Disappearances (13 page)

When the school meeting was over and Mark returned, Sadie did not want to leave, glad to see Mark sit down and help himself to a large slice of cold pizza, turning his attention to Merv, who responded to Mark’s questions politely. Yes, he was busy. Yeah, it was a bit hard to start his own roofing business, but that was only in the beginning. Yeah, there was a real need for roofers. Tear-offs, for sure.

His brown hair was cut neatly, his blue eyes alive with pleasure when Anna spoke to him. His white short-sleeved shirt was open at the collar. He was relaxed, at ease, able to maneuver his way in a conversation so well. Oh, the possibilities!

Anna said she was thirsty, so Merv was instantly on his feet, getting ice from the freezer, filling a tall glass with cold water, then bringing it to her, totally devoid of self-consciousness. Handing the glass to Anna, their hands touched, his eyes a caress on hers. Was that a blush spreading across her too-pale cheek? Their eyes held, stayed.

Sadie was fairly bouncing up and down on the buggy seat the whole way home, grabbing Mark’s arm, squeezing it with both hands to get her point across. He laughed easily, held her close, and told her to calm down.

Mark said the school meeting dragged on longer than necessary in his opinion, shaking his head at the audacity of Fred Troyer. They needed another schoolhouse built, and David Detweiler offered a piece of ground, a nice, central location, but Fred had to throw a monkey wrench into the works and put in his two cents, saying the school should be built a few miles to the north. His grandchildren wouldn’t have to pay transportation then; that was the only reason, everyone knew.

“He’s as bad as his wife,” Mark finished.

Sadie instantly changed the subject. “But, Mark, you know what? If Neil would just stay away now, I think Merv would have a chance. But I’m afraid when Anna is better, she’ll return to the youth’s events, the singings and suppers, and then what? Huh?”

“Oh, don’t worry yourself about it. As I said, that Fred and Ketty are something else. But, you know how
goot-manich
that David Detweiler is? Of course, he said it’s all right with him, they voted on it, and old Fred got his way. Sure would have liked to see it go the other way, but who am I to say? We don’t have any children yet, so, of course, it’s all right. Whatever the older men decide.”

“And, Mark, you know what? If someone could put a bug in Merv’s ear, he could just ask her for a date. Anna, you know, she might say yes. She just might. Neil isn’t going to ask her. Do you think Neil will ask her out? I mean, for a real date?”

“I don’t know, Sadie. But the thing that gets me, look how many families will have to pay transportation now. Even at five or six dollars a day for each family, at 130 days, that’s over a thousand dollars. Fred should have thought of that. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if we have another meeting.”

“Probably. Why do you think Neil doesn’t come visit Anna?”

“Likely because he drives that old clunker around.”

When they turned into the driveway, the deep barking of Wolf welcomed them, a sound Sadie had grown to cherish. He was such a good, faithful dog, so devoted to Mark, easily adopting Sadie as his second master.

Sadie hopped off the buggy and went to say good night to Paris, after helping Mark unhitch Truman. He had a nasty habit of running out of the shafts before the britchment snap was released, which could result in a bucking horse and broken shafts, among other things.

Where was Paris?

“Hey, Paris. Are you lying down already?”

Sadie walked to her stall, peering through the vertical, steel railing, certain of seeing Paris standing in the darkened area. Only the headlights gleaming through the door illuminated the forebay, but it was enough light for Mark to unharness his horse and put him in his stall.

“Paris?” The fear began in the pit of her stomach, taking her breath away. No. It couldn’t be. The horse thieves were caught. It was all over. This could not be.

B
UT IT WAS. PARIS
had been taken out of her stall, the door closed and latched behind her. But what really broke Sadie’s heart was imagining how obedient Paris would have been, her large eyes questioning, unsure but obedient. She was gone. No amount of consolation did any good. Absolutely none.

