The Amish Bride of Ice Mountain (5 page)

Chapter Six

Mary slanted a glance at her husband through veiled lashes. They’d left her
dat
’s and were making quick rounds of the community. The news had spread that she and the professor were leaving the next day. He now sat on Rachel Miller’s best ladder-back chair with seven cats balanced in all manner of repose about him—and he looked happy. Of course, he knew the oddities of Rachel’s house from his note-taking that summer, but the quirky
Amisch
woman was in rare form and a reminiscing frame of mind.

“Sorry you’ve got to see my underwears on the line, Professor. Didn’t have time to get ’em down before you was comin’.”

“You’re always a perfect lady, Rachel. I didn’t even notice.”

“Well, there. I’ve been thinkin’ as to what wedding gift would suit the two of you.” She rattled a teacup in its saucer.

“We’re fine, really.” Jude laughed, pulling a roly-poly tabby kitten off his head.

Mary realized that the professor had no idea that he was verging on being offensive to the older woman by turning aside a wedding gift. They’d never really gotten to explore the wedding culture of her people that summer.

“Y’ un’s ain’t fine. I think I’ll give you that cat adanglin’ from yer shoulder, Jude Lyons.”

Mary could see the protest forming on his lips and sweetly broke into the conversation. “That would be lovely, Rachel, but we’re leaving for Atlanta soon, and I’m afraid a kitten would not do so well on such a long ride.”
And I probably won’t either . . . I’ve never ridden anywhere but by wagon or sled.

“That may be,” Rachel considered, stroking a rather obvious chin hair. “I know—I’ll give ye some fancy
fraktur
I did back when I was a young girl. Wait right here.”

“I don’t want to take her things,” Jude whispered, leaning across the small distance between them and handing Mary a kitten.

Mary shook her head. “You’ll hurt her feelings. We have to. We can—I could give it back after—I mean . . .” She paused, confused, trying to hold on to her resolve to make the wedding a marriage.

She saw his eyes darken and his face flush, and he leaned even closer to her, parting his lips as if to speak, when Rachel reappeared. Jude drew back with a faint sigh as the older Amish woman sat back down opposite them.

“Here now . . . some
fraktur
work. A mite fanciful but it suited me once.” She unrolled an age-tinted scroll of paper. “It’s a mermaid. What’d ya think?” She held up the bright and intricate design for them to see.

“Ach,”
Mary exclaimed in delight. “It’s beautiful—I mean, she’s beautiful.”

Rachel wore a pleased smile. “Yep.
Danki
.”

Jude had reached out to touch the edge of the colorful, fine-lined drawing, allowing a black cat to use his arm as a ledge. “I’m surprised to see such fancy work, Miss Rachel. I thought
fraktur
was done only to adorn birth and marriage certificates. I would have imagined that drawings as
wunderbaar
as this would be frowned upon among the
Amisch
.”

“Ha,” Rachel snorted. “Maybe down the road a ways, but not up here so much. Ain’t you learned that,
buwe
?”

Jude laughed, hauling the black cat back in. “I’ve learned some but maybe not enough.”

He flashed an I’ve-got-a-secret grin at Mary and she couldn’t control the blush that stained her cheeks. He was so quicksilver in his moods; she had trouble keeping up with him. But she couldn’t deny that there was something exciting about it all.

Rachel crowed with delight at his words. “All men—be they
Amisch
or
Englisch
—got somethin’ to learn. You remember that.” She swung her gaze to Mary.

“I’ll remember,” Mary murmured, but she couldn’t help feeling that she would be at a distinct disadvantage when it came to teaching her husband anything much. Still, it was God Who was the Great Teacher, and that was what mattered most of all.

Rachel put down her teacup and leaned back to rock, handing Jude the intricate drawing. “I’ll tell you both the tale of the mermaid
fraktur
—
if
you can tell me, young man, what I used to get the colors there in that picture. They didn’t come from no store neither.”

Mary smiled as Jude adjusted his glasses. She knew how dyes were made from natural items but wondered if her husband’s studies included such things.

“Okaaay,” he began. “Let’s see. Lavender on the scrolling. I’d say grape juice.”

“Meebee some would,” Rachel sniffed. “But I used violet blossoms and a touch of lemon juice. Try again.”

“Blue for the water . . . how about blueberries?”

