Wild Horses (Sadie's Montana #1)(68)

Rebekah offered to walk down and bring Anna and Reuben home. Dat took to wringing his hands, pacing, muttering to himself. Leah cried quietly.

Sadie stood on the porch not knowing what to do next. What did a person do when their mother was missing? She had prayed, was still praying.

Yet the sun shone on as brightly as ever, the snow sparkled, the branches waved in the midday breeze. The day went on as if all was as normal as ever. But a sense of unreality pervaded Sadie’s senses. Suddenly it seemed as if this was not happening at all. Surely Mam would come walking out of the bedroom or up from the basement, bustling about like usual, her hair combed neatly, her white covering pinned to her graying hair, the pleats in her dress hanging just right the way they always did.

Mam, please, where are you? she cried, silently.

Rebekah came panting up the driveway, Anna and Reuben beside her, lunch buckets in tow. Anna was crying. Reuben was wide-eyed and grim, bravely battling his tears.

So she had told them.

They all went into the kitchen, trying to reason among themselves.

Now what?

Call the police?

Certainly.

Suddenly, Anna sat upright and, without a word, walked swiftly to her parent’s bedroom. They heard the closet doors open, close quietly, then open again.

“Sadie, come here,” she called.

Sadie looked questioningly at her sisters, then went to her parent’s room. She found Anna standing, looking up at the top closet shelf.

“It’s gone, Sadie!”

“What? What’s gone?”

“Her suitcase. Their suitcase. The big one.”

Sadie’s heart sank as she joined Anna at the closet door.

“Oh, Anna. It is.”

“Sadie, I heard her. I was working on my English at the kitchen table about a week ago, and she was puttering around the way she does and talking to herself. She kept saying over and over, “Ya vell. Tzell home gay. Tzell.”

“Why didn’t you tell us, Anna?”

“She often talks to herself and no one pays attention.”

“Oh, I know. I know.”

They hurried to the kitchen, telling the rest what Anna had said.

The news was Dat’s undoing. He bent his head, shook it back and forth. No one spoke as Dat fought with his own thoughts. It seemed as if they could see his spirit breaking before them, a thin, glass vase shattering beneath the weight of a heavy object, ground to a thousand pieces, shattered with the knowledge of what he had always known. He had put his will before his wife’s. He had loved his own life instead of giving it for her. He had not loved his wife as Christ loved the church.

He had wanted to move to Montana so badly. He had. And they had all honored his wishes as happily and contentedly as possible.

But was it right?

When he broke down in great, awful sobs, five pairs of arms encircled him, held him up. They were the arms of angels for Jacob Miller.





Chapter 19




IT WAS AN UNUSUAL thing, an Amish girl hugging her father. In an Amish home, love was an unspoken attitude, as common and as comfortable as the air you breathed or the clothes you wore. No one said “I love you” or hugged you, but there was no need. Home, church, school, it was all an atmosphere of safety. Because of this love and safety, everyone had a place and belonged. There was no need to find oneself. Your parents had already found you on the day you were born into the well-structured Amish heritage.

But seeing Dat’s bent head and his heaving shoulders was more than any of them could bear, so surrounding him with their arms seemed the most natural thing in the world.

When they stepped back a bit self-consciously, Dat kept his head lowered. Digging into his worn, denim trouser pockets, he procured his wrinkled, red handkerchief, shook it, and blew his nose. Then he removed his glasses and wiped his eyes.

“Ach, my,” he sighed.

The girls stood silently surrounding him, supporting him with their quiet presence. Reuben marched to the cupboard, swiping viciously at his eyes. The set of his shoulders said how shameful it was for a big guy like him to be crying. He opened the cupboard door, yanked at a glass, and went to the refrigerator to pour himself a glass of milk.

He sat down at the table, took a sip, then said angrily, “Well, I guess if Mam went so far as to take a suitcase, we better call the police.”

Dat looked at Reuben, unseeing.

“Somebody better go out to the phone shanty and dial 911.”

Did they actually have to?

Sadie took a deep breath to steady herself.

“Well?”

“If the police arrive, we all need to make sense. We have to tell the whole truth, Dat. She’s mentally unstable and has been for…”

“Longer than any of you know,” Dat groaned, holding his head in his hands.

Leah raised her eyebrows and looked at Rebekah.

“I … I persuaded her for much, much too long to carry on for her children’s sake. I kept telling her there was nothing wrong—that it was all in her head. I told her to swallow all the pills she wanted, but to keep it from all of you, the church, and our community. No one needed to know.”

He stopped, averted his eyes.

“This is my fault. She cried during the night. She cried a lot. She wanted to go back home to Ohio. I thought she’d get over it. It’s worse in the wintertime.”