An Amish Man of Ice Mountain (The Amish of Ice Mountain Series Book 2) (19 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Two weeks after Heath’s death, summer came in its full glory to Ice Mountain and Priscilla found herself beginning to take a faint interest in life around her again. Dr. McCully had told her that she was suffering from shock, on various levels, and needed time to process the fact that she was now free in the world and no longer the prey of an angry man. Mr. Ellis, too, had suffered some shock at being taken hostage from his own home, and the
Amisch
community spent much time with the man, visiting and ministering to him.

The authorities had taken statements and transported Heath’s body south to his home church for proper burial. Priscilla dreamed the day of the funeral that she could hear the dirt clods strike the coffin and awoke, knowing some part of her would always be wary, haunted even.

Mercifully though, Edward had had the foresight to sweep Hollie away from the scene of the accident and Priscilla had done her best to explain to her daughter that Heath was gone and could never hurt them again. But Hollie, too, suffered nightmares and finally had ended up sleeping between Priscilla and Joseph with Bear in attendance for the last several nights.

Now Priscilla sat in a bentwood chair and watched Joseph work in the garden and felt the earth call to her. The pepper plants she’d put in the day of Hollie’s kidnapping were now strong and sturdy, and Priscilla felt Joseph’s gaze as she rose from the chair then bent to begin weeding around the small stalks.

“Are you all right?” he asked tentatively. She knew he’d been worried sick for her and Hollie. She reached out and grabbed his nearest boot around the ankle and squinted up at him in the sun.

“I feel better today.”

“
Ach
, thank Gott.” He dropped to his knees beside her and encircled her with his strong arms. She could feel the warmth of his body through his green shirt and noticed how tanned his forearms had grown from working outdoors.

“I think—I think I’d like to forget things for a while,” she said, wondering if he’d understand.

He apparently did because he laughed, an exultant, grateful sound and turned her to face him. He kissed the hollows in her cheeks and the circles beneath her eyes, then fell to tasting her mouth in long, luxurious, drawing sips that made her clasp his shoulders and savor everything about the moment: the smell of the garden, the fall of bright sunshine across her face.
I’m alive . . . praise God . . . I’m alive!
Her spirit seemed to ring with the words as she returned his kisses eagerly, wantonly.

“Well, now, this is a pretty picture,” Edward drawled with a faint smile from where he’d taken up residence in Priscilla’s abandoned chair.

Priscilla hid her face in Joseph’s shirt and felt his muscles tense, though she wanted to laugh even when her husband was losing his temper.

“Edward, what do you want?” Joseph ground out.

“Nothing. To help with the garden, or Daed, or maybe a certain surprise for the lady hidden in your shirt there. It’s fine weather we’ve been having.”

Priscilla peered at her brother-in-law, who was merrily eating an apple while baiting Joseph.

“A surprise?” she asked, growing excitement in her veins.

Joseph looked down at her, a reluctant smile pulling at his lips. “I thought we’d expand the cabin, Priscilla. Daed’s said it’s all right, and I could show you the plans . . .”

“Oh
, jah
,” she almost purred. “Do show me your plans.”

His golden green eyes widened in surprise and then he laughed and bent to nuzzle her neck, making her giggle.

“Okay, clearly I’m not wanted here,” she heard Edward say from far off.

Then she relished the feeling of her husband’s gentle affections in the heat of the summer’s day and knew inside that she was growing stronger, like the plants that surrounded them.

 

 

Joseph walked in the cool evening air to the bishop’s
haus
, his Bible under his arm, and his throat tight. He wished Edward or somebody would be here for his meeting with the youth of the community—
nee
, the
buwes. What
en der weldt
am I going to say to them about sexual temptation?
Then he remembered his wife’s parting words—that they were probably going to be more nervous than he. So, he sucked in a breath
. I suppose it’ll turn out all right . . .

He passed the overflowing flower pots dotted with lightning bugs and mounted the stone steps to the bishop’s front porch. Thankfully, the place was screened in so the mosquitoes wouldn’t be a distraction.

“Hiya, Joseph King.” Bishop Umble bade him enter and extended a plate of teaberry cookies. “Have one—it’ll calm your nerves. Mary Malizza made them.”

Joseph took a cookie and sank down at the table bench. “Where are the womenfolk?” he asked idly.

