the can to repeat the process again, running to the sink for a clean, wet cloth to dab at her dress front, her hair and covering a hopeless mess. Sadie decided to obey Dorothy. Perhaps it was for the best.

Goodness, that Erma Keim was a sight. They had helped her with her covering and showed her how to use hairspray at the time of Sadie’s wedding, which evidently was all lost. Dorothy shook her head, wiping her hands on a clean dish towel.

“See, she can’t even drink a soda properly. Now I ain’t Amish, but there’s a big difference in your hair and that white thing on your head. Hers looks as if she was in a hurricane.”

Sadie laughed, agreeing, and decided to drop the subject.

Spring breezes did their best to lift everyone’s winter blahs. New green weeds poked their way through brown, dead growth, but the patches of snow and the cold rains were persistent into April.

Mark and Sadie were on their way to church, the cold spring rain splattering the windows of the buggy, leaking through the small rectangles cut into the window frame to allow the reins to pass through. The top of the glove compartment got wet. Mark wiped it off with a clean rag whenever he thought about it. Truman’s hooves splashed through the puddled water, the wheels slicing through it, but everything was dry and cozy inside the buggy, with a light, plaid blanket across their legs just to keep the chill off.

Sadie pinned a black wool shawl securely around her shoulders, and she wore a black bonnet on her head. The shawl was usually only worn to church. At council meeting they were encouraged to wear the garment wherever they went, but very few of the young women did. It was cumbersome, knocking things off shelves, and not very suitable for shopping. But it was warm and perfectly suited to a chilly Sunday morning buggy ride.

Mark looked so handsome, his new beard in perfect symmetry, his jaw line in sharp relief against the whiteness of his shirt collar. He was in a quiet mood, which was normal and comfortable when not accompanied by the blackness and anger that devastated Sadie.

They had forgiven, forgotten. Life was smooth and so good.

“A penny for your thoughts.”

Mark smiled. “You don’t want to know.”

“Mm-hm. Yes, I do.”

“I’m thinking of my mother’s dying wish. She wants me to find my siblings. Do I want to honor that? Or wouldn’t you do it?”

“You won’t have any closure, rest, whatever you want to call it, if you don’t.”

“I know. But … I’m scared.”

“You have reason to be.”

The best part of attending church services was seeing her family. Her excitement at seeing all of them lent wings to her feet. She walked swiftly to the washhouse door.

All the joy of her morning evaporated when she saw Anna, a wan reed, her complexion blue-white, her eyes enormous in a face almost skeletal, sagging weakly against the wall, her feet propped against the cement floor as if to keep her standing erect.

Summoning all her strength, Sadie desperately tried to appear normal. Anna’s smile was mocking, a pulling away of her mouth setting her teeth free. Her eyes were hard, boring into Sadie’s, a challenge.

“How are you, Anna?”

“Good.”

A thousand questions screamed in her mind. Where was Mam? Dat? Her sisters? Why was no one trying to help? Surely this was evident to the entire community. It was so different and yet so similar to Mam’s illness. These things could be hereditary.

When Neal Hershberger walked in, his hair cut in the English style, chewing and popping his gum, his eyes brazenly searching the girl’s bench, a hot anger welled up in Sadie’s throat, a bile threatening to choke her.

Oh, my. Dear God, I have forgotten to pray. Wrapped in my own problems, I am not being watchful. Am I my sister’s keeper? Please answer me. She bent her head to hide her tears from the men and boys facing them.

When she saw Neil Hershberger openly flirting with Suzanne Stutzman, saw Anna cringe backward in desperation, Dat sitting sound asleep in the front row as the young preacher droned on, she felt as if she had to do something.

Dat and Mam were so dear. Sadie’s love for her parents had only increased with her absence, but they were by all means sticking their heads in the proverbial sand, either unwilling to face the disaster that was Anna, or just tired and optimistic, hoping it would all get better soon. She had to do something. Anything. She bet Anna weighed a hundred pounds, if that.

Asking Mark’s permission after services, she invited her parents, sisters, and Reuben for Sunday supper, especially including Anna.

“I can’t. I’m going away,” she countered.

“Where?”

“The supper crowd.”

“Can’t you skip? This once?”

“No.”

Anna wouldn’t budge. Sadie gave in, glad to have her parents and Reuben even though her sisters were with the other young people. Mark was jovial, talkative, keeping Dat entertained, while Sadie prepared meat loaf, scalloped potatoes, and a salad of lettuce, bacon, sliced hard-boiled eggs, thinly sliced onion, and shredded carrots, with a homemade mayonnaise dressing.

After the meal as they sat around the table, full and content, Sadie braved the subject of Anna, a forbidden one, she knew. Her desperation, her only strength, grabbed at straws of reassurance.

“Dat?”

“Hmm?”

She had his attention; his eyes were kindly upon her.

“Does Anna even weigh a hundred pounds anymore?” she asked, her eyes giving away her fear.

Mam looked startled.

“Oh, of course. She isn’t that thin.”