Wild Horses (Sadie's Montana #1)(30)

“What in the world is up with you?”

Lydiann stopped prattling, stood squarely in front of her friend, put her hands on her hips, and eyed Sadie shrewdly.

“Who brought you?”

Sadie said nothing, just looked down at the toe of her shoe, rearranging the brown shag of the carpet.

“Who?”

“The man in the moon, that’s who!” Sadie said finally, laughing.

“Oh, he did, did he? I bet he’s a real nice guy!”

They burst out laughing together.

“Seriously, Sadie, who brought you?”

“I told you.”

“Stop it, Sadie. It’s not funny.”

“How did you get here?”

“All right. Ezra.”

“Ezra?”

“Yes. Ezra. So what’s wrong with that? Huh? Can you tell me? What’s wrong with Ezra bringing me to the singing? We used to date, you know.”

Lydiann’s mouth hung open, her eyes wide.

“You can close your mouth any time now,” Sadie said as she flung open the bathroom door and walked out, Lydiann on her heels.

The girls filed into the Miller living room, greeting the parents that were seated on folding chairs along the wall. Furniture had been pushed back to accommodate the long table in the middle of the room. The gleaming, varnished church benches sat on each side of the table. The brown hymn books were placed along the table in neat piles, waiting for the youth to open them and begin the singing.

At a hymn sing, the youth sang the old songs of their forefathers in German, although they sang some classic English tunes and choruses as well. The singing was a fine blend of youthful voices, and the evening was meant for fellowship in each other’s company, while practicing new songs to replenish the old.

The girls sat on one side of the table, the boys on the other. When the boys slid into place on the smooth bench opposite the girls, Sadie looked up and straight into brown eyes that seemed strangely familiar.

Mark!

His look of recognition mirrored her own. Cheeks blazing, she looked at the only safe place—down at her hands in her lap. Her first thought was, what is an English person doing here at our hymn-singing? I wonder what the parents will think?

“Sadie? Vee bisht doo?”

Bravely, she looked up and calmly said, “Gut.”

He smiled then, relaxed and at ease. Opening the hymn book, he talked to Nathan Keim beside him and acted like a total veteran of hymn singings—as if he’d been attending them all his life.

How did he get here—and him not being Amish? He had nerve. He probably picked up that “Vee bisht doo” thing tonight. Imagine. He would not get away with this, that was one thing sure.

Her head lowered, Sadie stole glances, watching Mark when he was not looking.

The singing began in earnest then, leaving Sadie completely nonplussed again. Mark joined in the singing! He knew the verses. He knew the words. He knew German perfectly. But how could he? He was not Amish! His hair wasn’t even Amish. It was cut close to his head.

She bet the Miller parents were silently having a fit. This would be the talk for months—that brazen, English person who came to the singing.

And he knew the German.

Likely, he came from Germany. With a name like Peight.





Chapter 9




A FEW WEEKS LATER, Sadie opened the stable door, catching her breath after her fast sprint from the ranch kitchen. Warm smells swirled around her, sharp pungent hay and sticky, sweet molasses mixed with the nutty odor of oats and shelled corn.

Gomez, one of the stable hands, nodded, averting his eyes shyly and ducking his head beneath the bill of his cap as he pushed the wide broom back and forth across the aisle between the stables.

“Good morning!”

Sadie jumped.

“Oh, it’s you! Good morning to you, too!”

Richard Caldwell was standing at the door of Nevaeh’s stall, shaking his head back and forth. As he turned to look at her, Sadie saw a soft gleam in his eyes, a sort of excitement, a different light than she had ever seen in him.

“Sadie Miller, I think we have us a winner here!”

Sadie stood, surveying the dim interior of Nevaeh’s stall. He lifted his head, his nostrils quivering with soft, little breaths. It was a movement of recognition and of gladness the moment he spied Sadie. Immediately, the horse made his way through the sawdust and straw to stand before Sadie. She slipped past Richard Caldwell and slid her arms around Nevaeh’s neck, bending her head, murmuring her greeting in Dutch.

It was a sight that never failed to bring a tightening to Richard Caldwell’s throat. The connection between the girl and this horse was amazing. That horse knew Sadie as sure as shooting, and he would do anything Sadie asked of him.

“Yep! We got us a winner!” he said, in his normal, much-too-loud kind of voice.

“You mean…?” Sadie asked.

“This horse is no ordinary one. You can tell by the lines of his shoulders, the way he holds his head, the deep chest. The more he’s gaining, the easier I can tell. He’s no wild mustang, this one. He’s someone’s horse with outstanding bloodlines running in them veins of his.”

Sadie’s heart sank at his words.

“Then, he’s someone’s horse?”

“He has to be.”