An Amish Wedding Feast on Ice Mountain

by Kelly Long

  “A buss, sweet Beth?”

  “Nee.” She swung a small jug from behind her back.

  “Moonshine?” he queried with a laugh.

  “Nee. Here. Take it, if you please.”

  “Surely.” He accepted the jug and uncorked the lid with curiosity. Then he lifted the crockery and drank deeply.

  He drank for several seconds, then swung down the jug and grinned. He pulled her close once more as he lowered his cream-covered lips to capture her mouth.

  * * *

  Beth tasted the creamy eggnog and cinnamon and nutmeg from his mouth as he kissed her without reservation. All thought of anyone watching slipped from her mind as she reached to twine her arms about his neck.

  “Is it Christmas kumme early, then, sweet Beth?” Ransom asked when he stopped to take a breath.

  “You know all the women on Ice Mountain give their men—uh—I mean—” She stumbled over her words and felt herself blush when the dimple appeared beside his firm mouth.

  “You mean I’m your man?”

  Now what have I gotten myself in to? But jah, oh jah, you are, you are.... “I wasn’t thinking,” she finally said a bit primly.

  He laughed, but then his dark eyes suddenly grew serious, and she worried she had overstepped some boundary with him.

  “Kumme, sweetheart, I’ve got to make sure of the count of two-by-fours that are stored in a barn I believe you know well.”

  “Ransom—I can’t,” she whispered.

  “Danki, sweetheart! And we can finish off the eggnog there too.” He caught her hand, and she would have resisted, but others around them laughed gently in accord with Ransom.

  They passed Olivia Lott and she smiled at them. Beth noticed that some of the sadness had lifted from her eyes and face.

  “Going to have lunch?” The Englischwoman asked.

  Beth winced when Ransom replied with ease, “Something like that!”

  They entered the green woods and soon reached the supply barn. Ransom slid the door open, and Beth saw him give a quick look about before he pulled her inside and slid the door closed.

  Beth noticed immediately that there was an intimacy about the silence of the place. Dust motes played in long sunbeams and cobwebs glistened in far corners. She looked up at him, ready to scold him for his boldness in bringing her to the barn, but she couldn’t find the heart to do it. If truth be told, she wanted to be with him—anywhere he was. Then she watched Ransom put down the eggnog jug on a bale of hay, and he turned to look at her with a gravity that belied any previous playacting.

  “Beth, there’s something I need to show you. I’ve been waiting for the right time, and just now, when I thought you were calling me your man—you have to know before you start thinking like that.”

  “I’m sorry for what I said, Ransom. You don’t need to show me anything. I understand.”

  But he merely shook his head and pulled a carefully folded piece of white paper from his pocket, then held it out to her.

  Beth reached hesitant fingers to his own and accepted the paper but didn’t look at it as Ransom began to speak. “Beth, I told you a little about Barbara, but not the truth.”

  He looked away, and she watched him visibly struggle with what he seemed to need to say. “Beth—I . . . Sei se gut, look at what you hold.”

  Beth nodded and slowly began to unfold the paper. She realized that it was a photo of some sort, which seemed strange, because their people normally didn’t keep or take photos.

  She unfolded it completely, then turned it over with care. She moved to stand in a sunbeam so she could see better. The black and gray colors looked grainy, and the strange circle in the middle was both alien and familiar to her consciousness.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “A baby—a sonogram picture.”

  “It–it’s Barbara’s boppli?” She asked the question even as the answer dawned on her. “Barbara’s and . . . yours?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Jah. Our baby.”

  “You were married?”

  He shook his head, realizing that now he had started to tell the truth, he meant to finish. “I wanted her to marry me. I was seventeen and she was twenty. She . . . was . . . happy, I guess, about the pregnancy, because it was a way, she thought, to escape her parents’ control of her life, but I don’t think she loved the baby . . . not truly. . . .”

  “Where is your baby?”

