by Kelly Long
He went around to the back of the wagon and started to unload lumber. Beth stood uncertainly, sensing his anger still. “Uh, danki, Ransom, for helping me. I—you were wonderful. And that thing you said about your fist and all . . . well, that was a great thing to scare him.”
Ransom dropped a two-by-four and stepped close to her, so close she could feel his long legs against the skirt of her dress. She swallowed and looked up at him. “I was dead serious,” he bit out. “When I think of what might have happened—geh home. Geh home, Beth.”
“Ach, but I still have one pie to sell,” she said with some anxiety.
He gave her a sour smile and pulled out his wallet, withdrew a twenty-dollar bill, and slapped it down on the wagon boards so hard that the strawberry rhubarb jumped. “There. You’ve sold the last pie.”
“I need to give you change.”
“Beth . . .”
“Jah?”
He drew a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second; then he looked down at her once more. “Geh home.”
“All right,” she agreed. “I’ll just get the money box and—”
The sound of a booming thunderclap swallowed her words, and she looked up to see that the dark clouds of a fast-moving storm were directly overhead. The weather seemed to match Ransom’s mood, so she nodded at him and started to walk to Teddy and the wagon.
* * *
Ransom grabbed Benny’s bridle and quickly got the horse unhitched. Then he moved past Beth to do the same for Teddy. The rain was starting to pelt against Ransom’s back now, and he took Beth’s hand and pulled.
“I can make it home!” she called over the sounds of the rising storm.
“You know Daed has a small barn out here! Kumme on!” He ignored her uncertainty and led them through the forest toward the shelter.
It was raining in earnest now, soaking them both. Beth fell once or twice on the slippery roots, but he helped her up each time and bellowed, “Are you all right?” To which she nodded. The horses moved along nicely, for which Ransom was grateful, and he soon caught the latch on the barn door and pulled them all inside.
The sudden drop in noise amplified the sound of Ransom’s own breathing, rough and raw, as he glanced down at Beth’s soaked apron and dress. He clenched his jaw when he saw that the wet cotton molded to the outlines of her shoulders. He pulled the horses past her, deeper into the quiet barn his daed used as a halfway point for getting furniture down the mountain. He secured the horses, trying to ignore the intimacy of the place. He blew out a breath of frustration, then grabbed a buffing towel from a shelf and went back to Beth, who looked rather like a ruffled little owl. Her kapp was on sideways and her dress hung in damp folds about her while she shivered visibly, her arms now hugging her body.
Ransom stripped off his own wet shirt, then moved to gently begin to rub the towel over Beth’s hair. Her hidden hairpins gave way, and soon her hair came down in a riotous fall.
“Ach, Ransom,” she groaned, covering her face with her hands. “You know it’s only a husband who may see a girl’s hair unloosed. What am I going to do?”
“Let me finish drying your hair,” he said roughly, moving behind her to take off her kapp. “Do you want to catch pneumonia? You can bundle the whole thing up again before you geh home.”
“I’d better hurry on,” she whispered. “Viola is likely to be looking for me.”
He came around and bent in front of her, carefully prying her hands from her face. She looked at him with a bleak little smile. “Viola will be look—”
“Beth,” he broke in softly. “Do you really believe that your stepmother is concerned about where you are?” He let the question hang in the air, staring into her blue eyes, while the rain thrummed on the barn roof.
“I—” Beth wet her lips. “I want to believe that.” She swallowed. “I do believe that. Besides, I owe Viola and Rose a great deal—”
“For what? Why do you owe them?” His voice came out harsher than he’d intended, but he kept his eyes locked on hers.
“I owe them.” Her bottom lip quivered. “Because they give me a home, and besides—”
“Besides what, Beth? And what the heck kind of a home do they give you? One where you’re a servant and have to beg for the smallest privilege, one where that sister of yours rules over you and—”
“Shut up! Just shut up!”
He watched her curl into herself, rocking back and forth while a low, keening cry came from her lips.
“Dear Gott, Beth. Forgive me.” He felt his own throat tighten, and the urge to cry with her was very great, but instead he simply wrapped his arms around her and rocked her himself. “Shhh . . . shhh . . . little hare . . . it’s all right. It’s all right.”
