An Amish Man of Ice Mountain (The Amish of Ice Mountain Series Book 2) (25 page)

Chapter Forty-Three

When Joseph and Jay got back to the woodshed, the
buwe
was looking much better and was able to hold his head up. Dan, John, and Ernest had shown up to look at the dried, lacquered chest and to see what Joseph had to say, but each took time to be awkwardly tender with Jay.

Then Joseph cleared his throat. “Before we give Hollie her gift, men, let’s pray for Red Smucker.”

John looked shocked and angry. “Pray? For him? Look what he did to Jay . . .”

“Jah,”
Joseph said slowly, his hand on Jay’s shoulder. “He needs prayer. Prayer is transforming. We don’t know what Derr Herr can and will do in Jay’s
fater
’s life if we pray.”

John nodded reluctantly but bowed his head in the ensuing silence.

Joseph listened to the quiet, sensing each
buwe
relax, feeling peace pervade the room. Then he lifted his head.

“All right. Let’s take the chest in to Hollie and
danki
,
buwes
, for your amazing work.”

Joseph watched with pleasure, his arm around Priscilla, as Hollie knelt on the floor in her bedroom, the large key in her hand. She fiddled with the lock, then lifted the beautifully painted lid.

“There’s presents inside, Mommy! Besides the promise of the baby in your belly . . .”

“Really?” Priscilla strived to keep the laughter out of her voice as Joseph looked at the four
buwes
standing awkwardly in the background.

Dan smiled, breaking the awkward silence after Hollie’s announcement. “Her first hopes. We couldn’t give it empty.”

Hollie lifted the first wrapped package. “From John.” She read the card and opened the brown paper slowly and revealed a lace doily. “Oh, so pretty.”

John shrugged. “It was the finest Ben Kauffman had—you can use it someday in your own
haus
.”

Ernest’s gift was a fine lantern, and Dan’s a set of dish towels with tiny apples on them. “My
mamm
gave ’em to me to give to you.”

“Oh, thank you!
Danki
!” Hollie cried then took the last package from the deep box. “From Jay.”

Joseph watched Jay’s face as his daughter opened the present. “Oh my!” Hollie exclaimed.

It was a beautifully carved boat with crafted paper sails.

“It’s waterproof—I thought maybe we’d take it sailing sometime,” Jay offered, his head down a bit.

Hollie scrambled to her feet and ran to fling her arms around Jay’s legs. Joseph didn’t miss the flush of pleasure on the
buwe
’s cheeks and it pleased him greatly.
And here I thought the kid was a pain in the neck when there’s so much more to his story . . . Maybe there’s so much more to everyone’s story.

Joseph nodded his thanks to his group once more, then turned back to the preparations for the picnic.

 

 

Priscilla felt a wave of nausea upon rising from the oven with a pan of shortcakes for the strawberries she’d picked that morning.

“What’s wrong?” Joseph took the pan from her shaky hands and put an arm around her shoulders. “Are you sick? You’re overdoing things. You know Dr. McCully said you could start feeling faint or sick anytime in the first three months.” He was walking her away from the kitchen even as he spoke and led her to their bedroom. She was grateful for the light breeze coming in through the screened window.

“Lie down. I’ll get a wet cloth for your forehead . . . Do you want some water?”

Priscilla had to smile at his attentions. “You know, Joseph King, I think you’re going to spoil me silly.”

“Yeah—like you don’t deserve it,” he muttered as he poured water onto a cloth from the pitcher on the dressing table. He came back to the bed and sat down on the edge, carefully positioning the damp cloth on her forehead.

“You know, you could help me forget this sickness for a while.” She trailed her fingers up his arm.

He pulled back with a shocked look, and she burst out laughing. “What?”

“I know it’s perfectly fine to make love during the pregnancy so long as there’s no discomfort or bleeding,” he said, almost as if repeating a lesson learned. “But you’re sick.”

“I think I’m better.” She pulled his hand to her breast. “Feel my heart.”

He shook her off and got up.

“Joseph!”