The next day Mark went to work weary from a restless night, the endless searching, Sadie’s questioning, his inability to make this right for his beloved wife. They called the police, of course, but were received with a sort of tired disbelief, as if this surely had to be a joke, which made Mark angry. Banging the receiver down into its cradle and stalking about the phone shanty muttering to himself brought a fresh onslaught of tears from his stricken wife.

In time Sadie accepted it, gave herself up to it, in the Amish way. Paris was gone. The neighboring community kept an eye out, watched their own horses, but knew she was an extremely valuable horse, and perhaps it wasn’t the will of God that Sadie had her at all.

Hadn’t Sam Detweiler preached last Sunday about where our treasures are, there will our hearts be also? Sadie better watch out; that palomino horse was taking the place of God. This the grandmothers discussed at the quiltings without malice, certainly not wishing any evil on Mark Sadie, just stating a fact. She surely had a streak of bad luck, that girl and her horse. They felt so sorry for poor Mark Sadie. But you know, she’ll be in the family way before long, and then what good will the horse do her? All these discussions of wisdom, wise in the ways of life, were spoken out of love and concern for Sadie’s safety.

Sadie persuaded Mark to till the soil so she could start a garden. He thought the ground was too wet, but Sadie remained adamant, remarking that Mam already had planted her peas and onions. So Truman pulled the plow, and they evened the ground with a harrow and an old bedspring, which worked just great. Sadie was ecstatic. Mark put in stakes attached to a heavy string, and she planted a pound of peas in perfectly aligned rows.

They bent side by side, poking the papery, yellow onion sets into the damp soil, covering them loosely with the hoes they had been given as wedding gifts. When Sadie insisted on planting the red beets as well, Mark gave in, shaking his head in disagreement, saying it was too early. They would need them pickled, preserved in quart jars for church services at their house.

“Oh, imagine, Mark! We’re an old married couple. We’ll have church services at our house. The deacon will announce in services that church will be at Mark Peight’s, and all the women will offer to bring something!”

Mark grinned.“We’ll have to have church in the basement.”

“I figured.”

She told Dorothy that sometimes she heard Paris whinny from the barn and ran down to see if she was back, but she never was. Dorothy shook her head.

“I’m tellin’ you, though, yer better off. That Paris is a peck o’ trouble. Ya don’t need her.”

Not even Erma Keim understood. “Why a horse? Why trouble yourself? She’s gone. Good riddance. You’re still alive, and, you know, you could be dead.”

Dorothy said Erma didn’t have a very nice way with words after she went out to rake the lawn of its winter debris.

“I mean, she has about as much tact as a steam engine. It’s why she don’t have no husband. Imagine the poor guy’s life?”

“I know.”

Sadie was snapping green beans to cook with new potatoes and ham. She sat by the window, watching Erma’s long, powerful strokes of the rake, her red hair a veritable flame in the strong sunlight, her covering blowing off repeatedly, which she dashed after and pinned back on her head.

Sadie was almost finished when a dark figure approaching Erma Keim from the barn caught her attention. He wasn’t wearing a hat, which wasn’t unusual in the Montana wind, which caught hats in its grasp and whirled them away without warning, tore off coverings, and made a complete mockery of hairspray.

Steven Weaver! The man from Indiana!

“Oh, my word! Come here, Dorothy!” Sadie hissed excitedly.

“Can’t!” Dorothy called, stirring her famous white sauce for baked macaroni and cheese.

“Turn the burner off!”

Dorothy complied, walking heavily to stand by Sadie’s chair. Slowly she breathed in, then out. Steven walked up to Erma, stuck out his hand, a broad grin on his friendly face. Erma looked at him, then brought her arm back, her elbow protruding under the sleeve of her red dress and met his hand with a solid smack.

Sadie winced, and Dorothy shook with a deep belly laugh.

“What a giraffe! She don’t even know how to shake hands! Especially with a man.”

When Steven dropped his hand, it didn’t look as if he minded how firm her handshake had been. He looked delighted, if anything. Their tall forms stood in the middle of the lawn, talking, the wind whipping his hair and the legs of his trousers, her skirt twisting and flapping and her red hair a complete disaster, the pins sliding out yet again.

