The Amish Bride of Ice Mountain (24 page)

Chapter Forty-Five

One Saturday morning, Jude slept late only to wake and remember that it was December fourteenth. He could hardly believe how fast time had gone by—he had been so busy with his teaching and so exhausted by nightfall as he adjusted to the medication he’d been prescribed.
But today, I will finally make love to my wife.
He had the vague feeling that it was like Christmas morning to a child prepared to open a wonderful gift, and he had to restrain himself from laughing out loud in pure joy as he hurriedly dressed in the Umbles’ spare room.

But his steps slowed as he made his way down to the kitchen.
I don’t want to seem like some overeager idiot . . . maybe she’ll want to simply spend some time getting to know our new home
. . . The thought dampened his spirits somewhat, but he knew that the prize was well worth the wait.

Bishop Umble greeted him with an uncharacteristic grunt and Jude raised an eyebrow in question to
Frau
Umble, who simply shrugged and carried the laundry basket out of the room.

“What’s the matter?” Jude asked finally, after moments of silence, fearing there would be some new time constraint put upon him.

“If you must know,” the old man sniffed, “I am going to miss you.”

“Oh . . . oh, really? Wow!”

“I don’t think ‘wow’ is in the Penn Dutch dictionary.”

“It should be. Thank you—I mean
, danki
. I’ll miss you too.”
And I will . . . he’s taught me so much . . .

“Well.” The bishop straightened his suspenders as if preparing for a big talk. “I know you might think it’s not my business, but I . . .” He lowered his voice, glancing over his shoulder and back to Jude. “I wonder if you need any advice on the wedding night, since it seems that you haven’t—er, didn’t . . .”

Jude tried hard to keep a straight face, but then he laughed. Bishop Umble shot him a scowl, looking like he was going to erupt, then burst out laughing too. “All right, Jude, you’re on your own.”

“
Gut
, but really . . .” He reached across the table and grasped the old hand nearest him. “Thank you for helping me learn how to live. I won’t ever forget.”

“Anytime,
sohn
.”

Jude nodded and wiped the tears from his own eyes even as he smiled.

 

 

Mary paced the spacious living area of the new cabin, admiring the cheerful painting and the mermaid
fraktur
that Rachel Miller had given them as their wedding gift. Jude had brought it over the day before. Low bookshelves had been built into one wall, and Jude’s books as well as her mother’s Bible, cookbook, and
Wuthering Heights
were all in their proper places. Furniture had been donated by many, and the rooms were beautiful and comfortable looking, as several families had given of the best they had in antique wood pieces.

Mary couldn’t help stealing a glance into the bedroom at the pristine block quilt and large log bed. Snow-white pillow shams finished off the look while her and Jude’s clothes were already hung neatly on pegs on each side of the bed.

She nearly jumped when she heard the front door open with a friendly creak and turned to face Jude, who had his hat in his hands.

“Mary.” His voice was low, caressing, but she sensed hesitancy in his stance. She took his coat and hat and hung them up while he worked off his boots, then went to stand before the open hearth fireplace, his broad back to her in his light blue shirt, long black pants, and dark socks.

“Are you biting your lip?” he asked without turning around.

She stopped biting her lip and choked on a giggle.
“Nee . . .
is everything all right?”

He nodded but still didn’t turn to her. She wanted to move him somehow, shake him out of his reserved composure. “Are you going to make love to me in broad daylight?”
I cannot believe I said that
. . . but he’d turned and was watching her with a speculative gaze.

“Do you want me to?” he whispered.

“Do you want to?” She bit her lip again and he crossed the room in two long strides, caught her in his arms, and bent to take her mouth with a fierce pressure that left her in little doubt of his wanting.

He carried her easily to the big bed, not breaking contact with her mouth, and she shivered in delight when he laid her on her back and started to work frantically at his suspenders and shirt with one hand. She reached to help him and he finally broke the kiss to step back and rid himself of the garment, then came back to her mouth with a hoarse sound of pleasure.

 

 

He’d meant to go slow, had rehearsed some of it in his mind both for practice and pleasure, but nothing turned out the way he planned when she spanned his bare chest with inquisitive hands.
Say something romantic, you idiot . . .
But he was tossed in a kaleidoscope of tangled clothing, ravaging heat, and soft, feminine sounds of approval.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he gasped at the last possible second, holding himself poised over her, an iron rein on his need.

“You won’t,” she breathed.

