The Amish Heart of Ice Mountain (7 page)

Something changed in the lines of his handsome face at her words and he bent into her, forcing her to arch her back. “Like hell you don't,” he breathed.

Then a thought triggered mercifully in her brain. “You're touching me,” she cried, almost in desperation against her own traitorous body. “You're breaking your word.”

He squeezed her breast and laughed softly. “Damn right, sweet, and it's my word to break. Besides, I'm a little drunk, and maybe I won't remember . . . or else I'll never forget.”

He moved so fast that she couldn't catch her breath. He flung the glass jar from him and she heard it shatter against a rock. Then he grabbed her basket and tossed it aside, too. She was about to protest when he slammed his mouth into hers, catching her small hands in each of his own and raising them above her head.

 

 

He pressed her hard against the thick tree, ignoring her tight, breathy cries as he worked his tongue against her lips, demanding entry until she yielded and he drove deep into her soft mouth. She whimpered, but he pressed on, wanting something and nothing and everything from her. She tasted like honey and spring, and he swayed a bit on his feet, shaken by how much he wanted her as his wife in truth. And it would be so simple—
right here....
But something in his spirit compelled him beyond the demands of his body, and he tore himself away from her with a savage cry, letting her hands drop and bending over to put his hands on his knees, like a runner after a marathon, trying to catch his breath.

Then he felt the air from the rush of her skirt and straightened in time to see her run off into the laurel as if the devil himself was at her heels....

Chapter Eleven

“I was shunned for far less than that
buwe
's letter.” Mahlon spoke in gruff tones as he tipped in the aged bentwood rocker. He sat on his front porch next to Anne in the waning light of day as Ernest and Samuel lugged milk pails back from the nearest barn.

“Perhaps,” Anne said softly. “But Bishop Umble is a just man, while Bishop Loftus was . . . not.”

“Just?
Jah
. . . I guess. But what does justice have to do with mercy?” Mahlon swallowed hard as his mind telescoped far into his own past....

He'd been eighteen the summer after he'd joined the church. There had been no opportunity for
Rumspringa
under Bishop Loftus's rule. Either a youth joined the church or left the community—not that he hadn't wanted to leave. He'd wanted to go when he'd been nine, since the first time he saw his
fater
strike his
mamm.
But that was kept in silence, along with so many of the altercations that took place during his growing-up years—an adolescence full of secrets and lies and darkness....

Then that summer day came—a picnic after a church meeting and moments that seemed highlighted in his consciousness, frozen like tender apple blossoms caught in a cruel ice storm. His mother had tripped and spilled the bowl of fragrant potato salad down his
fater
's shirtfront.

Mahlon had held his breath, sudden alarm and unexpected rage coursing through him. If they were at home, he knew the abuse his mother would have suffered for such an infraction. And for a moment he'd forgotten where they were. Blinded by the urge to protect her, he'd grabbed his
mamm
, pulling her instinctively behind him, then turned to face his
fater
, who'd risen to his full height, a good head taller than Mahlon. Anger flashed in the man's eyes, so quickly only Mahlon saw it. But it hadn't mattered; nothing had existed except the fact that he needed to keep his mother safe. For once, he needed to take a stand. He swung and struck his father full in his long-bearded face.

The blow made an echoing sound that broke into his mind, and he suddenly became aware of the people gathered around him, staring at him in horror. He'd struck his father, dishonored him before all. The clumps of potato salad on the other man's white shirt began to dance in sick drips before Mahlon's eyes as Bishop Loftus walked slowly toward them.

Mahlon straightened his spine before meeting his father's gaze. He didn't know what to expect, but he hadn't been prepared for the sinister glare that pierced him like the blade of a knife, making him nearly back away out of fear. Then the look was gone and his
fater
stood, bowing his head and appearing entirely grief-stricken that his son would shame him in front of his people.

Mahlon had been confused, shaken, as his
mamm
had left him, ignoring him completely as she hurried to his
fater
. She didn't look at Mahlon as she laid her small hand on his
fater
's arm. Taking his side, the way she always had.

