The Amish Bride of Ice Mountain (9 page)

Chapter Thirteen

“Are you driving fast?” Mary asked, her voice faint.

Jude nodded and slowed. “Yeah.”

He looked over at her beautiful, concerned face in the play of sunlight and shadows as he took back roads to Roswell, wanting to go somewhere and walk. He had expected his father to be what he always was, but not so soon or so openly. And he hadn’t expected it to hurt so much when his dad found the right buttons to push—always enough truth to make him uncertain whether they were really lies. He realized that, in the past, he probably would have sought out a drink about now, but he had no desire to hurt Mary by doing so.

“Look, Mary, I’m sorry about lunch. My father is . . .”

“I understand, I think. Back home once, one of Ben Kauffman’s older
bruders
wanted to leave the
Amisch
and the mountain—Ben’s
fater
was alive then. He fought with his
sohn
, in private and in public. I only remember bits and pieces because I was young, but the
fater
fought because he was angry and worried for his son. That is what your
dat
must be for you.”

Jude gripped the steering wheel hard. “I wish it were that easy, sweetheart. I really do, but my father is a hard man—one who’s used to getting everything he wants. It’s not only that I’m a disappointment to him, it’s that I’m different than he is—and he cannot accept that.”

He swung the Expedition into the turn for Bulloch Hall, an old plantation that was open for historical tours, and turned the engine off. He stared out the front window at the old magnolia trees and the wide sweep of grass in front of the big old house. “And what he said about exploiting you and the Mountain Amish . . . I would never hurt your people or you. The university’s press will not . . .”

She leaned over and pressed warm fingers against his lips, stilling his words. “Jude, do you think that I do not trust you? Because I do, we all do back home. I believe in what you write. I know your
fater
doesn’t understand your work, but I’ve tried—all summer. And now I’m here with you.”

She moved to draw her hand away and he caught her wrist, thumbing over the steady pulse point, then closing his eyes against the wash of emotion her simple words evoked.
She believes in what I write . . .
He opened his eyes to find a soft smile on the pink wash of her lips and had to mentally shake himself for a moment. Then he let go of her hand and reached over to undo her seat belt.

“Do you want to walk with me?” he asked. “There are paths behind some of the outbuildings, and there’s a flower garden.”

She nodded, reaching for the door handle, but he knew she wanted to say more. However, unlike many women he’d been around, she didn’t pressure him. He caught her hand as they walked over the roots of the trees, passing a few tourists on their way to the large front porch of the hall.

“What is this place?” Mary asked after a few moments of silence.

“An old plantation. It still has one of its slave quarters intact. People come and see how it was to live here before the Civil War.”

“Ach . . .”
She didn’t go on and he wondered how much history she knew. After an eighth-grade education, all that was required for the
Amisch
, there wasn’t a lot of room for facts and rhetorical discussion. But he knew she liked to read.

“Do you want a tour?” he asked, even though he longed to skip the business. He wanted the coolness of the shadowed paths, a place he’d often gone to think.

“Nee
, though I must say that many
Amisch
aided in the Underground Railroad in Pennsylvania.”

He stopped and looked down at her in surprise and she laughed.

“
Jah
, I know some history, Jude, and besides, the
Amisch
have mostly always opposed slavery because of the persecution they themselves suffered before coming to Penn’s Woods.”

“I didn’t know.” He resumed walking and she shrugged.

“Maybe there’s a lot more to know about everyone.”

Her words echoed in his mind as they turned down a bank to the head of one of the interwoven trails. There was something secret and sensual about the filtered sunlight and densely tangled undergrowth of the path that had appealed to him for years. He remembered being in high school and bringing a girl to the place for a walk, fantasizing the whole time that she’d kiss him so that he wouldn’t have to risk trying it first with her
. What was her name anyway?

“What are you thinking about?” His wife’s quiet voice broke into his thoughts and he felt himself flush.

“Nothing.”

She raised a delicate brow at him in question and he had to laugh. “All right, but no getting angry with me if I tell you.”

“I will not get angry,” she promised with a knowing nod.

“All right—a girl. I was thinking about a girl I brought here once in high school.”

“
Ach
. . . I’m angry.” She sounded so surprised that they both laughed together.

