The Amish Bride of Ice Mountain (22 page)

Chapter Forty-One

Jude knew he wasn’t being much of a courting companion that night, but he still felt bad about dinner at the bishop’s. He paced the confines of Abner’s cabin living area, aware that Mary watched him with worried eyes.

“Maybe he reminds you of your
fater
,” she said into the silence.

“What? Who?”

“Mahlon Mast.”

He wanted to reject the thought, but he knew she was right.
Mast is a cheerless, joy-stealing individual. Those qualities do resonate with me on many levels . . .

He sighed and sank down onto the couch next to her. “I suppose you’re right. I was that unsmiling kid when I was young. My grandfather provided the diversions that saved me.”

“And you simply tried to repeat that today. Is that so wrong?”

“
Nee
. . . but . . .”

“Jude,” she said gently, “maybe what really troubles you is the fact that you couldn’t control your
fater
’s reaction to you any more than you can control Mahlon’s.”

He swallowed hard. “You know me well, I guess.” He turned to look at her and gathered her close for a hug. “Thank you.” He was about to kiss her when Bear made a strange, strangled sound.

“What is wrong with that dog?” Jude asked in exasperation. “That’s the third time in a row that he’s howled. Maybe there’s someone outside. I’d better take a look around—it’s really late.”

He went and opened the front door, and the distinctive smell of smoke wafted in on the cold night air. Bear tore out the door, barking fiercely, and Jude spotted an ominous glow in the sky behind some distant trees.

“Fire!” Jude exclaimed. “Where is that?” He was pulling on his coat as he spoke and Mary turned from running to wake her
dat
and
bruders
.

“That’s our cabin, Jude,” she wailed. “I’m sure of it.”

“Our cabin?” And then he blinked and ran out into the night, following the eerie glow and the trail of smoke in the sky.

He ran through the paths and sometimes cut through the trees, finally approaching the cabin he’d used the previous summer. He could tell, even with the engulfing flames, how much larger it had been made, and he stared at the burning wood in dismay. Then he realized that Bear had cornered someone who was yelling for help.

“Call it off! Call off your dog!”

Jude gave a sharp whistle and Bear backed away but kept low on his haunches. In the light of the flames, Jude recognized Mahlon Mast, and something clicked in his brain.
A man could have an easy accident that time of night . . .

“You!” Jude exclaimed. “You set this fire!”

“I did not!” Mahlon screeched. “I saw the light and came to help put it out.”

“I should let Bear have at you.”

“Nee, nee.”
Mahlon held his hands up in front of him. “I’m telling the truth.”

“Yeah, right. I’m going to . . .” One of the taller side walls of the cabin collapsed and fell outward, sending sparks drifting toward the tall pines and coming dangerously close to the two men. Bear yelped as Jude automatically pushed Mahlon out of harm’s way. Both men slipped and fell in the snow as Bear circled around them, barking.

“The trees,” Mahlon cried out. “If the fire spreads, it could take the whole mountaintop!”

Jude scrambled to his feet as Mast did the same. “How do we put it out?”

“Others will come soon. We need a bucket line from the creek.”

“We can start with snow,” Jude yelled. He ran to the small shed and grabbed two buckets, tossing one back to Mast. Then they began to scoop up snow and throw it at the ever-consuming fire.

Soon Jude became aware that many men, women, and teenagers were there—practically the whole community—and orderly bucket lines were formed from the creek to the burning cabin. He got a glimpse of his mother in one of the lines, wearing a large black
Amisch
man’s coat, and then his eyes sought the crowd for Mary.

He saw her, small but sturdily trudging with a bucket toward the secret home she’d planned for him, even though it was apparent that all was lost. He thought about how she must be feeling, and then he knew the familiar, engulfing blackness of his lowered blood sugar and he collapsed, helpless to do otherwise, on the wet and muddy ground.

 

 

“How long has he been doing this?”

The white-coated doctor’s tone was brisk and Mary looked quickly across the emergency room bed at Lydia Lyons’s sooty, tearful face.

“Since he was a teenager,” Jude’s
mamm
answered. “But he’s been to the best endocrinologist in Atlanta.”

“When was his last appointment?” the doctor questioned dryly.

“He does this often, er, over the last few months,” Mary supplied.

“Well, it’s no longer something he can manage alone. I need to check his labs.” The doctor gave a brief nod and slipped outside the yellow curtain.

A rotund, motherly-looking nurse entered. “There are some forms that need to be filled out.”

Mary looked doubtfully at her mother-in-law. “I’ll do it,” Lydia said. “You stay here with him, Mary.”

Jude began to stir a few moments later, then opened his blue eyes to peer owl-like up at her. “I can’t see very well,” he complained.