“I think you’re not yourself. Now just rest until the picnic and maybe tonight we’ll . . . never mind.” He stalked out, closing the door behind him and she smiled and stretched languorously.

 

 

Joseph made the rounds of family and the few friends they’d invited, with Priscilla beside him.

“Where’s Edward?” she asked as they sampled blueberry turnovers from Frau Umble, who was looking particularly at peace.

“I don’t know,” Joseph murmured low, then looked up as the bishop’s wife touched his arm.

“He’s going to do it, Joseph—take a month’s vacation. He’s going to announce it in church on Sunday.”

“Great.” Joseph smiled and bent to let Priscilla in on the secret.

Then he led her to the shade of a fine maple and looked out on the happy picnic quilts and was deeply thankful for those who had gathered.

“Priscilla and I have an announcement to make,” he said, his voice carrying, and Hollie ran to their side. “I guess I should begin by saying I thought I’d never marry—but I was gladly wrong.”

A few chuckles met his remark and he smiled. “And now, having been gifted with a wife and beautiful daughter, we have the pleasure of announcing that Priscilla’s expecting . . . a baby . . . in about eight months . . .”

“Daddy!” Hollie cried as he stammered a bit. “Bear and me are gonna be a big brother and sister!”

Then everyone laughed and Joseph joined in, hugging Priscilla close, then gathering Hollie up into his arms. The people gathered buzzed with the
gut
news but then Joseph saw Edward, disheveled and unshaven, step from the woods, seemingly unmoved by the air of joy around him.

Joseph put Hollie down as his friends muttered, obviously noticing his
bruder
’s appearance.

Joseph watched Edward half saunter in their direction and he instinctively knew his
bruder
had been drinking, but he also wondered what else he’d been up to, given the conversation with Sarah earlier that morning.

“What’d I miss?” Edward asked, slurring his words.

Joseph resisted the raw urge he felt to grab hold of him.

“Edward, why have you been drinking again?” he asked low.

“What d’ya mean, Joe?”

Joseph took a step closer to him and frowned at the odor of alcohol. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Edward swallowed a hiccup. “So what if I do?” He spread his arms wide then slapped Joseph hard on the back. “You need to loosen up.”

Joseph let out a low growl of contempt, then grabbed Priscilla and Hollie’s hands and walked away from his
bruder.

“Hey, Joe, where ya goin’ in such a hurry? Joe!”

Joseph kept walking, stopping only here and there to thank people for coming as they quietly gathered their things to go, sensing something was not right.

When Joseph got to the door of the
haus
, he ushered Priscilla and Hollie and his
fater
inside.

“Dat, I’d like to talk to Edward alone.”

His
fater
nodded without comment and took Hollie’s hand. Joseph closed the door behind him and turned in time to see Edward come barging toward him.

Joseph put out a calm hand and stopped him still.

“
Kumme
on, Joe, don’t make me beat you again.”

“Edward, this can’t go on. I’ve got an
auld fater
, a pregnant wife, and a child in this
haus
, and so help me, until you come clean about your drinking and sober up, you’re no longer welcome here.”

“You can’t keep me from my home,” Edward cried, giving an ineffectual swing.

Then emerald-green eyes met angry blue, and Joseph’s gaze spoke the truth they both understood.
I can keep you from it and I will . . . with the last breath in my body.

Edward let out an angry sob and pulled away, slinking off into the forest.

Joseph stood on the doorstep, unmoving but for the silent tears that crept down his face in the bright mountain sunshine, testament to a love that knew no boundaries and a hope that time would transform his
bruder
’s heart.

Epilogue

Later that night, Joseph breathed in the soft fragrance of Priscilla’s hair as it fell across his chest. He could safely lose himself in her for a time and forget about the world outside. Whenever he loved her, he was caught up in the surreal feeling that he was floating, flying, only to be wonderfully tethered by the realness of her. He laid his hand across her belly, pressing lightly, in wonder of what she carried—part him; part her. And then her lips met his like the taste of mountain spring water, rushing fast and true through his veins . . .

