An Amish Man of Ice Mountain (The Amish of Ice Mountain Series Book 2) (17 page)

“I love you,” he said.

“What?” she asked, flipping back her hair.

“I said I love you.” He raised his voice and it felt so
gut.
He watched as her eyes darkened and she pressed the hard tips of her breasts against his bare chest.

“I love you too,” she murmured, then put her mouth close to his ear. “I love you,” she said again. And he swept her up in his arms, holding her against the rushing cold, feeling renewed in his heart and mind in a way only ice water can bring about refreshment of the spirit.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

At his insistence, Priscilla let him lie on his back on the mossy bank.

“I don’t want to hurt you—in any way, this first time,” he admitted.

“You won’t,” she chided with confidence, biting her lip and still shivering from their cold dip in the creek.

“I’m not taking any chances. You be in control—have . . . uh . . . as much or as little of me as you want.”

She looked down at him, calm, steady, waiting, except for the heat in his gold-green eyes. “I don’t think there’s anything little about you, Joseph,” she quipped, half-embarrassed, but she saw the shallow rise and fall of his chest and knew he was holding back. She’d seen him in enough postures of abandon over the past days to know that it was the calm before the storm, and part of her badly wanted that storm. She loved to see him aroused and the drowsy look that followed when she’d helped him find release. But now he was encouraging her to take for herself and she wasn’t sure exactly that she knew how.

“What’s wrong, my sweet?” he asked when she paused.

“I don’t—I don’t want to disappoint you by not finding pleasure with you. I told you I’ve never . . .”

He steadied her with a sure smile as she straddled his hips. “Did you ever stop and think, Priscilla King, that violence is no way to produce arousal?”

“No-o,” she gasped while he helped her, held her, even when she squirmed against his hands, wanting more.

“Be careful,
sei se gut
.”

“I don’t want careful, Joseph. I want you. All of you . . . wild, big . . . ooh . . . out of control.”

And he gave, fitting his movements to her words, arching his neck, arching his back, making hoarse sounds of pleasure between his teeth, until she knew that whatever Amanda had taken from him, she’d never had him like this . . .

And then she found sweet release with him, a dazzling, breathless chain reaction of a thousand suns bursting behind her eyes. She stared down with amazement into the tender emerald gaze locked with her own.

She collapsed on his chest, hearing his wild heartbeat, feeling it mingle with her own, until she sobbed for joy in the aftermath and he cradled her close.

After a few minutes, she lifted her head and moved, with a luxurious intimate ache that she hoped would last for hours. Her secret—their pleasure.

He helped her dress quietly, searching the moss for the proper pins and finally having to give her some of his own.

“I’ll go see the bishop now, though I’ll have to tuck my shirt in far enough so that it doesn’t open.” He made a show of adjusting his clothes and she giggled, feeling young and carefree.

“And I’ll go back to the quilting. How do I look?”

He gave her a wicked, sidelong glance. “Like you’ve been ravished and took some pleasure during the process.”

“Joseph!”

He gathered her close. “You look beautiful as always and neat as a pin. I make a pretty
gut
lady’s maid, if I do say so myself.”

She stretched to kiss his lips with confidence. “You may say so—anytime.”

And she left him by the secret pool to walk through the trees, feeling special and loved, and a bit more magical than flesh and blood.

 

 

“I wrote a letter to Priscilla’s
fater
,” Bishop Umble said casually as he finished his lunch of deviled eggs and cheese sandwiches.

“What did you say?” Joseph asked.

“What’s wrong with your hearing,
buwe
? I said I wrote a letter to Priscilla’s
fater
—wanted to let him know she’s safe. I used the address from the flyer you showed me. You said he knew her former husband and I thought he might talk some sense into—what’s wrong?”

Joseph clenched both sides of his head and shook it slowly.
How stupid am I not to have told him that Priscilla’s
fater
led Heath on, encouraged him to . . . Dear Gott, he’ll tell Heath where she is.

“Priscilla’s
fater
is not—well. He’s the one who told her ex-husband to subdue her, control her, and he’ll tell that freak where she is . . .”

“Hmm,” Bishop Umble grunted. “This is a pickle.”

Joseph’s temper was quickly reaching the boiling point as the
auld
man pushed aside his plate and picked up a molasses cookie, munching thoughtfully. “Well,
buwe
. I did what I thought was right before Derr Herr
.
I expect He’ll turn things around.”

“Turn things . . . You were wrong! That’s what! Dead wrong.
Ach
, Gott, what am I going to do to protect them?”