Mary clapped a bit and he smiled but Rachel shook her head. “Nope. Red cabbage leaves, boiled.”

“All right. Green . . . some kind of chlorophyll,” he mused.

Rachel snorted. “Fancy word for just plain green you’re usin’—what kind of plant?”

“Spinach,” Mary cried, then popped a hand over her mouth at the older woman’s sour look.

“I know you know, miss . . . let him try.”

“I’ve got this one,” he said. “Brown . . . black walnut shells.”

Rachel nodded with approval. “Now you earned the story.”

“Danki.”
Jude nodded and Mary felt proud that his pronunciation was perfect. She watched him gather two cats close on his lap and tilt his head back in anticipation. She knew that he loved a
gut
story.

Rachel put a hand to her cheek and pressed in a dimple where back molars used to be as she gathered her thoughts. Mary felt a little thrill of enjoyment as well; there was a lot to learn about people, even in as small a community as her own.

“My man’s dead,” Rachel began. “Ya both knowed that. But my boy, my baby, he died way back when I was a young thing. I nursed him through the pneumonia, but it hung on like. He was two when he went on—Peter wuz his name.” She cleared her throat and gestured with a bony finger to the drawing in Jude’s hand. “I might’ve gone out of my mind back then but for the story that
fraktur
tells
. Derr Herr
brought back an old love when He took my baby, an old love . . .” She paused, her blue-gray eyes musing, and Mary heard the cats purr as they surrendered to her husband’s clever fingers around their ears. She thought then how hard it would be to ever lose him, to let him go . . .

“Jah,”
Rachel went on. “The bishop and some others thought I took to being a hex when Peter died. It was winter and I wuz leavin’ our bed at night to go walkin’ in the snow by the light of the moon. It got to be that they thought I was out a gatherin’ herbs to bring my
buwe
back—as if I’d want that when he’d have known the joy of heaven. My man followed me once, thought mebbe I had it in mind to run off with another fella. Ha!
Nee
, it wasn’t that. Can ya guess, either of ya, what I’d found?”

Mary shook her head, trying to think while Jude pursed his lips.

“I give up,” he admitted finally.

Rachel clapped her aged hands on her knees. “I found the swimmin’ hole where I used to go as a girl. Now, mind, it was winter and I had to take a hatchet to break the ice, but that icy water cleared my soul somehow and my heart. There’s nuthin’ like swimmin’ in the suit you wuz born in during the dead of winter and findin’ life again, I can tell you both that. And when my man found me, he pulled me outta the water with my hair streamin’ all around us and he carried me home to bed. I did that
fraktur
later on that spring, kind of to remind me of the swimmin’ that brought me back to livin’.”

Mary watched Jude’s throat work and he shook his head. “We—I can’t take this, Rachel. The mermaid—it’s you.”

“So what if it is,
buwe
? I can tell you, you need it now more than I do. So blessings on it and on you both.”

Mary watched as the old woman closed her eyes and continued to rock; it was a signal of dismissal and she helped unload the cats from Jude, then touched his shoulder with a gentle hand. He seemed to shake himself as he rose, then surprised her by bending close and kissing Rachel’s wrinkled cheek. Then Mary watched him roll the
fraktur
and tuck it under his arm.

She savored the feel of his hand on hers as they left the quiet cabin in tender silence.

 

 

After a few more stops, Jude decided it was time to go to the Kauffman’s or “the Store,” as it was known on the mountain. He’d made friends with Ben Kauffman, someone his own age, but married with a full beard and five children. Ben had welcomed him to talks around the store counter and it had meant a lot, both in terms of research and, more importantly, friendship.

They mounted the steps of the long, clapboard building, and Jude knew he’d always remember the mingling smells of propane, leather, spices, and old wood, as the floor creaked comfortably beneath his feet. He’d first compared Kauffman’s to Walmart in his notes, citing the availability of anything and everything imaginable that the community might need, but he now understood the place to be the unofficial town hall—where Amish men gathered to talk and exchange hunting and fishing stories and where women spoke in happy twos or threes around the fabric and thread corner.

Bishop Umble turned from a small group of men to greet them. “
Ach
, the new couple. Ben’s heard that you’re leaving and he has something for you, Jude, in the back.”

Jude looked askance at Mary, who seemed to understand that a surprise for him was in the making, but she merely smiled and slipped off to greet some other women, leaving Jude to walk alone to the back room behind the store. Here the smell of leather was at its most intense and Ben Kauffman at his happiest as he made and repaired boots by hand.