“Edward will come around, Joseph,” she whispered, and he knew he could hide nothing from her, least of all the worries that haunted him for his brother.

“Are you so sure, my love?” he asked as she leaned over him, half in shadow.

“Who was it that taught me about gifts in oilcloth?” She kissed him tenderly as he recalled his own words about faith with a rueful smile.

“Well, we unwrapped plenty of those,” he admitted.

“And we can continue to unwrap and discover all that life brings us, Joseph, if we do it together.”

He caught her close, then moved above her
.
“
Jah
, you are right, sweet spitfire, and I will gladly take all from Gott’s hand with your help and strength beside me.” He kissed her with lingering heat until she arched against him.

“
Ach
, Joseph, as will I.”

And then he forgot words as his body spoke of a passion that more than met the demands of her soul and heart.

Don’t miss Kelly Long’s next novel,

The Amish Heart of Ice Mountain
,

 

coming this November!

 

The late-day summer storm came up fast and furious, splattering twenty-one-year-old
Amisch
Edward King with leaves and small branches as he dragged his tall frame from the damp pine-needle floor of the forest. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, gave up his hat for lost, and decided he’d better seek shelter as soon as possible.

Then he remembered . . . His
aulder bruder
, Joseph, had essentially kicked him out of the
haus
that afternoon for drinking and other things he’d prefer not to think on.

“Gott,” he muttered, pushing through the whipping trees in the general direction of the cabin of recently deceased Grossmudder May. The
auld
woman had been a healer to the
Amisch
community, and Edward had the idle thought that she’d be missed, but right now, all he wanted was the dryness of her temporarily empty cabin.

He staggered on, his white shirt and black pants clinging to him as he swiped the rain from his mouth and hitched up a suspender. It was rough going in the pelting rain but he walked on, used to the feeling of getting through life half-blind. He sighed to himself as lightning formed an angry zigzag in the distance, casting an almost greenish glow over everything that cowered beneath the rain.

Finally he gained the cabin and clambered up the front porch steps to open the unlocked door and collapse in a heap on the hardwood kitchen floor.

“I’ll find the bed later,” he muttered aloud to himself, then gave in to the blissful pull of drunken sleep.

 

 

Nineteen-year-old Sarah Mast, the new healer of Ice Mountain, pushed the bedstead back against the wall of Grossmudder May’s cabin bedroom and heard a loud thump. She shivered a bit, still not used to the place after two days, and decided that a limb had probably struck the front of the cabin. She dusted her hands on her white apron, then walked into the kitchen, only to stop dead at the sight of the man lying in a growing puddle upon the floor.

He groaned and turned his face slightly and she drew in a sharp breath. She recognized the dark blond hair, handsome face, and lithe body only too well.
Edward King . . . There was a time, not too long ago, when I would have done anything he asked of me, when I kissed his mouth, when I let him . . .
She drew her thoughts up sharply. Of course, she’d never let him trespass on her virtue . . .
But maybe I wanted him to.
She banished the thought—that was all before he’d left the mountain to work on the Marcellus Shale gas rigs
. He left to make money so we could wed sooner. Well, that’s all turned out beautifully.
She smiled wryly, then sat down at the table to eat a makeshift supper of fresh bread and apple butter. She eyed Edward’s inert figure impassively then rose to wash her dishes, not bothering to be especially quiet in the process. She retook her seat at the table with a cup of licorice tea.

He stirred soon, as she’d expected he would, clutching his head and raising himself up on his elbows. “
Ach
, my head,” he moaned.

“Fresh ginger root, lemon juice, honey, and a bit of potassium,” Sarah recited from memory.

“What?” He frowned.

“The cure for what ails you,” she said succinctly. “You look terrible.”

“
Danki
, Sarah . . . So are you gonna get that stuff for me or what?”

“Nee.”
She tapped a foot while she sipped a bit of tea. “I think the headache will do you
gut
.” She ignored the impulse of her fingers to bring him immediate relief and tried to remember how he’d been treating her lately.

