by Kelly Long
Ransom clutched the bag of licorice pipes in a death grip as Clara put her shears to good work, cutting the yardage. “Danki, Rose.” He moved to extract himself from her grip, but she practically pinned his back to the shelf of homemade jams. Clara looked up once with a dour expression, and Ransom longed for the moment to be over.
“I must tell you a secret,” Rose whispered, then stood on tiptoe to cup her hand about his ear. “My pie will be blueberry with a lattice top and a heart right in the center . . . just in case you might forget.”
“Okay.”
Ransom wondered briefly how Rose had discovered that Bishop Umble had asked him to be one of the three judges at the pie bake-off. But he dismissed the thought when Rose began to flutter about him excitedly, like some gaudy butterfly. Ach, how much I prefer Beth’s quiet and peaceful nature.... A girl like Rose makes my head hurt. He eased away from her and nodded to Clara before making a hasty exit through the front door. Once outside, he drew in a refreshing breath of summer air and wondered how Beth could put up with such a sister.
* * *
Beth gently unwrapped the brown paper from the forest green fabric that Rose had brought home earlier that morning.
“Ransom picked it out for me,” Rose cooed as she ate a fresh blueberry muffin. “He has such gut taste. I tell you, Beth, I think your whole courting scheme is just a cover for Ransom to be able to see me more often.”
Beth stared at her stepsister, feeling as though her head was spinning. What if Rose’s chatter is true? But then she straightened her back as she remembered the look on Ransom’s face when he told her of the baby and Barbara.
“Think what you like, Rose,” she said coolly, looking back down at the material in front of her.
Rose flicked at Beth’s kapp string as she passed by. “I will think what I like, stepsister, and you be sure that my dress is finished in time for the frolic.”
Beth pressed her lips together hard and was thankful to Gott that she managed to hold her tongue and keep her temper, though hot words boiled in the back of her mind. She regained her composure and opened her sewing basket. She knew how to make dresses for Rose; she’d done it far too many times in the past.
She cut the pattern carefully, then looked up as she heard Viola’s voice raised in the living room. Her stepmamm was scolding Thumbelina, and Beth felt a surge of anger as she abandoned her sewing.
“Is Thumbelina doing something to bother you, Viola?”
“Naturally,” Viola replied. “That cat is nothing but a nuisance.”
“That cat is my friend,” Beth said with sudden asperity.
Thumbelina ran toward Beth as if he knew she was defending him. Beth caught up the old cat in her arms and rubbed her cheek against his fur.
Viola looked as surprised as Beth felt in her contradiction of her stepmamm, but Beth would not have Thumbelina treated poorly.
“Perhaps I should geh up to my room for a bit with him, Viola.”
“And leave Rose’s dress? I don’t think so.” She pursed her lips. “I’ll not trouble with the cat any further.”
For Beth, it was a small victory, but one she had to confess to Gott as she went back to her sewing. She had nee desire to be sly but, ach, she was so happy that Thumbelina would not be troubled any further that morning.
* * *
Ransom paused in his hammering to listen to Bishop Umble as the auld leader paused by the nearly finished bookshelves in the main cabin.
“Nice work here, Ransom.”
“Danki, Bishop.”
“I heard through the Amish grapevine that Beth is not to join us today.”
“I figured as much. She’s probably at the cabin sewing a dress for Rose to wear to the frolic.”
“Hmmm . . . Well, Olivia Lott wanted to see her. Perhaps you might take Olivia to the Mast cabin later this afternoon?”
With Viola and Rose there? “With Viola and Rose there?” He said the unspoken words aloud and had the grace to look abashed when Bishop Umble raised a gray eyebrow.
“Jah.” The auld leader stroked his beard. “Perhaps it might be helpful for all involved.”
Ransom wanted to turn away from the knowing blue eyes, but instead, he nodded. “All right. Jah, I’ll take her.”
“Gut man. Lucy will watch the kinner here. I’ll tell Olivia.”
“Gut.” Just gut . . . great. Now I have to show the Englischwoman just how screwed up an Amish household can be. . . .
