An Amish Wedding Feast on Ice Mountain

by Kelly Long

  Beth skirted round the table to buss the auld woman’s cheek, then went about being hugged and kissed by those gathered until she took her place of honor at the head of the frame. She pulled needle and thread to her and rejoiced in the homey sounds of the women talking gently, the clink of teacups from the kitchen—for Viola had insisted, along with several other women, on preparing the snacks for the quilting, as well as the tea.

  As Beth sewed, she thought of Rose. Her stepsister has been acting a bit odd of late—frequently screaming at Beth but then becoming sullen and silent. And she wasn’t present at the quilting today. Beth sighed but then refocused on the bounty surrounding her. Gott had changed her life with His love and with the freedom that comes from telling the truth. Now that Ransom had kumme into her life, she felt loved and held and wonderful.

  Just then, as if on cue, there was a brisk knock at the front door. Viola bustled to get it and came back carrying a beautiful cherrywood quilt stand emblazoned with a bright blue ribbon.

  “Beth, I think you have a gift.” Viola smiled and handed Beth the card that was attached.

  Beth felt herself flush as she accepted the folded paper. She flushed even more when she read Ransom’s note, written in bold print. “To my maedel, I look forward to enjoying all of life’s celebrations with you. Have a gut time! I love you, Ransom.”

  After that, the morning flew by in a round of pleasant chatter and quilting. Little maedels loved to run beneath the raised quilt frame and retrieve dropped needles, and everyone enjoyed lingering in the kitchen and outdoor porch to sample the hot tea, fresh cucumber and tomato and cheese finger sandwiches, as well as the black walnut cookies dusted with powdered sugar.

  It was only when they had regained their places around the quilt frame that they began to discuss what they were bringing to the wedding feast in a week’s time.

  * * *

  While the women gathered to quilt, most of the men of Ice Mountain took it upon themselves to gather at Ben Kauffman’s store to play a checkers tournament and to share in a celebratory sip of white lightning. Ben also served smoked cheese, venison bologna, and horseradish with crackers to tempt the appetite.

  After teasing Ransom for a gut while about his upcoming marriage, the men fell to nostalgia and to telling stories about the women in their own lives.

  Jude Lyons spoke with a smile about the shotgun wedding he’d had. “In truth, it was the best day of my life.” The former Englischer laughed.

  “Mine too,” Edward King chimed in. “Seems like in our family, only Joe here, got to pick his pretty miss.”

  “Danki.” Joseph smiled. “She is more than pretty, though, younger bruder.”

  Ransom grinned, enjoying the camaraderie of the men. He realized that he was accepted, and the feeling matched the love he had in his heart for Beth—the kind of feeling that ran through the cracks of the past and made them whole again.

  “How about any advice on marriage—” he ventured during a lull in the conversation.

  Henry Loftus chortled. “Now, buwe, remember that the gut Bishop Umble is present.”

  Ransom saw the bishop look up from the checkerboard with a gleam in his bright blue eyes. “I could tell you to always be the man of the house, but somehow, I think that Martha would have my head. So, I’ll tell you instead, Ransom, that never should you feel that you are the stronger one in the marriage.... Nee, women are tempered like fine steel and can bend but not break. They bear hardship and children—”

  Ransom, as well as the rest of Ice Mountain, knew the auld man paused because Martha had suffered many miscarriages. He felt his throat tighten when he thought of the child he had lost with Barbara. . . .

  “But . . .” Bishop Umble went on, “the Lord gives back. He is faithful. Now king me, Mahlon Mast!”

  The air of joviality returned and Ransom gathered many more succinct ideas on marriage.

  * * *

  As Beth wearily washed the last of the dishes from the quilting, Viola told her to geh to bed. “I’ll finish here, Beth. Though I wish Rose had kumme today. I don’t know what to make of the child lately.”

  Beth frowned, feeling unaccountably troubled about her stepsister. “I know. I didn’t see her the whole day.”

  Viola nodded. “She’s probably in her room. I’ll check in on her when I’m through here.”

