Wild Horses (Sadie's Montana #1)(34)

Perfect.

Richard breathed again.

Sadie’s head came up, her back straightened, and she nudged Nevaeh ever so slightly. Then she leaned back into the saddle, relaxed, prepared. Nevaeh broke into a slow trot, followed immediately by a slow canter, a sure-footed, springy, graceful motion that took Richard Caldwell’s breath away.

What a horse! Unbelievable! Still too thin, the hair still coarse in spots, but, like an unfinished painting, emerging beauty.

The horse and rider disappeared behind the barn, and Richard Caldwell slowly made his way out of the garage and into the kitchen, looking for his wife, Barbara. He didn’t typically share with others—often keeping feelings to himself—but this time he just had to talk to someone about this remarkable Sadie and her horse.

He encountered Dorothy waving a soiled apron and yelling for her poor, hapless husband, Jim, while black smoke poured from the broiler pan of the huge commercial oven. Carefully, Richard Caldwell backed out, knowing it was up to Jim to quench that volcanic outburst. He backed into his wife and expertly steered her away from Dorothy’s angry screeches and into the safety of the living room.

They sat together on the leather sofa and he told her, with eyes shining, about Sadie and Nevaeh.

He stopped when he saw the icy, cold glint in her eyes.

“You have no business monkeying around out in the stables with that pious little Amish do-gooder. On the outside, that’s what she looks like, but on the inside, she is no different from any other 20-year-old looking for a husband with money,” she told her husband.

On and on her voice grated, hurling selfish words, hurting, imagining the worst.

The powerful emotions that welled up in Richard while watching Sadie with that horse contrasted greatly with Barbara’s sordid accusation. They were vile, worldly, dirty, and horrible—words that were as untrue as they possibly could be.

Springing up, Richard Caldwell restrained his wife.

“Stop!” he thundered.

She stopped. She cowered. She had never heard her husband speak to her in that tone, ever.

Then, he softened and opened up. He told her many things he should have spoken before, how both of them had no idea what goodness was, or purity or selflessness.

“She’s like a daughter. I think I believe in some sort of God when I watch her with Nevaeh.”

Barbara’s mouth hung open in a ghastly way as she listened to her big, rough husband. She didn’t know he was capable of talking like this. What had gotten into him?

“And, Barbara, why did we choose not to have children?” he finished, his eyes soft, the crows-feet at the corners smoothing out the way they sometimes did.

“You chose,” Barbara whispered.

“I thought it was you,” Richard Caldwell said, quietly, calmly.

“It wasn’t.”

The sun slipped below the barn, casting shadows across the opulent living room, and still they talked. They rang for coffee, for a light dinner. They turned on lamps and continued talking.

Later, when Dorothy came to the living room to remove the dishes, she saw a most unusual sight—Barbara’s hand resting on her husband’s shoulder, his arm around hers.

“Well, I’ll be dinged. Lord have mercy. A miracle has occurred,” she whispered, stepping back lightly in her Dollar General shoes.





Chapter 10




SADIE TUCKED THE LAP robe securely around her knees, shivering in the buggy, her breath visible in small puffs of steam.

Glancing sideways, she checked Ezra’s profile. Hmm. Not bad.

He had asked to take her to the hymn-singing again on Wednesday evening, which was a source of some discomfort—like a cut on your finger. It annoyed you if you bumped it or got salt in it or put it under hot water.

The thing was, she liked Ezra—especially the new and improved version of Ezra. He was a good friend, and she was comfortable with him. She had absolutely no reason at all not to go back to him, date him regularly, and succumb to the love she felt sure God was already supplying.

Love was a strange thing. It could be elusive, like the wildflowers in spring that grew in great clumps on the ridges, turning into purple, yellow, and white splendor. All you wanted to do was be there among the flowers, spreading your arms and running to them through the soft, spring winds. Then you would fling yourself down on the soft hillside, your senses soaked with the smell of those beautiful flowers.

But often when Sadie climbed the ridge to pick great armfuls of wildflowers, the earth was still slick and wet with patches of snow hidden among sharp thistles. The black flies, mosquitoes, and a thousand other flying creatures either bit or sat or buzzed or zoomed toward her, causing her to flail her arms wildly between grabbing handfuls of columbine. The flowers were never nearly as beautiful as they were from a distance.

The thought of Ezra was better than Ezra himself, which was awful to admit even if it was true. He was so pleasant, attractive, a good Christian, and had oh, so many other good qualities. Her parents silently pleaded with her to accept him, marry him, and be a good wife, fitting of their culture.

Aah, why? What kept her from doing just that?

“Sure is getting colder.”

The sound of Ezra’s voice jerked Sadie back to reality.

“Yes, it is. It’ll be snowing again soon.”

“That’s one nice thing about Montana—we always have a white Christmas.”