Wild Horses (20 page)

“Just bring me whatever you’re having,” Sadie said, looking up at him.

“Okay.”

He shouldered his way through the crowd, and Sadie relaxed. She smoothed her hair and straightened her covering, hoping she looked all right.

When she spied him carrying a tray, she marveled again at his height. He had to be over six feet tall.

Why did he claim to be Amish? He sure didn’t look like an Amish person. Perhaps she shouldn’t be here.

He set the tray carefully between them.

“Cheese steak for me, and one for you,” he said grinning.

Sadie eyed the huge sandwich and laughed.

“I’ll never eat that whole thing!”

They ate big bites of the fragrant, cheesy sandwiches as onions, peppers, and tomato sauce slid down their fingers and onto their plates. Mark brought more napkins. They laughed and talked about everyday things. Mark ate his whole sandwich and what remained of hers. Then he sat back and looked at her quite seriously.

“I am from the Amish, you know. I really am. My parents still live where I was born and raised—in Buffalo Valley, Pennsylvania.”

Sadie looked up, questioningly.

“Why do you look English?”

He shrugged his shoulders, then a cloak of anger settled over his features. He looked away, out over the sea of people, his eyes completely empty of any feeling or emotion.

Finally, he turned back to her.

“I am Amish, Sadie. I was raised Amish. The strictest sect. I suppose I lost faith in any plain person, not just the Amish. In anyone who dresses in a pious manner and is…” He stopped, his fingers crumpling napkins restlessly.

“Ah well. I have no business being here with you. I know what I am. You are … like a beautiful flower, and for you to be with me … It just wouldn’t be right.”

He pushed back the tray, then gripped the table as if to leave.

“You know that time I went to the hymn-singing? I went just to find you. Seriously. I know I can’t have you, but I … guess I get a kick out of tormenting myself by spending time with you.”

“Why do you put yourself down like that? Why do you say such things?” Sadie lifted troubled eyes to him.

“Let’s change the subject. Tell me about the horse.”

Sadie knew she had lost him. That certain trust, as delicate as a drop of dew, was gone. So she told him about Nevaeh, and his eyes turned soft when she explained why she named him that.

“You must really like horses,” Mark said.

“Oh, I do. Just certain ones, though. Like Paris.”

“Who?”

“Paris. She was my other horse, back home in Ohio.”

“Why ‘Paris?’”

Sadie blushed, shrugged her shoulders, then surprised herself by telling him every detail of her days with Eva and Paris. He listened, his eyes watching her face. He took in her emotion, her perfect eyes, her exquisite features, filing the images away in his heart for future examination.

When she stopped, he said, “You still didn’t tell me the reason for naming your horse Paris.”

“Maybe someday I will, but you’ll think I’m silly and sentimental.”

His eyebrow arched.

“Someday?”

“I mean … What?”

She was flustered now, embarrassed, floundering for something to say.

Why had she said that? Maybe because she wanted to see him again. Maybe because she wanted to be with him. And she wanted to tell him that. Oh, how she wanted to!

And then they were surrounded by three very worried and very excited sisters. There were shopping bags, ice cream cones, soft pretzels, and tacos. All talked and ate and admonished.

Mark stood up, smiled, acknowledged the introductions, and was gone through the crowd.

Sadie finished her Christmas shopping in a daze—exhausted, but so happy that she thought she might just float off the wheelchair.

He was not like other young Amish men. When would she ever see him again? And how?

E
ARLY CHRISTMAS MORNING, THE
moon slid down below the tree line, making the silver-white and darkly shadowed landscape seem like night. In winter, there were very few night sounds at the Miller home—perhaps a falling icicle or the creak of the log house, wood falling a bit lower in the great wood stove or one of the horses stamping his feet or snorting.

The Miller family was sound asleep, even Reuben, who seemed to have endless energy on Christmas Eve. He had helped the girls wrap gifts, prepared food, ran in needless circles, bounced on the sofa, slammed the handle on the side of the recliner until he almost upset it, lost the Scotch tape, spilled the whole box of name tags, and was finally sent to bed long before he deemed it necessary.