“Don’t be, sweetheart. I can’t even remember her name, and even if I did . . . well, it wasn’t that successful a walk back then.”

He watched her reach to brush her delicate fingertips across the soft petals of a stray flower and had the sudden desire for her to touch him with the same intimacy. He pushed the thought away, but she caught his short blue shirtsleeve.

“What do you mean by ‘not that successful’?” Her tone rang with genuine curiosity and he shook his head.

“Look, I wanted her to kiss me because—I was afraid to try kissing her first.” He admitted the last bit in a rush, wanting to get it over with, and not especially proud of admitting to a lack of prowess.
Arrogant idiot . . .

“Are you still afraid?” she asked, lifting then dropping her thick, dark lashes.

You know I’m not . . . you know . . . she wants me to kiss her.
His last thought was somewhat of a revelation; Mary was trying, in all her innocence, to flirt with him, and it felt so good it almost hurt. Then he realized how dangerous a situation it would become if she decided to practice tempting him, but he was here now, and he wanted to put away the lingering memories of a past when he’d been so unsure.

“Nee,”
he whispered in
Amisch
, stepping nearer to her. “I’m not afraid now.”

“Gut,”
she breathed.

 

 

He drove her home as if demons pursued them, and she had to hold on instead of repairing her hair in its
kapp.
Her mouth stung and her lips felt swollen from the intensity of his kiss and the faint roughness of his skin. She hadn’t expected how she’d react to him or what it seemed to do to him. When she’d twined her arms about his broad shoulders, he’d wrenched himself from her to stagger a step away. He’d bent over and clasped his knees, muttering a curse. His breathing had echoed her own, coming in harsh, ragged gasps.

She watched now as road signs flashed by and snuck a glance at him. His own mouth looked red, but his fine lips were set in a grim line. She wondered if she sinned somehow in desiring him, yet she was his wife.
But he wants an annulment . . . and I want a marriage.

Her head began to ache as he turned into the drive of his family’s home. She felt the intensity of his gaze and wet her lips before looking at him.

“I’m sorry,” he bit out. “I was out of control. It won’t happen again.”

She longed to protest that she liked him when he lacked control, but he was already out of the Expedition. He slammed the door and she watched him walk around the side of the house toward the backyard.

She opened her own door and made haste to go up the front steps and slip inside the great door. She longed to get to her room and repair her hair before she met any of the family. She had reached the spiral staircase when Carol’s voice hissed from behind her.

“So, the little Amish troll is really an Amish tramp. What were you doing, rolling in the hay? You have no real idea how he likes to be touched anyway. You’re nothing but an ignorant, temporary diversion.”

Mary turned to face her adversary, hearing the pain laced with anger in the other woman’s voice, and prayed for the right words to respond. But, to her great surprise, she felt the simmer of indignation come to her and she spoke with level clarity.

“You have lost what you never had, yet still you mourn. I too would be angry if another had him, and you wear that ring with hope. I tell you not to hope and that a woman is worth more than any jewel—if she is true to herself.”

She watched Carol’s face flush crimson as confusion showed in her narrowed eyes. Then Mary turned back to the stairs, knowing her words had found their mark.

Chapter Fourteen

Jude stalked around the house, seeking the privacy of the garden. He stopped short at the sight of his grandfather and Bear enjoying an apparent time of connection, with the big dog pressed hard against the side of the wheelchair.

“Ah, Jude, a fine animal you’ve got here. Smart too—fetched me my paper.”

Jude crossed the grass with reluctance, not wanting to see anyone at the moment. Bear growled faintly at his approach and Jude rolled his eyes.
Yes, I was having an insane kiss with your mistress, you weird, knowing beast.

“She reminds me of your grandmother.”

Jude dropped into a chair near the old man he loved, knowing his grandfather spoke of Mary. “Does she, Grandfather? Why is that?”
Tell me something so that I can refute it in my crazed head . . .

“My Amelia was beautiful, of course, but there’s more to beauty than a pretty face. Your grandmother’s soul was beautiful and so, I think, is your wife’s.”

Jude passed a hand over his eyes in mute frustration. “Well, I can’t see her soul or anyone else’s, for that matter.” He kept his tone light, meaning no disrespect.