  Ransom thought it odd that so simple a question could so easily reduce him to tears. He blinked them back and swallowed hard. “One nacht . . . we were in Barbara’s car. She was driving, and she was screaming at me about wanting to leave Ohio. She said that if I wouldn’t take her, she had an Englischer who would. She lost control of the car . . . we hit a tree. The engine exploded into flames. I got out and ran around to her side of the car. It . . . she was screaming. There was a lot of blood and the car seemed . . . mangled around her. I tried to open the door . . . By then someone else had stopped, and then the police and rescue people, but it was too late. Barbara died . . . the baby died . . . and I think that part of me died too.”

  * * *

  Beth carefully held the sonogram in her hand; it was as though the picture cried out to her. So much promise, so much of what might have been . . . and then to lose your beloved in such a way.... She shuddered, and Ransom must have seen her and misunderstood.

  “I don’t blame you for how you must feel about me, Beth. I might have reasoned with her—taken the wheel—something, but I failed. I failed them both, and I don’t want to fail someone like that again.”

  “You mean me?” Beth asked quietly.

  “Jah.”

  He sounded miserable and she longed to comfort him, but she knew she couldn’t ever take the place of the ghosts of his past. She handed him the sonogram and spoke softly. “I understand.” Then she whirled and ran to the barn door, sliding it open in a haze of tears. She wanted to be alone.

  * * *

  Ransom wanted to follow her, but he’d seen the stricken expression on her beautiful face. He folded the sonogram and eased it back into his front pocket; then he too prepared to leave the barn.

  He’d almost reached the open door when a flurry of apron, kapp strings, and dark blond hair flew in through the door frame like a bird from a storm. Beth looked up at him, a bit wild-eyed. “I have a secret too, Ransom. One that I’ve never told anyone—one that only Gott knows.”

  “Shhh.” He tried to soothe her. “It’s all right, little hare. You share so much with me every day—you needn’t share your secret unless you truly want to.”

  “I do, ach, I do, Ransom. I nearly told you that day in the cornfield, but I ran out of courage.”

  She hiccupped on a sob and he gathered her close, longing to assuage her grief. “Then share my courage, sweetheart, such as it is. . . .”

  He bent and kissed her and she returned his kisses eagerly. He reached to ease the door shut behind her and found it stuck for some reason. He glanced up to see Ryan Mason holding the door open with a firm hand.

  “Ransom, Beth. Sorry to interrupt.”

  “It seems you’ve got quite a knack for interrupting lately,” Ransom said with a frown as he pulled a disheveled Beth behind him to hide her from Mason’s keen eyes.

  “It’s all right, Ransom.” Beth sniffed. “I’ll speak with you another time.”

  Ryan Mason smiled. “Now, that will solve my problem perfectly.”

  “What do you mean?” Ransom asked with impatience.

  “Olivia Lott mentioned how much she and her children love to read, so the bishop and I thought that some built-in bookcases might be a nice touch in the largest cabin. I wondered if you might do some measuring and consult about the design.”

  Ransom sighed to himself. He had no desire to leave Beth shaken and alone and was about to tell Mason so when Beth spoke up clearly. “Ransom, it’s all right. Truth be told, I was going to head home early today. It’s Viola’s birthday and I’v
e got a lot to prepare for her supper.” She stepped out from behind him, and he saw that she’d tidied her hair and had her kapp in proper order. Only her cheeks looked tearstained, but she visibly straightened her spine and made to geh when Ryan Mason offered his arm to her.

  “Beth, I’d be honored to walk you back.”

  Ransom glared at the other man as Beth put her small hand on Mason’s arm. “I can walk her back myself.”

  But Beth shook her head. “Nee, Ransom, sei se gut, geh and help the bishop. I’ll be fine.”

  Mason flashed him a smile and turned to go with Beth, leaving Ransom to stare after them, worried for her....

  * * *

  Beth concentrated on beating the mayonnaise cake icing, stirring until her arm hurt and the sugar dissolved. She set the blue mixing bowl aside with a sigh, then checked on the rich chocolate cake, which still had to cool a bit before she could ice it. She was making one of Viola’s favorite meals—pork chops with stuffing, sugared carrots, and mashed potatoes with brown onion gravy.

