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needed to think of something else—something less burdensome. Oh, she should check messages. Perhaps Mark remembered to leave one to let her know how the horse was doing. Or how dead he was.
    She ran downstairs, grabbed a coat, swung the door open, and stepped into the clean, cold, whirling snow. No one had bothered to shovel the driveway or path to the barn, that was sure. She wondered who Mam and Dat’s driver was. He’d have to be pretty brave to be out on a night like this.
    She yanked on the door to the phone shanty, clicked her flashlight on, picked up the telephone receiver, and punched numbers to check messages.
    There were three.
    The first one from the blacksmith who would be there on the 14th. The second from Mommy Yoder, who said her cat died the night before and her chimney caught fire, but the Lord had been with her. The cat was buried and the fire put out without the fire company having to come. She had tried to tell Ammon the wood was too green, but Ammon was still the same as he always was and didn’t dry his wood properly and if their house didn’t burn down someday she’d be surprised…
    Dear, dear fussy Mommy Yoder. She ate tomato sauce with dippy eggs for breakfast, and called oatmeal “oohts,” and was round and soft and cuddly. She was a treasure, talking nonstop in her eccentricity. She always had a story to tell, like the first time she went into the drive-thru at the bank and that round canister went flying up the pipe. She just knew the end of the world was near.
    As the third message came on, headlights wound their way slowly up the drive.
    Her heart took a nose dive and fear enveloped her. She hung onto the phone shelf, lowered her head, and prayed for help. She knew she must confront her father.
    “Hey,” a deep voice said, “this is Mark Peight.”
    She bit down hard on her lip, holding the receiver against her ear as tightly as possible.
    “The horse was seen by a vet. He has a chance. He’s at Richard Caldwell’s stables. I’ll be by to check up on him.”
    That was it. No good-bye, no wishing anyone a good day, still no information on whose horse he was or why he was there or anything—just a few clipped sentences. Definitely Mark.
    But the horse had a chance!
    A chance!
    Oh, praise God!
    Tomorrow morning could not come soon enough. But first, she needed to talk to her father. Things didn’t seem quite as hopeless as they had before her heart was filled with joy about the message. Surely if there was hope for the dying horse, there was hope for all kinds of situations—Mam’s included.
    As Sadie walked out into the snow, Dat was paying the driver and Mam was stepping carefully onto the sidewalk. Sadie hesitated until Mam closed the kitchen door before calling to Dat. She had startled him, she could tell, but he found his way through the snow to Sadie’s side.
    “Sadie.”
    “Dat. I was checking messages, but…I really need to talk to you about Mam.”
    “Why?”
    Instantly Dat was alert, defensive.
    “She’s … she’s … there’s something wrong with her, right?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “She’s … she’s acting strangely, Dat.”
    There was a slight pause before he stepped close, thrusting his face into hers, only the thin, swirling snow between them.
    “Sadie, if I ever catch you saying anything like that to anyone in this community … I … I … don’t know what I’m going to do. Never, ever, mention Mam to anyone, do you hear me? There’s nothing wrong with her. She’s just tired.”
    “But … but Leah heard you arguing.”
    “Leah didn’t hear anything. Do you hear me?”
    His large hand clamped like a vice on her forearm, and he shook her slightly.
    “You do hear me, don’t you?”
    Sadie nodded dumbly, her feet like dead weights in the snow, her body shivering as a chill swept through her. As Dat turned on his heel and walked away, Sadie leaned against the rough boards of the barn and thought her heart would break in two.

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