  “Ach, Viola, let me, sei se gut . . . I’d like to talk to Rose about how she’s been feeling lately.”

  “Jah, that would be kind of you.”

  Beth smiled and turned to go to the loft ladder. She realized as she climbed that the moon was full and gave an illuminated enchantment to her room. She tiredly turned up the lamp and nearly jumped when she realized that Rose was sitting on her bed, holding a large pair of sewing shears.

  “Rose?”

  Rose got to her feet. “Hello, favored daughter. How do you feel as you prepare for a wedding that will never happen?”

  “Rose, you’re not yourself.”

  “I am very much myself.” Her hand stroked the shears. “Very, very much.”

  Beth followed her stepsister’s gaze across the small, slanted room, where her wedding dress hung neatly on a peg. But there was something wrong with it—the material seemed almost billowy in the breeze from the window.

  “That’s right, little stepsister. Your wedding dress. What a shame it needed alteration.” Rose laughed lightly and turned up the lamp.

  Beth watched as her wedding dress was illuminated; the hopelessly shredded blue material hung in slashed ribbons.

  “Rose, what have you done?” Beth whispered.

  “Ask me what I’m going to do, little Beth . . . that’s the more important question. . . .”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Ransom had had a bit too much to drink and was dreaming of Beth as he made his way through the dark woods, knowing the paths by heart. He was headed for the Mast cabin to do some late-night courting when he saw the light of a single lantern bobbing unsteadily through the woods ahead of him.

  “Hullo,” he called, expecting that it was someone else having a late-nacht wander.

  “Ransom! Don’t—”

  He recognized Beth’s cry, and fear ran down his spine, sobering him with instant force. “Beth? Are you all right?”

  “She’s just fine, Ransom. Aren’t you, Beth?”

  The lantern was probably ten feet away and Ransom recognized that Rose was prodding Beth with something that flashed silver in the light. “Rose?” Some instinct made him keep his voice low and steady, as if soothing a wild creature. “Rose, what’s going on?”

  “I’m eliminating our problem, Ransom.” Rose lifted the lantern, and Ransom took the scene in with one horrified look.

  Beth wore a slashed blue dress, and blood from several cuts ran red over the fabric. Her hair was loose and the sewing shears in Rose’s hand flashed with cruel intent at her side.

  “Rose—you–you think we are to marry, you and I?”

  He heard the girl catch her breath, almost in a sob. “Jah, Ransom. That’s all I really want.”

  “Gut. Then let me get close to you and we can both . . . eliminate . . . the problem.”

  Rose laughed, an eerie sound, as she raised the light higher. “Do you hear, you stupid, silly cow? It’s me who he wants. Not you. Never you.”

  Ransom was fast, but Beth was faster. She turned to face Rose, wresting the shears from her stepsister’s hand and giving the other girl a hard push so that she dropped the lantern and staggered backward.

  “It’s over, Rose,” Beth said clearly. “And I am no cow nor coward either. You chose poorly.”

  Ransom felt a surge of pride at Beth’s keen words. He caught her to him, putting an arm around her and touching her now-shaking hands. “I’m proud of you, sweetheart,” he whispered into the wild mass of her hair. He lifted the lantern and saw Beth’s tremulous smile, then bent to kiss her once before turning to where Rose sat on the forest floor.

  Rose was sobbing and l
ooked bewildered in the lantern’s light. “Beth, Ransom . . . ach, what have I done? What have I done?”

  Ransom was surprised when Beth left his arms to geh and comfort her stepsister. “It’s all right, Rose. I think you’re sick and need some help—that’s all.”

  Ransom watched Rose nod slowly. “I cut you; I’m so sorry.”

  “Nothing too bad—now let’s get you home. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

  “Beth, I stole your recipe card from that secret place in your dresser.”

  “I know.” Ransom heard Beth speak tenderly, as if to a child. “But I remember the recipe, Rose. So, there’s no harm done. Kumme, let’s get out of the nacht before you take a chill.”

  Beth glanced up at Ransom and saw the silent plea in her eyes. He handed her the lantern, then gently lifted Rose into his arms and led the way home.

