Wild Horses (Sadie's Montana #1)(23)

The Miller family sat together for the evening meal as usual. The ordinary, everyday, white Correlle plates with the mismatched silverware and clear plastic tumblers sat a bit haphazardly on the old, serviceable knit tablecloth. The tan and beige-colored Melmac serving dishes holding the steaming food were homey and comforting, bolstering Sadie’s courage.

Dat reached for the bowl of mashed potatoes, piled high with the usual little stream of browned butter coming from the small well on top. As a child, Sadie loved the taste of the dark browned butter, but now she knew that if she wanted to stay thin, she needed to work the serving spoon around it.

The chunks of seared beef, which had simmered in rich gravy as the potatoes cooked, were passed around the table followed by green beans liberally dotted with little bits of bacon and onion cooked just long enough to soften them.

“I was going to toss a salad,” Mam said, “but the price of tomatoes was just too high at the IGA in town.”

She looked apologetically in Dat’s direction, but Dat never looked at Mam or gave any indication that he heard. He just bent his head over his plate and ate fast and methodically. He was no longer being silly.

“It’s okay Mam. We don’t always need a salad,” said Sadie hurriedly to ease the uncomfortable moment.

“I hate salads,” Reuben said loudly, with no pretense. “They’re not good.”

“Tomatoes aren’t,” Anna agreed, always a staunch supporter of Reuben and his views.

“I love tomatoes,” Rebekah said smiling.

“Mmm. So do I,” agreed Leah.

“Not when they’re $4.99 a pound,” Mam said shaking her head. “I never heard of prices like that ’til we moved here.”

Dat looked up and sighed.

“Pass the potatoes,” he said brusquely.

Plates were scraped, dishes passed, forks lifted to mouths, everyone chewing and swallowing silently. Mam got up to refill water glasses, and a soft fog descended over the supper table, a fog that you didn’t see unless you knew Mam and noticed the change in her. The change was subtle, but it was there, just like fog that swirled and hovered.

Sadie pushed back her plate and said too quickly and loudly, “I’m full.”

“Don’t you want dessert?” Mam asked, her eyes blinking rapidly.

“What do we have?”

“Well, I guess just canned peaches from the IGA. I was going to bake a chocolate cake but sort of…got sidetracked. I…couldn’t find the recipe.”

Sadie looked at Mam, her mouth hanging open, stupidly.

“But, Mam…,” she began.

Mam’s eyes stopped Sadie. They were brimming with terror. Mam was afraid—frightened of her own inability to bake a chocolate cake without a recipe. Mam never used a recipe. Never. Not for chocolate cakes or chocolate chip cookies or even for pie crusts. It was all written in her mind, emerging the minute the big Tupperware bowl of flour hit the countertop.

“It’s all right, Mam.”

“I want ice cream!”

“We don’t have any.”

“We do. I saw it in the freezer.”

Reuben got up, walked to the freezer, and yanked the door open dramatically.

“See? There it is!”

Anna swung her legs across the top of the bench in one little-girl movement and dashed over to peer around the freezer door.

“You’re right, Reuben.”

Reuben bounced back to the table, the ice cream clutched firmly in his hands.

“Chocolate marshmallow!”

Dat leaned back in his chair, grinned at Reuben, and said, “Guess who bought it?”

“You did!”

“I did. That’s my favorite and Mam forgets to buy it.”

Sadie winced. Come on, Dat. Did you have to say that?

As Dat helped himself to a large portion of chocolate marshmallow ice cream, Sadie’s mind drifted to something more pleasant. Her horse. She knew she had to ask Dat, and now was a good a time as ever. She had to do it. Dat was kind and good to them all. He was. Surely he would allow it this time. He had said no to Paris and then relented later. So he wanted her to have a horse, right? Surely.

She cleared her throat.

“Dat?”

He lifted his head, swallowed, and acknowledged her question.

“You know the horse? The one … that one I told you about? The one that was dying?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Firmly pleating the knit tablecloth beneath the table, she plunged in.

“I … he’s down at Richard Caldwell’s stable. He’s alive. Breathing on his own. He’s standing up. Can you imagine? He’s barely able to, but he’s standing. He’s so skinny. His neck is pitiful. Richard Caldwell doesn’t want him, and he said I can … can have him. Keep him.”

Reuben stopped eating ice cream, watching Sadie with calculating eyes.

“Whose horse is he?” asked Dat.

Sadie relaxed, then launched into recounting the whole story to the family.

“Wow!” Anna said slowly, her mouth forming a perfect “O” around the word.

“It has to be someone’s horse. What if you keep him and the owner shows up? It happens all the time. People rescue dogs, fall in love with them, name them, and one day the owner appears at their door.”