“Mahlon Mast.” Bishop Loftus's voice was low but still loud enough to carry to the ears of every single witness. “What have you done?”

A different kind of fear traveled up his spine.
What did I do? Dear
Gott
, what did I do?

“Mahlon?”

He jerked at the sound of Anne's soft voice. Blindly, he tipped forward in his chair, trying to span the chasm between the past and the present. He slowly turned to look at her.
“Jah?”

“Be you well? You seem far away.”

He got to his feet and shook his head. “I'm fine. I'll head over to the bishop's barn now and we will see. . . .” He swallowed, the images of that day finally fading into the recesses of his memory. “We will see what our new
sohn
-in-law has wrought.”

He ignored his wife's worried gaze and stepped off the porch into the coolness of the evening.

 

 

Sarah ran all the way home after her encounter with her husband in the woods. She gained the cabin and slammed the door behind her, gulping in air, only to be startled out of breath again when a peal of feminine laughter caused her heart to miss a beat.

Sarah peered into the relative dimness of the cabin's kitchen and saw Deborah Zook, a girl near her own age, rise from a chair with sultry grace.

“
Ach
, so the healer returns. It seems that
Grossmuder
May was a lot easier to get hold of, but of course she never looked like she could run around the mountain with her hair half down.”

Sarah swallowed and resisted the urge to straighten her
kapp
and hair. She squared her shoulders instead, assuming the calm poise and confidence she used when treating members of the community.

“Are you ill, Deborah? What can I do for you?”

The dark-haired girl stepped closer, and Sarah could see the mix of mischief and curiosity in her eyes. Deborah lowered her voice, the tone more than a bit inappropriate. “I took a peek into your new bedroom.”

Sarah frowned. “Why would you do that?”

“To see if that man of yours was home.” She smirked. “Too bad he wasn't.”

Sarah blew out a breath of exasperation, ignoring the rising anger she felt, not only at the girl's nerve but that she would dare to violate Sarah's privacy. Yet as a healer, she had a responsibility not to judge those who sought her out. Though it didn't mean she had to be overly nice, either. “What do you need, Deborah? I'm a little busy right now.”

Deborah dropped the smirk, her wide eyes suddenly blinking with uncertainty as she leaned closer to Sarah. “Be it true that anything I tell you here is private like—just between us?”

Sarah hesitated.
Grossmuder
May had taught her that visits and ailments were to be kept confidential as much as possible, but something about Deborah's question made her feel leery. Yet Sarah had an obligation to help . . .
probably it's only some female problem or question....
“
Jah
,” she said. “Whatever we discuss is to be kept private.”

“Gut.”
Deborah smiled faintly. “You see, it's like this—me and Isaiah Smucker have been, well, we've been doin' it lately.”

“‘Doin' it'?”

Deborah rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. Having a little fun . . . and a few other things.” She grinned, as if reliving a pleasant memory. Then she looked at Sarah again. “But I don't want to get caught pregnant. Do you have some herbal mixture that can help?”

Sarah stood stunned. She understood Deborah's meaning completely and worked to hide her shock. Birth control was not permitted by her people unless the pregnancy would be a danger to the mother. Instead, women usually accepted children as they came along, each child normally seen as a blessing from
Derr Herr
. To want to prevent pregnancy simply to enjoy premarital sex was unheard of . . . yet not unthought of.

Sarah's mind mentally paged through
Grossmuder
May's book of recipes to the concoction used to prevent pregnancy. She struggled desperately in her mind and heart for a few moments—Who was she to judge what Deborah was doing when she herself might have been in the same situation with Edward had
Gott
not intervened? And which was worse—having premarital sex or having a baby born out of wedlock? Could she even answer that question?

She wet her lips. “You and Isaiah plan to marr y?”

Deborah shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe I'll marry Ezra Pine—me and him have done it a few times, too.”

Sarah swallowed, appalled at the other girl's casual admitting to promiscuous behavior, yet outwardly remaining calm. “Deborah—have you thought—well, maybe of waiting until you marry to . . .”