  She checked on the pork chops, then went to set the table. She used the simple pale blue plates and the cloth napkins, which she’d embroidered herself for Viola’s last birthday, then added the silverware—worn to almost delicate thinness after having been in Viola’s family for years. Beth poured ice water into glasses from a metal pitcher, then went out to the side of the porch to pick some trailing pink roses to add to the birthday table. She reentered the kitchen through the screen door and thought of Ransom. His secret . . . She felt tears well up in the corners of her eyes and hastily brushed them aside with the hem of her apron.

  She had wanted to tell him her own secrets, but Ryan had interrupted . . . Ryan Mason made her feel both safe and unsure at the same time. The simple youth minister seemed to have Bishop Umble’s gift for seeing beyond what the normal eye could take in. He’d talked with her casually as they’d walked back from the cabin construction site; then he’d mentioned the conversation he’d had with Viola about her first husband. His words caused Beth to see her stepmamm in a different light, one that illuminated what the past might have been like during her first marriage.

  Beth was wiping at the kitchen counter when Rose came in without returning her greeting. Her stepsister sat down at the pretty table with her back to Beth, and Beth tried to ignore the obvious insult.

  Beth turned and thoughtfully rubbed the dishcloth in circles against the wood of the counter, then drew a deep breath. “Rose? Do you remember what your fater was like?” Beth didn’t turn, didn’t want to face the rejection Rose would probably express. But to Beth’s surprise, silence reigned in the kitchen for a few moments; then Rose’s voice came, hesitant and childlike.

  “He was mean.”

  Beth turned slowly and slipped into a seat at the table across from Rose. “He was—mean?”

  Rose nodded, reaching to fiddle with the petals of the rose nearest her. “My first memory is of him screaming. Always screaming.” She crushed the petal between her fingers. “He was mean to Mamm too, but we’ve never talked about it. Why do you want to know?”

  Beth thought of Ryan Mason and the way he had asked Viola the same question in the very same place. What is it about speaking the truth? Asking for truth that reveals so much in our lives? Beth reached across the table and patted Rose’s arm. “I wanted to know because I realize I never thought about what your life was like with your other fater and . . .” She didn’t know how to go on. “Do you want to geh for a walk after supper? We could—talk.”

  Rose frowned. “Nee . . . I don’t want to talk to you, and besides, you’ll have to attend to the cleaning up.” She flounced from the table, leaving Beth to thoughtfully gather the strewn rose petals.

  * * *

  Ransom had the odd sensation that a great weight had been lifted from his back, and a cascade of memories assailed his senses. He remembered things that gave him pleasure, things long forgotten, from before the accident that had so defined him. Holding a lathe for the first time, the sheen of a rainbow trout, summer meadows and cutting trees, the clean scent of pine and the roll of thunder over the mountain.... All of this and more rushed at him, and he knew it was because he’d shared the truth with Beth. He’d risked exposing the worst about himself and had found liberation in the process. Truth. For so long, he had made it a relative thing, unwilling to face its power and preferring to be a slave to the lies he felt he had to keep telling.

  And then he remembered what the Bible said: “The truth shall set you free.”

  * * *

  Beth bowed her head for silent grace as she prepared to eat the birthday supper with Viola and Rose. She tried to focus her thoughts on blessings for Viola, but then breathed prayers for Ransom and his past as well. She knew that he had entrusted her with the truth, and the courage and humility that took humbled her.

  “Beth, for the third time, pass the carrots.” Rose’s petulant voice cut through her thoughts, and she looked up, realizing that both Viola and her stepsister were regarding her with less than kindly eyes.

  “Ach, sorry. I was thinking—” She reached for the carrot dish and almost dropped it before she consciously steadied her hand.

  “Thinking about Ransom, no doubt.” Viola’s voice was dry.

  Something made Beth lift her chin at her stepmamm ’s confrontational tone. “Jah, I was. Do you like the pork chops, Viola? I think they’re especially tender.” Beth’s heart beat fast; she couldn’t believe she’d spoken so firmly.

  Indeed, Viola raised a gray eyebrow, as if she couldn’t believe it either. “Perhaps so much time at the worksite has made you forget your manners, Beth?”

