Disappearances (5 page)

Her feet were going numb. The duct tape dug into her ankles and cut into her black stockings. Her hands throbbed. She imagined them growing twice as big and turning purple, then falling off. That’s what happened if you banded a little piggy’s tail. After the circulation was shut off for a length of time, it simply shriveled away to nothing and dropped off. She hoped it took hands a long, long time.

Her ears were pressed so hard against the side of her bonnet, she could barely feel them. If she moved her cheekbones, or imagined moving her ears, it helped. So she knew she could actually change the position of her ears, even if it was only for a short time before the numbness and tingling returned.

All night, they drove. Sadie alternated between sleep and a half-awake stupor. Her thirst raged in her throat now, a constant thing she could not escape. As a child, she had often imagined being kidnapped, the pain of fetters, but never could anyone imagine the cruelty of her thirst. No wonder people died of thirst way before they succumbed to hunger.

The vehicle stopped. The back door opened. She lurched awake, strained against her blindfold, screamed a silent scream of alarm when rough hands seized her.

“Get out.”

Sadie tried to wiggle the duct tape loose, leaned forward, swung her legs over the side of the seat. The air was cold and wet, sharp as a knife against her senses.

“Loosen her feet.”

Sadie brought her teeth together, clenched her jaw, willing herself not to cry out. If she moved as much as a tongue muscle, the pain was excruciating. The tape made a tearing, sticky sound. She felt it being unwound, the blood rushing into her feet, a thousand needles pricking like a swarm of yellow jackets from the swamp in Ohio.

“Get out. Walk.”

She slid down, her feet hit the ground, and she crumbled into a heap, crying in her throat, raw from the thirst and pain and hopelessness.

“Get up.” The fat man was angry.

“She can’t with the tape,” the driver said.

“Get her.”

Two hands went under her arms, lifted her, but she crumbled into a heap the same as before. The fat man snorted with impatience. Grabbing her, he threw her across his shoulder, the same way any man would pack a hundred-pound sack of feed or bag of potatoes. The blood rushed into her head as she bobbed along, being carried up one flight of stairs, then another. Doors opened and closed. It was warm. Something smelled good, very good, in fact. Like pine woods or the first of the wild flowers.

The fat man dumped her on a soft sofa or bed. She lay completely still. Somehow playing dead like a possum seemed safe.

“Unwind her hands. The duct tape.”

Again she heard the grinding sticky sound. Her hands fell into the bed, containing no strength of their own.

“We need to talk. We’re going to unwind the tape around your mouth. We will loosen the blindfold if you promise to stay. Any attempt at leaving will mean death. We are serious. You are of no consequence to us.”

Her head turned from side to side by the force of the tape being removed. It was all irrelevant. No matter. The pain was bearable. She’d be able to see, to swallow. Would they allow her a drink? She gagged when they removed the object in her mouth. But she recovered quickly, summoning her courage and resolving to remain strong.

When they removed the blindfold, she untied her heavy black bonnet with groping, numb fingers that felt as big as bananas and about as clumsy. She kept her eyes closed, afraid to open them. Where was she? Slowly, through shaking eyelids, her eyes focused, bringing the room into view.

At first she saw only beige walls, then the ornate molding in a darker shade. Slowly, as her eyes cleared, she saw that she was in a bedroom, sort of a guest bedroom. The carpeting was beige, as well as the bedspread, the curtains, and pillows. There was a red sofa, a glass coffee table, and red objects of art. Black lamps cast a yellowish light into the corners, and huge, navy blue, plaid pillows were strewn across the sofa in the glow of the lamps. Very pretty, she thought wryly.

“May I please be allowed a visit to the restroom?”

She tried to say this, but her voice was only a whisper, her vocal chords refusing to accommodate her. The fat man pointed to a door behind the bed. Slowly, carefully, Sadie set one foot on the carpeting, then the other. Clutching the side of the bed, she moved around it, bent over, wincing with the pain of the returning circulation.

