Keeping Secrets (23 page)

“Well, who was it? Mark skipping out on you again?”

As if in a trance, Sadie shook her head.

“No, not this time.”

Perhaps he should. Perhaps he should go back to Pennsylvania and find his English mother and all his siblings and leave her entirely out of his complicated life. He’d never be normal.

“Mam, I think I’ll go to my room. I need to sort through some of my clothes and organize them.”

Mam looked up from her dishwashing.

“You sure it’s your closet you need to organize?”

“Now you sound like Dorothy.”

Mam laughed.

“May I read his letter? It’s from that Lancaster boy, right?”

Sadie smiled at her mother. “Someday,” she whispered.

Mam shook her head as she sprinkled detergent on a kettle and resumed her scrubbing.

S
ADIE PULLED THE HEAVY
, purple hairbrush through the wet, thick strands of her hair. She winced as she thought how nice it would be if her hair were not quite as thick and heavy.

Mam said in the older days, it was strictly forbidden to cut women’s hair, no matter how long it became. She remembered seeing her aunt with hair hanging to the back of her knees. She would wind it around the palm of her hand over and over, securing it with nearly two dozen hair pins.

Now, Sadie and her sisters kept their hair trimmed to below the shoulders, making it easier to wash and dry. Even the coverings fit better, although she knew it was still a controversial subject. Some of the more conservative mothers absolutely forbid their girls to cut their hair.

With a fine-tooth comb Sadie drew her hair up and back, securing it with barrettes.

That didn’t look right. The whole top of her head looked horribly lopsided. She unclipped the barrettes and started over, leaning as close to the mirror as she could, drawing the comb slowly and carefully through her thick tresses.

Still not right, she thought grimly.

She ground her teeth in frustration at the sound of loud, thumping footsteps. It could only be Reuben. Now what did he want, the nosy little beggar?

“What?” she said to the mirror, as his beanie-encased head appeared in the doorway.

“Mark’s here!”

“No, he’s not.”

“I know he’s not!”

Yelps of glee accompanied his retreat as Sadie shook her head and snorted. Now her nerves were on edge for sure.

She sat on the bed, one side of her hair combed and held with clips, the other side hanging heavily down the side of her face. As she looked in the mirror, it struck her that her appearance matched the state of her heart. Unfinished. Two-sided. One side so different from the other.

She wished Daniel King lived in Montana. Perhaps if she saw him again, she would know if he was the one God meant for her.

How could you tell?

She had no time to feel alone after Daniel left. Mark had reappeared immediately. He was at the ranch, in church on Sunday, involved with the incident with the blue diesel truck and Paris. They had talked of his past again, which was very meaningful to their relationship.

But surely if she loved Daniel, she wouldn’t be so content to stay here in Montana and love Mark. Hadn’t she felt so clearly once more that he was the one?

Getting up, she fixed her hair again and decided it looked all right this time. She had already planned what to wear, so there was no hesitation at the closet. She slipped the paprika-colored dress over her head. It was a dark burnt, but muted orange color.

Orange and yellow were considered much too flamboyant for plain girls. Pink was frowned upon but tolerated for some occasions. This color, Sadie was sure, would cause a stir if worn in church. But this was a Saturday evening date, so she could push the envelope a bit.

She loved the fabric, the way the pleats hung in luxurious folds from her waist. The sleeves were just below the elbow and fit perfectly. Yes, she liked this dress.

She put on her covering with confidence, pinned it, then sprayed cologne from her collection in the drawer.

Mmm. That certainly was the most wonderful smell.

She straightened the comforter on her bed, adjusted the shams, picked up a pair of hose that had a run in them. Mam said she would go to the poorhouse buying stockings for her girls if they didn’t try to be more careful, so Sadie felt a bit guilty as she stuffed them in her brown wicker wastebasket.

There. She was ready for her first genuine date with Mark Peight.

He arrived on time, his horse and buggy spotless. He looked so good, Sadie felt weak just walking toward him. His hair was black, so thick and dark, combed just right. Was it carelessly or carefully? Whatever it was, he took her breath away, as usual.

His eyes never left hers as she walked toward him, one elbow leaning on the shoulder of his horse. He was wearing a white, short-sleeved shirt, which only made his complexion appear darker, his perfect mouth widening into a smile of welcome.

“You look like a leaf still hanging on a birch tree in that color!”

Sadie laughed. “It’s not yellow!”

“It’s pretty, whatever color it is.”

His elbow dropped, and he glanced toward the house.

“No hugging, right?”

“Better not.”

He nodded. “You want to drive to town for ice cream?”

“I’ll get my coat.”

The ice cream was wonderful. They ate it while seated at a small table on the porch of the little shop, the wind just nippy enough to add color to their cheeks. They talked easily about everyday, uncomplicated subjects, careful to keep the serious things hidden. Sadie learned he liked coffee ice cream, also her favorite. She took that as a good omen rather than a coincidence.

Daniel King wasn’t in her thoughts at all. She studied Mark as she ate her ice cream, admiring his hands once more. She felt as if she would never doubt her love for him ever again.

That is, until she saw a man leaning against his white pickup truck. He looked so much like Daniel, for a second Sadie thought it was him. That smile! Her hand went to her chest as her breath left her body, making a soft whooshing sound.

“What’s wrong with you?” Mark asked watching the color leave her face.

Sadie waved a hand reassuringly. “Oh, it’s nothing. I just thought…”

She stopped, knowing she had gone too far, like trying to park a car and hitting the curb. She should just stop, not telling him what she thought.

“What?”

“Oh, it’s nothing Mark. Just someone I thought I knew.”

“That guy leaning against his truck?”

Sadie said nothing.