He raised a soaked arm and she had to look away from the play of well-defined muscles beneath his plastered white shirt. “Joseph threw me out.”

“As well he might.”

“Yeah, but this cabin was supposed to be deserted for a bit.” He dragged himself to a sitting position and looked up at her, owl-eyed. “Why are you here?”

“I’m the new healer, remember?”

He frowned. “How can I forget? I’m surprised your
fater
is actually going to let you live here alone. Gott knows he would have killed me had he figured out we were . . .”

She straightened her back.
We were . . . past tense. Well, he’s finally
kumme
out and said it at least . . . even though I was the one who told him it was over. Has it only been a day since that conversation?

She’d stood, tense and trying to be resolute, in one of her
fater
’s smaller barns while Edward had slipped inside their place of many meetings. She’d taken in his tall frame, lithe grace, and handsome half smile and told herself that she was being a fool. Still, she knew that his drinking was probably more than occasional and he’d been avoiding her like the plague lately, not even so much as helping her down from a high step at Ben Kauffman’s store.
I deserve better
, she’d told herself as he sauntered close. But, unfortunately, there was none better than Edward King on the mountain and the man knew it. She’d pursed her lips.
Better to court some ugly man with a good heart than to be dragged about by my feelings . . .
But when Edward reached out a hand to lazily run his finger down the length of her arm, she knew she’d never be content with anyone but him. She’d steeled her senses and swallowed.

“I’ve been wanting to talk with you,” he’d whispered huskily.

“I find that hard to believe,” she’d snapped, ignoring the fact that he’d circled behind her to press close against her skirts, his hands now on her shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, blowing softly at a loose tendril of her hair.

She’d shivered, knowing it would be so easy to melt back against him and let him touch and feel and . . .

“I want to break our courtship.”

She felt the sudden tension in his own body as his hands slipped from her and he came back around to look down at her.

“What did you say?”

She wet her lips. “You—you heard me.”

“Why?”

She wanted to curse; he actually sounded curious.

“Because you’ve wanted to break it too, Edward King. You’ve barely looked at me since you got back from the rigs, and I know that you’ve been drinking and—I—I want it over, that’s all.”

He smiled; a wolfish look that made her shiver with suppressed excitement and bent closer to her.

“I wrote a letter,” he murmured.

“What?” she’d asked in confusion, knowing she had seen no missive from him, nor was it his habit to write love letters; still, the idea intrigued her despite her assertion that she wanted to end their relationship. “What letter?”

“A letter to someone higher up who works at the Marcellus Shale. I’ve invited them to Ice Mountain.” He thumbed his way around her throat and she blinked, then parted her lips in anger.

“What are you talking about, Edward? Do you know what it would mean if geologists found gas here and then . . .”

“Sarah? Be you in there?” Her
fater’s
voice penetrated the peg and groove wood of the door, and she stared at Edward in rising panic.

But he’d merely shrugged and slipped behind a high pile of hay, leaving her to face her father’s curiosity alone . . .

“I’m sorry,” he said roughly, and she jumped, coming back to the present. She couldn’t control the physical response she had to the deep timbre of his voice. It was as though someone had run a warm finger down her spine, and she shifted a bit on the hard-back chair.

“What for?” she asked dryly. “Us? Or the fact that you invited Marcellus Shale to Ice Mountain?”

Edward’s frown deepened. “I wasn’t thinking when I wrote to the gas company.”

“
Nee
, and you were probably drinking,” she pointed out, ignoring the internal voice that told her she was being truthful yet cruel.

He sighed. “Well, you’re probably right, at that. And I’d better get going.” He started to haul himself to his feet, then paused to cover his mouth as he sneezed.

She listened for a moment to the heavy rain on the cabin roof and drew a deep breath. “You’ll catch pneumonia, Edward. Stay here and dry your shirt. You can go when the storm passes.”

He stood up and met her eyes with his piercing blue gaze. “You sure, Sarah?”

She nodded.
But I’m not sure at all
, she thought wildly when he eased his suspenders down and began to pull pins from his shirt front with long fingers.