* * *
Beth reached a hand behind her head to ease the ache in her neck that came from bending over sewing so long. She had basted all the seams and knew it was ready for Rose to be fitted properly, but she hadn’t been troubled by her stepsister for a few hours and had to admit that the neck strain was worth the afternoon of peace.
She sighed and rose to get a glass of water when she heard horse hooves on the dirt road outside. Her heart started beating fast when she saw Ransom’s handsome profile, and she regretted the perspiration stains she knew marked the underarms of her dress. But her self-consciousness was quickly dismissed in her pleasure at the chance to see him. She hurried to the front door of the cabin and pushed to open the screen. Thumbelina wound himself around her legs and Beth smiled at the sight of Ransom helping Olivia Lott down from the wagon seat.
“Beth, do we have visitors?”
Beth’s heart sank at the sound of Viola’s voice behind her. “Jah.”
“Well, don’t just stand there, girl.... Allow me to greet them while you clean up your sewing.”
Beth bent and scooped up Thumbelina, then brushed past Viola to return to the half-made dress. She put Thumbelina down gently and began to carefully fold the fabric that was spread out on the table.
“Hello, Frau Mast, this is Olivia Lott. She wonders if she might speak to Beth . . . and I’d like to see her for a moment or two myself.”
“Beth has been sewing for her stepsister. She must do it, dear child, because she knows how delicate Rose can be. . . .”
Beth felt her face suffuse with color as she heard Viola speak the lie so sweetly.
“I see.” Ransom’s tone was hollow, and Beth wanted to hug him for so obviously doubting Viola.
“But do kumme in,” Viola went on. “I’ll fetch Rose.”
Beth didn’t look up when Viola walked past her, nor did she move when she sensed that Ransom had kumme to stand close to her.
“Leave this sewing, sweet Beth.” He gently took the green material from her hands.
“You chose a perfect color,” she whispered back, raising her eyes to meet his.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I did, didn’t I?”
She had to smile in return and forgot about Olivia, Violet, and Rose as he bent to kiss her once. She felt dazed for a moment and was full of bliss, even when Viola and Rose came back to the kitchen.
“If you’ll forgive me, Frau Mast—Rose.” Ransom cleared his throat. “Olivia and I are to share a picnic lunch with Beth down by the creek. Martha Umble sent the basket along, and the bishop said you would surely understand, given the pleasant friendship Beth and Olivia have formed.”
Beth didn’t look to see the expression on Viola’s face, but she knew her stepmamm could hardly be happy. But in this, she seemed to be mistaken, as Viola spoke with an understanding nod. “Why, jah, of course. I would never stand in the way of the bishop’s plans, but dear Mrs. Lott, please allow me to sit with you a moment and offer my condolences on the loss of your husband. I too lost my husband in a terrible accident, and I feel, as widows, that we might share in the comfort of surviving.”
Beth drew a sharp breath. Against her will, words filled her mind. It was my fater, not only your husband. And I survived. I survived too . . . Why? Why? The thoughts were too much for her on top of the already tense situation, and Beth mumbled a hasty apology, then ran blindly out the screened door....
* * *
Ransom was torn between leaving Olivia with the two obviously scheming women
and going after Beth. But then Olivia gave him a brisk wink and a slight nod of her head. Clearly, the Englischwoman felt she could hold her own, so he turned and walked out the door.
A slight movement near the door of the barn caught his eye and he followed quickly. It was warm inside the sheep barn, and it took a few moments for him to locate Beth until he heard some muffled sobbing from behind a mound of fresh hay.
He rounded the hay and saw that she’d thrown herself down like a hurt child and was weeping into the crook of her arm. He sank down beside her, waiting until she’d cried herself quiet before gently leaning over her and stroking her back.
“Little hare, will you tell me what troubles you so? Viola mentioned your fater’s death and then you ran. . . .”
She nodded, then rolled to her back to stare up at him with brimming blue eyes. “Jah,” she whispered. “My fater died and I didn’t.”
Ransom wiped at the tracks of her tears with the back of his hand. “Is that your secret, sweet Beth? That you feel guilty for being the one who walked away? Because you know I understand.”