I won’t
. . . He lunged, his teeth bared in his desire, and then he heard her sharp cry. He tried to stop, tried to think, and then bit out a sobbing breath as his body found the release it sought even though his mind registered that she was not with him in the pleasure.

He lay still against her for a moment, then pulled back to stare down at her. Her beautiful face was flushed, and two tiny tears stole their way down her cheeks. “O,
Gott
, Mary, I’m so sorry . . . I wanted . . .”

She reached up to press her fingers against his lips and smiled at him. “It only hurt for a moment, Jude. I’m sorry to be such a
boppli
. . . I knew there was to be some pain.” She moved her hips suggestively. “But there is to be pleasure too, in the marriage bed, isn’t that right?”

He kissed the two tears away and shook his head. “From now on, for always.”

“Can you show me?” she asked, touching his damp hair.

Her question, one of complete trust, made him feel powerful and vulnerable at the same time, and he diligently showed her all that she wished to know and feel.

 

 

Mary stretched lazily in the big bed as she listened to the sound of her husband knocking icicles off the porch roof edge to fill the bathtub for her. She heard him haul the heavy tub indoors, then slide it into position in front of the open fire to heat. Then he came back into the bedroom.

He looked distinctly and wonderfully rumpled, his shirt half-open, his suspenders slung over the waist of his pants, and his hair, usually so perfect, stuck up on one side. But she felt his shining blue eyes, behind the dark-rimmed glasses, drink her in with a clarity that made her toes dance beneath the bed sheet that she held to her breast.

He leaned his hip against one of the end bedposts and smiled at her, a smile she recognized as both satisfied and expectant.

“Shall I play lady’s maid for you, my beautiful
frau
?” he asked low.

She felt her heart begin to pound, wondering if he’d want to play after so much . . . play. The thought made her blush but she still kept her gaze level.

“Are you asking to serve me?” She raised her eyebrows and gave a haughty toss of her hair.

He grinned, then quickly lowered his lashes and dipped his head. “Yes, please. If my lady will have me . . . I’ll do anything you like.”

“Anything?” She kept her tone dubious.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Please.”

She tilted her head, considering his lean frame, then gave a brief nod, extending her hand. “You may try to please me, sir. But I must warn you that I am quite particular. I like my bath exactly right.”

He reached for his shirt, shrugging it off, then moving forward with his head down to take her hand. “I’ll do everything I can.”

And, she thought a sated hour later,
he did . . .

Chapter Forty-Six

“Oh,” he groaned, haphazardly dressing on Monday morning. “I’m going to be late.”

“Yes, Professor, you are,” she purred, stretching back against the pillows.

“Minx!” He grinned at her as he snapped on his suspenders.

He started to leave the room, then had to go back to the warm bed for one last, lingering kiss.

 

 

He hustled down the path to the schoolhouse, feeling a renewed vigor about life and teaching. But when he opened the door to the cloakroom, he found it to be too quiet and he glanced around the brief partition, feeling suddenly worried.

He saw every student sitting perfectly still while the bishop sat behind the teacher’s desk, accompanied by two other men he recognized as deacons.

With this pleasurable thought in mind, he walked in with more confidence and nodded to his guests. “Bishop Umble,
Herr
Keim,
Herr
Lapp, thank you for coming. Forgive my tardiness. What would you like to know or see from the classes?”

Herr
Lapp, who was a tall, ruddy, red-haired man in his mid-forties, stood with his arms crossed. Jude saw Lucy Lapp’s seven-year-old legs swinging nervously at her desk. He shot her a faint smile, then returned his gaze to her father.

“It seems a teacher should be on time,”
Herr
Lapp commented drily.

Jude shrugged good-naturedly. “Again, forgive me. I was kissing my wife good-bye.”
Like you probably did once upon a time
. He vowed to himself right then to always kiss Mary good-bye.

Deacon Keim, a jolly fellow, choked on a sudden cough as Deacon Lapp’s face reddened beneath the fall of his red hair and some of the students giggled. Jude thought he saw the bishop wink, but it could have been a trick of the morning light.

“So, gentlemen, a recitation perhaps?” Jude asked. “We’ve been discussing American history to an extent . . . maybe Daniel Kauffman could . . .”

“How is the Christmas program shaping up?” Deacon Lapp interrupted, obviously trying to regain level ground.

Jude smiled but felt a prick of irritation, which goaded his answer. “Given the fact that your last teacher left and I’ve heard that other programs have been—shall we say—not as organized as they might have been, I’d have to tell you that this group of students will give you the best program Ice Mountain has ever seen.”