She never knew a person could drink so much water. She cupped her hands beneath the gold faucet and drank and drank and drank. Water seeped between her fingers. She sucked at it greedily, hating to wait until her cupped hands were filled again so she could slurp at it like an animal dying of thirst.

It was only after her thirst was sated that she knew how hungry she was. She looked at the pink guest soaps in the white seashell dish and considered eating them. She had to have something to eat. They’d have to feed her. Allow her some kind of food. Did kidnappers starve their victims to death? Who knew?

Tentatively, she opened the door of the bathroom, hobbled out, still clinging to the side of the bed.

Immediately the fat man began. “You cooperate, you’re fine. If you act stubborn, you’re not. Got it?”

Sadie nodded, her eyes on the carpet.

“Where’s the palomino mare?”

“I don’t know.”

With the speed of lightning, his hammy fist smacked her mouth, snapping her head back. Sadie didn’t cry out. Tears came to her eyes, and blood spurted from a torn lip. She lifted the hem of her blue apron to sop up the flow.

“I told you. You work with us, you’re fine.”

The driver shifted uncomfortably, his gaze wavering, clearing his throat as if he wanted to say something, then thought better of it. From behind the apron, Sadie shook her head.

“They took her away.”

“Who?”

The fat man’s eyes bored into hers, a sick light of greediness shining.

“Four men came to my house. Was it a week ago? Something like that. They said I was in danger. So was Paris.”

“Who’s Paris?”

“The horse.”

“The palomino?”

Sadie nodded.“They said they were taking her to an undisclosed location.”

The two men looked at each other and nodded. “Are you telling the truth?”

“Yes. Why would I lie? I just want to go home. You can have the horse if you spare my life. I don’t want to die.”

“We ain’t killin’ anybody,” the driver burst out before the fat man held up a hand, giving him a scathing look.

“Looks as if you’re gonna be here awhile, young lady. We want the horse. At any cost. We figure we’ll get her if we use you to acquire her.”

At this, the fat man’s eyes glittered again. “There’s more ways than one to acquire our needs,” he chortled.

“All right,” Sadie said, not unpleasantly. “If you have to keep me here, am I allowed to know where I am? How long I have to stay? Will I be able to have some food? You’re not going to tie me again with that duct tape?”

The driver shook his head wildly behind the fat man’s back.

“You’re a long way from home. You’ll be staying until we can persuade them, whoever it is, to give us the palomino. We’ll feed you, and if you stay cooperative, we’ll keep you locked up in here, but no duct tape.

Sadie nodded. “Thank you. I am appreciative of this freedom. I won’t attempt an escape as long as I’m treated decently.”

“If the people hand over the palomino, you’re good to go.”

Sadie nodded again. She lifted her head then, “Am I alone in this house?”

“This is a big place. No, you’re not alone. This place is full of housekeepers, gardeners, cooks. It’s a big place,” he repeated.

So her imprisonment began. The digital clock read 11:09. The big red numbers against the black face were her only companion. There was no telephone, radio, or television. She went to the window, parted the heavy curtains, pulled on the cord that raised and lowered the blinds. Yes, as she thought, she was housed in a palatial home. Looking down from her third-story room, she saw there was no doubt about the immensity of the gardens, pastures, and the vast corrals and barns. It made Aspendale East seem quite ordinary.

 The snow was thinner here, with brown tufts of grass showing like eyebrows on an old man’s face. As far as the eye could see, there was only flat earth, a level landscape with rows of fences and trees creating a crisscross pattern that looked like one of Mam’s homemade comforters.

Sadie had no communication with the outside world, only the fat man or the driver appearing with trays of food at whatever hour they chose. Her first meal had consisted of cold cereal, milk, and an apple, blistering in its sourness on her raw tongue and throat. The cereal tasted heavenly, savoring each sweet, milky bite the way she did. Sometimes she fared well, eating good, hot, Mexican dishes. Other time she went to bed hungry, dreaming of Mam’s breakfasts.

