The Amish Bride of Ice Mountain (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The following morning, Mary was still sleeping and Bear still breathed. Jude sat back down in the hard chair by the bed, then looked up as the door creaked open.

“Letter for you, sent overnight or something, Mr. Ellis said,” Edward whispered and handed him the blue envelope.

“Danki.”
Jude smiled at the younger man, who nodded, then closed the door.

With an eye on Mary, Jude slit the envelope and pulled out the single page. He recognized the handwriting as his mother’s and straightened his glasses to read the sprawling cursive.

“What is it, Jude?”

He looked up at Mary’s face in the fall of the morning sunlight.

“My parents are getting divorced.” Even as he said the words, he couldn’t believe them.

“What?”

He handed her the letter and watched her read as images of his mother and father drifted across his mind.

“Jude . . . I don’t know what to say.”

He leaned forward and put his head in his hands, thumbing beneath his glasses to massage at his eyes. She touched his hair and he stayed still. Everything felt like it was falling apart . . .
or maybe falling into place. Now, why did I think that?

“Why not take a walk, Jude? Go over to the bishop’s house—he’s a wise man.”

Jude lifted his gaze and saw the true sympathy in Mary’s eyes. “He’s also an
Amisch
man who doesn’t believe in divorce. I—I’d probably seem like a mess to him.”

“Nee,”
she said tenderly. “He understands people, I think.”

Jude considered. “Will you be all right for a bit if I get someone to sit with you?”

“Of course.” She smiled, though there were still bruise-like smudges beneath her eyes.

“All right. I’ll take your advice.”

He bent and brushed a kiss on her forehead, then walked to the edge of the bed to bend down and check on Bear. This time, the dog opened its mouth a bit and Jude quickly swabbed the swollen tongue with a damp cloth as Julie had instructed.

He got to his feet. “I think your wolf dog may yet be well.”

“I have prayed for it.”

He gave a brief nod, then left the room.

Mary dozed for a bit and awoke to see Dr. Matthews bent over Bear on the floor. Mary sat up anxiously. “
Ach
, is he all right?”

The other woman turned with a smile. “Yes, I think so. He took a bit of water.” She got up, snapped off blue plastic gloves, then went to wash her hands, using the bowl and pitcher on Mary’s dresser. She smiled at Mary once more and made as if to exit the door.

“
Ach
, wait,
sei se gut
,” Mary called.

The doctor came back to the bed. “Is everything feeling all right?”

“
Jah
, it’s—it’s just I wanted to apologize to you.”

Dr. Matthews sat down in the chair by the bed with a surprised thump. “Apologize? Whatever for?”

Mary wet her lips. “You see, I thought that you and Jude . . . well, I accused him of liking you and I thought of you with jealousy. I was wrong. Please forgive me.”

The doctor shook her head and smiled, then to Mary’s surprise, she wiped a tear from her eyes.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Mary cried softly.

“No, it’s not you. It’s your honesty—so typical of your people. I remember it from growing up and miss it now.”

“You—you’re familiar with the
Amisch
?”

“Mennonite, actually. My grandparents raised me; they were Mennonite. A bit more liberal, but still that same emphasis on honesty of the heart. Thank you, Mary.”

“I have to thank you . . . I mean, what you’ve done for everyone and Bear especially.” Mary had a sudden inspiration and gave the other woman a shy smile. “Would you accept a gift? Please—from the heart.”

“Oh, I don’t know . . .”

“Please go to that chest over by the window, if you can step around Bear, and open it.”

Mary watched the doctor’s reluctant movements and then heard the creak of the chest opening. “Way at the bottom, there’s a quilt with red and green and yellow.”

Dr. Matthews found the quilt and held it up for Mary’s inspection. “
Jah
. It’s a Christmas Roses pattern. You might know it. I worked it when I was sixteen. I want you to have it.”

“I can’t take this,” the doctor said, tears thick in her voice.

“You can, please, and will. I want to remember—what did you call it? The honesty of the heart always.”

Mary watched the doctor come forward and bend to offer her a hug. Mary returned the embrace with gladness, the quilt between them, and true joy in the giving.