“Off to wash their hair in the creek, and me with nothing to say about it. Martha’s found more of her girlhood with that kind
Englisch
woman than I can even figure.”

“That’s
gut
.”

“Listen,
sohn,
the
gut
Gott will give you the words you need to minister to these
buwes
. Trust me.”

“I suppose,” Joseph agreed, then nearly jumped when a knock sounded on the screen door.

“All right, I’m going to have a lie-down in the bedroom while you do your group. I’ve got a
gut
book going . . . so . . . go answer the door, Joseph.” The bishop grabbed the plate of cookies and Joseph glared at him, then rose to answer the door.

It was Dan Kauffman, and Mahlon Mast’s
sohn
, Ernest. Dan was the older but Ernest was only a year behind. Joseph opened the door and the
buwes
entered rather solemnly. They were dressed formally, including their black hats, and Joseph had to smile as their gangly legs tried to find comfort in the porch chairs.

“Next time, don’t dress up,” Joseph said with a grin.

Dan nodded, wetting his lips. “Are we really going to talk about sex, Joseph?”

Joseph read the anxiety and eagerness in the face of the sixteen-year-old and suddenly realized how important this group could be to prepare young men for future life. He knew other more conservative
Amisch
groups would never dream of such a meeting, but Bishop Umble was an original, for sure.

He cleared his throat and found his voice came out normally. “
Jah
, Dan . . . we are. Who else is
kumming
?”

“John Byler and Jay Smucker.”

He waited another ten minutes for John and Jay, and they, too, showed up formally dressed but full of suppressed mirth.

Joseph sighed to himself.
I might as well get started . . .

“Let’s begin with prayer.”
And so help me, if that Smucker kid giggles, I’ll wring his neck.
“Holy Gott, we pray that You’d bless this time together and that You would give us wisdom and discernment on this difficult subject and that You would equip us with knowledge for both today and the future. Amen.”

Joseph opened his Bible, then closed it again. “You know, I wasn’t sure until this moment how to go about teaching all of you what you might need to know. But I think I’ll start with what I didn’t know and how it got me into trouble. For example, some women find it within them to try and beguile a man—I’m not talking about husband and wife,
Amisch
or
Englisch
, but in general, be wary of a woman who uses sex to gain something she may want.”

Dan shrugged, then spoke up uncertainly. “Well . . . what else would she want besides sex?”

Joseph nodded. “Fair question. Some women want to have an unhealthy balance of power in a relationship, the same way some men do. And these people use sex as a weapon almost, either to trap you with desire or to humiliate you or degrade you as a person.”

“I don’t get it,” Jay spoke up. “I wouldn’t be humiliated if I could actually find a
maedel
who wanted to do it with me.”

Joseph thought hard. Clearly, beating around the proverbial bush with abstract thought wasn’t going to work here. At least Jay was putting things bluntly, which was closer to the truth in any case. “All right, let’s talk about doing it—as you put it. What does that look like to you all?”

“Aren’t you married, Joseph?” John asked with a smirk, and Jay laughed.

Laugh with them
, some instinct prompted.
Relax . . .
So Joseph smiled good-naturedly.

“No talking about my wife here,” he ordered. “Back to you men—what does it look like? Feel like? Make you want or not want? You see, we keep it such a mystery that most
buwes
your age are absolutely broadsided the first time it happens and can’t think straight, so you might find yourself in a situation like I was . . .”

“Should you get married just because you want to have sex?” Dan asked.

“
Nee
, that is not a way to build a life. You need respect and friendship and love; and yes, sexual attraction, but not as the sole basis for a marriage.”

“So you should have sex without getting married?” Jay demanded while John shifted violently in his chair.

“
Nee
, I mean . . .” Joseph swallowed.
This is not going well . . .

“Who’s having sex without getting married?” a brusque female voice demanded, and Joseph jumped a bit along with the
buwes
as two dripping-haired, nightgowned female figures appeared on the doorstep.

Dear Gott . . . it’s the bishop’s wife,
Joseph thought, appalled.

Frau Umble and Mary Malizza came barefooted onto the porch and Joseph saw Dan eye the door. He thought escape might not be a bad idea. But Mary gaily pressed her question, then looked at Joseph.

“What are you teaching these men, Joseph?”

“I—I don’t know, really.” He avoided Frau Umble’s gaze.

