by Kelly Long
“Kumme.” He hurried with her to the path and was surprised when Ryan joined them.
“You’re going to need all the manpower you can get,” the Englischer offered, and Ransom nodded in agreement as he helped Beth begin the trek up the mountainside.
By the time they reached the top, acrid smoke clung to their hair and clothes and stung their eyes. The Englisch cabins were engulfed in flame and bewildered-looking summer campers stood far back from the structures’ stark outlines. Ransom saw that many of the Amish men had formed a bucket brigade from the nearby creek and he readily joined in after assuring himself that Beth had headed back to where the Amish women were probably preparing food. Ransom and the Englischer, Ryan, ran to the end of the brigade and began working as fast as they could.
The summer breezes were against them and the effort to contain the flames was exhausting, but finally the fire was out and both Englisch and Amish staggered together through the woods and back to the Amish community.
* * *
Beth half-expected Viola and Rose not to be present among the swirling group of women who were making soup in huge kettles and assembling sandwiches at a stout table. But her stepmother and Rose were moving carefully past the kettles, adding touches of salt and pepper.
Martha Umble, the bishop’s wife, kept everything running smoothly and brushed past Beth with a thin elbow.
“If you’d start some bacon corn chowder over with Mary Lyons, Beth, it would be an especial help. Ben Loftus has opened the store for anything we may need.”
Beth nodded and made her way to where beautiful Mary Lyons, the schoolteacher’s wife, was hastily adding chopped potatoes to a large kettle where crisped and chopped bacon was already sizzling with a rich aroma.
Beth smiled in greeting, then washed her hands with lye soap in a nearby water bucket. She began husking sweet corn, then cutting the milky white kernels off with a heavy knife and dropping them into the kettle.
Mary added several quarts of canned tomatoes and a jar of rich cream. “Now it only needs to heat until the potatoes are cooked through.” The older woman touched Beth’s hand in thanks for her help.
“Jah, I hope the men and buwes are safe, and the Englischers too . . .” Beth trailed off, recalling that Mary’s husband, Jude, had once been Englisch.
Mary smiled. “I’ve come to realize, Beth, that people are people, be they Amish or Englisch.”
“Of course,” Beth murmured. “I’m sorry if I made them sound like an afterthought.”
“You didn’t,” Mary insisted, continuing to smile. “And here kumme the men and the folks from the cabins now. They’ll be plenty hungry, I imagine. Ach, and Ransom King looks as though he’s hurt his hand.”
Beth’s lips parted with the fleeting thought that Mary must know something about Ransom’s attentions to her, but then she quickly moved to his side, not even backing off when Rose met him too.
“Ach, Ransom . . . what happened? Let me tend you.” Rose fluttered about like a beautiful moth, and Beth felt the unkind desire to roll her eyes.
She saw the tight lines of pain around Ransom’s mouth and knew that it was no time for silliness. She met Rose’s piercing gaze with one of her own and was about to speak when Bishop Umble stopped near them.
“Ach, Ransom—I heard you were burned pulling that spaniel out of harm’s way. Beth, will you take Ransom over to the healer’s cabin while Rose goes back to her mamm? I’m sure there’s—ah—more salting and peppering to do.”
For once, Beth knew a strange feeling of victory, though she understood she’d probably regret it later. Rose flounced off, obviously not daring to contradict the spiritual leader of Ice Mountain.
Beth turned now to peer up into Ransom’s face. “Do you want me to geh with you to Sarah’s?”
She watched his mouth curve in a faint smile, despite the obvious pain he was experiencing. “You know I do.”
She felt herself flush at his words, then glanced around to discover they seemed conspicuously paired off—in much the same way that many other couples were, as women helped tend to the small hurts of their men.
She was left with little time for embarrassment, though when she saw that the Englischer, Ryan Mason, had a gash on his sooty forehead.
“Ach, you must kumme to the healer’s cabin,” Beth said, calmly touching him on the arm.
“If it means going with you,” he agreed, grinning good-naturedly.
Beth saw Ransom’s frown but was too intent on getting both men the help they needed to mind.
