Wild Horses (Sadie's Montana #1)(37)

That was important.

All right. Leg broken, yes. Gash in head, yes. Nausea, yes. Might have a smashed stomach.

It was very cold. She might die.

How long did people live in the cold? And survive? She tried to think of books she had read. No clue. She guessed as long as one breath followed another, she would live.

She thought of Mam, Dat, Leah, Rebekah, Anna, and Reuben, all at home, all happy and secure in the knowledge that she was being taken to the singing by the beloved Ezra.

Where was he?

Where was Captain?

A shiver of fear.

The horses? Where were they? Oh, that black stallion—as dark and sinister as the devil himself. But still, he was a stallion. Protecting his mares. Keeping his turf.

Dear God in heaven, my leg hurts so terribly. Please help me. Send someone to find me. I’ll die out here. Wolves will smell my blood. Or mountain lions. I heard they introduced the wolves back into the wilds of Montana to manage the elk herds. Smart. Unlucky for ranchers.

Her thoughts wandered away from her prayer.

Where was the buggy? Was she at the bottom of the embankment? Or halfway down?

Leaning away from the gray rock, she tried to assess her surroundings.

Oh, that blood in my eyes. I have to stop it somehow.

Her breathing stopped completely, but her heart beat on as the howl of a wolf split the air in two with that mournful, undulating wail of the wild. One clear howl brought chills and fear of the awesome creatures into Sadie’s world of pain.

Momentarily, she surrendered.

Okay, this is it. Tumbled down a cliff, half dead, and wolves will finish me. No one will ever know what happened. Posters tacked on telephone poles in town—at the post office, the IGA. Missing. No picture. She was Amish. Just information.

No, they would find her. They would!

Another howl hit a high note, joined by more voices now and more long, drawn-out calls of the wolves.

I must get out of here. I have to try.

She leaned forward, her hands clawing the snow, searching for a handhold, anything to propel herself forward. Blood spurted, a fresh, warm stream flowed down her forehead and into her eyes.

I must stop this bleeding first. With what?

Reaching up, she touched her covering, still dangling on the back of her head. Gratefully, she pulled it off and rolled it into a type of tourniquet. Her hands shook. They were too stiff.

I can’t do this.

Slumping against the gray rock, she bowed her head as hot tears ran down her face. Tears and seeping blood mixed together and dripped into the snow.

It was hopeless. Maybe it would be easier to just let go now. She could go to the memory foam.

I would just let go—but I’m afraid of the ink or whatever that horrible stuff was. Why was it like that?

She looked up.

Where was the road?

She couldn’t have fallen very far off the road. She heard a car but saw no lights.

Oh, yes. The buggy fell. Ezra must have fallen along with it. Captain ran away, attached to the shafts. So no one on the road at night would have any idea of the accident.

Oh, Mam.

Dat.

Somebody come find me.

She could feel her strength ebbing, going out like the tide. They had been at the beach once, along the bay, and she watched the tide come and go. Piers that were almost submerged at one point in the day stuck way out of the water later that same day. Reuben said—he always knew these things—that it was because the world tilted on an angle and spun as fast as it could go, and the water tilted back and forth with the moon’s force. Amazing.

Well, the tide was slipping out for her, and she didn’t know if it would come back.

So tired.

She closed her eyes.

Just for a minute, I’ll rest.

The wolves aren’t close yet.

No ink this time. That was a relief.

Just a white light. So white. So bright.

Stop yelling at me.

No. I said, no.

Mark Peight. Go away.

But wait, Mark was a small boy. That was odd. His hair was not cut close to his head like the English. So innocent. So … so pathetic?

She reached out her arms.

Come, Mark Peight.

But wait.

Behind Mark Peight—a large, rotund man. He was smiling, talking, persuading. He had a whip. A real whip. Not a quirt.

Come, Mark.

That bright light was so annoying.

“Sadie! Sadie! Can you hear me? Wiggle your toes. Lift your finger.”

Well, forget that. Duh, people. I can’t do that.

“I think she’s hearing us, but she doesn’t seem to be able to do what we’re asking.”

“Sadie! Sadie!”

What in the world was Mam doing here on Sloam’s Ridge by the gray rock? She had better get up to the road. She’d fall and hurt herself. And now she was crying, rocking herself back and forth, back and forth, moaning, mumbling.

“Schtup sell, Mam. Do net.”

“We’re going to inject a solution into her veins. If she is close to being conscious, this will completely revive her within 30 seconds. If it doesn’t work, she will sleep much longer.”

Who was that?

The lights were too bright. She couldn’t open her eyes. She wanted to leave them closed. The lights reminded her of summer daisies when the sun hit them just so in the morning when the dew was still on them.