“Well,” Mama Malizza said, “I say we make cookies and talk things over. You boys hungry?”

There was a chorus of relieved
jahs
—not the least of which was Joseph’s own affirmation.

The kids followed Frau Umble into the kitchen and Mary Malizza bent near Joseph. “I got your back, Joe. We’ll get a good start talkin’.”

He nodded his thanks gravely, having a sudden headache but grateful for the smell of coffee and the clatter of mixing bowls.

Mary Malizza poured fresh oats into a bowl and added cocoa powder. “We’ll make ice-box cookies,” she announced to the kitchen at large. “Quick and easy, and no need to take time baking.”

She stirred meditatively and caught the nearest boy’s eye. “What’s your name, honey?”

“Dan,” the good-looking youth answered politely.

Mary wondered what it was like to be able to say your name with quiet confidence, based on years of love and a good upbringing
. But the world eats up the Dans and spits them out . . .

She gripped the spoon tighter. “You got a girl, Dan?”

The boy appeared petrified and shook his head. “
Nee
, I only now can start
rumspringa
or decide to join the church.”

Mary nodded. “Oh, that running-around thing you all do. I seen that on the TV . . . a bunch of you run off to the city and wear regular clothes and smoke and drink. Don’t look like as much fun as it is right here making cookies.”

Dan looked surprised. “
Nee
, I’m not going anywhere. My
daed
said I could start full-time at the store, or Joseph promised me an apprenticeship in carpentry and such. I think I like Joseph’s offer best though.”

Mary watched Joe give the boy an affirming nod while the others looked longingly at Joseph, though he didn’t appear to notice.

“Hey, Joe, I’m thinkin’ maybe yer teachin’ ought to extend further than the old bishop’s porch. I say you got a group of boys right here who’d all like to be apprenticed to ya.”

Joseph looked up, clearly startled. “
Ach . . . jah
. Well, sure, fellas, if you want . . .”

Mary smiled to herself.

 

 

“They were in their nightgowns . . .” Joseph pillowed his head on his hands, facedown on his side of the bed.

Priscilla leaned over him. “Was it that bad, really?”

He groaned, not wanting to rouse Hollie but unable to keep quiet. “And now I’ve got to teach that Smucker kid to build . . .”

She stroked the back of his neck and he shivered involuntarily.

“You can do it, Joseph. I know you can.” She kissed his right ear and then his thoughts were sliding to other areas of life.

“I wish we could do it,” he muttered, and she giggled against him, and he loved the press of her softness on his back.

“We will soon,” she promised in a whisper.

And he fell asleep with her cuddled close, forgetting his failed attempt at teaching, but as sure as her warmth that he could always try again . . .

Chapter Thirty-Three

“Why are all these people here?” Hollie asked sleepily as she eyed the crowd of folks arriving outside the window.

Priscilla smiled. “They’re coming to help build the new part of our house, Hollie. It’s a surprise I’ve been keeping for you—Now you’ll definitely get your pink room!”

“Oh boy!” The little girl clapped and Priscilla breathed a sigh of relief. It was as much healthy enthusiasm as Hollie had shown over anything in the past weeks. Priscilla had been beginning to worry that Hollie might need professional help getting over the time with Heath. But now the little girl scampered out of the big bed, rolling over Bear in the process.

“Help me get dressed, Mommy. Hurry.”

Priscilla went to the makeshift drawer where she kept Hollie’s things in the big bedroom and hesitated as her hand hovered over the yellow dress—the one Hollie had been wearing when Heath kidnapped her.

Suddenly Hollie was at her elbow, her small fingers touching the yellow fabric. “I remember Daddy—that other Daddy.”

“Oh,” Priscilla exclaimed softly. “You don’t have to wear this, Hollie. We can give it away or put it somewhere and—”

Hollie touched her arm. “Mommy, I want to wear it ’cause it helps me remember.”

Priscilla felt her eyes well with tears as she knelt down next to her daughter. “Hollie, what do you want to remember about that day?”

“I want to remember the angel in the ice mine,” Hollie said slowly, as if Priscilla herself was the child.

“You mean the man Daddy tied up—Mr. Ellis?”

“No, the angel beside me when my back was against the ice. He stood by me and kept me safe. Can we go back there and see him again sometime?” Hollie grabbed the yellow dress and wriggled it over her golden head while Priscilla sat still, watching her.