At a very early hour, however, Reuben sat up. He sat straight up—his mouth dry, his heart pounding. He had heard a sound. It was not a usual night sound of little clunks or squeaks. It was a larger sound, a harder sound. Not a distant gunshot. Not snow sliding off the roof. It was the kind of sound that woke you right up and instantly made you afraid, although you hardly ever found out what it was.

He turned the little plastic Coleman lantern that was his alarm clock and peered at the illuminated numbers. Four-thirty. It was Christmas!

He wanted to get up but knew he’d be in big trouble with the girls. That was the whole thing about having only sisters. They were bossy and sometimes downright mean. Like that Sadie last night. Whoever heard of someone getting so mad about the Scotch tape?

Reuben lay back, listening and thinking. There were some seriously big packages on the drop-leaf table in the living room, and that thought kept him awake after hearing the rumble in the dark.

Whoa! There it was again!

Reuben rolled over, pulled the flannel patchwork quilt way up over his head, and burrowed deeply into his pillow. Maybe there was a cougar in the barn. Or a wolf. Or a coyote. Likely all three.

That was the end of Reuben’s night. The nighttime sounds, along with the thoughts of the brightly wrapped and beribboned packages, kept him awake.

Finally, there was the sound of Dat lighting the gas lamp downstairs and filling the teakettle for the boiling, hot water he poured over his Taster’s Choice coffee.

Reuben sat up, swung his legs across the bed, and without further hesitation, dashed out of his room. Slamming the door unnecessarily and pounding noisily down the stairs, Reuben slid into the kitchen and grinned up at Dat.

“Hey!”

“Is it Christmas yet?” Reuben asked, his hair tousled and bearing that famous bunched-up look in the back. If he’d only rinse his hair properly and not sleep on it wet.

Amish boys don’t have their hair cut close to their heads the way English boys do. Their hair is longer and cut straight across the forehead, then bowl-shaped and a bit lower in the back. That is the
Ordnung
, and no one ever thought to cut their little boy’s hair any different. It is just the way of it.

Reuben’s hair, and that messed up bunch of it in the back, was the source of many battles between him and his sisters. Rebekah, the worst of them all, told him if he didn’t start using conditioner and rinse his hair better, she was going to march right into the bathroom and rinse it for him. Reuben told her if she ever dared set foot in that bathroom while he was in it, he would pour bucket after bucket of hot, soapy water all over her. And he meant it. He knew she wouldn’t think about the fact that there was no bucket in the bathroom.

Dat grinned down at Reuben.

“Yes, Reuben, it’s Christmas, that is, if you can persuade your mother and sisters.”

“Do we have to have breakfast and the Bible story before presents this year?”

“Oh, very likely. We always do.”

“May I wake the girls?”

“At your own risk,” Dat said, chuckling.

Reuben weighed his options. He could sit on the couch and think about the packages while watching the hands of the clock—which was torture—or he could go to his room again—which was worse than watching the clock or thinking about packages. Or, if he was really brave, he could knock on the girls’ bedroom doors, but that would bring some serious consequences, now wouldn’t it?

He sat back against the couch, rubbed the unruly hair on the back of his head, and sighed. Christmas shouldn’t be this way. English kids woke up and opened their packages without breakfast and a Bible story. It wasn’t fair.

Dat slurped his coffee in the kitchen, and Reuben sat on the couch watching the clock, estimating the size of the oblong package and listening for any sign of activity upstairs. Finally, when the suspense was no longer bearable—like a burn in his pant’s leg—Reuben simply marched right up the stairs and knocked loudly on each sister’s door.

There were muffled “Reuben!” sounds, but nothing very seriously angry, so he knew they were aware of Christmas morning as well as he was. They were just trying to act mature and not get too excited about it.