  * * *

  Beth listened carefully to Viola as she spoke over the telephone that Sebastian Christener was allowed to keep in his workshop. Several members of the community and the bishop had helped Rose and Viola down the mountain to the Englischer’s haus at the bottom. Mr. Ellis had driven them to Lancaster, where there was a mental health facility.

  Rose was going to stay there until she was well and Viola promised to be back in a few days. Viola said Rose was suffering from depression and an anxiety disorder and needed medicines to help her, as well as talking to one of the doctors there on a regular basis. She would probably kumme home in a few weeks.

  Beth hung up the phone and nodded a shy thank-you to Sebastian before being swept into Ransom’s arms.

  “You’re coming home with me, sweet Beth, and you’re going to sleep the day away.”

  “But—the wedding, Ransom! And the food for the feast! Why, I’ve got to . . .”

  She stopped as he gave her a lingering kiss. “Sleep first, okay?”

  Beth smiled. “Okay.”

  When she was safely ensconced in the Kings’ master bedroom, Ransom came in to kneel beside the bed. “Are you all right, little hare? When I think of what might have happened . . .”

  She reached up to touch his cheek with tenderness.

  “Gott kept me safe, Ransom. Truly.”

  “Mmm.” He lightly stroked her lips. “I wondered about the card Rose said she had stolen from you. A recipe card?”

  “Your Aenti Ruth gave it to me one day. It was ‘A Recipe for Loving Yourself.’”

  “And you memorized it?”

  “Mmm-hmmm.” She leaned sideways to kiss him. “But I can’t tell you unless Aenti Ruth gives her permission.”

  Ransom rolled his eyes even as they kissed. “Like that’s going to happen.”

  Beth smiled as she bit his lip lightly. “You never know, Ransom. You never know.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  A wedding on Ice Mountain was cause for celebration, and everyone came together to help. Next to the service, the wedding feast itself was meant to display the abundance of Gott’s love and the love the couple shared with each other and the community.

  “This is nerve-racking,” Ransom muttered as Jeb helped him with his tie and long black coat.

  Jeb laughed. “Wait ’til your wedding night.”

  “Some help you are, big bruder,” Ransom said ruefully. “I didn’t realize I’d feel like all eyes are on me.”

  “Well, some are on the bride too, you know!”

  “Right.” Ransom grinned, already having stolen some early morning kisses from Beth by jogging to the Mast haus and back again.

  The two bruders went into the kitchen, and Ransom eyed Jeb as he ate with gusto. “You make me sick—literally,” Ransom growled.

  Jeb waved a fork at him. “You can eat this afternoon.”

  “Yeah, like I’m going to want to!”

  He decided to wander outside, finding the house a bit claustrophobic with all the benches and chairs gathered inside. Viola had consented to the groom’s family hosting the wedding service as she was only just back from seeing Rose, who was doing quite a bit better.

  Horses and buggies soon lined the dirt road, and both men and women hailed him with blessings and gut wishes.

  The time seemed to melt as if sand through his hands, and soon he was sitting in a straight-backed chair with Beth across the aisle from him while Jeb and Lucy acted as attendants. Bishop Umble spoke long and pleasantly while Ransom watched Beth, half-wondering if she’d pass out again. She must have caught his gaze because she smiled, and he loved the delicate curve of her cheek. We’ll have little maedels . . . as many as I can carry . . . all looking like her....

  Bishop Umble cleared his throat and Ransom snapped back to attention. Soon it was over, and he took Beth’s arm to lead her to the back of the living room, where the wildflower-adorned eck had been set up.

  He bent to whisper softly in her ear and was pleased with her smile and blush. “Tell me, Miss, or should I say Frau King, would it do if we saved a bit of blueberry pie for our wedding night?”

  “Wh–why?”

  “Oh, nutrition, and the fact that we might—taste that pie together. Blueberry kisses . . . you know.”

  “That sounds delightful.”

  They sat down together behind the table and enjoyed the feeling of being waited on. Then Bishop Umble stood up and the community grew silent. He held a glass of strawberry punch in his aged hand, and Ransom and Beth took up their glasses in unison.