“Yes, the soul is not easily seen, more felt, I believe. I must confess that when your mother first brought your father home as a potential suitor, Amelia was not happy. She said she feared your father’s soul.”

“She should have feared
for
it,” Jude muttered in a dry tone. “Not that I believe that rot.”

His grandfather waved his paper at a bug and went on as if Jude hadn’t spoken. “She feared the darkness in him, and I must tell you that I have tried to shield you from that darkness as much as I’ve been able without dishonoring your father . . . Of course, he really only wanted the other one of you.”

Jude leaned forward, confused. “The other one of me? Grandfather, is the sun too hot for you?”

The old man squinted as if looking at the past and shook his head in a vague manner. “No, it feels good.”

Jude reached out to clasp the old man’s knee with concern, deciding to dismiss the confusing statement. “I love you, you know that?”

“And I you. But now you have this young wife to love you and to stand between you and the world, Jude.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? I’m supposed to protect her.”

“No.” His grandfather spoke with serious intent. “No, a woman can bear much more than a man can—bear children and grief and death and life. You remember that, Jude. She may let you think you are stronger, but sometimes you won’t be. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Jude nodded, wondering where he could go for solace, as his grandfather’s talk only made him feel more confused and churned up inside.

“Do you want me to take the dog in, Grandfather?” he asked as he rose.

“Hmm? No, leave it. Good company for an old man who prattles on.”

“Never that,” Jude said, bending for a quick hug. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

He left the backyard and entered the house through a side door, deciding he might as well face Mary after running off like a teenager.

 

 

Mary sat in front of the large mirror in her room. Her hands shook a bit as she pulled off her
kapp
and started on the many hairpins that held the intricate mass in place.
I cannot believe I spoke that way to Carol—no matter that her words hurt me. But what I said was the truth. And yet what reason do I have to hope myself ?
She bit her lip as she blinked back tears and shook out her hair.

“Beautiful.” Jude’s voice was hoarse as he loomed in the mirror behind her.

She almost jumped but then sat still, meeting his eyes in the mirror.
“Danki,”
she whispered. It felt strange to have him staring at her with such intent. For her people, only a husband could view a wife’s hair unbound, and Jude seemed to be claiming that right as he lifted a wooden-handled paddle brush from the dresser.

He started to brush her hair and she shivered in delight, forgetting for the moment why she had been discouraged. He stroked the brush from the crown of her head down the length of her back to where her hair fell past her bottom. Then he straightened and appeared to shake himself, though he continued to brush at the top of her head.

“I came to apologize, Mary.”

“But I liked your kiss,” she said before she could think.

“And I liked yours, but I shouldn’t have run off like that when we got home. It wasn’t very mature or gentlemanlike. I apologize.”

“You said—you said you’d ‘never let it happen again.’” She couldn’t keep the anxiety out of her tone. She didn’t want to lose his physical touch even as she remembered
Grossmuder
May’s warning that there was much more to a marriage.

He gave a rueful laugh as he let his hand run over the smoothness of the hair at her shoulders. “I can’t promise to not kiss you again, especially when I remember you looking like this. But I meant that I’d try not ever to lose control of myself. I owe you that.”

“Is control always such a good thing?”

He shook his head at her in the mirror, put the brush down, then leaned very close to stroke the dark strands back from her ear. He put his mouth against the small lobe and she closed her eyes. “Yes, sweet
Amisch
Mary. You above all people should know that control is a good thing.” His voice was a husky sigh, his breath warm and sweet against her.

And then he was gone, and she opened her eyes to see him close the door between their rooms. She picked up the brush and began to bundle her hair back up with determination forming in her heart.

 

 

Jude looked up from some notes as he heard the door to the hall creak open. He glanced over, expecting to see Mary, and a smile hovered about his mouth. Instead Carol stepped in and he sighed. She was dressed in a brief pink dress that bared her thin shoulders and emphasized her lean waist. He knew she was dressed to look her best, from her hair to her heels, and he had the sudden wish that she’d simply find someone else to think she was in love with. She reached a hand to smooth an imaginary wrinkle from her dress and the sun caught on the jeweled shine of his grandmother’s engagement ring.
I forgot the ring.
He put the papers down on his desk and weighed the options in his mind.