Eventually, they all straggled into the kitchen with their robes clutched around themselves and their hair looking a lot worse than his. Anna was the only happy one. Leah bent over the wood stove, shivering, and asked Dat why he didn’t get this thing going. Rebekah yawned and stretched. Sadie just sat there. She didn’t say anything at all. What a bunch of lazy girls!

After breakfast was eaten, everyone dressed faster than normal. Dat read the Bible story about the birth of Jesus, choking up the way he always did. Reuben knew the story of the angels, Joseph and Mary, the shepherds, and Baby Jesus. It was a good story and one he was taught to be very reverent about. This was a serious miracle, this
Chrisht Kindly
who grew up to be Jesus, the Savior of all mankind.

Reuben knew there was no Santa Claus. They weren’t allowed to have pictures of Santa Claus in school, and no one thought Santa delivered their packages. Reuben knew Mam bought them and the girls wrapped them, and likely Dat paid for them. The reason they received gifts on Christmas day was to keep the tradition of the Wise Men who brought gifts to Baby Jesus.

Finally, the story was over. Dat wiped his nose, and Mam smiled as Reuben asked, “Now?” He said “
Denke”
to Mam as nicely as he could, hoping it conveyed all the love he felt at this moment. And then, he was allowed to open his packages—that wondrous moment he had been waiting on for much too long.

He tore off the wrapping paper of the first package and sighed with the wonder of it. Here was a full-sized, very expensive, grown-up-looking football that would impress all his friends at school. The ping-pong set was an added bonus he had not expected. He squealed, pounded the arm of the couch, and yelled to Anna to come here and look right this minute. Anna screeched, and they bent their heads to examine the new, heavy paddles very closely. Then, Mam handed him another package—the biggest one of all.

Reuben looked up, questioningly.

“Are you sure this is mine, Mam?”

“Yes, Reuben. It’s for you. It was under my bed!”

Reuben’s mouth fell open.

“But … I already have a football. And a ping-pong set.”

“Open it!” Mam urged.

He couldn’t remember ever having been speechless before. He simply couldn’t think of anything to say, so he didn’t say anything at all.

It was a skateboard.

A real one.

For bigger boys.

It had a heavy, gritty top and flames painted on the bottom. Bright orange wheels finished it off. The wheels were absolutely unreal. They spun like mad. It was twice as big as anything he had ever owned.

And then Anna got one just like it, except hers was fluorescent teal—a girl color.

The whole thing was unbelievable. Reuben felt so spoiled, so completely greedy with three big items for Christmas. It almost wasn’t right.

“
Denke
, Mam!” he said, over and over, his voice thick with the emotion he felt. Anna echoed his thanks. Then they set their skateboards on the hardwood floor and tried them out through the ribbons and wrapping paper. Dat wiped his eyes again.

The girls started opening packages, but, to Reuben, it just seemed like girl things—fabric for new dresses, ice skates, dumb-looking candleholders, framed pictures that weren’t a bit pretty. They giggled and fussed and yelled their high-pitched, silly girl sounds, but Reuben wasn’t interested in all that useless stuff.

Sadie received a really nice saddle blanket, though. It was black and white, sort of like a zebra—the exact one she had always dreamed of for Paris. It would look sharp on Nevaeh.

Dat gave Mam a beautiful battery lamp for the bathroom, which made her smile a lot. Reuben wished Mam would smile the way she used to, but he figured when you got as old as Mam, you had to take a lot of pills to keep going. He guessed you were often tired and didn’t feel like smiling.

Later that morning, Sadie sat at the kitchen table chopping celery and onions, her leg propped up on a folding chair. Mam was peeling potatoes, Rebekah was putting together the date pudding, and Leah was mixing ginger ale and pineapple juice.

“Mmm! That ham smells heavenly!” Sadie sighed.

“Lets eat at eleven, instead of twelve!”

“Uncle Samuel’s coming this afternoon?” Rebekah asked.

“Oh, yes. And Levi’s.”