She was laughing when her covering went flying off. She grabbed desperately for it but could not catch the elusive object. Just then Reuben came dashing by at his usual unsafe speed on the riding mower, caught sight of the rolling white object and slammed on the brakes, leaned back, his arms stiff as a board to the steering wheel, as he brought the mower to a halt, inches from the white covering. Reuben swung his legs over, hopped off, grabbed the covering, and brought it to Erma.

Steven was bent at the waist, slapping his knee with pure merriment, watching intently as Erma tried to pin it back on, taking extra pins from her belt. She had to turn her back to Steven, the wind coming in that direction, as she struggled to pin it in place.

“Come here!” Sadie hissed.

Dorothy had been on her way back to her cream sauce, but she turned immediately, peering eagerly through the window just as Steven reached up to hold her covering in place so Erma could pin it.

“Oh, my lands!” Dorothy breathed.

Sadie watched, spellbound, when she saw how flustered Erma became, picking up her rake, catching her covering strings, looking down to her shoes, then to Reuben, who stood observing them both with innocent curiosity. He said something, and Erma slapped his back so hard he took a few steps forward, then laughed.

“Oh my, she must be really worked up,” Sadie said. “She almost knocked Reuben on his face!”

“What’d I tell you? If that Indiana chap knows his good, he’ll hightail it right back to his home state. She’ll make his life miserable. Mark my words! Miserable!”

But she had a light in her eyes and was humming a silly little love song when she returned to her cream sauce, dipping and waving her spoon in time to her song.

Sadie’s life remained completely peaceful, except for the ache in her heart about Paris, who had disappeared that night leaving no trace, much the same as so many horses before her. The sun gently drew the seeds into sprouts that pushed their way up through the hard, wet soil in late spring. The nights were still crisp and cold, the air brisk and snappy when Sadie hung laundry on the line in the early morning, that unceasing Montana wind tugging at the heavy towels and dresses as she pinned them securely, sometimes needing more than one clothespin on each corner to ensure her peace of mind while she was at work down at the ranch.

Erma Keim remained a constant source of entertainment, spicing her days with a dash of peppery comments, clashing with Dorothy’s bristling wit like a bad summer thunderstorm.

In the evening Mark would lean back and howl with laughter when Sadie related an especially bizarre incident, but of late he had become increasingly withdrawn yet again. It was always the same. First she would blame herself. Scouring the past days, even weeks, for a certain thing she had said or done, enabling the black cloud to hover over his head, raining down the sadness, the dissociation, that extracting of himself to another, darker place. She dreaded it.

She prattled senselessly, as incapable of changing the descending cloud as changing the horizon or the order of nature. Still she tried to bring him back, knowing it wouldn’t work, then went about her work with a lump in her throat, knowing she had let him down yet again.

It was especially bad this time. He slept on the couch, his face to the back, his knees drawn up almost to his chin. His dirty work clothes reeked of barns, horse manure, and other scents that Sadie could only describe as dirty.

No amount of wheedling would make one stitch of difference. First, after her shower, she sat on the space where his knees left an indentation and put an arm across his wide back. Slowly she began a relaxing massage, asking him softly if he felt ill, or if his head hurt, willing him to break the silence and tell her what had happened to bring this on. A rude shrugging of the shoulders, a grunt, a burrowing into the couch cushions, followed by a long drawn-out sigh was her only answer.

So she got up, went to the bedroom, groped around till she felt her box of long matches, struck one along the side of the box harder than was necessary, took off the glass lamp chimney, turned up the wick, and lit it. Tears dropped onto the surface of the nightstand. Replacing the chimney, she pulled back the quilt and top sheet and slid into bed with her book of the week. Swiping viciously at her eyes, she opened the book, but all the words swam together, a black-and-white blurb of unreadable nonsense that only made her cry harder.