* * *
“Sarah’s out right now,” Edward King said in his deep voice. The big Amishman looked more pirate than planter with his black eyepatch taut across his strong face. Two small children clung to his legs as he widened the door to the healer’s cabin. “Beth, you’re welcome to kumme in and use what supplies you will. Sarah won’t mind. She’s still tending to the Englischers who were hurt in the fire.”
Ransom watched Beth give a shy nod of acknowledgment as she brushed past Edward and entered the noisy fray of the kitchen. Children dotted the place like wild sprites, and Ransom had to sidestep the kinner more than once, but it pleased him to see Beth smile at the children and move confidently among them.
She’d make an excellent mamm . . . gentle, kind . . . He had to shake himself from the gleaming thought of her and only refocused when she gently lifted the cloth from the burn on his arm. He heard her suck in her breath.
“Ach, Ransom, it’s nasty.”
“It’ll be fine,” he said roughly, not wanting to notice how much her tender touch affected him as her fingers skimmed the edges of the wound.
“We can put some balm on it and dress it lightly until Sarah returns.” Beth looked up at him for approval. He nodded, watching her move with confidence. Here was a side he didn’t know she possessed—a knowledge of healing as well as baking . . . and kissing, his mind whispered with charged intent. He set his jaw and focused on his wound and was soon dispatched to sit in one of the kitchen chairs while a little maedel clambered onto his lap. Edward and Sarah King were nothing if not fruitful....
“Sei se gut, Ryan, please sit down and I’ll try to clean up your forehead.” Ransom felt himself frown darkly as she moved to touch the visibly smitten Englischer.
But Ryan was cheerful and pleasant to talk with, and Ransom soon found himself reluctantly liking the fellow.
“I’ve heard you apprenticed in fine furniture making,” Ryan said as Beth dabbed at his forehead.
Ransom raised an eyebrow. “How did you hear that? I’ve only been home a short while and haven’t had time to advertise.”
The Englischer smiled. “Oh, things get around. . . .”
“I just met you . . .” Ransom felt an acceleration in his heart rate. This Ryan reminded him of Bishop Umble in his weird knowing of things.
“Oh, well.” Ryan nodded. “If you do such work, I was thinking that you might display your craft in rebuilding the cabins.”
Ransom shifted the child’s slight weight in his arms and enjoyed a throttling hug from the skinny arms of the little girl. When he could breathe, he nodded at Ryan. “It’s a gut idea. I would imagine that some folks lost a lot in the fire because most of them stay for the whole summer.”
Ransom caught Beth’s smile as she said, “Ach, Ransom, it would be wonderful to see your work. I know so little of your time with your grossdauddi . . .”
He swallowed as memories suddenly seeped through his mind—Barbara had been interested in his work—or so she had said . . . He snapped back to the present as Ryan continued speaking.
“Actually, I know there’s a pastor’s wife and kids who are up here on sabbatical—the pastor had a heart attack and died. He was young—thirty-eight, I believe . . . the church just wanted them to have a chance to heal, but now . . . with the fire . . .”
Ransom felt his interest grow. “I’ll talk to my daed. It would be gut to help them out.”
He realized that the place had quieted as gentle Sarah
returned with a quick buss on Edward’s mouth and a smile for her patients.
“You did wonderfully, Beth,” the older girl praised. “Let me know if you ever need something more to do. I could use an assistant.”
Ransom knew a glimmer of joy to see the shy smile of pleasure on Beth’s face.
Chapter Nineteen
“But Bishop Umble told me to help Ransom, Viola, and think what good it would do to help the Englischers. . . .”
“Help the Englischers! Why, if you haven’t enough work to do here, Beth, in support of your own family—I just don’t know what to say.”
Beth bit her lip and scooped up Thumbelina. She walked away quietly and climbed the ladder to her own room, even though it was nearly stifling in the middle of the day. She just wanted a few moments to be alone after listening to Viola for nearly half an hour. She realized that this desire to be by herself bordered on the disobedient, but she knew she would go back down soon enough.
