Keeping Secrets (42 page)

“Oh, no! You’re not taking this dress away from me!” she shouted, her beautiful eyes already forming tears. “I paid for it with my own money! No. You’re not. I’m going to wear it!”

She turned, sobbing, running up the steps, the priceless magenta-colored fabric clutched tightly to her thin chest.

Mam started to follow, a hand out, calling her name, but Sadie stopped her. “I’ll go after awhile.”

“I don’t know what to do. She is so different from all you other girls. I plum don’t know how to handle it.”

With that, Mam sat down wearily, suddenly overcome with her daughter’s rebellion coupled with Fred Ketty’s 900 dollar quilt.

“Mam, you know her whole problem is that she has to be on top of the pile,” Rebekah said harshly.

“Ach, Rebekah,” Mam said sadly.

“I’m serious. She can’t give up. If that would have been me, you would not have been overwhelmed very long. Bingo! In the trash! Subject closed!”

Mam laughed, her plump stomach shaking with mirth. “Now stop it,” she said, still laughing.

When Sadie got to Anna’s room, she found it hard to see her sister that way, lying on her stomach, as close to the wall as she could get, her fingers in her ears the minute Sadie opened the door. Human nature made Sadie feel like smacking her, calling her a big baby, and telling her to get off that bed this minute, go eat something, and stop obsessing about yourself and Neil Hershberger. Maybe that’s what Sadie should have done.

There were too many big girls in the family while Anna was growing up. Somehow, she had been shorted, whether it came from Mam’s mental illness, or whether she was born with this decayed sense of her own worth. Whatever the cause, she needed help.

“All right, Anna. Stop it. Get your fingers out of your ears. Look at me.”

“Go away.”

“All right, I will.”

She walked away, closed the door firmly behind her, then heard it open and Anna calling, “Come back, Sadie.”

“Not unless you’re
chide
.” (nice, normal)

“I’ll try.”

Sadie picked up the fabric, took it over to the window, parted the curtains and looked at it, peering closely, as if it were a foreign object.

“You weren’t really going to make this, were you?” she asked, kindly and unaccusing.

“’Course I was.”

Her words were hard stones pinging against Sadie’s flinching face. Somehow that answer was a solidified thing, an assurance that Anna was no longer the harmless little girl who ate great dishes of Lucky Charms cereal. She was actually a concern, a problem to be addressed, like a broken porch step or a refrigerator that stopped working. You had to acknowledge that it needed fixing and then apply yourself, even if it put you in a state of despair. This thought swam into her consciousness, like a shark in a peaceful barrier reef.

Softly, but firmly, Sadie addressed her sister. “Wouldn’t you be afraid? Ashamed to wear it to the hymn singing?”

“Huh-uh!”

“I bet you would.”

“Hah-ah.” So pronounced, her words were almost guttural.

“Come on, Anna. It’s way too bright. The parents would have a fit.”

“Hah-ah.”

“Tell you what. I’ll buy you another one if you’ll go shopping with me.”

Anna rolled over on her back, then sat up, pulling her knees to her chin, wrapping her arms around them. Her dark hair was disheveled, a lock hanging into her large, dark eyes and the dark shadows of … what? Tiredness? Lack of good nutrition? Her eyes made her appear older, much older in fact, than her years.

Anna said nothing and just looked at her steadily, unflinching, with a cold look Sadie could not fully perceive.

“I want the dress I chose.” The voice was flat, the words hard as nails.

Sadie said nothing, sighed, turned toward the dresser, picked up a small bottle of cologne, winced, gasped in shock at the words written diagonally across it. Still saying nothing, she plucked off the cap, spritzed a small amount on her wrist, rubbed it with the palm of her hand, and sniffed. “Mmm.”

Anna’s face brightened.

“You like it?”

“Yes, it smells … different. Where did you buy it?”

“Neil gave it to me.”

