Disappearances (22 page)

“I’m not used to electric roasters at home, Dorothy. And besides, they’re slow.”

“No, they ain’t.”

“Yes, they are.”

“No, they ain’t. I know that for a fact.”

“You better not eat all that chocolate pudding,” Erma said with concern, changing the subject as abruptly as she could.

“An’ jes’ why ever not?”

“I’d get terrible heartburn. Coffee, chocolate pudding, and macaroni and cheese.” Erma visibly shivered.

“Don’t know what heartburn is.”

“That’s good,” Erma said, rolling her eyes in Sadie’s direction. Sadie was slicing a roast of beef, the meat falling away under the direction of her knife.

“Is the gravy made?” Sadie asked curtly. Sometimes these stupid little spats just irked her, and today, patience was in short supply.

“Ain’t no hurry,” Dorothy said around her macaroni before slurping yet more coffee.

The kitchen door opened slowly. Steven Weaver poked his head through the opening and asked if they wanted a few bushels of Rome apples, leftover from the market in town.

“The guy said I can have ’em, but I have no use for ’em.”

Erma almost cried in her haste to fix her hair and covering, desperately spitting on her hands and smoothing the wayward tendrils, making her look like a skinny, wet cat. Oh, dear. Sadie cringed when Erma wiped her hands after washing them, then charged through the bathroom door, her elbow already pulled back like a bowstring, ready to fire. She literally slapped her hand into Steven’s, accompanied by her loud, jovial yell.

“Where you been, stranger? Haven’t seen hide nor hair of you in a coon’s age!”

Dorothy stopped chewing, her mouth a straight line, her cheeks bulging, as she opened her eyes wide, her eyebrows shooting straight up. And when Steven Weaver met Erma’s hand halfway and they laughed great guffaws of pure merriment together, it was obvious they were so happy to see each other. Sadie realized God had surely sent the perfect match for Erma Keim. Who else but Steven would enjoy a cymbal-crashing greeting like that? It was enough to send a half-dozen other men running for cover.

When Erma accompanied Steven to the door, offering to bring the apples in, Steven waved her away. But she charged straight through the door anyway, following him like a devoted puppy. When 10 minutes passed and no Erma or apples followed, Sadie smiled to herself. You go, Erma.

Sadie found Dorothy rattling bottles and mumbling to herself in the bathroom, the door of the medicine cabinet ajar. She just closed the door quietly and continued whipping potatoes.

That Sunday in church, Erma looked a bit crestfallen, for her. Her hair was slicked back tighter than usual with less
shtrubles
, her covering pulled forward well over her ears. Her usual effusiveness was dampened to a gentle, “How are you, Sadie? Nice dress.”

Sadie walked into the kitchen to stand with the women and noticed Erma following her, a wistful expression on her face. Sadie shook hands with her usual friends and family, noticing Mam’s new covering, then accepted everyone’s sincere congratulations on the return of her beloved horse. She acknowledged it humbly, her eyes shining nevertheless, the days of missing her horse gone now, reveling in the pleasure of seeing her, touching her.

When she watched the boys file in and Steven Weaver was not at the head of the line, she swallowed her disappointment. Surely he had not returned to Indiana, leaving Erma without hope! During the service Sadie prayed for her friend, for the strength she would need to rise above this, if, in fact, he had decided to return. Erma was such a dear person. So genuine, so human. Seemingly imperfect, but so unselfish, and above all, sincerely caring about everyone in the community, English people as well as her Amish. Surely God would not be so cruel.

So often, though, this happened. Young men were lured to the west by the breathtaking scenery, the hunting, the adventure, but then yearned for their home folks, their busy way of life, and sooner or later, returned to their home state. The minister expounded the wisdom of Solomon, but Sadie was only half-listening, watching Erma Keim’s display of emotions across her face. Poor dear.