“Nee,” she sobbed. “It will never be all right again in my life. You don’t understand.”
He smiled grimly and murmured low, “You might be surprised.”
Then she quieted and lifted her head. Her big eyes were swimming with tears, and one fell over the line of her cheekbone.
“Ach, Beth,” Ransom groaned. Then he leaned forward and kissed the track of her tears, which only seemed to make her cry more. Then his mouth found hers and he kissed her without reservation. He slanted his head to deepen the kiss as her novice mouth returned the draw of his lips, and then he pulled away.
He sucked in his breath hard, feeling as though he’d run a mile in a winter’s snow. “I’m sorry, Beth. I shouldn’t have done that.”
She swiped her hands across her cheeks. “Nee, I understand.”
He studied her carefully. “What do you understand?”
“I—I know that you—um—”
“You should know that I like kissing you,” he said abruptly at the warm blush of color that touched her cheeks. He reached out to gently stroke one of the light brown tendrils of hair that brushed the curve of her neck. He very much wanted to kiss her again, but he heard that the rain had slowed and knew that she was in a compromising situation, being alone with him in the barn.
“Best to bundle up your hair and put on your kapp,” he said with a bit more gruffness than he felt. “The storm is passing and I’d better geh back and build you that pie stand.”
Beth nodded, hastily lifting her arms and putting up her hair. Then she pinned on her kapp. “How does it look?” she asked shyly.
Beautiful. Beautiful . . . “You look nice. Your hair is fine.”
She nodded her thanks; then he got to his feet and pulled on his damp shirt and went to get Benny and Teddy. But the whole time he was aware of Beth’s presence; the fresh mint smell of her soap and the tender scent of new spring that seemed to cling to her hair. I am losing my mind, he told himself.
When he was ready, she reached out and handed him the strawberry rhubarb pie. “Don’t forget,” she murmured.
He exhaled slowly. “Believe me—I’ll always remember.”
He took her arm and led her carefully back out into the fast-breaking sunshine of the early morning.
Chapter Fifteen
Beth went home and gave Viola the pie money, even as she longed to geh to her room and think of Ransom. She told herself that she was being silly and set about polishing the loft ladder’s wooden staircase. She’d gotten to the fifth step up when it occurred to her that Thumbelina had not kumme to greet her upon her return, nor had the cat been anywhere around while she’d been polishing. Worried now, she hastily finished the last few steps, then went in search of Viola.
Her stepmother was sitting in the living room doing some tatting, and Beth had to try hard not to burst out with her worry for her pet. She knew Viola didn’t like noisy behavior.
“Beth?” Her stepmother’s voice broke into Beth’s thoughts.
“Jah, Viola.”
“You’ve finished the loft ladder? You may geh on with the kitchen floor.”
“Jah, Viola, I surely will. But I wondered sei se gut if you’ve seen Thumbelina? He doesn’t seem to be—”
“Ach, that sill
y cat,” Viola replied dismissively. “When the storm came earlier today, I opened the back door and the animal ran outside.”
Beth’s heart began to pound. “But Thumbelina is usually wherever I am around the haus. He may be lost or hurt or—”
“You needn’t fuss at me, Beth. Geh—” Viola waved a magnanimous hand. “Geh. You may have an hour free to look for the cat. But be back in one hour; there are chores waiting.”
“Jah, Viola. Danki.”
Beth walked quietly away, knowing if she hurried, she’d only be called back. But once out of earshot of her stepmother, Beth ran out the back door and began to anxiously call for Thumbelina.
Her search seemed futile, but when she’d gone about half a mile from the haus, she nearly tripped over a gray sack on the ground. She might have gone on, except she heard a frail whimper come from inside the bag. Quickly, she bent and opened the sack, only to find a very small puppy inside. He looked malnourished and as though he’d been kicked around. His back legs were tied together so he couldn’t run, and his eyes seemed to plead with her for help.