She shook her head, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. “Nee,” she choked. “I didn’t walk away. I caused the accident. I killed my fater. . . .”
* * *
Beth opened her eyes, expecting to see condemnation and shock on his face, but instead, his dark gaze held steady and calm.
“You were thirteen,” he said softly. “Will you tell me what happened?”
“My fater took me on an outing to Coudersport . . .” She swallowed hard, feeling the words burn the back of her throat. “We had a gut time, but I–I was hungry on the way back.” I could feel the sun on my face and see the lunch pail, a silver bucket covered by a white napkin, on the floor of the buggy near my fater’s feet. “I was hungry and didn’t want to wait to picnic near the Ice Mine. I–I grew impatient with my fater and reached . . . reached for the lunch pail myself. The napkin blew off the top and flew by the horse’s face.” I followed the dance of the pretty white napkin, linen against pale blue sky—beautiful in unfolded flight. “But then the horse reared, startled by the napkin. My fater lost the reins and the horse came down hard. I–I think it broke its leg, because it screamed. The buggy tipped and I was thrown out into a field. I saw my daed tumble from the buggy seat into the horse’s slashing hooves. There was blood and . . . and I still held the lunch pail. I ran and ran until I came to a cornfield. I didn’t want to be found. My gluttony killed my fater. I wanted to die. I think I still want to sometimes.... That’s why I eat most when I’m alone, I suppose.”
She stopped and drew a deep breath. She realized the telling of her secret had purged some of the poison from her mind. She listened to Ransom’s breathing—slow and even in the sudden quiet; then she swiped her hand over her face and he kissed her forehead gently. “Thank you, little hare. Danki for trusting me with your secret. That took courage, sweet Beth. A lot of courage and a lot of love from Gott.”
She drank in his words like spring water and kissed him gently in return.
Chapter Thirty
For the Amish of Ice Mountain, a work frolic combined the elements of building and fun to benefit the whole community or, in this case, the Lotts and whoever else Gott led to rest at Ice Mountain.
Ransom gladly helped Aenti Ruth into the back of the wagon among a clutch of comfortable pillows and elevated her still-sore foot. His mamm was there to hold the injured ankle steady while his brother Abel made sure Aenti Ruth’s animal family didn’t become overly rambunctious.
“Mind that package I gave you, Ransom,” Aenti Ruth called over Second John’s yips. “It’s a gift for your Beth.”
My Beth . . . My Beth . . . He tasted the words and found them to be a delight. He thought back to the moments the day before in the barn, when Beth had shared with him the secret that gnawed at her heart. He had wanted to tell her that everything would be all right, but he knew that healing from such a wound would take time.
“Daydreaming, Ransom?” Aenti Ruth’s acerbic tone cut into his thoughts, and he turned to smile at the auld woman.
“That I am!” It was funny that he had no problem admitting how he felt now. He knew that the process of sharing their secrets with each other had actually brought Beth and him closer together. And he knew that Gott’s Hand was on him . . . and on her.
He loosened the brake and had begun to turn the horse when Aenti Ruth cried out sharply, “Ransom! Stop! Second John just took off after a squirrel!”
He muttered to himself as he reset the brake and turned in time to see the dog’s hindquarters disappear into the woods. “He’ll kumme back, I’m sure.”
Ransom’s mother murmured in agreement, but his aenti was having none of it. “I cannot geh to the frolic until he’s safe and sound.” Her aged voice broke for a moment, and Ransom’s frustration at the situation eased.
“All right, Aenti Ruth. I’ll geh and fetch him back. You sit tight with Mamm. Abel, kumme sit in the driver’s seat.” He jumped down from the high wagon seat and headed off into the woods.
* * *
“Beth! The hem on this dress is too long. How could you make such a mistake?” Rose’s wail echoed throughout the cabin.
Beth turned a placid but tired face to her stepsister and glanced at the offending hem. “The length is fine, Rose. You look quite beautiful.”
“Jah, you do,” Viola said, coming into the bedroom. “And you’d best geh and check your pie. It should be nearly done.”
Rose gave a huffing response and brushed past Beth to go to the kitchen.
