Keeping Secrets (15 page)

Daniel spoke of his home, the hustle and bustle of Lancaster County, the tourism, the pace, while Sadie nodded her head in understanding. Holmes County, Ohio, was no different. They both agreed that bit by bit, in small devious ways, the world slowly encroached on the old traditions, threatening Amish culture.

Suddenly, Sadie took notice of their whereabouts, spying a sign that said,

Atkins Ridge, 3 miles.

“Oh, my goodness, we’ve come too far. We have to get back. Anna will wonder what has become of us.”

“Let her wonder. She’ll be okay. Your parents are there.”

But Sadie felt uneasy now. Anna wanted to give more buggy rides, she felt sure, and she did not want to disappoint her sister this way.

A pickup truck came over a rise, and Sadie pulled slightly on the right rein, making sure she was on her side of the road. When she glanced at the truck, Mark Peight’s bewildered brown eyes looked directly into hers. She lifted her chin, set her shoulders, and did not answer his wave as the pickup moved past.

We’re not dating. You are not my boyfriend. You sneak around enough to keep me on a string, and I’m resisting you now. If I choose to live this way and be with someone else, I have the right. It’s up to you to honor my companionship, and you have not been doing that. I’m moving on.

She became stronger with each thought.

“Someone you know?”

“Yes.”

“Boyfriend?”

“No.”

No, just someone who has the ability to tie my heart in knots. Someone who loves me, then hurts me. Someone I don’t think I’ll ever understand fully.

“We’re leaving next week.”

He cleared his throat, then turned sideways on the seat. “Sadie, I can’t remember when I felt so… I don’t know. I feel as if I’ve known you all my life. If you don’t… If you aren’t seeing anyone, could I take you out to dinner on Saturday evening? I know that’s not our typical way, but I’m not from around here, and I don’t have much choice. I would like to spend some time with you before I go.”

Only the space of a second passed, a butterfly movement of hesitation, before she turned to meet his gaze.

“I would like that, yes.”

He had said, “Go out to dinner.” Just like classy English people do. They had dinner in the evening and lunch for lunch.

His hand reached up to touch her hair.

“I can hardly believe your hair is real. It’s so black, it shines blue. I love the way you comb it. I’d love to see you without your covering.”

Sadie did not know how to respond, so she said nothing, just shook the reins across Paris’ back to urge her toward the auction where her safety lay.

“I didn’t count on … you. I mean, I hadn’t planned on meeting someone like you. Now I don’t want to leave.”

Her conscience jabbed her. She had told Mark she loved him, she wanted him to ask her for a real date, the way normal guys did. But he refused. Was it wrong to go on a date with this Lancaster-County Daniel? Surely she was not doing anything wrong. She could not wait on Mark Peight forever. She wasn’t getting any younger. Besides, someone with a past like his was risky.

So, no, she was not doing anything wrong. Yes, she would go out with Daniel. It was just dinner.

Suddenly, without warning, Paris lowered her haunches, then lunged into her collar. She took off running, her ears flicking back and staying that way.

Grimly, Sadie gripped the reins with all her strength as a pickup truck passed at a dangerous speed, the diesel engine revving, black smoke pouring from two silver pipes, gravel spitting from the broad tires.

The same color! It looked like the same pickup containing Mark Peight!

Sadie fought to control Paris, calling out to her in a strong voice, trying to still the panic rising in her own chest.

Daniel leaned forward, gripping the seat, watching quietly, letting Sadie take control of her own horse.

When Paris slowed, he grinned and put a hand on her shoulder. “Good job. I can tell you’re one with this horse. It’s awesome.”

Then, a high, whining, deadly sound.

The reins snaked out of Sadie’s grasp as Paris went up, up, and came down, hitting the macadam at a dead run.

Someone was screaming and screaming, a volume of sound that made her throat hurt. Who was it? Daniel? Herself?

Paris was galloping in a complete frenzy. She had no one to guide her, no rein to hold her back, all her instincts goading her away from the sound of that gunshot. She ran at full speed.