The defiant note in her voice is what gave away the lie. There was an angry retort on Sadie’s tongue, but she caught herself just in time, knowing that a thick, suffocating confrontation would follow, driving a wedge of cast iron into the fragile relationship between them.

“He did? No birthday, no nothing?” Sadie turned, her eyebrows raised, surprise in her voice. “And you’re not dating?”

Anna came up off the bed in one movement, her face darkening as anger propelled her. Standing boldly, one thin hand on her hip, her pelvis jutted out in defiance, she clipped her words short.

“No, we’re not dating. Which I hope you know is none of your business. If I remember correctly, you weren’t dating Mark for a very long time. Just sort of creeping around.”

It was the sarcasm that did it. Turning, she felt the heat rise in her face, did nothing to stop it. She stepped within a foot of her sister, thrust her face close to hers, and let her words fall where they would.

“Anna, you know Neil did not give you that cologne. You also know that you are on a dangerous road, completely obsessed with a person of … of questionable intent. You can’t do this, Anna. He doesn’t seem like someone you should be spending time with.”

“You don’t know him.”

“Yes, I think I do. When I saw you two at my wedding, I could tell. You have no idea how you two appeared. The…”

She was cut short. “Shut up!”

Sadie’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “Anna!”

“Get out! Get out of my room and stop talking. Go!”

Sadie opened her mouth, closed it, turned, and walked through the door, closing it firmly behind her.

The remainder of the day passed in a blur. Mam prattled away happily about Kevin and Leah, how absolutely wonderfully he treated her, how much money he made, being the same as foreman on that logging operation, but then his father always was a good manager. Everything he touched turned into money.

Mam said this innocently, but Sadie caught the underlying pride. She wanted to tell Mam to be careful, but she was suddenly too tired, too beaten down by Anna’s outburst to try and remedy anything at all. She just wanted to go home. Home to Mark, to her clean, uncluttered life, where the unpleasantness came only from Paris’s absence, which would turn out all right in the end, she felt sure.

She hitched up Truman with Rebekah’s help. She waved good-bye as he pulled the carriage down the drive, and a deep sense of anticipation settled over her.

There was no need to question whether it had been God’s will for her to become Mark Peight’s wife. With a deep, abiding knowledge, she knew the rightness of it, of returning to him with this joy after spending a day with her family.

She would worry about Anna, the magenta-colored dress, Neil, the questionable cologne, but she would be able to put all of it out of her thoughts, for a time, anyway. Perhaps it was just a phase.

The cream-colored SUV passed her from behind, traveling so slowly she almost had to hold Truman back to keep from catching up to it. Annoying driver … Why didn’t he accelerate? Just get going? She did pull back on the black leather reins then, or she would have driven too close. Probably an elderly couple afraid of the snow-covered back roads. Truman wanted to run, so Sadie held back firmly now, glad to see the car ahead of her pick up speed.

Driving horses were all the same, she thought. When you got them out of the barn and hitched them to the buggy, they trotted along willingly, took you where you wanted to go, settling down to a level trot, even if they felt a bit spunky at first, dancing around, balking a bit, or crow-hopping sometimes. But if you let them stand at a barn, or along a fence, or tied to a hitching rack for any length of time, then hitched them up to return home, they pricked their ears forward and clipped along at a much better pace, knowing a good cold drink out of their own trough, a nice pile of oats, and a block of good hay awaited them at home.

Home was where all horses wanted to be. Me, too, Truman, Sadie thought, smiling to herself. She had some cold chicken breast in the refrigerator. She would make the chicken and rice casserole for Mark this evening. No broccoli, so she’d substitute peas. She had a whole pumpkin pie in a round Tupperware container under the seat, a gift from Mam, bless her heart. Pumpkin pies were complicated to make. She smiled to herself, thinking of Mam’s distaste for any uncovered, or loosely covered, food items put under the seat of a buggy. No matter how hard you tried to avoid it, there was always a certain amount of horse hair floating inside a buggy, always finding its way to the top of a container. But not one hair would be on the pumpkin pie. Mam double-checked the famously secure Tupperware seal.