“It’s not your job to yell at me, Joseph King, or to protect anyone from what plans Gott has for them. That’s part of love, real love. You risk things every day but love anyway!”

“And you cannot admit you’re wrong. I’m leaving; I’ve got to tell Priscilla.” Joseph pushed back from the table and got to his feet.

“So you think that telling Priscilla will bring her peace?”

Joseph stopped as the bishop’s words rang through his mind. He sat back down slowly. “All right . . . I can’t tell her. She’ll be looking over her shoulder all the time, but what about Hollie? She runs wild with the other
kinner.
Heath could—”

“There you go again, trying to act as an amateur providence. It’ll only bring you grief,
sohn
.”

Joseph blew out an exasperated breath. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

“Pray.”

“What?”

“You can pray—” The bishop chewed. “For the ex-husband.”

“You really are batty, do you know that?” Joseph asked ruefully.

Bishop Umble shrugged. “It goes with the job. Now . . . let’s talk about that favor I asked for . . .”

 

 

Priscilla found a space once more at the baby quilt and began to stitch with a pale pink thread on the rose petal nearest her. The quilt was an amazing design of flowers and stems and tiny embroidered pastel animals; she had never seen such a pattern before and remarked on it to the table at large.

“We do much free-hand design up here in the mountains, Priscilla,” Grossmudder May pointed out. “We aren’t so rigid as some of the other
Amisch
communities.”

“Well, I can tell that, by the way you all took me and Hollie in like friends. I truly appreciate it.”

There were gentle, matter-of-fact murmurs of acceptance from around the quilt frame, and Priscilla bent her head in attention to her work. She knew that many
Amisch
girls could stitch five stitches for every quarter inch of fabric, but she was not so adept. Still, the quilting soothed her and she loved the moment when Mary passed by, carrying Rose.

“Priscilla, would you like to hold the baby?”

Priscilla stuck her needle into the quilt and turned eagerly.

She took the tiny bundle to her breast and breathed in the amazing scent of newness and baby and grace, and she couldn’t help but think of when Hollie was young—all the fear she had felt trying to protect her from Heath’s rages. She drew a deep breath.
That’s all over now; we’re safe at last . . .

She handed the baby back after a few minutes, then hugged to herself the thought of what it might be like to have a child of Joseph’s—it could even be possible that she’d already conceived. The idea made her blush and she rose from the quilting to get herself a glass of cold spring water, feeling more than content with her life for the first time in years.

 

 

“So, a promise, young Joseph, if you don’t mind?”

Joseph regarded the bishop with a wry expression. “Why not?” he asked dryly.

“Gut!”
Bishop Umble slapped his hands on the table top. “I want you to consider teaching a group of our young men, leading them in—study, shall we say, that they may not fall victim to the same abuse that you did.”

Joseph leaned an elbow on the table. “Me? Why not Jude? I’m not qualified to teach.”

“Derr Herr has revealed to me that you would be the perfect teacher, having gone through the experience yourself. You know that the Bible commands, ‘What I tell you in darkness, proclaim in the light.’”

“
Jah
, but—”

“
Gut
, then it’s settled. You can start on Wednesday nights. Let’s say about six p.m. You can meet here on the front porch during the pleasant weather.”

“I didn’t say I would—”

“And perhaps, in time, Priscilla might meet with the young
maedels
and give them insight on healthy relationships as well.”

Joseph’s shoulders slumped in defeat; he knew Bishop Umble too well to protest, but Priscilla would have to make her own decision. Yet, in the end, he had to admit both ideas to protect the local youth sounded
gut
.

“All right. I’m going home.” Joseph rose once more and the bishop waved a cookie at him.

“What’s your hurry,
buwe
? Your wife’s at the quilting—your
daed
and
bruder
are at the store.”

Joseph suppressed a baleful glare and made for the back door. “I need a bit of time alone.”

“Ahhh . . .
gut
man! Good for the spirit I always say and—”

Joseph closed the door.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Priscilla shifted restlessly beneath the cool linen sheets, wearing only the wispiest of night dresses, which she’d cut down with heavy shears. Joseph seemed to be taking an extra-long time with chores, though of course Edward was around, and maybe they wanted to talk. Still, she couldn’t wait for Joseph to come in, hoping that they might relive some of the moments from the secret pool that day.

She jumped when he entered, and she thought he looked weary—weary but tense.
Perhaps he’s regretting what happened today . . . that he said he loved me . . .