Sadie remembered. The dark night. Captain. Ezra. The ridge. The black beast running, running, gaining on them. Was this how it would all end? She had been spared before. This time, instead of snow, the sun was shining and the cornflowers were blooming. Yet once again, the specter of death loomed before her.

G
RIPPING THE SEAT WITH
one hand, Sadie clung to Daniel with the other. The spring wagon swayed and bounced, and the dusty air made breathing difficult. The black reins slapped the surface of the road, then flew away, as out of control as everything else.

“Should we jump?” she screamed, falling onto her knees as the spring wagon lurched.

Daniel shook his head. “Call Paris! Keep talking to her!”

When he saw Sadie’s whitening face, he screamed, “Sadie! Stay with me! Talk to your horse!”

She was so frightfully dizzy. How could she get up and call Paris if the whole world was out of control? Bile rose in her throat.

“Sadie!”

Daniel reached out and slapped her, hard. Her head flew back, then up, and back to reality. Sadie called and called.

“Paris! Come on. Whoa, whoa, good, good girl. Stop, Paris. The bullets are gone. It was only one. Slow down, babe. Slow down, Paris. Stop running now. You’re going to upset us.”

Was Paris tiring? Was she responding?

Without warning, Daniel got up and stood on the shafts, steadying himself on the dash of the spring wagon. His face was white, his mouth set in concentration as he calculated the distance.

Oh, those flailing hooves. Sure death if he fell! The steel wheels! If they rolled over him, he would never survive.

“Don’t scream, Sadie! Keep talking.”

She had never been called on to muster all the reserves of courage she had. With extraordinary effort, she continued talking, pleading with Paris.

Daniel crouched, then sprang, a released tension, propelling himself forward by sheer force of will, until his legs grasped Paris’ haunches. Searching and finding the reins, hauling them back, he eased Paris into a controlled run.

They came to a stop beneath an overhang of pine branches. Paris was a deep brown color, soaked with her own sweat, her sides heaving, her nostrils moving in and out by the force of her panting.

Daniel slid off her back, went to her head, put his hand on her mane, and slowly lowered his forehead against hers.

Sadie fainted, evidently, and awoke lying by the roadside under the pine boughs, heaving and gagging, as she threw up like a little child who had become thoroughly carsick. Daniel held her head, rubbed her back, and offered her a clean, white handkerchief. She thought she would surely never look at him again, gripped in a fit of nausea.

“I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

“It’s all right. You did an awesome job.”

Sadie wiped her mouth, blew her nose. There was that word
awesome
again. It must be his favorite word.

“I have to go to Paris,” she said.

He quietly helped her up, supporting her as she clung to Paris’ neck, weeping softly, whispering heartbroken endearments.

“I couldn’t live without you, Paris. You are the best horse ever. Thank God we’re alive,” she murmured, over and over.

A car passed, the driver watching them, presuming their horse got a bit overheated and they’d be fine, waved, and moved on down the road.

Daniel remained quiet as Sadie wiped her face, kissed Paris’ nose, and laughed shakily.

“Sorry. I love my horse. Oh, Daniel, who is shooting these bullets? Who is endangering these lives? I’m so afraid.”

He looked into her eyes. “We need to report this when we get back.”

“No! Not to the whole crowd. I’ll do it later from our phone shanty at home. Please? I don’t want the … fuss, the publicity.”

“Whatever you want.”

His quiet strength was hers now. Calmly, he helped her into the spring wagon, a hand on her back to support her.

They decided it would be best to drop Daniel off at the sale. He would tell Anna and her family what happened while Sadie took Paris on home.

“Aren’t you afraid to drive home alone?” he asked.

“No. They won’t be back. It’s only a mile or so.”

She desperately needed time alone to clear her head. The staggering thought that Mark Peight could be the sniper completely did her in. It had to be the same truck. It was, wasn’t it? How could she even begin to understand this complex person, this result of two terribly dysfunctional parents? Or was even this a fabrication, a lie, told in the most convincing manner?

