Disappearances (32 page)

The law was busy, the way it sounded, but events of this scale took time and patience, so life went on. People lived their lives the way they do, going about their work and events, putting the horse thieves in the background until another article was printed in the paper.

Erma Keim’s wedding was only two weeks away now. Sadie was eagerly looking forward to being a table waiter with Mark, her handsome, complicated husband.

She made a new dusty purple dress, the color and fabric Erma had chosen for her table waiters. She spent many hours at the sewing machine, getting the dress just right, using a wet handkerchief placed on the fabric, pressing it with the sad iron heated on the front burner of the gas stove in the kitchen.

She traveled to the town of Butte to buy Erma an expensive sheet set and bought a drip coffeepot from Fred Ketty, who informed Sadie it was the single most brilliant non-electric appliance anyone had ever come up with, saying she never had a bad cup of coffee since she owned one. Sadie laughingly told Fred Ketty she was going to miss Erma Keim terribly and planned on having coffee with her on a regular basis, before realizing she had almost given away her secret.

Her eyes narrowing shrewdly, Fred Ketty asked, “Why?”

“Oh, I … I … She’ll likely be quitting at the ranch,” Sadie answered, completely flustered.

“But you don’t know.”

The eyes behind the plain glasses bore into hers, until Sadie was every bit as uncomfortable as a guilty person at a cross-examination. She exited the store as soon as she possibly could and vowed never to go back until the news was out.

No doubt about it, that woman was one shrewd person. If you forgot Mam’s words about judging someone, her store could be much better if she put more physical labor into it, which sounded better than the word “lazy.”

Jim and Dorothy were invited.

Dorothy was in a stew, buying a new dress at Sears for herself and one for March, as she had taken to calling Marcellus. Dorothy was never able to pronounce the name properly, often saying Marcelona. Jim had a good Sunday suit, and Louis was fitted into one last fall for Sunday school, so he could wear that.

She was worried about the seating arrangement, saying there was no way she was going to sit on a hard wooden bench for three hours listening to a minister talking in German, unable to understand a word he said. Sadie assured her there were always folding chairs for the English people, and they wouldn’t need to arrive until the service was half over. And no, she would not have to get on her knees. Sadie said she could sit while the congregation knelt for prayers, fervently hoping she would have the humility to keep her eyes downcast, instead of checking everyone out with her bright, bird-like eyes.

And then, because she knew how much she would miss Dorothy when her time at the ranch was over, her nose burned and quick tears sprang to her eyes, and she had to turn her head away so Dorothy wouldn’t see.

The day of the wedding arrived, the morning frosty, the sun bursting over the mountaintop as if it shone for Steven and Erma alone. Spring was on the sun’s rays, warming Mark and Sadie through the windows of the buggy, Truman trotting briskly, his coat shining from Mark’s careful brushing.

The lap robe felt cozy on her lap. Mark looked so handsome in his white shirt and black suit, his beard neatly washed and trimmed, his black felt hat just right. The back seat held the wedding gifts wrapped in silver-and-white-striped paper, with white ribbon and bows, a large wedding card attached with Scotch tape.

As they approached the home of the Detweilers, the family who had kindly offered to host the wedding service, teams were arriving from both directions, the occupants dressed in their wedding best, smiling happily, everyone glad to participate in Erma’s special day.

The wedding dinner was to be at the Yoder home about a half-mile away, so that was their destination, being table waiters, helping with the preparations in the morning, then sitting in the congregation to see them being joined together as man and wife by the minister.

Sam Yoder had a large shop that was painted and cleaned to perfection for the wedding. Long tables were set up along each wall, with tables in the middle of the room as well, seating as many as 150 to 200 people at a time. White tablecloths covered the tables, with white Corelle dishes at each place. It all looked so clean, white, and elegant.

