Wild Horses (Sadie's Montana #1)(27)

Dat and Mam thought Ezra was truly a special young man who would make a terrific husband for her. But why do parents think they know better than you do? They just didn’t understand. There was not one other person in this community of Amish families for whom she could even try and summon some kind of love.

She often wished she could express her true feelings to Mam. And she wanted to ask questions, too, especially, how deep should the feelings of love be before you know you are fully committed and ready to marry? How could you know if you were ready to spend the rest of your days here on earth with this one other person?

The Amish were expected to date for a few years before getting married. They were also expected to not touch each other while dating. Not hold hands, not hug, not kiss, not have any other physical contact. The couple would be blessed by God if they entered into a sacred union in purity.

Sadie always thought that this was all well and good. But if she was really, really honest, she wondered how you could tell if you wanted to marry someone if you never touched him. What if you were pronounced man and wife and then discovered that his touch repulsed you? Wouldn’t that be a fine kettle of fish, as Daddy Keim used to say. She didn’t believe every couple stuck to that hands-off policy anyway.

Sadie clasped her hair into a barrette and firmly gathered the heavy mass on the back of her head, fastening it securely with hair pins. Her new covering followed, and she turned her head first one way and then the other, adjusting the covering more securely as she did so.

Some girls spent close to an hour arranging and rearranging their hair and coverings, which always drove Sadie to distraction. If you didn’t get it right that first or second time, you sure weren’t going to get it any better the seventh or eighth round, that was one thing sure.

She was glad she had a new dress and that it was a soft shade of light pink. She supposed it was a bit daring, but Mam had allowed it, though grudgingly. Grudgingly or gladly, it was pretty. The fabric hung in soft folds, the sleeves falling delicately to her wrists. It made her feel very feminine and, if she admitted it to herself, more attractive than usual.

She wondered vaguely how the person who was driving the buggy to take her away to the hymn-singing would feel about the dress. When she thought about it, she was glad she would wear the black coat, as Ezra would never approve of the soft, pink shade she was wearing.

Why did she wear it? She wanted to, that was why—and not for Ezra either. Maybe that was the whole reason after all. She wanted to be who she was—not who Ezra wanted her to be.

Nothing like real old-fashioned honesty with oneself, she thought wryly.

Sadie parted the white curtains in her room. Darkness had already enveloped the Montana mountainside. But the night sky was so brilliant, it seemed only a dimmer version of daylight. The starlight blended with the moon and snow to create a stark, contrasting portrait of the landscape, as if painted black, white, and gray.

Sadie watched for the lights she knew would come slowly up the driveway. Ezra was very kind to his horse.Wasn’t there an old saying—The way a man treats his horse is the way he will treat his wife.

The moon was full. It made the stars seem tiny and insignificant, like afterthoughts. Each one twinkled bravely in spite of being outdone by the moon.

The pines on the ridge seemed so dark, they were black and ominous-looking. Sadie thought they were beautiful in the sunlight, each dark bough harboring glints of light woven with deeper shadows. She loved the smell of pines, the sticky, pungent sap that seeped from their rough trunks, and the soft carpet of needles that covered the ground beneath them.

The lulling sound of the wind through pine branches was like a low, musical wonder—like a song. There was no other sound on earth quite like it. It was haunting and inspiring and filled Sadie with a deep, quiet longing for something, but she never understood what. Perhaps the song was God—his spirit sighing in the pine branches, his love for what he had created crying out and touching a chord in Sadie’s heart.

From earth we are created, and to earth we return, she thought. She supposed it was a melancholy kind of thought, but it felt comforting and protective. But the sound of wind in the pines reminded her that life is also full of unseen and unknown forces.

Down in the valley, valley so low, Hang your head over, hear the wind blow.

Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow, Hang your head over, hear the wind blow.

It was an old folk song that Sadie often heard Mam humming to herself as she went about her daily chores. It was a kind of spiritual for Mam. She always said she felt the same passion her “foremothers” felt in that song. Women were like that. They heard many beautiful songs in the wind that no one else could comprehend. Subject to their husbands, women often hung their heads low. Many of them—Mam included—had to. It was just the way of it.

So, that’s what’s wrong with me. I go off wearing a light pink dress, yearning for a horse of my own, not submitting to kind, conservative Ezra because I can’t hang my head low.

Sadie caught her breath. She pushed the curtain back farther with unsteady fingers, then leaned into the windowpane. It seemed as if the pines became alive and did a kind of undulating dance, but only the lower branches.

What was that? What was running, no, merely appearing and disappearing on the opposite ridge?

Sadie strained her eyes, her nerves as taut as a guitar string.

Wolves! There were wolves in the pines. But wait. Wolves were not as big as … as whatever … that was.