She prayed, “Dear Lord, you’re going to have to show me the way. I’m in a maze, lost, can’t make any sense out of this. I felt your leading, I did. Now I don’t know anymore.”

She needed space, she needed her family. She needed, above all, the calming presence of her Lord and Savior. Hadn’t he said his yoke was easy, his burden light?

As Paris plodded up the driveway, her neck stretched out in weariness, Sadie sang softly,

His yoke is easy. His burden is light.

I’ve found it so. I’ve found it so.

His service is my sweetest delight

His blessings overflow.

Peace wrapped her in its loving arms. She cried with joy and thanksgiving as she bathed her beloved Paris, wiped the harness and put it away, then fed the horse a double portion of oats and corn and a block of the best hay. Sadie kissed Paris’ nose and told her goodnight, walked into the house, and collapsed on the sofa, where her family found her a few hours later.

“I don’t care what you say,” Dorothy said forcefully, steam enveloping her face and shoulders as she unloaded the commercial dishwasher. “You’re going to keep on messing around with them horses until you get yerself kilt, and I mean it.”

It was Monday morning after the lavish breakfast had been served. Sadie cleaned the floor, swishing the foam mop across the ceramic tile, cleaning corners longer than necessary just to hide her smile.

“But…” Sadie began.

Dorothy turned, a stack of clear plates in her hands, and shook her head from side to side, her eyes snapping.

“Hm-mm. Don’t ‘but’ me. I ain’t listening. If’n yer parents had a lick of common sense, they’d take that crazy gold horse and sell her for … for dog food. She ain’t safe! Now a well-trained horse would not have bolted like that. What n’ na world was you thinking in the first place, hitchin’ ’er up like that?”

Sadie kept mopping back and forth, scrubbing at a stubborn spot on the tile. Then she straightened, pushed back a stray lock of hair, and faced Dorothy with her hands on her hips.

“Paris
is
well trained. Any horse would bolt with that sound of a rifle, gun, whatever it was, being fired. It was an … an accident, a weird thing that happened.”

Dorothy’s eyes flashed.

“An act of God, you mean. That’s what you get for prancing around with a stranger from … oh, wherever. Did you ever think for one moment about what Mark thought when he saw you?”

Rebellion rose in Sadie’s throat, a sort of thickening, causing her voice to become harsh.

“I don’t care what he thought. I’m not seeing Mark Peight. I don’t ever want to date him either. He’s a coward and a … a … Oh, he makes me so mad! Why can’t he come to the house and ask me out for an official Saturday night date? Huh? Answer that, Dorothy!”

Dorothy didn’t answer, her lips set in a firm line. She put a large stockpot on the shelf, yanked her apron down, smoothed it across her stomach, and reached for her large, purple mug.

“Sit down!” she barked.

“No! I’m not finished mopping.”

So Dorothy sat and slid off her shoes, putting her feet up on a low bench, revealing the nylons she cut off at the knee, rolled, and twisted to a firm knot. She never bought knee-high nylons, never, saying they slid down your legs, and then what did you have? A sloppy-looking ring around your shoes, which did no honor to them pretty shoes from the Dollar General in town.

Dorothy dashed an extravagant amount of cream in her empty mug.

“Fill this for me, Sadie. Please.”

Sadie propped the handle of her mop against the refrigerator. She turned and filled Dorothy’s mug at the coffee maker, resisting the urge to set the mug down on the table with a severity that was unnecessary.

“You know if you put your cream in the cup first, then pour the coffee on top of it, you don’t need a spoon?” Dorothy asked.

Sadie took her revenge by remaining silent. It was a sweet sort of gratification. Dorothy had no right talking about Paris that way.

“So now you’re mad. Well, you got reason to be. Shouldn’t’a said that, I guess. But you, young lady, need a talkin’ to.”

“About what?”