She also realized that she was hungry and rummaged in a tin for some raisin cookies that were half stale but still sweet. She chewed thoughtfully and had a sudden memory of sitting down to dinner with her father for meals. Now, she usually served Viola and Rose and was kept hopping up and down. Besides, she didn’t want to sit with anyone. She felt a lot safer going to her room and eating alone. She felt more in control and she didn’t have to be still and listen to the echoes within herself that she tended to hear more loudly when she was with others—like Viola and Rose.
From her screened window, she heard a horse and buggy come along the dirt lane. She glanced out, wondering if it might be Ransom for some reason. But she saw Bishop Umble’s wife, Martha, climb out of the buggy, and she hastened to tidy herself and geh back downstairs.
Martha Umble was a kind soul who made the rounds visiting and praying with the women of the community. Viola always seemed flustered by the older woman and Beth was never quite sure why.
But, as Beth served the ladies iced tea with fresh mint, she was surprised to hear that Martha was already talking about Olivia Lott and her family. All of the other summer renters had left the mountain, but Olivia had no place to geh with the death of her husband. Ransom must have spoken to the bishop, and here was his wife already helping to find support for the project. The Amish grapevine, Beth thought, and helped herself to a quick sip of tea as she listened to the conversation.
“And, of course, Viola, I must thank you for allowing Beth to be part of this, because she and Ransom were the ones to see the need in the first place.”
Beth held her breath a bit, wondering what her stepmother might say. But Viola seemed to rise to the occasion. “Why, surely Beth must help. We all must, right, Rose?”
“Oh, jah,” Rose murmured vaguely.
Beth felt satisfied that even though it might be through the subtle pressure of the bishop’s wife, she would be able to participate. And further, she saw for the first time, with some clarity, that Viola wanted to be accepted. Maybe that’s why she seems angry much of the time . . .
But this was just the glimmer of a thought, quickly forgotten in the flurry of the activity Viola galvanized once Martha Umble had gone.
Beth wondered briefly what Ransom was doing, but dragged her mind from him and tried to focus on the tasks at hand.
* * *
Ransom let his mind drift over the day and knew in his heart that the hike down the mountain with Beth had changed him somehow. He felt with growing certainty that his injured soul had healed a bit in the light of Beth’s gentleness.
Gott said, “Perfect love, whole love, casts out fear . . .” How would it feel to no longer be afraid of what I’ve done? Is that even possible?
The hard thoughts were difficult to contemplate....
At least his talk with Bishop Umble had gone well. The community’s spiritual leader was kind and generous and had a gut relationship with the Englisch of the area. He had told Ransom he would get the word around the community that the rebuilding of the cabins was both a gut idea and a gut ministry.
* * *
Beth was tired, but nonetheless, she tossed and turned in her hot room, unable to get comfortable. She finally grabbed a pillow and quilt and decided to geh down to the back porch to sit in the coolness of the nacht for a bit. She stopped in the kitchen and grabbed half a chocolate cream pie and a fork, then tiptoed outside with Thumbelina accompanying her.
The stars were burning brightly against the midnight-blue sky, and the moonglow lit the kitchen garden so that she could even see the tomatoes on the bushes, looking silvery and shadowed. She sat down in a wicker-backed chair and tucked up her legs under her, adjusting the quilt and taking her first forkful of pie. She savored its sweetness, her satisfaction intensified because the pie was being eaten in secret. She thought about this as she licked the back of the fork and knew she had never eaten in secret when she was younger. The habit had grown since her fater’s death. The more she could hide when she ate and how much, the more in control she felt. She knew this left little room for what Gott commanded—to love your neighbor as yourself. How can I love anyone when I can’t love myself ? she wondered. She thought briefly of Ransom, a flare against the dark of her mind, then nearly jumped when Jack the parrot flew onto the porch and landed on top of Thumbelina. She put down the pie plate on the porch floor and welcomed the bird. But then she wondered if Aenti Ruth would be troubled by Jack’s absence.