“Hiya!” Ben got up from the old-fashioned cobbler’s work bench and greeted him with a wide smile and a hearty handshake. “I heard about the wedding and that you’re leaving tomorrow.”

“All true.” Jude smiled as the
Amisch
man offered him a black licorice whip from a tall glass jar. He chewed the candy with true enjoyment while Ben stood, hands on hips, his large leather work apron stretching from his shirt collar to his knees.

“Well, those truths kept me up late last night, my friend.” Ben laughed.

Jude stopped chewing. “Why? Were you worried about the wedding?”

“
Nee
, not that—though weddings bring about their own share of worries.
Nee
, I had to finish your leaving-the-mountain gift.”

“What? You do not have to give me anything. Your friendship has been all the gift I want.”

“
Ach
, well . . .” Ben stalked back to a shelf behind the work bench, pulled down a brown cardboard box, and brought it over.

Jude let the licorice dangle from his lips as Ben placed the box in his hands. Jude could sense the air of expectancy emanating from his friend and put the box on a counter to lift the lid. Inside was a pair of the finest work boots he’d ever seen, and he felt genuine bewilderment as he stared at the gift.

“Ben, I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say nothing. Try them on. I had to guess on sizing a bit, even though Mary smuggled me one of your boots a while back to measure. But these boots I make will last a lifetime, or at least until you send them back for repairs.”

Jude felt a lump in his throat as he laid the licorice on the counter and touched the supple leather. He hadn’t cried over a gift since the Christmas he’d turned nine, when his grandfather had given him a microscope, which his father had disparaged. Now here he was, in a backwoods
Amisch
general store, and he felt so close to the boy he’d been—wanting to see other worlds through a glass. But now his experience was authentic and not some removed study. Another human being had given up sleep to work with his hands to make him a lasting gift.

“Try them,” Ben urged and Jude broke from his reverie to slip out of the boots he’d used all summer and into the wonderful strength and comfort of the pair Ben had made.

“They’re wonderful, Ben. Truly.”

Ben looked pleased. “You’ve got solid leather there, even an all-leather shank, so you won’t have any of the rust you can get with a steel shank. And the leather guarantees you twice the support of the ones you were wearin’. Mine’s got a vamp that won’t stretch, and the eyelets are solid brass—again, no rust. And, well, I might as well tell ya, I prayed that
Derr Herr
would guide your steps as you and Mary walk through this world together.”

Jude shook his head and moved forward to embrace the
Amisch
man. “You’re a gifted artisan, Ben. Again, I thank you.”
How can I tell him about Mary and me? How can I hurt him when I bring her back? How can he pray for me when I’ve never mentioned God . . .

Ben took a hankie and blew, then stroked his beard and cleared his throat. “Extra support will help wherever you work, except I bet you can’t be no professor in boots like those.”

Jude laughed. “I can wear whatever I want to teach, and you can be sure that these boots are going to the university.”

“That’s fine, then.” Ben clapped his hands as one of his younger sons ran through the shop. “Hey, Samuel, come and say
sayn dich schpaydah
to Mr. Jude here.”

Jude had to concentrate on the little boy’s good-bye to keep from hugging Ben again. He knew that he’d cherish his friend’s gift forever.

Chapter Seven

Jude shifted the bundles in his arms as they walked back toward his cabin. They’d collected two quilts, beeswax candlesticks, honey off the comb, and a small medicine chest of herbs, as well as Rachel Miller’s
fraktur
and a hand-carved wooden spoon. He felt dishonest in some ways, taking the wedding gifts offered with so much pride from the community. He especially felt bad in the comfort of Ben’s boots, but he didn’t know how else to go along. He wondered how Mary would feel, walking about, taking the things back once he’d returned her to the mountain the following spring. Somehow, the idea was sounding less and less palatable to him, and he knew that he had to talk with her—especially after the kiss in her bedroom that afternoon. Then he thought about the coming night and wondered if he could manage the single bunk one last time . . .

“So, quite a haul, hmmm?” he asked, indicating the bundle in his arms with his chin.

“For a sudden wedding, you mean?” Her voice sounded tired, and he wondered, for the first time, whether she had desired this wedding. After all, she’d been as forced as he had, perhaps even more so.