“Hollie, I—an angel?” Priscilla felt a tear slip down her cheek.
Was the child losing her mind?

“Yeah, Mom. Can I go out and see everybody now?”

“Sure . . . sure you can.”

“Bye, Mommy.”

Priscilla didn’t move, one hand still in the clean clothes as she struggled over what to do with what Hollie had shared. She looked up when Joseph entered the room, a work apron and tools hanging from his large frame.

“What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well? If this is too much for you today, sweetheart, we can send everybody home and . . .”

“Joseph?”

“What?” He knelt down on the floor beside her, cupping her chin in his large hand.

“Do you believe in angels?”

 

 

Joseph held the frame of the window casement in place while others nailed it from inside. The smell of the fresh cut lumber and the sound of hammering and sawing were vitally renewing to him, and he needed the revitalization after his talk with Priscilla. He knew angels were in the Bible, but he didn’t know if Hollie believed something false merely to comfort herself or if what the
kind
said could possibly be real . . .

He shook off his musings, knowing that a lack of paying attention was the cause of most accidents on a work site. Just then Dan Kauffman came hurrying up to him. The
buwe
looked
gut
outfitted in his carpenter’s belt—more mature—and Joseph had to smile. Then he saw the other three would-be sex- and cookie-makers lagging behind Dan, and his smile became a bit forced. He sighed, realizing he’d made a commitment and needed to follow through.
Maybe an angel will help me . . .

“Joseph,” Dan said eagerly, holding out a sketch on a torn piece of paper, “we were all thinking and we wondered if we could make your daughter a dower chest today to go in the new room.”

Joseph smiled easily now, taking the paper
. I wish I’d thought of this.
Dower or hope chests were common among the Mountain
Amisch
and were usually built by an
aulder bruder
for a younger sister or were passed down from one woman to another, like a mother to a daughter.

“I think it’s a
wunderbar
idea, Dan . . . and uh . . .
buwes
. . .
danki
.” He bent to study the drawing of the chest. “Did you do this, Dan?”

“I did the scaling and the wood measurements, but the drawings on the chest front and sides—Jay did those. We thought we could paint them, and Ernest knows the
auld
German lettering, so we could put ‘Hollie Kingin’ on the front. And John’s real
gut
at mixing paint and doing strap work, like for the hinges.”

Joseph could tell that Dan was waiting rather breathlessly for his response and Joseph had to marvel at the combined talents of the four.

“I’d say you
buwes
could help me run a real carpentry shop one day. Not that we’d do cabinetry—Luke Lapp’s got the corner on that up here. But we could build other things to market . . . things like hope chests. Great idea, men! I’m so glad you showed me this. Go on ahead and start work. If you need help, don’t be afraid to ask—either me or any other builder.” Joseph watched them scurry off, tripping over their own feet in their hurry, and shook his head in disbelief.
Was teaching those
buwes
going to be easier than he’d expected?

He turned back to work, then saw his
daed
through one of the partition frames, wielding a hammer and coughing furiously at the same time.

Joseph walked through the site quickly to get to his
fater
. “Daed, what are you doing?” he asked low, not wanting to cause any embarrassment. It wasn’t right that a
sohn
should dishonor a parent by questioning his actions, but Joseph didn’t like the pallor of his father’s skin or the fact that his cough didn’t seem to respond to the inhaler he was sucking on.

“Daed?”

“I—built this cabin—for your
mamm
and me. Want to give now to you and—yours.” His father leaned against a doorjamb and looked like he was going to pass out.

Joseph put out his hands to steady him. “Daed? Daed, you do give, every day. And now that you’ve hammered a bit, you did your part.”

“Not . . . enough,” his
fater
wheezed. Then he collapsed in a shaky heap at Joseph’s feet.

“
Ach
, dear Gott . . . Help!” Joseph called, then leaned back over his
dat
’s ashen face. “Daed?
Sei se gut
, it’s all right. You’re going to be all right. We’ll get you to Dr. McCully . . .”

Joseph saw a blur of motion around him as friends gathered and began to pray. Edward was at his side in an instant and both of them struggled to try to will breath through their
fater
’s bluish lips. Then Joseph felt a pull on his elbow and he turned to see the earnest face of Sarah Mast. He remembered that Sarah was working with Grossmudder May and hastily moved away.