“Ach, you poor thing.” She knelt down on the ground and tried to work at the string that was cutting into the animal’s legs, but she had no pocketknife and couldn’t get it to loosen with her short nails.
Then the clear sound of wood being hammered came to her in the distance, and she remembered that Ransom was probably still working on the pie stand and was not all that far away. She got to her feet with the puppy and started to run down the dirt road that would lead out to the pie stand.
* * *
Ransom turned to pick up a nail and saw Beth running down the path toward him. He immediately put down his hammer, pocketed the nail, and set out to meet her. His long legs covered the ground much more quickly than Beth’s, and she soon thrust the puppy into his arms with a sob. “Ach, Ransom, I can’t get the string off his legs. I found him in a sack along the way. And Thumbelina is missing too!”
Ransom decided to tackle the most pressing of her concerns first. Putting one arm around her and carrying the puppy with the other, he led her back to the pie stand, which was almost finished, only needing a shade roof. He put the puppy down on the fresh pine wood and, using his pocketknife, very carefully cut the tight string, then rubbed the legs of the poor animal to bring back some circulation.
“Do you think he’s badly hurt?” Beth asked.
Ransom ran careful hands over the animal and shook his head. “No bones broken. He’s half-starved and has been treated badly, but I do think he’ll pull through all right.”
“Ach, I wish I could take him home, but Viola forbids any dogs because of their barking.”
“I’ll have him,” Ransom said, lifting the animal to cuddle against his chest.
“Ach, but maybe I have a better idea,” Beth exclaimed.
“What’s that?”
“Let’s give him to Aenti Ruth. . . . You know . . . Matthew, Mark, Luke, and well—Second John!”
Ransom laughed heartily. “All right! Let’s take him over in the wagon right now.”
“I can’t,” Beth groaned. “I have to find Thumbelina and I have less than an hour before I have to get back.”
“It will only take a few minutes to give the pup to Aenti Ruth, and then I’ll help you look for Thumbelina.”
He watched Beth consider, and the puppy whimpered. “Ach, jah! Let’s geh!” she burst out.
* * *
They entered the haus to the usual cacophony of animal sounds that had become commonplace since Aenti Ruth’s arrival. The auld lady sat upright in the chair she’d come to favor and Ransom let Beth approach with the puppy.
“I found him, Aenti Ruth,” Beth whispered. “He looks quite a mess now, but I’m sure he’ll grow into a fine-looking friend. And I thought you might call him Second John.”
Aenti Ruth’s hands shook a bit as she reached out for the small dog. “My—I—don’t quite know what to say. I—danki, child. Of course he shall be fine. Ransom King, don’t just stand there—fetch some warm milk . . . ach, and send Jack in.”
Aenti Ruth’s blue eyes gleamed. “Something tells me that I may have a gift for you too, little Beth.”
Beth looked up in time to see Thumbelina come sauntering in with Jack the parrot riding on his sleek back. The two seemed to be the firmest of friends, and when Beth ran to meet her beloved pet, Thumbelina purred in happy greeting. “Oh, how did you find him?”
“I figured he belonged to someone hereabouts as he was in such good condition,” Aenti Ruth said. “And I didn’t find him—he came scratching at the door in the middle of the storm. Smart cat, I say!”
“Ach, jah, danki. He is.”
Beth perched on the edge of the sofa, trying to decide how best to take her leave without seeming impolite when Aenti Ruth cleared her throat, then spoke low. “Dear child, Derr Herr prompts me to give you one more thing. A secret thing. One I have carried with me for nigh on three generations now. Hand me my Bible.”
Beth would have protested that it was unnecessary, but there was a spark of light in Aenti Ruth’s eyes that made Beth feel she should obey.
Beth handed her the heavy Bible, filled with notes, cards, and ribbons to mark special readings. Aenti Ruth managed the puppy and the Bible easily in her lap, then opened the pages to begin to hunt for something in particular. Beth waited, outwardly patient but inside fearing repercussions if she didn’t make it home within the allotted time. But suddenly Aenti Ruth drew a recipe card from the center of the Bible.
“Had it in Job. Praise be. Here, Beth. Take it, but guard it well.”