“I can hear the proverbial wheels turning in your head from here,” he said with a faint smile, leaning against the dresser.

“Can you?” she sniffed. “Then what am I thinking?”

He came near and sat down atop the turned-down quilts. “That I have regrets—about today—about what I’ve said or done.”

She was amazed at his accuracy and he half laughed.

“How do you know?” she sputtered.

He bent and kissed the edge of her throat where it met the top of the gown. “Because I love you,” he murmured. “Mmmm . . . I love you and you smell so
gut.
”

“Joseph?”

“Mmm-hmm?”

“I want to answer a question you asked me.”

He drew back a bit, studying her face with his mysterious eyes. “
Ach
. . . I sense that this might not have been a
gut
question on my part.”

“Nooo, it’s not that. I—well, the day Rose was born and you asked me why I didn’t leave Heath . . .”

His lashes lowered and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Priscilla, forget that. I was wrong and—”

“No, it was a fair question. I couldn’t answer then but I can now.”

“What’s changed?” he asked, almost warily.

“Everything, especially how you made me feel today—safe and loved and like there were no more secrets between us. And I—I wanted to tell you that I didn’t leave because I was too afraid. I know it sounds silly, that I should have thought of Hollie, but I really believed on some level that my life was in danger. I can also cite the curious truth that desperate people do desperate things, and I was desperate to stay alive and now I know why—because of you.”

“Priscilla . . .”

“Yes?” She waited anxiously for his response.

“I—I love you, remember that, will you? For always and ever? And Gott loves you too.”

“You sound so serious.” She reached out and touched his arm.

“Do I?”

“Yes . . .”

“Well, forget me. Forget how I sound. Let’s think only of us.” He bent and began kissing her fast and hard so that she could barely catch her breath. Then she laughed in giddy freedom and relaxed into his embrace, reaching with eager fingers to help him loosen his shirt.

 

 

Joseph lay spent, listening to Priscilla’s soft breathing. The bishop said he should pray, but for the life of him, no prayers seemed to come for the man who had been her first husband. And worse than that, he was lying to her by omission, keeping the secret of Bishop Umble’s letter to her
fater
from her, when she had been so honest tonight with him. He half turned, considering waking her and telling her about the letter, but then she sighed deeply in her sleep and he drew back.

He passed a hand over his eyes, knowing he couldn’t sleep, not with the thought that Heath might be out there in the dark. And if not tonight, then what night? What day might he show up and seek vengeance on Priscilla and possibly Hollie? Joseph actually considered for a brief moment calling the
Englisch
authorities, but he knew that even the
Englisch
law usually left the
Amisch
to deal with matters in their own way.
And what was the bishop’s way of dealing? Prayer!
Joseph sighed aloud and Priscilla stirred. He gently cradled her closer, loving the softness of her small body, wanting desperately to keep her safe . . .

He saw by the wind-up clock that it was past four a.m., and he knew he had to sleep a little. He reluctantly closed his eyes and fell into a deep slumber, fraught with vivid dreams . . .

 

 

 

 

“Joseph?”

He awoke with a harsh indrawn breath to discover sunlight pouring in through the window and Priscilla standing over the bed, fully dressed.

“Joseph, were you dreaming? It’s all right . . .” She leaned down to touch him and he caught her in his arms, pulling her to the bed and then moving atop her.

He felt frantically through her skirts, desperate to touch her skin, to banish the nightmare. “Priscilla,” he gasped. “Let me make love to you,
sei se gut
. . . please . . .”

He didn’t care that he begged. He wanted her right then, right there, and felt driven by a need so frantic, his own breath seemed to roar in his ears.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Oh yes . . .”

He was moving, deliberate, hard, fast motions that caused a sob from the back of his throat on each stroke until she cried with him and he finally found what he sought so desperately.

His body was soaked with sweat as he clung to her. “Priscilla,” he groaned. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“And I love you too . . . Are you all right? You seem . . . distraught.”

He forced himself to smile then and stroked her
kapp
strings back from the tangle of her dress. “I’m fine, my
frau
. . . I needed you, that’s all.”

“And that’s more than enough,” she murmured against his mouth. “Anytime.”

 

 

It was almost summer and Priscilla relished the feel of the fresh earth of the kitchen garden between her toes. She still tingled inside from Joseph’s passionate lovemaking that morning and smiled as she overturned the dirt with a spade, sparing a fat worm and making room for the pepper plants Edward had brought over from Mary’s seedlings.

