Wild Horses (Sadie's Montana #1)(24)

“Yeah. What are you gonna do then?” Reuben asked, returning to his pile of ice cream, which was entirely too much for one 10-year-old to consume by himself.

Anna looked at him, her eyes narrowing before helping herself to a large spoonful from his bowl.

“Hey!”

“You don’t need all that ice cream. It’s already melting.”

“Children!” Dat’s voice was firm, his frown a significant indicator of their less-than-perfect behavior.

They both bent to their own bowls, but Reuben’s elbow found Anna’s side, fast and smooth, bringing smiles to both of their faces beneath their demure, downcast eyes.

“So?” Sadie began.

“What? You’re telling me you want this stray horse kept in our barn?”

“Well…” Sadie lifted her hands and shoulders, then lowered them, along with her expectations.

“Where else would we keep him?” she asked respectfully.

Dat breathed through his nose, hard, the way he often did when he felt strongly about something. It wasn’t a snort. It was more of a whoosh of air, but it meant the same as a snort.

“For starters, I think the whole deal is odd. We don’t want a stray horse. How can we prove we didn’t steal him when the owner comes looking for him? He wouldn’t believe our story.”

“Dat! You know there are acres and acres of government land without a single soul around for miles!” Sadie burst out. “The horse could have wandered from there.”

“Why didn’t this horse seek shelter in someone’s barn? Or on someone’s ranch? Something’s fishy.”

“But, Dat, the horse is sick! He’s not just starved, he’s sick!”

“Well, then, we don’t want him for sure. Charlie will catch whatever this horse has.

“Please, Dat. Just let me have a box stall. Just one. You won’t have to do a thing with him. Not feed him, not water him. Nothing.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

Sadie’s shoulders slumped, defeat settling in. She wasn’t going to beg or whine or grovel at Dat’s feet. If he said no, then no it was. She had expected it all along, in a way, like an underlying riptide in the ocean that you suspected was there but didn’t know for sure until it carried you out to sea. And here she was being flung about, pulled steadily along.

But she had to try one more time.

“But I’ll never have another horse. Not like this one. He’s so much like Paris.”

“We don’t have room,” Dat said firmly.

Afterward, Sadie didn’t know what had possessed her to give vent to her despair. Leah told her, quite seriously, it was because she was stubborn and would never give up. That thought scared her.

She had leapt up, talked loudly and forcefully, and told her father he was being selfish. Why couldn’t she have a horse of her own? She had given up Paris for him and now this one, too. Why? Why?

She remembered Mam’s white face, Dat’s disbelief, Leah’s shock, but she had been beyond caring. She had gripped the table’s edge until her fingers were white and told Dat exactly what she thought. Then she turned and fled to the refuge of her room.

She had tried to pray, she really had. But her prayers hit the ceiling and bounced back down, not appearing to reach heaven at all. So she lay across her bed, too angry and upset to cry. She knew she should be remorseful, at least a little bit sorry, but she wasn’t. She was glad she had told Dat all that stuff. She was.

He had no right. He had no right to keep that horse from her. There were two empty box stalls in the barn, but his excuse was always the same: If every stall was full, then where would visitors tie their horses?

How often did they have visitors? And if company did show up, they could always tie their horses in the forebay. They could even tie Charlie and put the company’s horse in the same stall. There were options Dat was cruel. He had no sympathy for horses or anyone who loved horses. He said horses didn’t have stable manners, kicking against a good, strong wall for no reason at all, and they were always looking for a chance to run away. Well, maybe his horses did, and no small wonder. She would run away, too, if she was Dat’s horse. He didn’t like horses, just sort of put up with them, and the horses knew it. Why didn’t he just go Mennonite and get a car? Or a bike?

Angry thoughts swirled around and around inside Sadie’s head, bringing only a weariness of body and mind and no peace. She felt old and tired, her future uncertain. With no horse, what did she have to look forward to? Just work at the ranch and give Dat her paycheck, on and on and on. Go with the youth on the weekends, same old supper crowd and hymn-singings. On and on and on.

There weren’t even any interesting boys. Not one Amish guy in all of Montana caught her eye. Not one. They were all too young—not old enough to date—or too old—too set in their ways, too much like a bachelor. It was all so annoying, She bet, too, that behind Dat’s refusal was his own unspoken feelings about Sadie and his expectations of her. He thought she was being childish and that young Amish women shouldn’t ride horses anymore. Why couldn’t she grow up and get married the way other Amish girls did at her age?

Sadie guaranteed that Mam thought the same thing. She just didn’t say it quite as readily as Dat. Well, what was she supposed to do? Marry someone English? They’d have a fit about that.