She got up and turned to the refuge of the huge cupboard Grossmudder May had left behind, willing to Sarah a wealth of cures and comforts. She tried to focus on some of the bottles of rarer herbs, but he sneezed again. She grabbed a ginger root and was beginning to grate it when a loud knock sounded on the front door.

“Sarah!” a voice boomed, louder than the thunder, and she turned to look at the bare-chested Edward in slow dawning horror. It was her
fater . . .

Life and protocol for the Mountain
Amisch
was far behind modern times. There was a rigid code of honor that existed among Edward’s people and he knew that being in a state of undress with an unmarried girl was simply not acceptable. He shuddered, certain that Mahlon Mast was enough of a prig to force a marriage out of such circumstances, and he longed for the
auld
pegged wooden floor to open up and swallow him whole. But no such thing happened, and the front door opened to reveal not only Mahlon Mast but Bishop Umble as well.

Edward muttered a curse under his breath as the two older men stared at him in mute fascination and dawning disapproval, while he stood, shivering, in the sudden influx of cool air from the rain outside.
Great . . . This looks great . . .

He glanced at Sarah, who appeared frozen with a ginger root in her hand, her gray eyes wide and scared.
Damn her
fater
anyway. The girl is the healer—it should be perfectly fine if I have my shirt off. She shouldn’t have to be frightened . . .

He straightened his bare shoulders and turned to face the other men.

“You!” Mahlon Mast sputtered, lifting a meaty hand to point a finger as thick as a sausage at him.

Bishop Umble frowned, obviously catching the drift of Sarah’s
fater
’s thoughts. “Now, Mahlon . . .”

“I got caught in the storm. Sarah was kind enough to offer me shelter and is preparing a warm drink for me while my shirt dries. That’s all.” Edward kept his voice calm and level though the back of his head was starting to pound.

“Nee,”
Mahlon growled. “I’ve seen you before, sneakin’ about our
haus
, always makin’ some excuse . . . You tell me, Edward King, that you’ve not been courtin’ my
dochder
.”

Edward drew in a harsh breath and glanced again at Sarah.
What am I supposed to say when it’s the absolute truth and Sarah’s not about to lie?

“Well?” Mahlon demanded.

“Now, now,” Bishop Umble murmured. “You know, Mahlon, that all of our young folks’ courting is done in secret at
nacht
. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Jah,”
Mahlon retorted. “But here he’s a-standin’ in broad daylight, half-naked, and I tell you that it’s my girl and it’s dishonor.”

“And is she going to marry every man she sees with his shirt off and still be the healer for Ice Mountain?” Edward snapped.

Mahlon looked as though his eyes were about to bug out of his head and he took an aggressive step closer. “She ain’t healin’ you,
buwe
. You got nuthin’ much wrong with you but your ways and your drinkin’ and lyin’ and—”

“And that makes me the perfect husband for someone like Sarah, right?”

Mahlon’s thick finger traced an invisible scope up and down Edward’s bare chest. “You’ll do right by her and you’ll learn to be the man she deserves, or else . . .”

“Fater, sei se gut,”
Sarah began.

“Enough,” Mahlon gritted out. “I ought to beat him senseless for this presuming on your honor. But there’s no help for it . . . Bishop, marry them.”

“
Fater
, I don’t want to marry him,” Sarah said calmly, but Edward heard the desperation in her voice and he couldn’t deny that it hurt somewhere deep inside. She had told him that she never wanted to see him again only yesterday, and she’d probably kill him if she knew how much he drank and about the girl he’d met in a bar while he was away and about his anger and hopelessness and . . .

“I’m sorry, Sarah,” Bishop Umble said finally, stroking his long gray beard. “I believe your
fater
is right and Edward will become the man you deserve and you a fitting wife for him. We must not allow dalliance among our young people, especially with you in such a position of service to the community. I will marry you and I believe that Derr Herr will make things right between you both.”

Then, as if from a long distance away, Edward heard the fall of the ginger root as it hit the hardwood floor—a dull thump, like the one in his head, like a single beat of his terrified heart.