Hollie scampered about until they both heard the echo of the school bell, and then Priscilla kissed her and sent her on her way with an old-fashioned lunch pail. She returned gaily to her planting, imagining what it would be like to have fresh vegetables and fruits from the garden that she might cook with. It was true, she thought, that human life began in a garden. No wonder the Lord was often thought of as the Gardener. She realized that her feelings toward her faith had softened during her time with the
Amisch
and she knew she was working on developing that relationship with God that Joseph had spoken about in the hospital chapel.

“Hey there, pretty girl!”

Priscilla looked up in surprise to see Mama Malizza picking her way across the rows of plants. The older woman was dressed in jeans and a pretty blouse that became her large figure. She looked younger somehow, too, and more relaxed than usual.

“Hello. Time with Frau Umble must be good for you—you seem happy.” Priscilla leaned on her spade and gave her a hug of greeting.

“Well, I’ve got to say that we stay up yakking longer than the bishop. He shakes a hand at us and goes to bed—gives up. Can I help you plant? I’ve got to get my own little patch of tomatoes going when I leave. I make homemade spaghetti sauce and can it for the restaurant.”

“Oh, I hope you don’t have to go soon,” Priscilla said, meaning it. She’d grown very fond of the woman who’d given her the break that led to meeting Joseph.

“Leave this mountain in a hurry? No . . . You remember Dan, my assistant manager? He’s been pestering me for more responsibility, and I was thinking of buying a summer cottage somewhere nearby here so I could come every year.”

Priscilla smiled widely. “That would be wonderful. You know I have to thank you for giving me that waitress job. I wouldn’t have my husband without it.”

Mama shrugged her hefty shoulders. “I was doing what I felt led to do, I guess, though I thought you’d never last—you still look young enough to be seventeen. And I guess you were telling the truth when you said you had no man. You got one now though, and a fine-looking one at that.”

Priscilla blushed. “Thank you, Mama. And what about you? Are you married? I’ve never asked.”

Mama gently lifted a celery seedling. “Me? Naw . . . tried two times to stick with a marriage but the men ended up being jerks . . . and probably I was a bit of a fool, too, when I was younger.”

“The
Amisch
have a saying—‘to call no man a fool.’ So I can’t let you say that about yourself,” Priscilla said, bending close to Mama.

“Well, we all make bad decisions now and then, but I guess that don’t mean life’s over. I do get lonesome sometimes, even at the inn.”

Priscilla had a sudden inspiration. “Well then, I’m going to pray for you, Mama, that God brings a man into your life, a good man, not a jerk, who you’ll stay with and love forever this time.”

Mary considered the open words of the girl as a hundred images seemed to flash through her mind—what would God say if He could see the dirt in her past? The broken-down houses, sometimes littered with booze and drugs, the puppy she’d tried to keep alive but couldn’t afford for the vet to see . . . She swallowed hard.
Jake said he’d do me a favor and shoot the dog . . . I can still hear that gunshot. And what about trying to go to church and finding out that I wasn’t dressed right, that I’d never fit in with all them women with their heavy wedding bands and confident smiles . . . Lord have mercy, I don’t even have half my teeth . . .

“Well,” Mary said slowly, “I guess I’ll thank you for your prayers, not that I think God will hear them about somebody like me.”

Priscilla stopped her work and Mary felt the weight of the girl’s stare. “What do you mean, somebody like you, Mary?”

Oh, gosh, here I go, offendin’ some kid who doesn’t even know what she’s doin’ in her own life.
“Aww, forget me, Priscilla. I’m jest talkin’. I’ve made it this far alone, so I expect I’ll make it the rest of the way without no God.”

“But you haven’t been alone,” Priscilla persisted. “I mean—I’m not very good at talking about God, but Joseph told me something about how everyone can have a relationship with Him. And He’s not—not a jerk like the men in your life who’ve let you down and left you alone or who’ve hurt you.”

Mary watched Priscilla’s throat work and she regretted having said anything . . .
though the kid does seem to be real serious about this idea of a relationship.
She stepped over some plants and gave Priscilla a hearty hug.

“I’m sorry, kid. I’ll listen to what you have to say as long as I’m here, okay?”

Priscilla nodded against her chest and Mary released her to clear her throat hastily. “All right . . . guess I’ll walk back to Martha’s. We’re supposed to go look for herbs or some darn thing today.”

Mary was glad to see Priscilla’s smile return and set off with the girl’s words echoing in her mind.