She sighed to herself, knowing she’d have to take him back, and quickly went inside to dress. She plaited her hair and pulled on a kerchief, then went back down to find the bird still enjoying a pleasant interlude with Thumbelina.
“All right, come on, Jack.” Beth held out her arm, and the parrot obligingly hopped on board. She started down the steps, hesitating for a moment as she wondered whether she needed a lantern, but then decided the moon’s glow was more than enough to guide her.
* * *
Ransom woke gasping for breath and feeling tears wet on his face. He didn’t want to remember the dream. He got up and stared out at the moonlit nacht and decided to take a walk to cool his thoughts. He quickly dressed, ran a hand through his ruffled hair, and headed quietly downstairs. He took the back staircase and went out the kitchen door so as not to wake Aenti Ruth or her personal zoo.
He put his hands in his pockets and wandered along the back road that led to the Mast residence, not intending to do anything more than clear his head. But then he heard the distinctive call of a parrot and stopped to listen. “Ach, that bird,” he muttered, picking up his pace.
Just then, he saw Beth in front of him with Jack on her shoulder. The moonlight touched her features, framing them with a beautiful halo of silver. She seemed almost ethereal as she approached. He felt his heart thud hard in his chest as he softly said her name. “Beth?”
She appeared startled, and he held out a hand to her. “It’s me,” he said.
“Ach . . . Ransom, I—Jack came over when I was sitting outside and I thought I’d bring him back before Aenti Ruth found him missing.”
“Danki. The bird is more trouble than he’s worth.”
He heard her soft giggle, and it struck him how rarely he’d heard her laugh outright. He longed to take her in his arms and tell her he loved her, but his past opened like a gaping maw between them. I cannot tell her the truth.... What would she think of me, of what I am? But maybe he could give her some of the truth . . . tell her something that would pass as the truth. He took a deep breath. “Beth, I–I need to tell you—when I was seventeen—the first summer at my grandfather’s house . . .”
Memories surfaced, skipped through his mind like stones thrown over the water of a pond.
He saw Beth looking at him. “I was seventeen and I—She was—beautiful. More beautiful than any woman I’d ever seen, Englisch or Amish. I—we—I’d be exhausted from working all day, but I still saw her, didn’t think. She was a bit older than me and it was—”
He paused and Beth finished for him. “True love.�
�
He looked at her sadly and nodded. “Yeah—I guess.”
He stepped closer to her. “I believe that you understand me, Beth. Will you tell me how you can understand?”
She shook her head and stepped back from him, while Jack fluttered restively.
Ransom didn’t move, waiting for her to speak.
* * *
Beth was caught between the desire to tell him the truth and the certainty that lifting the veil between them would be a catastrophe. “I just understand,” she murmured.
“Ah, little hare—I won’t bite.”
She looked at him; he was tall, strong, and now she knew somehow, very, very wounded. It was in her to want to take care of him, to want to save him and give him a good life. She didn’t pause to wonder where Gott came into this giving, and she moved closer to him once more.
“I know . . . no biting,” she murmured.
Then she was in his arms and felt as though spun sugar coated her body as he eased his mouth down the side of her neck and shoulder. His clever fingers pulled on her kerchief and the mass of her hair came loose from its plait and fell down about her back and shoulders.
She found herself eager to return his kisses and tentatively lifted her chin a bit. He groaned and moved his head, deepening the kiss until she had the strange sensation that they were both held in that moment by the moonlight and the magic between them. Some part of her weary soul came to temporary life.
“Ach, Ransom . . .”
He made a choked sound as he touched her hair and her back, and then they suddenly both froze in place as they heard a sharp female voice.
Chapter Twenty
“Hmmm!” Aenti Ruth called. “I geh out looking for a bird and find kissing by moonlight. Very interesting.” She came closer and stamped her cane on the ground.
Ransom turned, his arms protective around Beth.
“It’s not what it seems,” he said gruffly.
“Oh, I know that.” Aenti Ruth laughed. “Very few things in this world are what they seem to be.”
“I mean,” Ransom continued, “this wasn’t a planned meeting.”