She tried to keep her thoughts away from Mark. She always ended up sobbing into the pillow if she let her mind wander to him. She missed her family. She hoped Mam and Dat would be okay. She figured Reuben would waver between anger and indignation, between bluster and little-boy tears.

She paced the room, did sit-ups, stood at the window for hours on end. She was always thankful for good, hot baths, the ability to wash her clothes in the bathtub, to have clean towels, soap, and a good bed to sleep on. Her situation could have been so much worse.

She prayed for her rescue. She prayed the government agents would deliver Paris. She cried about Paris, too. But if it meant her life…

Had she been too
gros-feelich
(proud)? Didn’t the Bible say we reap what we sow? Had she sown pride and arrogance with her beautiful Paris? Why had God allowed this to happen? How long until this ordeal ended?

Then one day, when she felt as if she would surely lose her mind if she had nothing to do, she decided to houseclean the room. It would give her exercise, keep her occupied, simply save her wandering sanity. She shaved some of the pink soap into the vanity bowl, grabbed a heavy, white washcloth, dunked and swirled it in the soapy water, then wrung it out well.

She started with the bathroom cupboards. She carefully took out towels, soap, a hair dryer, and what she guessed was a hair-curling apparatus, an assortment of combs and brushes, a box of guest soap. She washed each shelf thoroughly, replacing the objects, before tackling the bathroom closet. She stood on the vanity stool to clean the top shelf, pushing aside a stack of perfectly folded blankets.

Ouch! Her fast moving hand struck the corner of a hard object. Pulling out the stack of blankets, she let them fall to the floor before procuring the cause of her pain. She held it in her hands, incredulous. A radio! It must be. She didn’t know much about electronic devices, living all her life without them, but she did know what a radio looked like. Eagerly, the blood pounding in her ears, she unwrapped the long, brown cord, plugged it in, then turned the dial with shaking fingers.

Nothing. Her disappointment was palpable—big and heavy, black, as dark as a night without moon or stars. The depth of her disappointment fueled her anger, her desperation. She jiggled wires, shook the radio, twisted and turned dials with a sort of viciousness, yet there was nothing.

Then she thought of Jim Sevarr’s old rusted pickup truck and the wire coat-hanger stuck on the end of his broken antennae. Oh, dear God, let it be. Dashing to the closet, she flipped frantically through a long line of plastic or wooden hangers. Just one. I just need one wire hanger. Over and over, she went through them, finally acknowledging that there were none.

When a knock sounded, she had time to close the bathroom door. The fat man called her name; she told him she was in the bathroom and would he please wait until she came out. Her evening meal consisted of a great, steaming pile of roast pork and corn tortillas with tomato sauce, which absorbed her tears as she ate.

R
ICHARD CALDWELL AND HIS
wife, Barbara, were at their wit’s end. They had already run the gauntlet of emotions in the weeks that Sadie had been missing. They had badgered every police department in the state of Montana. The computer was never idle, searching relentlessly for new avenues of discovery.

Dorothy’s way of dealing with Sadie’s disappearance was blaming the country, the president, Wall Street, the love of money, the devil, and most of all, the local police for not being able to track down the horse thieves, the snipers, the whole crazy lot of them in the first place. Erma Keim nodded her head, pursed her lips, and worked like a maniac, saying her nerves couldn’t take this if she didn’t use her muscles. She agreed with Dorothy on most subjects but stopped at Wall Street and the president.

The news media had posted regular news about the disappearance that first week, leaving the Amish community reeling. They had to be very careful, as being on TV was strictly
verboten
. So was speaking on radio or other forms of “worldly” news.

They were most comfortable “doing” for Jacob Miller’s family and Mark. People came in great, caring buggy loads. They cleaned the stables, washed Mam’s walls and windows, cooked so many casseroles and baked so many pies, half of them were thrown out.