Wild Horses (Sadie's Montana #1)(54)

“Okay”

Don’t hang up. Don’t. She lurched into desperation.

“Mark, Nevaeh is missing. We … our uncles are here and they put their horses in the barn, and now Nevaeh is not in his stall. We have no idea where he is. And Mark, have you heard of the wild horses—the ones that presumably are running the ridges? The state game lands? I’m just afraid, I mean, what could possibly have happened to Nevaeh? He was in his stall this morning. Dat said he was. There is no gate broken down, no sign of a scuffle, nothing. I’m so terribly worried.”

“Do you want me to come over?”

“Well, where are you? What would Dat say? I mean…”

“I’ll be over.”

Click.

Sadie held the receiver away from her ear, panic rising in her throat.

Mark! No! You can’t come here. Nobody knows you. You’re English, sort of.

Sadie sat and stared out the window at the day’s disappearing light. Her hair was a mess, her nose a shiny red, no doubt, and she had stuffed herself with all that food! Groaning inwardly she got up, swung herself through the snow, and wondered how long before he got there.

Yanking open the door to the house, she hobbled through, banged her crutches against the wall, and shrugged out of her coat without bothering to hang it up. Now if she could just get upstairs without anyone noticing, she’d be all right.

“Sadie! Who was on the phone?” This from Dat.

She kept going, hoping he wouldn’t ask again.

“Sadie! Come here. Who was on the phone?”

Resignedly, her shoulders slumped, she turned obediently into the living room.

“It was Mark Peight.”

“Who?”

Her uncles stopped drinking their coffee, a chocolate-covered Ritz cracker held in midair.

“Just someone I know. He’s coming over to help look for Nevaeh.”

“He doesn’t need to. We’ll find him. We’re going to head out soon.”

“Well, he says he’s coming over.”

The men resumed their talking and she turned, grinding her teeth in frustration.

Parents! Nosey old things. Why did Dat have to act so grosfeelich in front of Samuel and Levi?

Panting, she reached the top of the stairs. Rebekah and Leah were in their rooms unpacking Christmas gifts. Sadie decided not to say anything—just go to her room and fix her hair.

Which dress?

Oh, my.

Just leave this one on? No, she spilled gravy on the front. Red? No, she had worn it at the mall. Blue? She had a gazillion blue dresses. Green? She looked ugly in green. Well, not the deep, deep forest green with nice sleeves. Anna said that color made her eyes look blue for sure and her skin a beautiful olive color. Anna was a bit dramatic. Whoever heard of olive skin? Well, forest green it was.

Her back ached and her arms slumped wearily as she put the final hairpin into her wrecked hair. She felt as if her strength would never return, sometimes being impatient with her lack of energy.

She had experienced trauma, she knew. Ezra was gone, and sometimes, at the oddest moments, she missed his kind face. Always she was glad she had planned on dating and marrying him. She would have. But in all things there is a reason. This is what she was taught.

God knew what he was doing from his throne on high. The ministers assured everyone in the congregation about this. God had a plan for each individual life and cared about each one. When things like the accident happened, you had to bow your head in true submission, saying, “Thy will be done.” It afforded a certain peace in the end, if you could mean it.

Sadie had gone through moments of self-blame. She wondered if she was false-hearted and if she should not have gone with Ezra that fateful evening. Her sisters assured her those thoughts were the devil trying to destroy her, and she needed to be watchful. What would you do without sisters? They were, indeed, the most precious thing God had ever thought about creating.

When two heads appeared at her door and two more nosey questions were thrown into the room, Sadie grinned.

“Oh, someone’s coming to help look for Nevaeh.”

Rebekah came in and plunked herself on Sadie’s bed.

“Let me guess. Mark Peight or Mark Peight or Mark Peight?”

Sadie whirled, throwing her hairbrush.

“Smarty!”

He showed up then, and in a horse and buggy, too. Sadie could tell it was not his team. It was an “old people’s” horse and buggy. The difference was plain to see. The youth had sparkling, clean, new buggies with lots of reflectors and pretty things hung inside the windows. There was brightly-colored upholstery on the walls and seats and matching carpet on the floor. The horse’s harness was usually gaily decorated as well, with shining collar hames, a colorful collar pad, and a bridle studded with silver.

This horse and buggy looked exactly like the one her parents’ had. It was clean but dull, with a black, traditional harness without silver or color—a very Amish team.

Just as English youth enjoy a nice car, so it was with the Amish buggies. Sadie often thought about that. Youth were youth, each one trying to be someone—nature’s way of calling for a mate. Wasn’t that true? She had never said that. It sounded too … well, sort of primitive or a bit vulgar perhaps, depending who heard you say it.

English people liked to think Amish people were elevated a bit or in a highly esteemed place, and so just a bit better than they were. Hopefully the Amish were good, although Sadie knew they were certainly also human. Sadie guessed, that some areas, their heritage was a God-given thing, a gift they had acquired at birth. She wondered if Mark truly had been born and raised in an Amish home.