Jude avoided the bishop’s sudden smile and Deacon Keim laughed out loud a bit nervously. “Well, you’ve got four more days to prepare. I’m sure it will go well.”

“It had better,” Deacon Lapp declared. “And seeing as the bishop here has laryngitis, it’ll be you, Professor, who’ll be giving the main address. We thought you’d want to know.”

Jude’s gaze swiveled to Bishop Umble, who gave a dry croak of a cough and shrugged innocently.

“Uh . . . the main address?”

“Jah.”
Deacon Lapp clapped his hat on his head. “And try not to be kissing your wife
kumme
this Friday, Professor. The community might grow weary waiting. Good day.”

The men filed out and silence still reigned in the classroom after the back door closed. Jude walked slowly to his desk and sank into his chair, feeling deflated and worse. “Rob,” he said, after a moment.

“Yes, sir?” the little boy replied.

“I think I need the waste can . . .”

 

 

Mary found that the blessing of her new home continued that week, as many different women of the community arrived with a variety of delicious foods as well as a sometimes cheeky remark or well wishing for a happy home full of children. Her people definitely subscribed to the
Amisch
proverb, “Blessed is the lap that is full of
kinner
.”

Grossmuder
May brought cinnamon rolls, with her well-known hand-rolled dough that dripped with sticky goodness. “No time for baking now, I’d imagine, child. Making
kinner
takes hard work.”

Mary caught herself from disagreeing about the work aspect and took the buns with a blushing smile. “
Danki, Grossmuder
, and thank you for your blessings.”

Ben Kauffman’s wife, Emma, came next, her demeanor practical and helpful after having six children of her own and with another one on the way. “It’s a cornbread casserole, Mary. Heat and eat . . . and enjoy this time alone with your husband.”

“Well, I surely am, Emma. How are you feeling?”

“Great,” the other woman assured her as they embraced. “And rest assured that you can come to me for any everyday advice that might be needed—I feel like I’ve felt it all.”

Mary laughed, treasuring this offer, and saw her to the door.

Esther Miller came next with a whole baked ham, molasses baked beans, and an apple streusel pie. The older woman piled everything on the table and gave Mary a faint look of apology. “I was thinking back to when Henry and I first married and, well . . . I guess I got carried away. This’ll keep for a while in the icebox.”

Mary accepted the large meal with grace and tried to imagine Esther and Henry young and together. . . it took some thinking, but it was an example to her of how time must go by so quickly when you loved someone.

“Thank you, Esther. Jude will love the pie.”

Esther nodded and sniffed as she left. “
Jah
, so does Henry.”

By the late afternoon, Mary had managed to put away everything that was brought and plan out how she’d use each gift for meals during the coming week. Then she sat down in a rocking chair by the fire with Bear beside her and found herself drowsy as she waited for Jude to come home, grateful for all that she been given in life.

 

 

Jude came home late because he’d lost track of the time grading some work, and then needed to stop by the store for some more paper that the students had wanted. It grew dark on the mountain early in winter, and he hurried along the path toward the cabin, his head down against the wind, with hands in his pockets. He was preoccupied with the idea of speaking at the Christmas program but also with pleasant thoughts of Mary, so that he barely noticed when he bumped into another
Amisch
man in the shadows.

“Whoa, sorry,” Jude called, steadying himself.

“How are you doing, Jude?”

He recognized Mahlon Mast’s voice and smiled at the man’s use of his first name. “All right, I guess, Mahlon. Do you—want to come in for a bit?”
Don’t come in . . . I want to hold my wife.

“
Nee
, my wife, Anne, sent a raisin pie is all—for your new home. Here.”

Jude took the pie thrust at him.
“Danki.”
He was about to walk on when he sensed that Mahlon wanted to say something more, so he rocked back on his heels in the cold air and waited for a moment.

Finally, the older man spoke. “I, uh, heard that Lapp was over at the schoolhouse today. Don’t pay him no mind. He’s all bluster and blow. You’ll do fine at the Christmas thing, ain’t no reason for worrying none.”

Jude stood up straighter, feeling a bit relieved. “Thank you, Mahlon. That means a lot. ”
I mean it.

“
Jah
, well, I’d best go on. My
kinner
say you’re the best teacher what they’ve had . . . So,
gut nacht
.”

Jude watched him turn and stomp off in the wind and smiled to himself. There was no doubt that Mahlon Mast had become a source of unexpected support in his life, and he never could have imagined that happening. He started to whistle, holding the warm pie close, and went indoors to his wife.