T
HEY WENT HOME TO
Dat and Mam’s for supper, a time of renewal, the scents of Mam’s kitchen bringing a lump of emotion to her throat. Mam was frying chicken, Mark’s favorite, and had a casserole of scalloped potatoes in the oven. Leah was tossing a salad and Rebekah was setting the table, both of them dressed in their Sunday best, waiting until Kevin and Junior came to pick them up. They talked as fast as they could about Tim, and about Anna’s meltdown, Mam staring in disbelief as Sadie related the whole incident.

“It’s that Neil,” she whispered. “I had no idea.” Helplessly, she looked at Rebekah. “I thought you said she liked Merv.”

“I thought she did!”

“Somebody is not communicating,” Sadie said firmly.

Mam turned the chicken, hissing and snapping in the pan, before turning to Sadie.

“And just how do you communicate with a rock? How? If I ask her questions, I get no answer. Only a shrug of her shoulders. It’s just as if she’s another girl. I know how skinny she is. I know, too, that the more I say, the worse it gets. It’s just a vicious circle, and as long as that Neil is in the picture, it’s not going to change.”

Mam choked back tears bravely, a matriarch over petty emotions, a strong pillar of the family, having overcome so much adversity herself. Mothers were like that. When the storms of life blew in, creating chaos, uprooting younger people as they struggled to understand situations in life that were beyond their control, talking, talking, restlessly trying to figure out situations, mothers wisely knew there was no use. God was up in his heaven and knew everything, including the reasons, something mortals did not have to know. That’s what faith was for, no doubt about it. Same as Dat. Except Dat was perhaps more of a disciplinarian. So parents were a wonderful thing, when it all came down to it.

Dat teased Sadie about changing Paris’s name to Lassie, that it was just like the old classic story of a dog finding its way home. Sadie smiled and smiled, she was so glad to be at home with her family, thinking of Paris in the barn, safe, warm, and secure.

Timothy would not accompany them to Sadie’s parents, so they left him at home.

Sadie asked Dat about Tim, what would be the best way to approach him to make the decision to come back to the Amish.

Dat shook his head. “It’s going to be tough.”

Mark disagreed, saying he had his share of wild days and was thoroughly sick of the whole scene. He had been sick of it even before he came to meet Jackson.

“I think he’s just too shy to tell anyone how he feels. To change back into Amish clothes, to make all new friends, feel at home in the community. It’s a big mountain to scale for a person as bashful as Tim.”

“Bring him sometime,” Dat said. “Christmas would be as good a time as any.”

Sadie looked at Mark, raised her eyebrows in question. Yes, they would bring him. Or try to.

Mam’s fried chicken, as usual, was outstanding. And as usual, Sadie could not resist that second piece, followed by a large slice of homemade butterscotch pie. The coffee was perfect. Reuben came dashing in at the last minute just to say Hi, being otherwise occupied, in his words. Two of his friends were waiting in the buggy, so he grabbed a piece of chicken on the run, Mam calling after him about taking one for his friends, and he yelled back they didn’t need any, which made Mark laugh and Dat smile and drink his coffee.

The atmosphere was so cozy, so homey with Mark beside her, his wide shoulders leaning back in his chair, at ease, happy to be here, confident in Sadie’s love, a place to call his own, a reason for living after the overwhelming ordeal that had been his childhood.

“Only forward.” Sadie seemed to hear the words, and yet there was no voice. I bet God just put those words in my head, she thought, looking around to see if anyone else had heard them. Just keep our eyes on the finish line, run the Christian race with Jesus Christ our Savior by our sides, and we won’t go wrong. Thankfulness washed over her, along with a deep sense of purpose where Tim was concerned. There was so much good in Tim.

At work on Monday morning, Erma Keim walked quietly, even sedately through the door, unbuttoning her coat as she went, hanging her scarf neatly on the hook. Turning, she smiled, wished them a good morning, then turned to look at herself in the mirror. Sadie looked at Dorothy, and they both raised their eyebrows. What was going on? Sadie’s heart sank, her sadness for Erma slowly churning in her stomach.

Dear God, she prayed, please give her the strength. Tears were close to the surface as she begged God to help Erma Keim through this time of trial.

Erma’s hair was again combed back severely, her covering forward, well over her ears. She walked softly, rocking her feet from toe to heel, then asked Dorothy if she needed help with the bacon.