“Send everyone out, Joseph,” she said quietly.

Joseph got to his feet. “Will you all, please, go outside and keep praying so Sarah has space to work?” There was a shuffling behind him and then he met Priscilla’s eyes through the crowd. She ran to him and he caught her close. They turned and knelt down near his
fater
’s side.

Joseph watched Sarah run calming hands down his
dat
’s arms and then across his shrunken chest. “It’s not the cancer. I think he’s had a heart attack,” she said softly, almost to herself.

“A heart attack?” Edward groaned aloud. “
Ach,
Gott
.
Where’s Mary? She should be here.”

“There’s no time,” Sarah said, then lifted her gray eyes and looked at Joseph. “Do you want your
fater
to be well?”

“Jah,”
Joseph gasped, squeezing Priscilla’s hand. “Please.”

He watched Sarah rustle in a pouch at her waist then nod. She leaned over his
fater
’s face, slipping a dried leaf under his tongue. “Abner, it’s Sarah Mast. I want to tell you that Derr Herr is the same—yesterday, today, and forever, and He Who healed many heals you now too. You touch the hem of His robe and you are made whole. Believe.”

And that was all. Joseph held his breath and watched, amazed, as his
fater
’s face was suddenly suffused with color and he drew a deep, full breath, chewing at the herb Sarah had placed in his mouth. He opened his eyes and reached to stroke his beard. Then he looked up at Sarah.
“Danki,”
he whispered.

Joseph watched her nod, with a humble bow
.
“Gott be praised,” she said. “Now, have something to eat and drink and be still for today.”

She got up, nodded to Edward, and slipped from their midst.

“What just happened?” Joseph asked Priscilla in wonderment.

“I don’t—I don’t know.”

“I feel a whole lot better, that’s what,” his
daed
muttered. “Now help me up.”

“Fine,” Joseph said shakily. “But tomorrow, you’re going for a checkup with Dr. McCully.”

“If I feel like it.” His
daed
grinned and Joseph could only shake his head.

 

 

Mary Malizza was in her element. A bunch of people to cook for and spaghetti on the menu. It seemed that her friend, Martha Umble, had let it get round the mountain that there was no better food than Mary’s spaghetti, and the house raising—or frolic, as Martha called it—seemed the best place to showcase the very nontraditional
Amisch
dish.

Mary baked her spaghetti in a rich sauce and added meatballs the size of small snowballs. She’d also prepared, the night before, many loaves of fresh Italian bread, which were now being busily sliced by the womenfolk. Mary put her hands on her broad hips and smiled to herself
. I could use some of these girls back at the inn—they’re hard, fast workers . . . and pleasant to boot.

Priscilla came into the kitchen, looking happy but a bit dazed, and held out an envelope to Mary.

“What’s this?”

“Something you gave me once. I only remembered it this morning when we were moving things, but it made a huge difference at the time.”

Mary pulled down her glasses from her hair and peered into the envelope.

“Five hundred dollars,” Priscilla said softly.

“Awww, I forgot about this too, girlie. You keep it.” Mary thrust the envelope back, but Priscilla took a step away.

“I have everything that I could possibly need, Mary Malizza, and you had a hand in it. I want you to take that money and use it as part of a down payment for a cabin here on the mountain like you told me you wanted to do, because I don’t think any of us could get along without you here at least part of the year.”

She wants me . . . they want me.
Mary lifted her apron to her eyes with one hand, waving a spaghetti spoon with the other.

“Oh, don’t cry,” Priscilla soothed, putting an arm around her shoulders.

Mary sobbed. “You don’t know what it means to have come here, to have been accepted, only for me being me. I haven’t had that much in life . . .”

Mary felt other hands join Priscilla’s on her shoulders and glanced over to see Martha Umble hugging her too. Mary burst into renewed sobs and then, one by one, women came to surround her. Some she knew well, some she didn’t, but they all displayed a love and caring that she’d never felt before.

Then Martha laughed and joked softly, “Don’t let this go to your head, Mary Malizza. It’s your spaghetti we’re all really celebrating.”

Mary had to laugh. “All right, but if you all want to taste it more than once a year, you’ll have to come to the Bear Claw Inn and you’re all more than welcome!”