He cleared his throat as they mounted the three wooden steps of his cabin, then leaned against the door instead of opening it.

“Hey, Mary?”

She looked up at him, her eyes like twin pools.
A man could drown there and be happy . . .

“What is it, Professor?”

“Jude,” he corrected her absently. “Hey, about this wedding and coming back here. I’ve been thinking that it’s not the fairest thing to you, and I think that we’d better plan on maybe—you not coming. I mean . . .” She put a soft hand on his chest, right above the pile of stuff, and his breath caught.

“Jude . . . we’re married. I told you today—I will see the world, as you call it. We’ll—we will go day by day, and when you tire of it all”—she straightened her spine—“I can come back.
Derr Herr
commands us not to worry about tomorrow anyway.”

He grimaced in spite of himself and she moved her hand from his chest. “Right. All right.” He pushed open the cabin door and piled the stuff on the table while the wooden spoon clattered to the floor in the cool dimness.

 

 

Mary skimmed the bunk with grateful eyes. She’d spread the wedding presents out the better to see them. Her people were so generous, though she knew that the professor was generous too. He was kind and giving with words and affirmations, whereas it was the tendency of the men she’d grown up with to be sparse in their language.
But, ach, how I love to hear him talk. His voice is rich and commanding, yet can caress like the waters of a summer stream . . .

She shivered in delight at the thought, then nearly jumped when she heard him speak.

“What are you thinking of?” He’d come to stand behind her and she fancied she could feel the press of his long legs against the back of her skirt. His scent, too, twisted in her senses—something manly and woodsy and caught with sunshine. She turned to stare up at him.

“The gifts are
wunderbaar
.”

“They are—that’s true.”

“I suppose I should clean off the bunk, though. It’s getting late.”

He nodded but she sensed a restlessness in him.

“Mary, uh, look . . . last night I ended up sleeping beside you. You were afraid, but I—sometimes it’s difficult for a man to lie near a woman without—He starts to dream, maybe, and it becomes painful not to . . .” He broke off in frustration and she tilted her head in thought.

“Did you lie with your fiancée?” She could have clapped her hand over her mouth at her wayward tongue. “I—mean. Forgive me. That’s not for me to know . . .”

He was frowning but still managed to look impossibly handsome. She blushed and dropped her gaze. She heard him exhale slowly, then felt his warm fingers cup her chin as he raised her head.

“Mary, look at me. Forget Carol for now. I’m trying to tell you that I don’t think I can sleep with you without it being difficult, that’s all. I was going to suggest that you sleep in the bunk and I lie on the floor.”

“
Ach
,” she whispered, feeling foolish. But his words niggled at her brain
. He didn’t give me a straight answer, so maybe he’s kissed many girls . . . And how do I compare, especially as the one whose family trapped him into a wedding?

She struggled to control her thoughts and realized she didn’t want to admit that the bunk still frightened her a bit when she thought of Isaac. “Maybe I could have the floor?”

He smiled then and reached his hand from her chin to slide to the back of her neck, beneath her
kapp
. “Are you afraid, sweetheart? Mast is gone. He’s a coward.”

She swallowed and nodded. “I know.”

“But you’re still frightened? I guess I can’t blame you for that.” He skimmed his fingers down her shoulder. “All right. We’ll share the bunk tonight, Mrs. Lyons, and then we’ll figure something else out.”

She heard the resignation in his voice but there was something else there too—something young and free, and she wished she heard him like that more often
. One more night . . .

 

 

Jude reread the paragraph of notes for the third time as he listened to his wife’s gentle turning in the bunk. He knew it was late but had kept the candle guttering in hopes that she’d be asleep before he eased himself beside her. He finally gave up and blew out the light, then fumbled briefly in the darkness toward the bed. He put a cautious hand down and came into contact with the side of her breast, jumping back as if he’d been scalded.

“Sorry,” he muttered, feeling foolish. He heard the sheets and sleeping bag rustle and knew instinctively that she’d pressed herself as far against the wall as she could get
. All the better, Lyons. What did you expect?

He could smell her sweet, delicate scent, like soft mint and lavender, and drifted off uneasily, one hand clamped to the outside edge of the bunk. He awakened to the unmistakable sound of something scratching against the door and sighed.