  Again, a surge of something daring made Beth respond with unusual clearness. “Nee, I’ve only learned gut things about folks there, Viola. It has blessed me in many ways.”

  “Mamm, can you listen to me instead of Beth?” Rose broke into the conversation. “I really need a new dress for the work frolic and pie bake-off.”

  Beth watched Viola’s eyes shift in her dochder’s direction. “Why, of course, Rose. We will geh to Ben Kauffman’s tomorrow for the fabric. Beth, you will stay home from the cabin site tomorrow so you can sew Rose’s dress. And Rose, you must, of course, make a pie for the contest. There’s a donation fee for entering. Beth, I don’t think you’ll have time to bake because you’ll be making Rose’s dress.”

  Beth swallowed in disappointment and didn’t feel so bold anymore. She took a small bite of carrots and nodded. “Jah, Viola. I will do as you say.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Ransom rose early and washed at the bowl and pitcher on his dresser before pulling on a light green shirt and raising his suspenders. He’d had a great nacht’s sleep and felt cheerful as he entered the kitchen to the delightful smell of bacon frying and the sight of blueberry pancakes rising on the griddle. He bent and bussed his mamm on the cheek, then snatched a piece of bacon and turned away. Esther was setting the table and he caught her around the waist for a quick hug.

  “What en der weldt is wrong with your head, Ransom King?” she snapped at him, squeaking when he twirled her about.

  “Nothing is wrong. I just think it’s a gut day, that’s all!”

  He left his sister to bend and pet Petunia, who was nosing about the kitchen.

  “Huh!” Aenti Ruth snorted from the couch. “The buwe’s in love, that’s what!”

  Ransom laughed. “Your ankle must be feeling better and I’m glad for that!”

  Second John briefly howled in agreement as Ransom went to the couch to see his aenti. He bent and gave her wrinkled cheek a quick kiss and she swatted him away, though he could tell she was touched. “Stop your foolishness, Ransom. It’s wasted on an auld woman. Save your kisses for sweet Beth.”

  “Liiike her,” Jack squawked.

  “Perhaps, little bird,” he agreed with gut humor.

  “I want some licorice,” Aenti Ruth said. “Do you have the time to stop off at Kauffman’s?”

  “I’l
l do it right after breakfast.”

  “Gut. Make sure it’s black. I don’t go for that red stuff.”

  “Black licorice it is, Aenti Ruth.”

  He ate quickly, then left the haus, waved at his daed in the workshop, and set off for the general store.

  He climbed the white steps of Kauffman’s, welcoming the barrage of scents that hit him when he entered the store. The smells of freshly ground coffee, old wood floors, newly baked bread, tanned leather, and a hundred other scents played like musical notes in the tasty air.

  Ransom threaded his way through friends who were shopping and made it to the counter of large glass jars filled with the bright colors of various candies—peppermint and wintergreen, lollipops and wafer spaceships. It all looked gut.

  “What’ll you have, Herr King?” One of Ben’s sons, Eli, gave him a gap-toothed smile from behind the counter.

  “Ach, five licorice pipes, sohn. The black ones.” He was watching the child carefully put the candy in a small brown bag when he heard his name called in sugared tones.

  “Ransom King, you’re up early.”

  He turned with a faint sigh to face Rose and nodded politely. “Gut morning.”

  She caught his arm and stepped intimately close to him. He longed to shake her off like a bug, but he reminded himself that she was part of Beth’s family; instead, he followed her obediently to the fabric counter.

  He caught the eye of Clara, Ben Kauffman’s elderly sister, as she stood with shears poised over an array of different colored material. The older woman gave him a sour smile, then rolled her eyes in Rose’s direction, but the girl was impervious. She held Ransom’s arm closer to the side of her breast and wriggled in obvious excitement.

  “I’m having a new dress made for the frolic and pie bake-off, Ransom, and I can’t decide what color. What do you think?”

  I think Beth is probably making your dress.... He moved away from Rose a bit and stifled his negative thoughts. “The dark green is gut,” he said finally, trying to be objective.

  “Ach, Ransom, jah, the forest green will geh so well with my red hair! You understand women, don’t you?”