“Really, Beth,” Viola said. “You look an absolute mess. And the kitchen—why there’s lard practically rubbed into the counters. You’re going to have to stay behind until you finish cleaning up and then walk to the frolic. I really don’t know what’s kumme over you.”
“Viola,” Beth replied softly, “Rose left the kitchen the way it is while she was baking her pie.”
Her stepmamm sniffed. “Gott calls on us to share one another’s burdens, Beth. It doesn’t matter who made the mess; you will clean it up.”
Beth nodded, but she knew now, with stark clarity, that her stepmamm treated her unfairly.
* * *
At first, Ransom heard the yipping of Second John nearby and jogged after the little dog, but then the barking faded and he groaned at the thought of the pup making its way down the mountain somewhere. Still, the catch in Aenti Ruth’s aged voice echoed in his brain, and he picked up speed while calling for the dog.
* * *
Viola and Rose had gone, and Beth breathed a sigh of relief even as she scrubbed the sticky kitchen counters with lemon water. She let her thoughts drift to the day before, when she’d told Ransom her secret. His handling of what had tormented her for so long—with gentle kisses and reassurances—had made her feel cocooned with love. She knew that his response, through Derr Herr, had given her the quiet strength she needed to stand up to Viola about who had actually made the mess in the kitchen.
She finished the pile of dirty dishes, then briefly went outside to shake out her white apron. She sighed as she reentered the haus. Viola and Rose had kept her so busy, she had not had time to bake a pie of her own to enter in the contest. She told herself that it didn’t matter and climbed the loft ladder to her cramped room. It was muggy, and she quickly decided she would wear the dress Ransom had liked but Viola had criticized—the blueberry dress, as he had called it.
She lifted it from its neat folds at the bottom of her chest, then turned to her dresser to briefly look in the mirror as she donned a fresh kapp. It was then that her eyes happened to catch on the secret drawer hidden within the scrollwork; it was slightly ajar, and she knew with a sudden intuition that its contents were gone. She lifted the lid to be sure and did not see the recipe Aenti Ruth had given her. Immediately, she thought of Rose—childish Rose, who could not bear not knowing all that went on beneath the roof of the cabin. Beth sighed, replaced the wood carefully, then headed down the
ladder, prepared to walk to the frolic.
She had just stepped outside onto the front porch when the distinct and terrible smell of skunk permeated her senses. The odor was so strong, she could practically taste it. A moment later, Second John was yelping and whining as he made his way, half-blinded, toward Beth. Obviously, the young dog had run off and tangled with the wrong end of a skunk. Beth pitied him but tried to keep his muddy paws away from the clean blue of her dress. But the dog insisted on jumping up again and again, finally leaving both the smell and a dozen footprints all over her dress and apron.
She gave up the idea of getting to the frolic anytime soon and picked up the suffering dog, heading for the nearest porch beam and collecting a length of clothesline along the way. She tied Second John there, then went down into the root cellar to get as many jars of canned tomatoes as she could carry and came back up into the sunshine to find Second John howling piteously. She set the jars on the porch steps, then went over to the barn to get the large metal tub she used to bathe the sheep. She put the dog in the tub and began to empty the jars of tomatoes and juice, pouring them all over the hapless victim. Second John was surprisingly cooperative, almost as if he sensed she was trying to help. She knelt as she worked the tomatoes into his wiry fur and tried to wash his muzzle without getting tomato juice into his dark eyes.
“Now let this be a lesson to you, friend. Leave the skunks alone.” Her tone was light and she started to whistle softly.
“You’ve got the best attitude of any girl I know.”
Beth turned in surprise at Ransom’s compliment. She made to get up, then thought better of it as Second John began to squirm. “All right. All right,” she soothed, focusing once more on the little dog.
Out of the corner of her eye, though, she didn’t miss the fact that Ransom had stripped off his shirt, revealing his tanned, well-defined chest and belly. He put the shirt on the porch chair, then knelt on the other side of the tub, plunging his big hands into the squishy tomatoes. Beth glanced up once to his collarbone, then quickly looked away. Even though she knew she was a sight, she found Ransom’s body to be entrancing and she could feel her cheeks warm despite the odd situation.