Beth looked down at the simple card with its old-fashioned, beautiful handwriting. “Ach, thank you, but I—”
“You will know when to use it.”
Beth nodded, not really understanding but not wanting to give offense.
Aenti Ruth gestured with an aged hand. “Quickly, hide it away and let no one else use it.”
Beth carefully put the recipe card into her dress pocket as Ransom came in with a small bottle of warmed milk.
“Excellent.” Aenti Ruth’s voice rose. “Now, I will feed Second John and you, Ransom, can have the privilege of taking Beth and her smart cat home.”
Beth bent and kissed the auld woman, who in turn patted her cheek and whispered in Beth’s ear, “Remember.”
* * *
Ransom was dreaming, surrounded by sparkling water as he leaped in the ocean with the moon shining down on him. Then the moon was gone and Barbara was driving the automobile, going much too fast and then faster still. Maybe this was dying—out of control—flying, dying . . . He heard his own choked breath, pulling him back to wakefulness....
He sat up in bed and looked out of the window. A summer moon shone down peacefully, and the fresh smell of blooming things wafted in from outside. He was home—on Ice Mountain—the dream was over, but he knew he still wouldn’t sleep. Instead, he lay back and flung an arm over his eyes, trying to control his breathing. Soon he was less tense but just as stirred up when visions of Beth and ripe blueberries began to tease his mind.
Chapter Sixteen
Beth had nearly forgotten about the recipe card Aenti Ruth had given her until the next morning, when she was dressing. She went to the peg on the wall where she’d hung her apron the nacht before and felt carefully in the pocket. She withdrew the aged card and glanced through the ingredients—one of them surprised her but made her smile. Then she recalled that Aenti Ruth had wanted her to hide the card, and she went to the wooden dresser that her fater had bought her from an auld Amish craftsman. She drew in a deep breath and lifted a cleverly concealed piece of scrollwork to reveal a hidden compartment. Her eyes welled with tears as she remembered her daed leaving little notes for her in the secret place; she knew that not even Viola was aware of the hiding place. Quickly, she folded the recipe card in half and slipped it into the hollow space, then closed the scrollwork and stepped away.
It was so difficult to touch anything t
hat reminded her of her father, for theirs had been a cheerful and loving relationship and he had always been her protector against the world. She remembered especially their appreciation of the beauty of Ice Mountain and how her daed would often take her to search for the creatures Gott had made on the mountain. Once, he’d taken her fishing and they’d kumme upon a baby fawn, hiding in the tall grass beside the creek. Beth had wanted very much to take the sweet thing home.
“Nee, my dear. The fawn is hiding and waiting for its mamm to return. The mama deer would be quite unhappy to find its baby missing.” He’d rubbed her hand in consolation, and Beth remembered smiling as she looked up into her daed’s kind eyes.
“Would you miss me, Da, if you found I’d disappeared?”
Her fater had hugged her close. “My very heart would break, little love.”
Beth had been satisfied with his answer and they’d gone on to take one last peek at the fawn and then spent a gut afternoon fishing.
Now Beth put aside such happy thoughts with a sigh and left her room to climb down the ladder. She grabbed two corn muffins as she passed through the silent kitchen and ate them on the way out to check on Cleo, her lambs, and the rest of the sheep.
Beth lit a lantern inside the barn and peered over the small stall at Cleo. Immediately, Beth could tell the sheep was distressed. It was an instinctive knowledge and she put down the lantern on a barrel top and slipped inside the stall. The lambs were curled up asleep next to one another, but Cleo stood still. Beth knelt down in the hay and felt Cleo’s udder, knowing already that she would find it hot to the touch.
“Mastitis, Cleo, and a bad case. We’ll have to have Bishop Umble out as soon as possible. It will be fine.” Bishop Umble had been a shepherd when he was first married to Martha, long years ago. And he was still an expert on animal husbandry. Beth told herself that she was reassuring the sheep, but, in fact, she was also comforting herself. She knew that mastitis could be dangerous to a sheep and also to her lambs, because the condition made it too painful for the ewe to nurse her babies.
