Disappearances (27 page)

They all acted as if they weren’t aware of her eating, talking and laughing as if she wasn’t present.

Clearing her throat, she said, “I ate everything, Sadie.”

Sadie looked, then put a hand on her shoulder. “Good, Anna. You know you can do this.”

Nothing effusive, no big fuss, just sincere encouragement. And when Anna leaned over the commode and purged all of it, she was pleased that some of it stayed in her stomach, but also pleased that she had shown all of them who was the boss. That’s what they got for acting as if they didn’t care, the way they talked and laughed, ignoring her totally. Tim didn’t care nearly as much as he let on. He never loved her. They had only just met.

That evening Sadie walked to the barn, her shoulders drooping wearily. The thing was, the mineral oil wasn’t working. She had lost her temper at Mark when he said to wait to administer the other bottle till morning, telling him Paris would be dead by then. What was he thinking?

Tim was upset about something, and Anna had suddenly grabbed her duffel bag and gone home, as if she couldn’t get out of there fast enough. So now Mark was pouting, averting his eyes, not going to the barn, and as usual, her whole world had gone black the minute she knew Mark’s dark mood had descended.

Why, oh, why could she not learn to keep her mouth shut?

Paris was standing. That was unusual. Just when her hope soared, Paris grunted, heaved, her legs folded, and she rolled into a heap, then stretched out on her side, her breathing coming in hard gasps. Was it fair to allow an animal to suffer this way? In addition to her three infected hooves, her stomach was churning and roiling with the slimy mineral oil. She should be walked, which would help her digestion, but on those feet, it just was not feasible.

Opening the gate, Sadie lowered herself, then slipped Paris’s head in her lap. This time she would be strong enough to say good-bye. She would call the vet in the morning, and she’d stay with her as he plunged that needle into her neck. The last thing Paris would feel would be Sadie’s touch. She’d have to let go.

Paris heaved, her breathing labored, then relaxed, breathing more shallowly. Sadie stroked her neck, braided her mane. She put pink ribbons in it, then said good-bye.

“I have to go to bed, Paris. Mark is mad at me, which I’ll just have the rest of my life, I guess. It’s his way. Just so you know, you’ll never be replaced. I’m never getting another horse as long as I live. It’s only you, Paris. This is good-bye. I won’t leave you in this pain after tomorrow. I love you, Paris. Good night.”

One final kiss on the sunken eyelid, with tears raining down her face, she struggled to her feet, closed the gate blindly, stumbled out of the barn, slipped and fell into a snowdrift, then just sat there crying. Her whole world had never looked darker. If she hadn’t married Mark and all his stupid complexities, she would have been a lot better off. Smarter for sure. She wished the horse thieves would have kept Paris. Why let her come home to put her through all this? She cried on.

Tim was in a foul mood the following morning, which was still pleasant compared to Mark. He drank black coffee and grunted instead of saying good morning, his nose stuck in
Outdoor Life
. Sadie decided she had nothing to lose and told him he’d be better off applying himself to his Bible to find out how to get over something.

She felt completely unpeaceful, her eyes swollen from last night’s crying, her mind made up to call the vet, Sunday or not. They would pay the bill when it came in the mail. Crows were wheeling about the pine trees by the barn, which was a bad omen. Crows always gave her the shivers. Big, black with greedy eyes, stealing eggs from pretty birds’ nests, they reminded her of harbingers of evil.

“Go away! Shoo! Get on out of here!” she shouted.

They merely settled on the top branches, opened their long, black mouths, and cawed fiercely.

Resigned to her fate, accepting the crow’s bad prophesy, she opened the barn door. A repulsive odor, so strong it made her hand go to her mouth and nose, slammed into her senses. Paris would not have decomposed so suddenly in winter. Gasping, she slid back the bolt, her eyes adjusting to the dim light in the stall. An unbelievable amount of excrement lay steaming in the far corner of her stall. The stench was worse than anything Sadie had ever smelled. She looked at Paris. She caught her breath. Paris was up, still in pain, there was no doubt about it. But there was a difference. She was lipping her feed box, making that snuffling noise Sadie loved so much.

“Paris!” she cried.

As if in answer, Paris lifted her tail, hunched her back, and expelled a stream of foul liquid, sending Sadie gasping for air, the latch sticking stubbornly as she struggled to get out of the barn. How could one beautiful horse smell so disgusting?

Racing to the house, she flung open the door and stopped, breathless.

“Mark! Tim! You have to come see! Quick! It’s Paris! She’s making an awful mess. The mineral oil is working.”

For a moment, she thought Mark was going to ignore her, but he dutifully laid down his magazine, shrugged on his coat, and walked to the barn. Tim followed on their heels.

“Sure enough!” Mark said.

“Pee-yoo!” Tim backed out the door, refusing to come back in.

Mark shoveled the odorous mess out the door, spread clean straw, lifted Paris’s hooves, shook his head.

“Should we … give her more?” Sadie asked, lifting pleading eyes to Mark’s face.

“I don’t think so. Let’s see how she’s doing tomorrow.”

Paris was chomping hay on Monday morning. Her ears were pricked forward, and she let out that soft, rumbling nicker when Sadie opened the barn door. Her hooves were still hurting, but not as badly. Mark lifted her feet and said he would put on four new special shoes to aid in the healing process. Sadie threw herself into his arms and kissed him so soundly he had to pick up his straw hat afterward.

“Thank you, Mark. You’re too good to me,” she called as she went out the door, hearing Jim Sevarr’s pickup truck turning into the driveway. Her whole world had turned from a despairing blackness to this vibrant, sunshiny, color-infused day.

“Jim, she’s better!” was her way of greeting.

“Aw, no! Ya mean it?”