When he’d first taken up residence in the woods alone, he’d had to grow used to midnight visits—anything from an opossum to a buck scraping its velvet off on his porch rail. So he now eased from the bed and stumbled through the play of moonlight from the window to open the door. He peered down in the half light to find what looked like a black wolf staring up at him with gleaming golden eyes and a fierce grimace. The overwhelming smell of skunk spray completed the assault to his senses. He shut the door.

“What is it, Jude?”

Without his glasses, he could make out the fuzzy outline of Mary leaning up on one elbow on the bunk.

“I know I sound ridiculous, but are there wolves on this mountain?” He felt his heart begin to pound in delayed reaction at the prospect.

“What?”

She scooted out of bed and padded across the floor to brush past him.

“Hey, don’t,” he cried when she pulled the latch. But then the door was open and she was on her knees, her arms flung around the great neck of the animal as she sobbed aloud.

“Mary, what . . . ?”

“
Ach
, Jude.
Derr Herr
knew. He knew I needed Bear and He sent him back to me right before we left. Now Bear can come too.”

“Bear? It’s a wolf, and how can that scary-looking thing travel with us?”

Mary swiveled on her knees and grabbed his hand. “Here. Make a fist.”

“Why? I’m not touching that . . .”

But he curled his fingers inward in obedience and let her lead his hand under the vicious-looking wolf’s mouth. Jude caught his breath and waited for the bite. But all he felt was a damp tongue as the animal tasted his skin.

He took a step closer, looking down in confusion. “Bear?” he questioned.

“
Jah
, he’s been missing since last winter. I thought maybe hunters or a trap had taken him. My
dat
got him for me a few years ago as company when I went walking. I haven’t seen him in months. He must have been sprayed by a skunk recently.
Ach
, Jude, isn’t he
wunderbaar
?”

Yeah, wonderful
. . . “Is it—is he a wolf?”

She laughed—a gentle sound that broke through the night and brought him fully awake. “Nee . . .
ach
, maybe a wee bit wolf, but dog mostly. It’s amazing that he traced my scent here.” She got to her feet and swiped away her happy tears. “We’ve got to get the skunk smell off him if he’s going to sleep near the cabin. Can you go milk the goat while I pick a few tomatoes?”

“What?”

“The milk, you know, mixed with tomato juice, it cuts the smell.” She lit the kerosene lantern as she spoke, and Jude couldn’t help but make out her slender silhouette beneath her nightdress, even without his glasses. He decided a midnight goat milking had to be better than the torture of seeing the gentle shadows of her body and grabbed a pail by the door and the lantern.

But when he moved to sidle past the smelly wolf dog, it growled. Jude turned to look down at Mary in frustration.

“Ignore him,” she advised airily, taking up another light. “Let’s go.”

Jude followed the white of her nightgown and the bulk of the beast until they turned into the kitchen garden. “I’ll meet you back at the cabin,” she called.

“Right.” He stubbed his socked toe against a rock on the path and limped into the small pen that housed the goat, and nearby, the chickens. Mary’s brothers had promised to come over in the morning and collect the animals he’d kept, and he had to admit he’d miss them—or at least the idea of them. Rose, the goat, had never been an easy milker, and being disturbed in the middle of the night didn’t seem to improve her mood any. As it was, Jude got a few firm kicks for his pail of milk and went back to the cabin half cursing the arrival of the dog under his breath.

When he got to the porch, he found that Mary had the dog overfilling an old tub and was squeezing tomatoes into its thick fur. The light from her lamp illuminated her small bare feet, and Jude forgot the goat pains in the pleasure of her nearness, handing over the milk.

Bear seemed quite amenable to being drenched, but Jude couldn’t tell much difference in the strength of the skunk smell and longed once more for the length of the bunk. But Mary was a bundle of happy midnight energy at rediscovering her pet, and he didn’t have the heart to discourage her.

“Now, we’ll leave this on him all night and I’ll give him a creek bath in the morning before we go. He’ll be right as rain.” She gave Jude a broad smile in the light of the lamp and made a gesture to the dog. “Go and lie down now, Bear.”

To Jude’s chagrin, the huge animal made its docile way out of the tub to one side of the porch and collapsed in a dark heap.

“
Ach
, I am so glad.” Mary turned and stretched to kiss Jude on the cheek. “You’ll see, he will be a great friend to you too.”

Jude nodded and tried to silence his doubts as he helped her empty the tub. Then he followed her wearily back to bed, grateful that at least he was too tired now to worry about touching her.