Wild Horses (Sadie's Montana #1)(76)
Chapter 21
IT WAS SUNDAY. NOT just an ordinary Sunday, but one of those rare days when the breeze is cool, the sun is pleasantly warm, and there are so many puffy, white clouds in the sky that you can lie on your back and find all sorts of shapes and animals and maybe even one that looks like a person you know.
Sadie sat on the glossy, oak bench at the Daniel Bontrager home and tried not to tap her fingers on the windowsill beside her. She also tried not to gaze out the window too much, but instead keep her focus on the visiting minister and the sermon he was preaching.
He was a portly, older gentleman from somewhere in Pennsylvania, and his voice had a thin, squeaky quality that was sort of endearing. His short beard wagged methodically as he expounded upon the Scriptures, telling the congregation about the seriousness of this life here on earth and encouraging them to shoulder the cross and follow the Lord Jesus, even in their younger years.
Sadie gazed unseeingly, knowing deep inside that her very own personal cross to bear was none other than Mark Peight’s disappearance. It would not become any easier just yet.
She had been so sure that God had plopped Mark Peight straight down from heaven. She had been so in love—was still so in love. She remembered the way he walked, the depth of his brown eyes, and his quiet ways. He never talked much at all, but when he did, the sound of his voice was like music. She loved to hear him talk, hanging onto every word and being warmed by the sound of his voice.
She sighed. Some things weren’t meant to be.
She supposed if she could catch Paris—if that was possible—she’d be happy to have a horse of her own again, which was, after all, something.
Rebekah leaned over and whispered, “I need a tissue.”
Sadie lifted her apron and dug into her pocket.
“Don’t have one,” she whispered back.
The minister droned on.
A fly buzzed by and settled on the windowsill. Sadie watched it and wondered how some people could catch houseflies in their hands the way they did. She had often tried but only hurt the palm of her hand, and the fly flew off unscathed.
She hoped her family would go somewhere this evening. She had been to the ridge only once all week and had not seen a trace of any of the horses. The feed, apples, and salt had all disappeared—every speck of them—but did the horses eat it? She could be feeding horses, deer, elk, even bears, although that was unlikely.
She did not want to go to the supper that would be held for the youth later in the day. She had to come up with a good excuse not to go, one that would be believable to her sisters.
There was always the flu bug going around, which was a good reason for staying in her room feigning serious stomach ailments, but that hardly ever worked with Leah. She could let Reuben in on her secret and then give her sister a whole sad row about Reuben needing to spend more time with her. No, that would be risky.
She looked for Reuben across the room where the men and boys sat facing the women. He was between two larger boys and looked small and innocent. He also looked very, very bored.
She caught his eye and gave him the slightest wink. He grinned and ducked his head, embarrassed at the boldness of his sister.
Sadie smiled, then felt a rush of excitement. She would let him in on her secret after all. He would love every minute of their excursions. He always loved even the thought of an adventure.
After the strains of the last hymn died away, Sadie filed out with the rest of the girls. They crowded together in a corner of the kitchen, waiting until the tables were set up.
Men turned the benches into tables by setting them on legs built for that purpose. The women brought armloads of clean, white tablecloths and spread them on top of the tables. The girls helped carry trays of peanut butter spread, cheese, ham, pickles, spiced red beets, butter, and huge platters of thickly sliced homemade bread, whole wheat on one side and white on the other. They placed a saucer, coffee cup, tumbler, knife, and fork at each setting along the lengthy tables.
Pitchers of water appeared like magic and glasses were filled. Pies—peach, blueberry, raspberry, custard, pumpkin, even a few mince pies—all found their way to the middle of the table.
The men were called in by the person who lived in the home where church was held, and they filed in by their age, the ministers going first. The women sat at a long table next to the men. The ministers’ wives sat down first. The rest of the women sat in order by age.
They bowed their heads in silent prayer. Servers offered coffee to each individual, the only hot item for the traditional dinner at church. It was all very organized, although an English person wouldn’t be able to tell upon observing. The women were constantly moving, the children dodged in and out, and the noise of conversation was amplified by the sheer number of people assembled in one large room.
Sadie ate hungrily, slathering the thick, gooey peanut butter spread on a heavy slice of whole wheat bread, deciding once again that it was truly the best thing ever. If you sat on a hard bench for three hours straight without any breakfast, the lunch at church was simply the most delicious food.
Sadie chewed the rich, nutty-tasting whole wheat bread accompanied by the sticky sweetness of peanut butter, marshmallow cream, and molasses. Spicy little red beets, pickles, and ham on another slice of white bread, washed down with the fragrant, hot coffee, rounded out the meal. Now she was ready for the grand finale, which was pie, of course.
Of all the pies at church, Sadie always watched for pumpkin. It was her all-time favorite. Pumpkin pie was sweet and custardy and shivery all at the same time, with a spicy flavor that perfectly complemented her cup of hot, black coffee. At home when Mam made pumpkin pie, Sadie spooned Cool Whip on top, but at church there was no extra Cool Whip so she ate it without.