“I … guess,” Dorothy stammered in disbelief.

Serenely, quietly, Erma placed bacon on the hot griddle, averting her eyes. Sadie put water on for the grits, sliced oranges, arranged the apple and pineapple for the fruit compartment, her heart heavy. Should she approach Erma? Offer condolence? Ask her outright whether Steven had returned to Indiana? After they served breakfast and filled their mugs of coffee, Sadie slid an arm around Erma’s narrow waist, laying her cheek on her upper arm.

“Erma, tell me what’s troubling you. Please feel free to confide in me. I pitied you so much when you looked so sad in church yesterday. You’re just not yourself at all this morning, either. Is it Steven? Did you two … sort of have something going? It…”

She raced on, feeling as if she was sinking, unable to bring any happiness to Erma this way.

“Did he … he return to Indiana?” she blurted out, ready to accept Erma’s sad fate.

Erma slid a long, thin arm around Sadie’s waist, then released her, stepped back, and laid her large hands on her shoulders.

“Oh, Sadie, you are a dear. It’s nothing like that.” Bending her head, looking over her shoulder, then at Dorothy, she whispered, “I have a date.”

The breath seemed to leave Sadie’s body, she had no voice or air to start her words after that. She remembered Dorothy’s look of disbelief, then her peal of laughter ringing through the kitchen, slapping her knees, her elbow catching the handle of her cup, dangerously rocking it, spilling a small amount of the steaming liquid on her sleeve.

“Who with? That long-nosed Mr. Weaver that comes in here?” she screeched.

Erma smiled, an angelic version of her usual rich-throated guffaws.

“Yes, him.”

That was all she said, smiling sweetly at Sadie before turning to her coffee. Sadie squealed, congratulated her, then begged her to be herself.

“You don’t have to change, Erma. Seriously. We love you just the way you are. Evidently, so does Steven!”

Erma looked confused, a bit sad, even. Looking around, making sure no one would hear her, she whispered, “I don’t want to wreck my blessing!”

Christmas was a time of heightened activity in the Amish community. Hymn singings, school programs, Christmas dinners, caroling, shopping, gift exchanges, baking and cooking among the most important events. So Mark and Sadie had very little time to spend with Tim or fret about Anna’s problems.

Paris remained lame in the hind right foot in spite of Mark’s expertise, removing the shoe, cleaning the hoof, telling Sadie it may be the start of laminitis, which was like an arrow to Sadie’s heart. They soaked the foot in warm water, applied the secret home remedy, that strong black salve that was a miracle cure for most horse hoof ailments. Still the reddened, infected tissue remained.

On Christmas morning, a storm blew in. The sun appeared for only a short time, cloaking the valley in shades of lavender and orange, only to disappear behind a heavy gray bank of clouds swollen with churning winds. Icy snow fragments began pelting the earth just as Mark and Sadie tucked themselves into the buggy, the presents and chocolate treats placed under the back seat.

Truman was a handful, crow-hopping, shaking his head to dislodge the bit in his mouth, pulling on the reins, wanting to break free and run too fast, putting the light shafts connecting him to the buggy in decided jeopardy, the way he was carrying on.

This was a serious storm, Sadie decided, when Mark opened the window and clicked it fast to the holder on the ceiling. “Can’t see,” he murmured, as he squinted into the steadily increasing snow.

Sadie wrapped her black, woolen shawl tightly around her shoulders, her gloved hands holding the fringes to keep it in place. Shivers chased each other up her back, and she let go of the shawl to pull the heavy lap robe up over her shoulder on the right side.

“Cold?”

Sadie nodded, relieved to see him reach up and unhook the window, letting it slam into place, then adjust the reins through the small rectangular holes in the frame.

The buggy swayed, slid, then righted itself as Mark slowed Truman, hanging on to the reins with both arms stretched out. Sadie could feel the weight of the buggy being pulled partly by Truman’s mouth and his determination to run at breakneck speed, propelling them along, winding uphill over Atkin’s Ridge.