 

 

Martha Umble, the bishop’s wife, opened the door to Jude. He glanced with some hesitancy at the old
Amisch
woman, not sure what to expect, as she was usually a rather dour person. But to his surprise, she broke into a wide smile and waved him into the warm kitchen. He slipped off his boots on the rug to the side of the door and hung up his coat next to the bishop’s black wool one and Martha’s cloak.

The long, narrow kitchen was painted a bright, light blue and plants grew in coffee cans on the windowsills. The smell of cinnamon and fresh bread hung heavy and comforting in the air.

“You want a sticky bun?” Martha asked as he took the seat she offered at the narrow kitchen table bench.

“Danki, jah.”
He wasn’t hungry but he didn’t want to give offense, and soon a mug of coffee and two gooey spirals of cinnamon bread were set before him.

“I’ll fetch the bishop,” Martha said, leaving Jude alone with his thoughts for a moment. He moved the heavy-ended fork through the brown sugar topping and took a reluctant bite. It tasted heavenly, but he could only think of his mother’s letter.
Things falling into place . . .

“So, Jude Lyons, you come early for breakfast, and Martha has left us alone. She has sort of a sixth sense as a bishop’s wife—always can tell when a man wants to talk.”

Soon, the older man eased a leg over the bench on the opposite side of the table with his own mug and sticky bun. He peered at Jude over his wire-rim spectacles and stroked his long gray beard back out of the way of his napkin. “So,
sohn
, what is it?”

Jude hunched his shoulders.
Sohn . . .
“Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“You think? Who sent you?”

“Mary.”

“Mmm.” The bishop savored a bite and waved his fork. “Not a bad idea, then—what can I do for you?”

“My mother is divorcing my father
.
”
There. That gave the old man pause.

“I see.”

Well, I don’t, not really . . .
Jude sighed. “I know the
Amisch
don’t practice divorce.”

“Mmm-hmm. Annulments, neither. We don’t practice those.”

Jude threw him a sour look. “I should go.”

“Stay right there and finish that sticky bun or you’ll hurt Martha to the quick. How do you feel inside, about this divorce?”

“Like I have no family left . . . like I’m ten years old and want to cry . . . like there’s no place for me.” Jude spat the words out, feeling angry with himself for not simply being able to accept the news.

“That’s not the truth?” The bishop pointed his fork at him.

“What? What’s not true?”

“That there is no place for you. Tell me, young man, what are your intentions toward Mary?”

“I . . .” Jude stared into the wise and wizened face. He didn’t know where to stop or how to begin
. Mary . . . Dear God . . .

The bishop wiped his whiskers and smiled at Jude. “Eat your sticky bun,
buwe
. I expect we have some time for it while we talk.”

Chapter Thirty

Mary appreciated the hand that Jude held at the small of her back as they navigated their way into Henry Miller’s largest barn for the church services that were held every two weeks. She still felt weak at times but was infinitely better than three weeks earlier and had been truly sorry to bid farewell to Julie and Kyle when they returned to Atlanta.

“Are you all right?” Jude bent to whisper near the edge of her bonnet. “These backless benches are brutal. I think I’d better sit near you in case you feel weak or something.”

“I’m fine,” she whispered back. She slid down onto the bench she’d occupied with Rachel, wondering if Jude would notice that she didn’t sit with the married women.
He must know but I’m not sure what he’s thinking, what his plans are about us . . .

She peeked up at him from beneath the rim of her bonnet and saw his slight frown, but then he patted her shoulder. “I’ll go find my seat.”

She smiled and watched him make his way through the crowd of black coats, his own navy blue standing out obviously. But the bishop had invited him . . .

The worship service began and she prayed she would not feel ill during the next three hours. But soon she discovered that the familiar order of the hymns soothed her and she eagerly drank in the prayers with a thirsty spirit.

Some time later, Bishop Umble stood up to give the main sermon and Mary waited eagerly in anticipation. The bishop’s talks were anything but common; he always had a way of applying the Bible to everyday life that seemed relevant for that particular moment in the community.

But today, to Mary’s surprise, he began to speak on forgiveness. Of course, there was always a need to be of a forgiving nature, but she’d expected something about illness and healing, in light of Julie and Kyle’s recent help to the community. Still, she listened intently.