Certainly, Mary did not want or need such finery; as she had said, her people did not wear jewelry. But it would be nice to let her hold the ring, to feel close to his beloved grandmother.

“What do you want, Caro?”

She smiled like a cat licking cream. “Now that, my dear Jude, begs for an inappropriate answer.”

“Well then, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.”

“Will I?” She moved close and tangled her arms about his shoulders. “I’ve heard you don’t sleep in the same bed with her. So what does that make for you, Jude? A little less than four months since you’ve—”

He shook his head. “Don’t, Caro. Don’t lower yourself to this.”

He watched her eyes take on a sullen look and then, to his amazement, well up with angry tears.

“Caro? Are you actually crying? Because it’s not going to work—I’m only surprised to see it. I mean, in all the years . . .”

“Shut up, Jude! The little troll is right. She’s right!” He watched in fascination as Caro yanked the engagement ring from her finger and threw it at him. It bounced off his chest and he caught it with one hand.

Then Carol stalked up to him, slapped him hard in the face, and turned with a sniff. “There,” she announced. “I did it.”

He rubbed with absent fingers at his cheek as he listened to her heels click out into the hall. His head rang in the sudden silence after the door slammed.

He was looking at the ring in his hand, turning Caro’s words over in his mind, when a soft knock from the adjoining bedroom door made him lift his head.

“Kumme
in,” he called in
Amisch
, knowing it was Mary.

His wife peeped into the room and he motioned her forward, wondering with curiosity what it was that his seemingly meek wife had said to Caro.

 

 

“I couldn’t help overhearing the last bits,” Mary murmured.

“I’m sorry for Carol’s name-calling, Mary.”

“Don’t be.”

He was surprised to see a half smile tug at her beautiful mouth. He took a step closer to her, cupping the ring in his hand. “And why not?”

“Well, she said I was right, didn’t she?”

He nodded. “Yes, and that’s got me curious. When did you speak to Carol?”

She put her hands behind her back and shrugged in a way that he found charming. “
Ach
, I don’t know . . . here and there. I told her the truth, that was all, but I probably could have been more loving when I spoke.”

“The truth, hmmm?” he mused aloud. “And what would that be?”

She shook her head. “It’s not for you to know.”

“Ever?” he pried gently.

“Maybe sometime.”

He smiled and opened his hand, holding it out to her. “It’s the worst of form, I imagine, to present your ex-fiancée’s ring to your wife, and I know you don’t want it. But I thought maybe—I don’t know, that you might feel closer to my grandmother if you looked at it.”

She moved toward his outstretched hand, then reached to take the ring from him. He watched her cradle it in one palm, and the sunlight from the casement window caught on the stone’s brilliance. “Would I know you better, if I could have known your grandmother?”

“Yes,” he whispered, her words washing over him like rivulets of warm water.

“I’d like that—to understand you, to know you, to know your heart . . .”

He felt overcome by some sensory hypnosis.
Who has ever really wanted to know my heart, except my grandparents?
“Mary, I . . .”

“Jude!”

The moment was splintered by a frantic pounding on his hall door. Mary plopped the ring back in his hand and he would have spoken, but his mother’s wailing increased. He was used to drama from his mom, but Mary appeared visibly shaken. He bit the inside of his mouth and crossed the room in quick strides to open the door.

His mother fell against him sobbing. “Oh, Jude. It’s terrible!”

He felt his heart begin to pound. “Is it Grandfather?”

“No, it’s Betty the cook. She’s cut her arm and there’s blood all over the kitchen. And I’m to have five women here for dinner in two hours. It’s the Bases’ night off, Carol’s left, and your father is working late. What am I going to do?”

Jude pivoted with his mother in his arms, automatically patting her back. He met Mary’s confused gaze and arched an eyebrow at her
. See, Mary, this is my life . . .

“Well, Mother, I expect you’ll have to cancel or cook yourself.”

“Jude Lyons!” she sobbed louder. “How ever can you be so cruel?”

“I can cook,” Mary announced above the din.

Jude’s head began to ache.