“Your glasses got broken when you fell,” she said softly, trying to hold back tears. She hated to see him look so pale and confused.

He peered around the room. “Where am I?”

“The Coudersport Hospital emergency room.”

He half tried to sit up and she pushed him back. “Please, Jude.”

“What? Well, how in the world did I get here? It’s twenty miles from Ice Mountain . . .”

“I know . . . my
bruders
and Mahlon Mast got you down the mountain on a sled and Mr. Ellis drove us the rest of the way.”

“Mast? The fire . . .” She felt him search her face frantically. “I think Mast started the fire.”

Mary shook her head. “
Nee
. Joseph says one of the younger
buwes
left some kerosene and matches where some raccoons had a bit of a play. The fire was an accident.”

“How long have I been out?” he asked.

“Too long.” The doctor had reappeared and gave Jude a stern look. “Your blood sugar is out of control, Professor.”

Jude frowned. “I’ve been to the best endo—”

“I know.” The doctor held up a hand. “Five years ago. Things have gotten worse since then it seems.”

“I want to get up.”

“You’ll stop scaring your pretty wife and lie right there . . . and forgive me, I’m Dr. McCaully. Luke, actually. And before you question my diagnosis, I’m Harvard trained.”

Jude lay back and visibly relaxed. “What are you doing in Coudersport, Pennsylvania?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” The doctor’s brown eyes twinkled at Mary. “But I think I can guess. In any case, I’m going to give you a prescription. You can fill it here. We need to get your sugar regulated. I’ll see you off that mountain in my office in a month, and I want you to rest for a few days.”

Mary knew what her husband was going to say before he said it.
Like an old married couple
. . . The thought made her smile.

“I can’t rest for long. I start a new job on Monday.”

“I’m sure the bishop will make an allowance,” Mary said.

“Yeah . . . well . . .”

“Gut,”
the doctor quipped in perfect Penn Dutch. “Very
gut
.”

Chapter Forty-Two

“I feel fine,” Jude snapped to the bishop on Saturday morning. “And where are you going, anyway?”

“Out,” Bishop Umble returned in a mild tone. “And so is my
frau
—we’ll be gone the whole day. You,
Herr Dokator
, behave, stay on that couch, and I’ll see about having Mary drop by to visit. Besides, you can’t see anyway without your glasses, and Daniel isn’t running down to Mr. Ellis until this afternoon to get your new ones. So sit still.”

Jude scowled and laid his head back after the Umbles had gone. He felt restless but, he had to admit, not quite himself. The medication would take some adjusting to; it made him drowsy, but he wasn’t good at waiting . . .
except when it comes to my wife.
He smiled and drifted off into a pleasant lassitude.

 

 

Mary entered the Umble house on quiet feet. She knew where everyone was going that day, but she had no desire for Jude to guess, so she decided to keep his mind—
and maybe his hands—
occupied.

But when she saw his big body sprawled on the Umbles’ small couch, a crocheted afghan tangled around his waist and his white
Amisch
shirt half-undone, she knew that she’d truly have to focus to achieve her goal and not be swept up by emotion . . . or sensation . . . herself.

She approached the couch and knelt down by his outstretched arm. He was obviously dreaming of something enjoyable because a half smile played about his perfect lips and there was a heady flush on his handsome cheeks as he moved slightly, arching his back.

She put out a finger and trailed it across his large hand. His nails were neat and short, as always, and she tested the calluses that had formed across the pads of his palm, reveling in his strength but also seeing the fragility of life in his relaxed grip. He was only man, only flesh and blood and bone, and she’d been so worried about him the night they took him to the hospital. She realized that she couldn’t imagine her life now without him, and the thought shook her. She bit her lip and looked up to find his blue eyes open and sleepy . . . and heated.

“Dreaming about you,” he slurred with a smile.

“What about?”

He shook his head. “Mmm . . . can’t tell.”

“
Jah
, you can,” she whispered, liking to see him so relaxed yet obviously aroused.

“We were on a beach alone. You were on my lap with the water all around us . . . it was so nice, so wet.” He sighed and closed his eyes, nestling his head deeper into his pillow.

She touched his arm after his breathing evened out. “Jude?”

She smiled when he didn’t answer, then got up to pull a chair close to him, content to watch him dream.

 

 

By Monday morning, Jude insisted on being up. Even Mary’s pleas fell on deaf ears as he pulled on his heavy coat. The bishop and his wife were gone from the house once more, as they’d been on Saturday, and Jude felt the curious sensation that he was missing out on something.

He adjusted his new glasses and handed Mary her cloak. “Let’s go for a walk. Only a short one,” he amended when she began to protest. “We’ll go over to the store. I need some exercise, Mary, especially if I’m going to open school Wednesday.”