Jim was so pleased he actually took the toothpick out of his mouth, rolled down his window, and threw it out before thinking what he’d done.

The ride to work was a joy. She prattled on and on, describing the whole emotional roller coaster to Jim, who promptly put on his dark glasses, saying that sun on snow was about more than he could handle, his eyes were getting old. But Sadie knew better. They all loved Paris.

Richard Caldwell said he’d heard about mineral oil. He just figured it wouldn’t work as long as she’d been sick. He warned her that Paris might never be the same; her hooves would always be a little iffy. Sadie said that was all right, she wasn’t the young girl who raced around the field of wildflowers anymore either. At least she had Paris.

Dorothy rejoiced with Sadie the way a true friend will do. Erma Keim said her dad had a “Belgiam” draft horse that they had to put down. Foundered, he was.

Dorothy winked at Sadie, said the word was “Belgian,” not “Belgiam,” and they got in such a fierce argument, Sadie crept into Richard Caldwell’s office and looked in his enormous horse book, then had to lug it all the way to the kitchen to show it to them both.

Of course, instead of being a gracious winner, Dorothy’s eyes gleamed, and she let out a resounding, “Aha! Told you!”

Erma Keim ducked her head and acknowledged her mistake, leaving Sadie open-mouthed with admiration. My, what a change Steven Weaver had brought about!

Before the day was over, Dorothy told Erma it was a fair mistake, a lot of people said “Belgiam.”

Erma smiled such a smarmy grin that Dorothy stayed suspicious all week. Until she found out Steven had proposed. Steven Weaver actually asked Erma Keim to be his wife. The wedding was only six weeks away, so they could move and have everything completed and tucked into their home before spring planting.

If Erma had seemed quiet and reserved before, tiptoeing about in all her righteous goodness, she was elevated to an almost angelic height now. She sang, hummed, and whistled. Her feet slid quietly along the floor, a sort of studied gait that made her appear to float a few inches above the linoleum. She took on every menial task that no one else wanted to do. She scrubbed, cleaned, peeled, chopped, all without complaint, until Dorothy took to calling her Cinderella, which sent her into hysterical giggles, finally saying yes, her prince had arrived. After much eye-rolling and sighing Dorothy told her to go peel some onions, marriage wasn’t exactly living happily ever after, so get down off yer high horse. The whole kitchen was a delight.

Sadie helped Erma scrub the dining room floor. Together, on their hands and knees, Erma became very serious. “Sadie, do you think I’m too excited to be married to Steven?”

“No, Erma. I’m so happy for you. Of course not.”

“But you’re thinking things you’re not saying, right?”

Sadie paused, then sat on the floor, throwing her rag into the bucket of warm, soapy water. “Erma, marriage is a good thing. I love Mark with all my heart and soul. But it can be tougher than anything you’ve ever encountered. Personally, I don’t think it’s fair to us young girls to read books that portray an unrealistic version of living happily ever after. It just isn’t true.

“But then I live with a man who had a very unusual childhood, and he’s flawed, although only sometimes. We have many good times, but it’s not the way I always imagined it to be. I read so many happily-ever-after books, and I think for some people, it is almost true. But for me … I know we will always have our dark days.”

“But … ”

Erma lifted miserable eyes to Sadie’s. Oh, my. Something personal. She hoped she would have the wisdom to deal with it.

“But … do his feet smell okay when he takes his shoes off?” Erma whispered this, a bothersome question that had clearly bugged her for some time.

Sadie kept a straight face and told her Mark did not have a foot odor problem, thankfully. Erma rolled her eyes, then launched into a colorful account of Steven’s foot odor, until Sadie’s eyes were squeezed shut and she was holding her sides laughing.

“The poor guy!” she gasped, finally.

“Well, if it’s all right, I plan on doing something about it. He’s not going to sit in my living room with his feet propped on a footrest, smelling like a skunk.”

“Talk to Steven about it.”

“I can’t. I’m afraid he won’t marry me then. And I do so want to be Steven Weaver’s wife.”

When Sadie arrived home from work that evening, there was a message on the voice mail, Mam’s speech hurried, breathless, saying they were coming over for the evening. She’d bring ingredients to make soft pretzels.

Mam dropped the bomb only five minutes after they arrived, when Dat was still out in the barn with Mark. Kevin and Junior had
both
proposed. But they did not want a double wedding.

“It’ll get the best of me!” Mam almost wailed.

“When? When are they planning on getting married? Surely not both of them in one month?”

“No, but just as bad. One in May and one in June. You know Leah had planned on being married last fall, then Kevin’s grandmother died and his mother was so sick with her arthritis, so they put it off, and here Junior pops the question.
Siss net chide
!” (It’s not right!)

Mam threw her hands up helplessly, then got up and began tossing ingredients into a bowl, soaking yeast in warm water to make soft pretzels, talking as fast as she could. Sadie smiled to herself, knowing Mam would get through this. The way she handled stressful times was to work hard and keep moving constantly, planning, taking notes.

“You’ll do well, Mam,” she said, reassuringly.

“I’ll go mental again,” she said, softly.

“Do you ever feel that way?”

“Oh, my, no. I’m so much better. I just have to take my medication.”

She said it so humbly, so gratefully, Sadie loved her more than ever.

Dat was full of news from the community. David Troyer was building a huge 40-foot by 100-foot shed and was planning on building storage sheds. He shook his head, wondering if it was wise, but then, you never knew if something would go if you didn’t try. And David was a manager. Sam and Clara Bontrager had another little girl named Dorothea, but something was wrong with her heart. She had been flown to Bozeman. Dat asked, what was a young couple to do these days, with medical costs like that? They’d be apt to spend a hundred thousand, depending on the seriousness of the situation.

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.