When Sadie spied Steven and Erma’s corner, the table where the bride and groom would be seated, she put a hand to her mouth, reducing the gasp to a mere intake of breath. Oh, my goodness, she thought. Fiesta-ware! Typical of Erma Keim. The dishes were every color of the rainbow, brilliant colors meant for a very modern, young kitchen or dining room. The plates were fire-engine red, the dessert plates an electric lime-green. The serving bowls were about the color of a cloudless summer sky, the water pitcher a Crayola yellow. The tablecloth, thankfully, was off-white, with orange napkins. But would it have made any difference if it was a lilac purple?

When she heard a girlish whisper behind her, followed by a genuine snicker, she turned on her heel and frowned at Lavina and Emma Nissley.

“Hey, it’s her day, her choice. If she likes these colors, then we need to respect it.”

She marched off, her thoughts tumbling over each other. There had been a time when she may have been those girls. No more. Erma Keim was as close to a saint as she could imagine anyone to be. She may be short with her temper at times, but she would do anything for anyone, uncomplaining, happy to be of assistance to the lowest of people. So what if her hair was never combed quite right or her covering was wrinkled? So she was over 30, marrying a man of questionable appearance. They would be happier than most other couples, of this she was positive.

And when she sat amid the congregation and listened to the minister pronounce them man and wife, she cried. When they stood to pray for them, Sadie added a fervent prayer of thanks for providing a husband for this deserving girl.

Surprisingly, Erma’s hair looked decent on this day of her wedding, as did her covering. Steven was smiling all day, his small blue eyes radiating joy alongside his glowing bride. And when they sat down to enjoy their wedding dinner together, the glow of the brilliant dishes could not have matched better.

With Mark beside her, Sadie served dish after dish of fried chicken, mashed potatoes mounded high in serving bowls, a river of browned butter dripping down the sides, bright peas and carrots steaming in separate dishes, piles of thick, buttered noodles, stuffing, and salads arranged on oblong platters. They filled and refilled hundreds of water glasses, took away empty serving bowls, passed gravy and homemade dinner rolls.

The air was festive and joyous, the community celebrating this day of love and happiness for Steven and Erma.

When they saw the piles of wedding gifts, Erma let out such an unladylike roar of surprise. A few babies began crying. She clapped both hands to her mouth, then apologized and just stood there, rocking back and forth from heel to toe, her eyes protruding scarily, her hair completely gone awry.

Erma’s day had come. She was the center of attention. Her mother and the dear relatives all knew what this day meant to her, and they had given lavishly. Sixteen-quart stainless steel kettles, more than one! Large wooden racks to dry their laundry! A laundry cart to put the clothes basket on so she wouldn’t have to bend over, which Sadie knew she would never use, as bending over came easily to Erma, her tall sturdy form fluid in its movement. There were clothes hampers, a canister set, a mountain of Tupperware products, lanterns, shovels, hoes, a wheelbarrow, a gas grill.

After the initial shock, Erma seemed to remember to preserve her blessing, becoming quite sedate, a murmured word of joy in Steven’s ear, a humble thank you to a special cousin, her manners completely restored, a sense of the angelic settling over her.

Sadie could only remember to thank the good Lord that Dorothy had already gone home, saying she couldn’t stand one more minute in these ridiculous shoes, knowing it was more the crowd of people that drove her crazy.

When Erma opened the large gift and found the plastic flowers covering the Styrofoam cross, she spluttered and struggled, her smile becoming lopsided until she read the wedding card from the Dollar General and found Dorothy’s signature. As Sadie smiled at her reassuringly, her smile returned, her day restored.

It was a few weeks after the wedding that she confided in Sadie that she thought it was someone’s crude joke about their age.

“Sadie, they’re graveyard flowers,” she whispered.

“I have some exactly like it in the attic with the same card,” Sadie whispered back.

Dorothy was so glad they liked their wedding gift, saying you just couldn’t beat that Dollar General.

