Keeping Secrets (39 page)

The Caldwells’ present was a painting of horses, the kind Sadie never thought she would own. It took her breath away. A band of horses running against the wind, with a thunderstorm in a background of gray, beige, blue, and green clouds.

Dorothy’s gift was encased in the gold, bell-shaped gift bag. Inside were the two ceramic crosses with pink flowers that she had promised Sadie a long time ago.

“One for each side o’ yer hutch cupboard,” Dorothy beamed.

There were so many gifts. A gas grill. A pair of Adirondack chairs. Dishes, cookware, towels, blankets, shovels, brushes, utensils, wooden racks, clothespins, tea towels, bakeware, lanterns, batteries. Would they need to buy anything at all?

Rebekah wrote it all down in a notebook, listing the gift and the giver.

The rest of the afternoon was filled with hymn-singing.

They served a supper of scalloped potatoes, home-cured ham, lima beans and corn, and a tossed salad. There was also more wedding cake and Dorothy’s coconut cream pies, which even Erma pronounced the best she had ever tasted.

Sadie was feeling a bit wilted now, ready for the day to come to a close and be alone with her new husband.

Evidently Erma still had energy to spare. She was having an animated conversation with Reuben. When she flicked a spoonful of meringue at Reuben, hitting him squarely on the nose, they both fell into a fit of convulsive giggles that they were powerless to stop.

“Whooo!” Erma said in the most unladylike voice Sadie had ever heard.

Reuben, however, was thoroughly impressed. He eyed Erma with a newfound respect. Anyone who could flick a spoon and hit the target directly was pretty awesome. So she showed him how to do it.

Mark grinned, then laughed outright when a glob of meringue landed squarely in Kevin’s lap, barely missing Sadie.

Mam frowned in the direction of the wedding tables, her eyes looking completely exhausted. Somehow Dat was still going strong, although he had a look about him like a hot-air balloon getting ready for its descent.

Sadie caught sight of Rebekah seated beside Benjamin Nissley, their heads bent as they sang in unison. It was only a matter of time for those two.

Sadie sat back and let her eyes roam the room. She thought of weddings she had been to in the past, sitting beside boys she barely knew, eating food that tasted like sawdust, gamely making attempts at conversation, relieved beyond words to be finished with the singing.

Her eyes landed on Anna, who was seated much, much too close to Leon Hershberger. Leon seemed to be leaning in close to her, his auburn hair cut in the English style, the disobedience glaring from his bold eyes. Anna had a spot of color on each cheek, her smile wide, her eyes never leaving his face.

Sadie’s heart sank. Would Anna ever understand the fullness of her self-worth and the beauty of her character?

Sadie silently grieved for Anna, if only for a moment. She could not solve the problem today, not on her wedding day.

After the last guest finally bade them a goodnight, Mam and Dat kicked off their shoes and sat down with fresh mugs of coffee. Rebekah and Leah wearily sagged in kitchen chairs, Anna seated on the bench.

Reuben went straight to bed, but only after eating another slice of wedding cake and calling Mark “brother” with a toothy grin.

Mark asked Sadie if they should ride Paris and Bruno, Mark’s new horse, over to their house for their first night together.

It was a wonderful idea!

Sadie raced up the stairs to change clothes and pack a bag. Then she hugged her parents, telling them they’d ride back in the morning to help clean up.

“But…” Mam started protesting.

“She’ll be okay,” Dat broke in, looking at her meaningfully.

Mam closed her mouth, then smiled as Sadie dashed out the door, her duffel bag swinging.

When Sadie reached the barn, Mark had Paris ready, the saddle securely in place. Bruno pranced beside her.

“Oh, Paris!” Sadie burst out, then swung up while Mark secured her duffel bag behind his saddle.

The moon was not completely full, but almost. Sadie couldn’t really tell, except that one side seemed a little lopsided. It outlined the ridges, the trees, even the winding road in front of them.

Bruno pranced, wanting to run. He hopped sideways, then bucked lightly.

Paris walked slowly down the drive, her head up, her ears pricked forward, alive to every movement around her. Her mane rippled and flowed, the moonlight catching the white highlights. She picked her way carefully, as if she thought she was carrying royalty.

Was it only Sadie’s childish imagination, or did it seem like Paris knew this was a special evening?

No, Paris would know.

After Bruno settled down, Mark rode very close to Sadie. He extended his hand, his white shirt sleeve silver in the moonlight. Sadie met his hand halfway and grasped it.

The saddles creaked, the horses hooves made a dull thunking sound. Far away, a coyote barked, then wailed eerily. The pine trees stood tall and straight on either side of them while the stars twinkled above.

“This whole day has been unbelievable,” Mark said. “I feel like I’m in a dream.”

His voice was gruff, the emotion he felt making it sound ragged.

Sadie smiled at him. “Why?”

“I simply do not deserve you. How did you ever agree to become my wife?”

“It’s so easy, Mark. I love you. This is all I ever wanted.”

Then they galloped their horses up the side of Atkin’s Ridge. The cool breeze fanned their faces; the stars disappeared when they rode beneath the trees. Rounding the corner of the ridge, they slowed the horses for the downhill ride to their home, their start to a life lived as one, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, until death parted them.

The End

Turn the page to continue reading from Sadie's Montana

N
OW THAT THE SNOWS
had come, Sadie missed Reuben the most. Oh, it wasn’t that she was lonely or discontented. After all, she could go home whenever she wanted, as long as the snow was not too heavy.