Deborah gave a husky laugh and stepped forward to flick at Sarah's
kapp
string. “What? Like you—
gut
little girl? I heard the bishop had to force your marriage because he caught Edward naked with you.”

“That's not true,” Sarah protested hotly.

“Uh-huh. Well, it's not like I can't understand it—I mean, a man like Edward has needs. Probably more than the average male around here.” She looked at Sarah, the derisive smirk reappearing. “Though what he saw in you, I'll never—”

“I think you can leave now, Deborah,” Sarah said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I'm afraid I can't help you.”

The other girl curled a sneering lip at her. “That's what I thought you'd say, Sarah King. I can tell by the way you're lookin' at me that you think you're better. More pure.” Her eyes narrowed. “One thing's for sure—you ain't no
Grossmuder
May.”

And with that final parting shot, Deborah pushed past her to leave with an echoing slam of the cabin door.

Sarah drew a deep breath and felt her eyes well with tears
. I'm not
Grossmuder
May.
She dropped her head in her hands
. Despite how I feel, I shouldn't have made a decision out of anger. I should have prayed. I should have prayed with her....

A loud knock sounded on the door, causing her to spin around. She went quickly to fling open the wood. “
Ach
, Deborah, I . . .” She stopped and stared blankly at Mary Lyons, Edward's sister, who held her baby, Rose, in her arms.

“Deborah?” Mary asked in her sweet voice. “
Ach
, were you expecting someone? I could
kumme
back later.”

“
Nee
,” Sarah assured her sister-in-law hastily. “What is it?”

“I know I'm probably being silly because Rose is still so young, but I wondered if she might be teething? She seems fretful.”

Sarah almost sighed with relief.
Teething
. . .
at least I can handle that.
And she urged Mary inside.

 

 

The bishop's barn was lit by a myriad of kerosene lanterns that attracted small white moths and gave the place an almost festive air that grated on Edward's senses and made him straighten his eye patch with uneasy fingers. He'd waited until nearly the hour of the appointed meeting to slip inside with his hat pulled low, not expecting Joseph to step from the long shadow of the barn door and touch his arm.

“Daed
and I are up front. We've saved you a seat,” Joseph murmured; then his tone changed abruptly. “Have you been drinking?”

“Only a little,” Edward muttered, not wanting to think about the two Mason jars he'd drained after Sarah had run away. His behavior with her had been hazardous and unforgivable. Drinking deeply had seemed like the most logical thing to do to assuage his guilt. But now his head was pounding and he didn't want to hear it from his big
bruder
.

Yet Joseph dropped the matter and turned when Bishop Umble rose to stand before the men of the community.

“Kumme
,” Joseph whispered, and Edward followed with reluctance, aware that all eyes were focused on him.

He slid onto the long bench next to his father and
bruder
-in-law, Jude. Edward's
daed
appeared anxious and gave him a wan smile. Edward had barely had the chance to speak with his
fater
since the accident and now felt shame that the
auld
man appeared so visibly distressed. But Jude nodded with encouragement and Joseph pressed shoulder to shoulder against his right side, and he felt somewhat comforted for a moment. Then Bishop Umble began to speak.

“At times,
Derr Herr
brings things into our lives that we do not expect, that we have not asked for nor do we appear to want. I believe young Edward King's letter and its results may be exactly such a thing—given from the Hand of
Gott
to judge our response. Now, I will hear your questions and concerns.”

Edward felt everything drift strangely away from him in that moment; the bishop's words were not what he expected despite their odd conversation at the still. Somehow or other, Bishop Umble made it appear as though what he'd done was working into
Gott
's plan, and he heard the
auld
leader's question once more in his mind:
Do you understand grace?

A cranky old voice broke through his reverie and Edward recognized Amos Smucker as he raised the question that surely must be on everyone's mind.

“Are you going to shun Edward King or not?”

Edward waited, his heart beating hard in his ears in the suddenly palpable silence.

Bishop Umble peered out at the crowd as he stroked his long white beard. “Not,” he declared emphatically. “Now, next question.”