  The bishop cleared his throat. “To Ransom and Beth. May Derr Herr bless your union with strength and joy, laughter and kinner. And to all of you who love Ice Mountain and have found Gott in this blessed place, kumme here often and stay for as long as you need.”

  Epilogue

  “Recipe for Loving Yourself”

  If it’s you, you want to love

  Then carry forth with Gott above

  Not a blot, nor single mar

  Can change the worth of who you are

  And make the Truth your dearest friend

  To satisfy the deepest end....

  Please read on for a peek at

  Marrying Matthew,

  Book One of The Amish Mail Order Groom Series by Kelly Long.

  Blackberry Falls, PA

  Wanted: An Amish Mail Order Groom. Aged 20–35. Must be willing to live in remote Appalachia and build life in said community. Must love books, horses, and possess good teeth. Appearance must be tolerable, at least, though bride would favor a gut mind over looks. Must understand a woman’s sensibilities and not be judgmental. Must realize that Gott is the Third in a marriage. Reply to . . .

  Twenty-year-old Tabitha Stolfus knew that she was both the sole heir of her fater’s company and his sole lament.

  “If only you’d been born a buwe,” he’d wail at times. “Or if only you’d marry! Why can’t you marry, Tabby? And why must you be so headstrong?”

  Tabitha had heard the words so often, she could almost put them to song. But she had finally had enough, so she’d taken out an ad in the Renova Record, a small Englisch and Amish newspaper far from her home in the Allegheny Mountains.

  If I’m to have a husband, she’d considered, let it be some man who isn’t so familiar with the wealth represented by Stolfus Lumber and Woodworking. This way, I can make sure he meets the qualifications that I lay out—not my fater’s.

  The idea she’d whispered to herself took root in her mind and grew, and soon a detailed ad was submitted to the far-off Record. And, to her surprise, an Amish man responded . . . rather coolly, she thought, but nonetheless a response.

  She’d kept the letter in the bosom of her shift beneath her careful collar and occasionally pulled it out to read and read again, trying hard to spot anything suspicious that might lie within the words. But even she had to admit that Matthew King sounded much to her liking. He didn’t seem to know about Stolfus Lumber and Woodworking and he didn’t seem to possess the ardor common to some of the local men who’d tried to win her hand . . . and her purse. Jah, Matthew King would do just fine....
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  * * *

  “Have you lost your mind, big bruder?”

  Matthew King shot his younger sibling, Caleb, a wry glance and then resumed packing. “I’ve told you—her da runs one of the best woodworking outfits in the mountains.”

  Caleb snorted. “Then geh and ask to apprentice with him. You don’t need to do something narrisch like marrying his headstrong dochder. I’ve heard she’s as wild as a colt and not exactly marriage material.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I want to learn what only her fater can teach me, and he doesn’t favor taking on apprentices. Marrying the girl is incidental. . . .”

  * * *

  Matthew recalled his words with a faint lift of his firm lips, then swiped his arm across his wet face for about the tenth time that morning. It had been raining steadily since he’d left home two days before, and as he and his hulking guide made their way deeper into the Allegheny Mountains, Matthew wondered idly if Blackberry Falls was simply a myth. However, there was nothing mythical about the big-boned Amishman in front of him. Abner, as he’d introduced himself, thrusting out a massive paw of a hand, had spoken simply.

  “I’m Abner. Right-hand man of Herr Stolfus. His dochder has been like my own since she was but a child.”

  Matthew had nodded, sensing that there was a test somewhere in the aulder man’s words, so he kept silent.

  Abner grunted after a moment, then growled over the cadence of the rain. “I don’t hold with what the maedel is doing, marrying blind, and an outsider at that. But I guard her secrets well, so keep that in yer head, buwe, for I’ll not see her harmed in any way.”

  Matthew realized that it would be of little use to say that he’d never harmed a woman in his life. He could only imagine what rabbit trails such a comment would produce in auld Abner’s mind, so once more, he remained quiet.