Disappearances (31 page)

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 would 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.

T
HE 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, covered 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.

“But, Mam, Fred Ketty’s store is a mess. She needs a
maud
,” (maid) Anna said.

“Why don’t you apply?” Reuben broke in, wagging a finger.

“Oh, no, I think Richard Caldwell will be asking for Anna to take my job this summer,” Sadie spoke up. “She’d be perfect, working with Dorothy and Erma Keim.”

Turning to Anna, she said, “You’d listen to them and never say a word.”

“I won’t work at that ranch. It’s much too scary. Richard Caldwell reminds me of the giant I was always so afraid of in Jack and the Beanstalk. He even looks like him.”

Sadie burst out laughing, then related a vivid account of the Pledge furniture polish bottle flying out of her hands when she started her job at the ranch.

Reuben said he was going to start shoeing horses with Mark, and Mam said, oh, no, he wasn’t. Who would help Dat? And Reuben said that was the whole trouble with being Amish, so much emphasis on being obedient, and if you were English you were allowed all kinds of choices. Mam snorted and told him quite forcefully that English children were obedient, too, that they just naturally had more choices in their world.

Reuben went upstairs to his room. Sadie remembered the exact same feeling. At 16 you were pretty sure the whole world was full of people telling you what to do, and you were a pitiful victim of abuse, which was laughable now.

At home that evening they lingered around the table, discussing the day’s events. Mark and Tim were incredulous. Tim said it was like a television show; Mark said they wouldn’t know.

“It’s not a part of our lives, remember?’ he said sternly.

Sadie looked up from her plate of green beans and ham, surprised to see her young husband display such harsh judgment. His face was inscrutable, so she shook off the feeling of consternation, changed the subject, and let it go.

Her life with Mark was full of uncertainties. She was often left guessing what he meant, and to dig for answers was not always the best, often resulting in frustration and a sense of being left outside a barred door and being too dumb to know where the key had been left the last time.

Sometimes, trying to figure out his feelings, she discovered things about herself in the process. She did not always have to know. Just forget it, you can’t understand, she’d tell herself. Until the next time.

The news swept across Montana and way beyond. The Amish community stayed out of it as much as possible, except for Reuben’s picture on the front page, his beanie lowered thankfully almost to his nose, eluding Richard Caldwell even. Sadie read articles in the paper, the half-truths as well as genuine ones.