“Forgiveness is not forgetting,” the old man said, his hands behind his back as he paced from one side of the benches to the other. “
Nee
, forgiving does not involve forgetting but does involve choosing not to remember a sin—a subtle difference but
ach
, so powerful.”

He stopped and Mary watched him search the faces of his people. “Who has wronged you? Who has hurt you, wounded you, expected the worst of you, lied about you? Who has done these things? You all can bring someone to mind . . . all of you. But I challenge you in Christ’s name to choose to forget those sins and move on in right relationship with that person . . . Now, I don’t mean to say that you must become bosom friends, but that you can greet the other with a deliberate consciousness, a deliberate action to no longer recall what they did to you. That is how
Gott
sees us. He remembers our sins no more . . . And now, I would ask one to come before you, one who would speak about forgiveness and ask something of you all—Jude.” The bishop lifted his hand in the direction of the blue coat and Mary caught her breath. Was Jude going to speak? And if so,
was en der weldt
was he going to say?

 

 

Jude knew it was coming, this call to come before the community. But he felt nervous nonetheless. What he was about to do involved no turning back, no looking back, only going forward to a possible new future.

Jude adjusted his glasses and clenched his hands behind his back as he looked out on the community of
Amisch
. Mary’s eyes, in particular, were large and searching.
Well, here goes
. . .

“I thank you all for the chance to speak and thank you, Bishop Umble. You all know that I spent the summer here, married one of your own, and that she came back because of homesickness. I have discovered too that I have homesickness, but I will speak of that in a moment.

“First, I must beg for your forgiveness in the situation of my marriage to Mary. I have confessed to the bishop and now, I do the same here before you, that it was my first intention to seek an annulment from Mary, to put her aside, send her back here and go on with my life . . .”

Jude swallowed at the faint rustling among the worshippers and avoided looking in Abner’s direction. He went on.

“But I have found that my life outside this mountain has become distant and I am homesick for this place. Here, I have found
faters
,
bruders
, sisters, my wife, and most importantly, the need to cry out to
Gott
. I would ask you to consider my staying on to become a permanent part of the community.”

He saw the shock on Mary’s face as her beautiful mouth formed a silent gasp.

“I would study with Bishop Umble, with all of you, if you will have me, and I will give up my other life to find community here among you. I ask you to please consider—
danki
.”

He dropped onto the bench beside the bishop, who handed him a peppermint candy, unwrapped. Jude took it with pleasure as the older man rose to speak again.

“So, you have heard both his confession and his petition. May I have an indication of what you would like to do regarding Jude Lyons?”

There was an infinitesimal pause and then a chorus of
“Jahs”
that slowly rose to echo in the great barn. Jude’s eyes filled with tears. He glanced behind him to see Mary wiping her cheeks and smiling at him and he knew he’d done the right thing. Now she could be his wife in truth . . .

“I agree with your decision and thank you,” Bishop Umble said from the front and Jude turned back around. “There is one thing, though . . . as I was the one who participated in Jude and Mary Lyons’s rather hasty marriage, I feel it only right that Jude complete some of his studies for the next month while staying under my roof—Mary under her
fater
’s
.
And while this may seem odd to you, I find it
gut
judgment, to give Jude time to focus—ahem—on the desires of
Gott
and not the desires of the flesh. It will also give the couple a month’s time to court in the
Amisch
way, for he should learn of this as well. Are we in agreement?”

The bishop’s eyes twinkled as Jude stared at him.
The old goat . . . so now, I have to court my wife instead of . . .
But a new resounding affirmation from the community, as well as some laughter, drowned out his thoughts and he knew he had no choice but to agree. Although now the prospect of intense study didn’t seem as pleasurable as it might have with his wife as his tutor.

Jude was engulfed by handshakes and well wishes and had nearly made it back to Mary when the barn door suddenly swung open, letting in the cold, bright light. The community turned as one to stare at the silhouetted figure in the door—a man, carrying another man.

“Please,” Mahlon Mast called out, stepping farther into the barn. “Someone help my
sohn
—he’s sick bad.”

Whispers of “It’s Isaac” blew in Jude’s direction and then he had to keep himself from leaping over heads when he saw Mary slowly make her way back to the open door and Mahlon Mast.