She agreed reluctantly, fidgeting with the closure on her cloak. He reached down to do it for her and lifted her chin with his fingertips. “Why are you so nervous?”

She avoided his eyes. “I . . . um . . . we’re alone. Do you want to make out?”

He smiled, mystified. “Normally I’d be jumping at that offer, Mrs. Lyons, but something tells me I shouldn’t. Now let’s go, woman.”

She took his hand with a sigh and let him lead her out the door. As they walked, he enjoyed the mountain smell of the brisk, cold air and kept up a pleasant conversation that left little room for Mary to try to dissuade him from going to Ben’s store.

But to his amazement, when they arrived at the Kauffmans’, the store was marked with a large Closed sign on the front window.

“Closed? On a Monday . . . it is Monday, right?” He turned to look at Mary, who was biting her lip again.

“Jah
, it’s Monday,” she murmured.

He put his hands on his hips. “All right, sweetheart, what’s going on? Is the community having a vote to kick me out or something?”

“
Nee, ach, nee—
it’s nothing like that, really.”

“Uh-huh . . . then tell me what’s going on,
sei se gut
.”

She gave a frustrated sigh. “
Ach
, I was supposed to keep you occupied.”

“Mary,
kumme
on.”

“All right, I’ll show you, but we’ll have to go through the trees and we cannot let anyone see us.”

“Okaay . . . is it some strange
Amisch
ritual I don’t know about where
Grossmuder
May dresses up like a cat and dances in a hexagon?”

She laughed.
“Nee.”

“
Gut
. . . I don’t want to find out I’ve joined a bunch of crazies even if the rest of the
Amisch
world finds you mountain people to be odd.”

She smiled up at him, displaying perfect, white teeth. “Am I odd?”

He bent and kissed her nose. “You’re beautiful . . . now, let’s go.” He gave her a playful swat on her bottom and she squeaked, then took off toward the woods. He had to hurry to catch up with her.

 

 

Mary had only ever seen one barn raising in her lifetime, but many cabins had been built by the community. Still, as she pressed down the snow-crusted branches of an old pine and peered at the industry of her people, moving in masterful unison, her heart was struck by the beauty and symmetry of the working men. And the women worked together too, preparing food over open fires and stirring brews of hot cider and hot chocolate while laughing and talking. She could even see Jude’s
mamm
carrying a tray of mugs while looking pretty in a white outfit with a fur-edged vest.

Mary heard Jude’s breath behind her and pushed the branches down another inch so that he might see better.

“They’re rebuilding our cabin,” he said in hoarse wonder.

Mary nodded, feeling tears fill her eyes at the emotion in his voice. “It was to have been a surprise . . .”

She felt him slide his hands around her waist, lacing them in front of her belly as he leaned his chin on top of her bonnet. “I’m sorry I pestered it out of you, sweetheart . . . I can’t believe . . . I’ve never had a whole community come together like this . . . for me . . . for us.”

She smiled. “That’s what it is to be
Amisch
.”

“Well, it’s not
Amisch
to be sneaking around while men are trying to work,” a low voice growled, and Mary moved in Jude’s arms to see Mahlon Mast standing behind them in the trees.

 

 

Jude turned around to slowly face Mast, easing Mary tight against his side. The other man wore no hat and had on a work apron filled with tools; he also carried a hammer.

“Why are you here?” Jude asked, keeping his voice low and level.

“Why do you think I’m here? Can’t you see with them glasses? I’m helpin’ build your cabin.”

“But why?” Jude asked again. “And why, even after I blamed you for the fire, did you help get me down the mountain the night I went to the hospital?”

Mast gave a sullen shrug. “Stupid
Englischer
. What else was I to do?”

Something about being called stupid and being reminded that he was the outsider struck Jude hard and he swallowed as a terrible rage swept through him.

“You know, Mast, I’ve known one other man like you in my life—my father. He too can’t forgive, can’t forget. He hates because that’s all he knows inside—he wants what he cannot have and has what he does not want . . . And I don’t care if you don’t want me here, I’m here. I’m alive and it’s too bad that I didn’t die, it’s too bad that I’m not what you want . . . what you’ll ever accept . . .” Jude became aware that he was yelling and that Mary was pulling on his sleeve. He felt a wave of nauseous dizziness and started to tilt forward, realizing he was screaming at Mast as if he were his father. It was too much, and he gave in to the swamping desire to collapse, but felt Mahlon Mast’s arms catch and hold him from the ground. He heard Mary’s frightened cry and then Mast leaned close to him and spoke in a choked whisper. “I’m sorry—Jude.”