S
ADIE WAS HUMMING UNDER
her breath as she shoved the heavy scoop into the feed bin, coming up with a tad too much, giving it a vigorous shake, a small shower of grain sliding back into the bin. Paris tossed her head, stamped her front feet against the concrete, whinnied, and just made a big fuss in general.

“Paris, you’re getting fat! You’re only getting one block of hay.”

Paris buried her nose in the sweet-smelling grain, chewing happily, her long eyelashes quivering with the rhythm of her teeth. Sadie threw one block of good hay into her rack, then opened the door, putting both arms around her neck for a long, solid hug. She laid her head against the stiff hairs of her mane and told Paris how glad she was they had beaten back the evil laminitis.

“We’ll have many years together, Paris—you and I. Someday, you can give my children a ride, and they can feed you apples and carrots. You’re still my favorite, most bestest horse.”

She stopped to scratch Truman’s face, then hurried out when she heard Jim Sevarr’s pickup grinding its way up the driveway.

Spring had finally come, the warm breezes tugging at her covering strings and lapping at her skirt as Jim opened the door of the pickup. She took a deep breath, the odor of the pines reminding her of the field of wildflowers on the ridge in the spring. There was just something about wet pine needles that left a sweet, spicy odor in the air, as if the cold and snow had preserved the scent to make everyone happy when the warm breezes melted it.

Her usual “Good morning” was met with a grunt, a toothpick shifted, then no attempt at conversation. Sadie tried, failed, then gave up, enjoying the lovely air. The green spring emerged out of bare brown nothingness, as new life was pulled up and out of the ground by the sun’s rays.

Sadie knew her days at the ranch were numbered, so each day was special. Her friendship with Dorothy had grown after she accepted the fact that Sadie was leaving her job in September, making them closer than ever. Sadie knew Erma (now Weaver, since the wedding) would take her place after Dorothy learned to accept her.

This morning, however, she met a glum Dorothy, her face drooping, her eyes red-rimmed, heavy-lidded, her mouth set in a straight line of disapproval, the very hairs on her head electric with displeasure. So Sadie swallowed the greeting on the tip of her tongue, hung up her light sweater, and tied on her apron. Dorothy was beating the biscuit dough with so much vehemence that Sadie looked for what there was to do rather than ask. Bacon done. Sausage gravy not started.

She still had the same song on her lips but hummed very quietly. Life was good. Truly. The nausea was past, leaving her energized, ravenously hungry, enjoying her food more than ever. She read cookbooks, tried new recipes, offered to bake pies wherever church services were held, always appreciating the fact that she was no longer sick to her stomach.

She was crumbling the sausage into the brown butter, the steam rising to her face, when Erma breezed in, her hair looking worse than ever, her covering sliding off the back of her head, her face pink with the pleasure of being alive.

“Good morning, my ladies!” she yelled, stopping to receive their returned well wishes.

Sadie lifted a finger to her lips, drew her eyebrows down, and rolled her eyes in Dorothy’s direction. Erma raised her eyebrows, lifted her shoulders, then lowered them. Sadie shook her head.

“Sorry I’m late. We got up a bit later than usual. I told Steven we’re starting to make it a habit.”

She said it with so much happiness that Dorothy told her abruptly they didn’t need to know they got up later than normal, in a voice that left no doubt to her objection.

There were no breaks, no coffee, just quiet, efficient work. Sadie cleaned bathrooms until lunchtime, a pleasure to scrub and polish, the bathroom cleaner’s scent no longer making her ill.

At lunchtime she was ravenous, returning to the kitchen to fix herself some food. She remembered last night’s pot roast, planning the sandwich she would build. She stopped short when she found Dorothy, her face buried in her hands, her plump shoulders shaking.

“Dorothy!”

Immediately, Sadie was on her knees beside her.

“Don’t cry. Dorothy. What’s wrong?”

“They’re takin’ my children,” was all Sadie could fathom between the loud honks into her handkerchief.