The beige-colored SUV approached her again from the opposite direction, driving as slow as before. The windows were tinted, so there was no use checking for the occupants. That was some expensive vehicle, Sadie guessed.

She wondered vaguely what she would drive if she was English. She smiled at the thought of turning the ignition key, stepping on a pedal, and moving off. Wouldn’t that be different?

She wished she had sunglasses to wear. The late afternoon sun was blinding. That would be different, too. A pair of black sunglasses on a face framed by an Amish bonnet. Likely she’d get her picture on the front page of the local newspaper.

Truman was gathering speed for his dash up the side of Atkin’s Ridge, so Sadie relaxed the reins, letting him have his head, knowing he had to make it up the hill on his own terms, rounding the curve on top like a racer, leaning to the right.

She pulled back in alarm when the same SUV roared past from behind, disappearing up the side of the ridge in a whirl of snow and grit. Boy, for all the time they wasted going back and forth, probably looking for a certain road sign, they must have suddenly decided they knew where they were going.

And when she came upon this vehicle parked across the road, she hauled back on the leather reins as hard as she could, thinking they should have been more careful, having suddenly hit an icy spot. She hoped no one was hurt, and she was glad to see the vehicle had not turned over. There was no way around it, with the high bank on one side and the steep incline on the other, so she opened the window, calling “Whoa.”

T
RUMAN OBEYED, ALTHOUGH HE
raised and lowered his head, pulling at his bit, impatient at the obstacle in his path.

Sadie was surprised when the doors flung open and two men wearing black ski masks quickly ran to the buggy. Her first thought was about their lack of common sense, wearing ski masks this time of the day when the temperatures weren’t that low. Later, during the night, the temperature would hover below zero. It was only when she saw the small black pistol in the fat man’s gloved hand that she felt the first stab of fear.

“Don’t give us any trouble and you won’t get hurt.”

The words were muffled, as if the opening in his mask was at the wrong place. His breath was coming fast and hard, like he had been running. The barrel of the pistol was so tiny. It looked like a toy, actually. Maybe it was. That thought was fleeting, instantly replaced by the knowledge of danger and the alarming position in which she now found herself.

Truman’s ears flicked back, he lowered his head and tested the reigns.

“You’re coming with us.”

She knew she couldn’t do that. Who would care for Truman and the buggy? What about Mark? His chicken-and-rice casserole? Her eyes sought an opening, a way through. Not enough room. Could she jump out, make it on foot? Not in this snow. Panic spread its oily fingers across her chest, squeezing her lungs till her breathing was only coming in shallow puffs.

“Get down.” The words were garbled, surprisingly mild, and, in a way, mannerly.

“I can’t.” Her voice was hoarse, her dry throat now aching with a sort of despair, an acceptance that this time she could not go dashing away on Paris. She didn’t even know where Paris was.

“You will get down.” The words were forceful now, spoken much louder. The gun was positioned again, shoved up against the frame of the buggy where the door had been slid back.

Wildly now, her eyes darted, searching for an escape route, realizing there was none. Slowly, methodically, she lifted the lap robe that kept her legs warm.

“I can’t just let … Truman … the horse, loose.”

“Get down now.”

There was nothing to do but obey. Not with that pistol stuck in her face and the two men waiting for her. It was when she laid the reins across the glove compartment, slid the lap robe away from her legs, and grasped the frame of the buggy to lower herself that a total loss of hope clenched her heart. Here, on Atkin’s Ridge, again. This time, would it be her last? She was too afraid to pray.

Like a robot, she moved. Her foot hit the step, then the ground. She was immediately seized on either side, her elbows encased in gloved hands like vices clamping down and propelling her forward. Stumbling, sliding, looking back at Truman, she begged them to let her take care of the horse and buggy. Yanking on her, they stuffed her into the back seat. She saw a roll of duct tape appear.