Wild Horses (Sadie's Montana #1)(88)

Sadie chuckled at Eva’s two sheets of questions about the trip. It was so typical of Eva and so dear. They shared everything, every little detail of their lives, including Mark Peight, the ranch, Dorothy, Richard Caldwell, Mam’s mental illness. They held nothing back, which was why they had a continuing friendship that began when they were little first-graders in the one-room school they both attended.

Sadie sighed as she replaced the papers in the envelope. It was a long time to wait. Christmas seemed far away—another time, another world.

She heard Reuben unlock the bathroom door and walk into the kitchen to Mam.

“Why, Reuben, where were you? I had almost forgotten about you.”

“In the bathroom,” Reuben said in the gruffest, manliest voice he could possible muster.

“You’ve been in there awhile then.”

“Yeah. You know we’re getting company tonight?”

“Sadie told me.”

“They shouldn’t come here. All they want is our…those horses anyhow.”

Mam nodded.

“We’ll see, Reuben.”

Mam tidied the kitchen while Sadie and Reuben informed Dat about the company. Mam made a pot of coffee and arranged her famous apricot cookies on a plate. The cookies were not filled with apricots but with apricot jam mixed with other things. They were soft and sweet and crumbly and delicious, and no one made them the way Mam did.

Eventually a large silver SUV wound its way up their driveway. No one was very thrilled at the sound of its tires on crunching gravel, although no one said as much. It wouldn’t be polite, and certainly not a Christian attitude to be inhospitable to company.

Dat greeted the two men at the door, invited them in, and introduced them to Mam. She shook hands with them, welcoming them into their home.

Richard Caldwell was even louder than usual, nervously talking nonstop, his face flushed, his eyes bearing a certain excitement. Harold Ardwin was very professional, smiling only enough to be polite. Mustaches did that to a person, though. A heavy mustache just sort of lifted up or settled back down, covering any smile that might be underneath it. An Amish man’s beard wagged a lot when he talked, and his smile was bare and unhampered so you knew if he was sincere or not.

“Where are Sadie and Reuben?” Richard Caldwell thundered.

Sadie imagined Mam wincing, not being used to those decibels of sound.

Sadie moved out to the kitchen. She had showered, changed clothes, combed her hair neatly, and pinned her white covering perfectly in place. She had chosen a navy blue dress, which she fervently hoped would make her seem older.

“Hello,” she said quietly.

“You clean up well, Sadie,” Richard Caldwell said, laughing.

Harold Ardwin said nothing.

They talked about the weather, the price of beef, the logging industry, the carpentry trade, anything but the horses.

Dusk was bringing shadows into the room, so Sadie got up and flicked a lighter beneath the mantle of the propane gas light. With a soft pop, it ignited, casting the room into a bright, yellow light.

Richard Caldwell was impressed, telling Dat so, but Harold Ardwin watched the soft hissing mantles carefully. He was clearly uncomfortable with his first encounter in an Amish home without electricity. Sadie stifled a giggle as he moved his chair farther away from the oak stand that contained the light.

After the light was lit, Mam and the girls served coffee. Both men drank their coffee hot and black and ate a countless amount of Mam’s cookies. Richard Caldwell was profuse in his praise of her.

Then, as suddenly as the light popped on, Harold Ardwin said, “We watched your son and daughter this evening—late afternoon, really—riding the wild horses, which …are mine.”

Dat blinked, listening carefully.

“I’m sure you know plenty of the local people have always felt these horses weren’t mustangs.”

Dat nodded.

“Horse thieves are notorious in our region. We still don’t have all the pieces of this jigsaw puzzle, but I do know that Richard Caldwell here contacted me, told me the story of your daughter and her wild horses, and led me to her. It’s impressive, what she’s done.”

There was a pause. No one breathed, it seemed.

“So, as a reward to her—to all of you—for finding Black Thunder, I give Butterfly and Sasha to you. One is for Sadie, and one for Reuben.”

Sadie wanted to say something but couldn’t. She tried. She even opened her mouth, but it sort of closed on its own and not one word escaped. She was shaken back to reality by Reuben’s very loud and very sincere, “Thanks a lot. Thank you!”

He looked at Sadie as if to say, “Come on. Duh.”

Sadie opened her mouth, and it instantly turned into a shaky mass like jello. Her nose burned and tears swam to the surface. She swallowed hard, tried to smile, but could only bite her lip as those despised tears slid down her cheeks.

Richard Caldwell knew Sadie and saw it all. Quickly he was at her side, his arm around her shoulders.

“It’s true, Sadie,” he said gruffly, his voice thick with emotion.

Sadie nodded, swiped at the moisture on her cheeks, and whispered, “Thank you.”

Harold Ardwin smiled then, a smile even the mustache could not diminish. He watched Sadie’s face, and a softening came to his eyes.

“You love those horses, don’t you?”