“Okay. Be that way. Don’t talk. You thought it was that guy from Lancaster. That Daniel King. Your knight in shining armor who rescued you from the evildoers who shot at Paris.”

His words dripped with sarcasm. Like acid they ate away at her sense of well-being, destroying her confidence by the second.

“No, no, it wasn’t him.”

“’Course not, but you thought it was. Your face turned white as a ghost.”

“No, no, it didn’t. I mean, he’s… It’s nothing.”

Their ice cream finished, they walked toward the horse and buggy. It was tied to a sturdy hitching rail provided by the store owners for the Amish to use, but it was behind the store, and they had to walk through an alley between two brick buildings.

Suddenly, Mark stopped and lowered his dark head. Sadie instinctively backed away. She felt the porous texture of the brick with her hands as she shrank farther from him. He had suddenly turned ominous, his features slated with gray, his shoulders hulking.

“That is precisely why I don’t date,” he said in a tone Sadie had never heard before.

He stalked off as a man possessed. She followed him slowly, shocked and afraid. She never once thought he would leave. Not once. The rasp of the wheels against the concrete of the hitching rack proved her wrong.

She ran, her hand outstretched. “Wait! Mark! Please wait!”

The horse lunged against its collar. The buggy swung at a dangerous level as it careened around a bend, spraying gravel. Then, around the next set of buildings, it disappeared.

Darkness had fallen. The only light was from the yellow street lamps and the bluish-white lights from the storefronts. She stood in the middle of the alley, biting down on her lower lip. No matter how hard she tried not to cry, she cried anyway. She cried for the hopelessness of their love and their relationship, which was as delicate as dominoes standing in a line, ready to topple at the slightest touch. Like the dominoes, their relationship had no foundation at all. It was all because he was handsome, and she was a hopeless flirt.

Self-hatred infused her being until she sagged down on the concrete around the hitching rail and let the blame overtake her. It was all her fault.

She should have shut Daniel firmly out of her life, and she hadn’t. His attention had soothed her and puffed up her vanity. Now she had lost Mark because of it.

Sadie lifted her head and assessed her situation. She was alone in town. She needed to call someone to come get her, but who? If she called an Amish driver, the whole community would know what happened. There was no such thing as asking them to keep a secret; they spread gossip to every Amish person they drove.

Did Mark really leave her? Surely he’d be back. This was simply unreal.

She considered walking home, but decided against that as soon as she heard booming rock music in a low-riding car that crept past, the occupants yelling at her as they drove by.

No way.

She was still crying, so that had to be taken care of first. She dug into her purse, grabbed a wad of tissues, and honked her nose into them. Then she dabbed at her eyes and cheeks and drew a long, steadying breath.

What about James Sevarr. Dorothy’s Jim. She had his phone number in her purse. All she needed was a phone.

Summoning all her courage, Sadie re-entered the brightly lit shop and stood in line. When she got to the counter, she timidly asked if she could use the phone to make a local call. The proprietor was very kind, simply falling over himself in his eagerness to help her, which almost made Sadie cry again.

Jim answered the phone, said he was laid up with gout, but Dorothy would come get her.

She had never felt quite as alone as she did waiting for Dorothy. She sat at the very same table she had shared with Mark earlier, trying to keep from crying again.

When Dorothy appeared in her rusted orange Honda, her head not nearly as far above the steering wheel as it should have been, Sadie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. As it was, she did a lot of both, first blubbering and sniffing and blowing her nose, then shaking and laughing hysterically when Dorothy said she would go after that Mark Peight in his horse and buggy and run him off the road.

Dorothy turned the wheel abruptly when they came to the first stoplight, saying she was hungry for Wendy’s chili.

So they sat in a blue booth beneath an orange light, ate chili and french fries, sipped Cokes, and talked.

Sadie was belittled. She took the blame for the whole incident and told Dorothy so, which immediately set her off like a rocket.

“Now see here, Sadie, you’re gettin’ yerself into a dangerous position you are. It’s like them abusers. They slam their wife or whatever and git ’em so befuddled, they actually think it’s their own fault. It happens over and over, and you’re too thick in the head to see it.

“He ain’t to be trusted. You mark my words, Sadie Miller.”

Dorothy was angry to the point where she seriously wanted to go to Mark’s house, confront him, and make him apologize. Sadie shook her head adamantly, of course.

The thing was, Sadie knew that Mark’s past drove him to act the way he did. Dorothy didn’t know much about Mark’s difficult childhood. For all she knew, Mark was perfectly normal. But Sadie could not, in good conscience, betray Mark’s trust and tell Dorothy the secrets of his past. No, she was the only one to blame.

Between gigantic spoonfuls of chili, Dorothy said more than once, “You deserve better, my love. You deserve better.”

“You want a vanilla frosty?”

Sadie shook her head.

Dorothy heaved herself out of the booth, her green polyester slacks catching on the table. She tucked her red plaid shirt securely into the elastic waistband, pulling the pants up as high as they would go. The bottom of the pant legs barely reached her beige-colored ladies shoes from the Dollar General, but she strode purposefully up to the counter, returning in short order with a large vanilla frosty.

“Mmm, these are the best thing ever! Don’t know how they git ’em so creamy.”

Dorothy shoveled great mouthfuls of the creamy milkshake into her mouth, then she suddenly leaned back and clapped a palm to her forehead.

“Oh, shoot! Brain freeze. Ate too fast.”

She leaned over the table, moaning in agony, saying, “Whew!” over and over, until a kindly old gentleman came to their table and asked if there was anything he could do to help. His only answer was a glare of pain from Dorothy and a tart reply about hadn’t he ever seen anyone with a brain freeze? So he shuffled off bewildered.

Sadie slumped over the table, her shoulders rounded with dejection.