Wild Horses by Linda Byler

it. She did not want to ride all the way to Owen Miller’s with Ezra. It was just unthinkable.
    Then she almost pitied him. He was so good and he tried so hard to do what was right—even if he didn’t always have much tact. She couldn’t bring herself to say no, imagining his pleasant, open, sincere face. Why couldn’t she go with Ezra?
    “All right.”
    A pleased sigh.
    “Good. Oh, Sadie, we’ll have a lovely time. All the memories we share. Thank you, Sadie. Are your parents well?”
    “Yes, they are.”
    “Give them a hello from me.”
    “I will.”
    “Good-night, Sadie.”
    “Good-night.”
    Slowly, she replaced the receiver, then sagged against the wall.
    No, Ezra, we’re not all well. Mam is going crazy and Dat is a stubborn mule. I don’t like him much. I don’t like you either. I don’t want to live the way I do—working at the ranch with no hope of a future. I want a horse I’m not allowed to have.
    So I’m inclined toward rebellion, am I? Am I? Is that what’s wrong with me? Give up the horse the way good, obedient girls do and marry Ezra instead? Maybe if I learned to give up, I could learn to love Ezra.
    She touched her eyebrows. She knew they were already elevated into that “holier-than-thou” Ezra attitude.
    Sadie began walking toward the house. What should she do? Mam probably did not want to hear all this, and she wasn’t going to tell Dat. He’d start planning her wedding that same hour.
    “Who was that?” Mam asked the minute she entered the living room. Thankfully Dat wasn’t around.
    “No one.”
    “Now, Sadie!” Mam chided.
    “Ezra Troyer.”
    “What did he want?”
    “There’s a practice singing at Owen Miller’s tomorrow evening. He wants to take me.”
    “Are you going with him?”
    “Yes.”
    “I’m surprised.”
    Reuben looked up from his drawing pad. He brushed the hair out of his eyes, then said bluntly, “I thought you didn’t like Ezra?”
    “You need a haircut, Reuben.”
    “Mam won’t give me one.”
    “Mam, don’t you think Reuben needs a haircut?”
    “Yes, he does. But I’m afraid I can’t cut his hair straight. It’s hard for me to do that job right—the way it should be done, I mean. His hair is so straight, and…well, Dat said I should do it better.”
    To Sadie’s horror, Mam began to cry. Not soft crying, not wiping a stray tear here or there, but huge, gulping, little-girl sobs. Sadie instantly tried to stop them by rushing over and holding her mother’s shoulders firmly, murmuring, “Don’t, Mam. Do net .”
    Still her mother cried on.
    “ Do net heila, Mam .”
    Anna and Reuben looked up. Rebekah laid down her book, coming to Mam’s side in one long, fluid movement.
    “I just…feel so dumb. Things I used to enjoy are like a big mountain now. Jacob—Dat—is so terribly unhappy with me. I just don’t seem to be able to do some things I used to.”
    Sadie sat on the sofa beside her mother, holding her hands.
    “Mam, I think you are depressed. I think you need to see a medical doctor and let him diagnose you. They can give you something to help you cope with the worst of this.”
    Mam sat up, her eyes alert, cunning even.
    “You mean drugs?”
    “Yes.”
    “No. I won’t take medical drugs. They’re poison to my system. You know that. Dat feels very strongly about that. So do I. I am taking natural pills—building up my body—to cope with these new and strange wanderings. Sadie … my mind will be fine, won’t it?”
    Sadie sighed.
    “No, Mam. I don’t think it will.”
    “Here comes Dat!” Mam hissed, returning to her book, the afghan thrown hastily across her lap.
    Sadie turned to look as Dat hung his hat on the hook. He washed his hands, then came into the living room, surveyed it, and said, “Bedtime, Reuben.”
    “I’m not done drawing this.”
    “What is it?”
    “Sadie’s horse.”
    Dat bent to look, then he straightened, laughing uproariously.
    “I doubt if Sadie’s horse looks like a