It was just Reuben, his guileless blue eyes, the way he tossed his blond-streaked hair away from his face, that often brought a lump to her throat.

She was a married woman now. Somehow, she felt no different than she ever had, except for the love that had come to fulfillment with Mark Peight, her husband of exactly two months and five days.

Sadie Peight. Or Sadie Anne Peight. Sadie Miller no more.

In the Amish world in which she lived, that close-knit community of plain people in Montana, she was “Mark Sadie” now — not “Mark’s wife, Sadie,” in the proper way. Just plain “Mark Sadie.” No last names were needed. Everyone knew who “Mark Sadie” was.

Her family, the Jacob Millers, had moved to Montana when she was 15 years old. She had had to give up her beloved palomino riding horse, Paris, as well as her best friend and cousin, Eva, moving thousands of miles away from her home community in Ohio.

In time, she came to love Montana, working at Aspen East, the huge ranch that employed dozens of men, cattle drivers, farmers, horsemen, the list went on and on. She cooked large meals in the kitchen with Dorothy Sevarr, whose husband, Jim, transported her to and from the ranch. The Sevarrs came to be beloved friends, as well as Richard and Barbara Caldwell, the wealthy owners of Aspen East Ranch.

Sadie had met Mark when a horse appeared from seemingly nowhere in a snowstorm, falling sick and disabled in front of Jim Sevarr’s pickup truck. Sadie opted to stay with the horse, a beautiful but dying paint, while Jim went for help. Mark Peight and his driver found Sadie in the snow with the dying horse. There was an instant mutual attraction between Mark and Sadie. A long, imperfect courtship followed, imperfect due largely to Mark’s troubled, unusual past.

Wild horses had been a danger, running uncontrolled through the isolated areas, terrifying the Amish community. The large, black leader of the herd threatened unassuming horses and buggies traveling the countryside.

Sadie and her brother, Reuben, had spent many weeks on a grassy hill taming the few remaining horses. Among them was the outstanding palomino mare Sadie now owned, which she named Paris, in memory of her beloved horse from Ohio. The palomino had been given to Sadie as a gift of appreciation from the owner of the wild horses, which turned out to have been stolen by clever horse thieves in Laredo County. After the thefts, someone started going around the county randomly shooting horses, Reuben’s among them. Paris and Sadie managed more than one harrowing narrow escape. But the sniper—or snipers—remained at large and the motive for the shootings a mystery.

She felt safe now, snug and cozy in the house Mark was renovating. There had been no sniper activity for almost four months. The Amish community breathed a sigh of relief. People went on with their lives, shaking their heads at the seeming incompetence of the local police, but, in the Amish way, taking it all in stride.

The home Mark had bought before the wedding had been a forsaken homestead nestled at the foot of Atkin’s Ridge. The buildings were covered in old, wooden, German siding, the framework amazingly sturdy, but almost everything else was crumbling with age.

When you came in the driveway, the unique shape of the barn, with its series of gable ends and various roof slopes, was so completely charming that you forget to look for a house, which was farther up the slope in a grove of pine trees. Despite its lamentable state of disrepair, the property was as cozy and attractive as a nursery-rhyme house.

There was an L-shaped porch along the front, dormers on the roof, and a low addition on the right side. Besides the broken windows, sagging porch posts, and torn floor boards, sparrow nests were built into every available crack of the decaying lumber, the floors littered with their feces. Bats flew in and out of the upstairs dormer windows at will, and mice scurried in terror at their approach.

Mark had put in long hours repairing the barn first. His hard labor resulted in a remarkable building with a beautiful forebay, horse stalls on either side, wide enough to drive a team of horses attached to a manure spreader through it, for easy mucking out. There was a workshop in another section and room for the carriage, spring wagon, and various lawn tools in another, all on top of a solid, new, concrete floor.

The barn was their pride and joy, especially when Paris adapted so well, becoming quite sleek and flirtatious with Mark’s horses.

Sadie would stand at the wooden fence, her arms propped on the top board, one foot on the bottom, watching Paris nip at Truman, the new horse, then squeal and bound nimbly away.

She still loved Paris and rode her as much as ever. But whenever she went to visit her parents, she drove Mark’s steady, brown standardbred driving horse hitched to the shining, black carriage. Since the sniper incidents had quieted down, she felt safer and often returned home with the back seat of the buggy full of items that had been left behind after the wedding.

The house was not finished; only the lower floor was livable. Mark’s original plans changed after his mother passed away from bone cancer, leaving them a substantial amount of money to be shared with his five siblings when they had been located.

Mark hired a cabinetmaker and a crew of carpenters to finish the main floor, resulting in a well-crafted home.

The kitchen was all done in oak cabinets, with wide plank floors also made of oak. The countertops were a speckled black and gray, so Sadie had chosen to paint the walls a gray so light it was almost white. Three windows side by side provided a full view of the driveway, the sighing pine trees, and the barn.

Sadie placed her furniture where she wanted it in the house, then told Mark she was unworthy to be the housekeeper of such a beautiful home. Mark ran a hand through his black hair. He said nothing, just grabbed her and swung her around. His glad brown eyes and perfect smiling mouth told her everything he thought she should know. Their love was an all-consuming flame, their marriage a union of God—a blessing that, after all they had been through together, they would never take for granted.