Wild Horses (Sadie's Montana #1)(85)
That evening when Sadie knelt by her bed, she thanked God for the wonderful way he had shown her family the horses. Her heart was full of gratitude, and she fell into bed tired, but so happy that she felt sure she would be smiling while she slept.
Despite her utter happiness, her mind turned to Mark Peight as it always did when she drifted off to sleep. The thought of him always brought a certain void, a question mark hanging in the air that never ceased to fill her with an unnamed longing, a particular kind of remorse.
Why? Why had he entered her life for so short a span? Why had he almost asked her for a date? But no. He had asked her, and she had said yes. Then Mam became ill, and he disappeared to Pennsylvania.
Was he still there? Would she ever see him again?
She truly did not know God’s plan for her life as far as a husband was concerned. Ezra was taken from her, and she supposed Mark was very much a dream. Loving Mark had been much more than she had ever imagined, but he had also been taken.
Or…he just went.
It was maddening. It was also ridiculous. He was simply a great big chicken. Albeit, a good-looking chicken.
Sadie giggled, then buried her face in her pillow and cried great, fat tears of longing and frustration.
It would be different if she could do something about it, but she couldn’t. Amish girls did not ask someone out or write a letter or try to find him or whatever a person could do. It was simply not done.
Girls were supposed to be shy and chaste, waiting until someone asked them for a date, which happened for most of them. Sometimes a girl couldn’t wait and went ahead and asked a guy out. But girls who did that were considered fast and didn’t usually fare as well with guys, once they got serious about finding a wife.
Well, she wasn’t going to hop on Amtrak or hire a driver or book a flight on an airliner to go traipsing off looking for Mark Peight.
She wondered who the Melvin Peachey was the visitng minister had talked about. He had known her family.
Melvin Peachy.
Mark Peight.
Suppose it had been him?
Sadie yawned, sleepiness settling over her like a warm blanket. She rolled onto her side, blinked at a twinkling star in the night sky, and thought drowsily, “I wish I may, I wish I might have Mark Peight here with me tonight.”
It was a silly school-girl rhyme, but a sincere young girl’s heart longing for the love of her life.
Sadie made daily visits to the ridge now, sometimes accompanied by Reuben, sometimes by Anna, and sometimes by her other sisters. She much preferred Reuben’s company, for the simple reason that he now shared her love of horses. He had learned to stroke the horses, and they followed him willingly wherever he went with the feed.
Sadie and Reuben studied an old Indian book explaining the method of handling horses with a rope. Dat had told them very firmly that they were not allowed to put a halter or a bridle on any of them, figuring that would put a stop to any thought of riding them.
Sadie felt a wee bit guilty for riding when Dat hoped she wouldn’t, sort of like sneaking a cookie out of the Tupperware container in the pantry an hour before suppertime. But it wasn’t as if they galloped dangerously around the field. It was more like giving pony rides at a kiddie petting zoo.
One thing led to another after they pored over the old Indian book. They simply put the rope around the horse’s neck. Stopping, starting, and going left or right was much like neck reining, which Sadie was already used to. She accomplished that with a mere shifting of her body.
It had been a memorable evening when Reuben helped her climb onto Paris’ back. She was unaccustomed to the feeling of riding bareback, especially without a bridle, so she felt a bit at odds. Her knees shook and her breath came in short gasps, making her mouth feel dry.
She laughed nervously when Reuben told her to calm down, that Paris wasn’t going anywhere.
It was quite unlike anything she had ever experienced, the dizzying height of the horse, along with the feeling of riding a horse with no bridle, and then Reuben walking along, assuring her that Paris wasn’t going anywhere.
It was exhilarating, a freedom Sadie reveled in, a butterfly emerging from the stuffiness of its larva.
In time, Reuben rode the brown mare and Sadie rode Paris. Sometimes they walked and sometimes they trotted until they perfected the rope technique. In a month, there was no holding back. They raced through the wildflowers, the black stallion watching or sometimes running along beside them.
The days were long, and their evenings together remained the joy of their lives. Their faces turned brown and their hair lightened in the summer sun. They formed an unbreakable bond, their horses the tie that bound them.
One evening as they sat side by side, their horses grazing quietly, Sadie voiced her longing to have Paris in the barn.
Reuben wagged his head wisely.
“Can’t do it, Sadie!”
“I know.”
“It’s too risky.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“One more ride?”
“Race ya!”
Sadie hopped up, ran over to Paris, grabbed a handful of her mane, and leaped up from the side, the way they had practiced over and over. Reuben was more agile, bounding up as if he had wings on his shoulder blades.
The horses lifted their heads, wheeled in the direction the riders’ knees prodded, and were off flying through the long field of grass. Hooves pounded, and the grass made a funny sort of rustling noise, an insistent whisper like a weaving sound.