“Dochder, with the Christmas season approaching us, can ya not find it in yer heart to have a bit of forgiveness toward an auld and tired man?”
Naomi had blown out a breath of sad exasperation because she knew she could not keep ignoring her fater forever. Gray, though, she’d thought with a sniff, was an entirely different matter . . .
“All right, Daed,” she’d said, turning from the pump sink to face him. “Did you think me so stupid that I would not eventually find out? How could you do that to me?”
Her fater’s eyes had welled with tears and he’d rubbed his hands together fretfully. “I be deeply sorry, Naomi. I was ashamed of my own age—that I couldn’t run ’shine like I used to and in that shame I hurt the one most dear to me.”
A rueful smile came to her lips. She knew her fater loved her and that getting aulder must be no easy thing. In the end, she’d opened her arms to him and rejoiced in his bashful hug even as she mourned the loss of Gray.
* * *
Gray missed his work at the candle shop and a dozen times over would have tried to geh and explain to Naomi about his moonshining but felt in his heart that she was most likely far from wanting to see his face after the deception. So he went through his days and nachts automatically; not sleeping and heavy of heart.
One early morning, he was in the barn, muttering morosely to Thorn as he took care of chores, when a small sound made him stand up in sudden wariness. Iris Troyer stood just inside the sliding door and he frowned as she came toward him.
“Iris, I’m sorry but it’s not a gut time.”
She pressed boldly against him with wanton intent despite his cool tone. “Ach, but I can make it a gut time for you, Gray. You know I can.”
“Iris, please—”
She stepped away from him and stamped a foot, making a display of putting her hands on her hips. “Please what, Gray Fisher? Please act as if I’ve got a poker up my back like your Homely Naomi does?” She gave him a small smirk. “I told her about us.”
He blinked. “You what?”
“I told her that I knew how well you could kiss and that we enjoyed laughing at her stupid—”
She took a quick step backward and Gray knew his face showed the anger he felt.
“Geh,” he said, low and harsh. Iris pursed her lips, then fled to the barn door, hastening to slide it closed behind her.
Gray understood now that the blow dealt to Naomi had been twofold and his heart ached for her. He knelt down in the straw of the cold barn and began to pray that Gott would intercede in Naomi’s life and his with the light of a miracle.
Chapter 12
Christmas Eve day dawned with the advent of a powerful snowstorm settling over Ice Mountain. Gray went about his morning chores thinking deeply. When the old windup clock struck noon, he finished his dinner with haste, then turned to Aenti Beth.
“I’ve got something I need to do.”
“Well, do it then, buwe. We’ve had it up to our ears with your moping about.” The auld woman smiled softly at him and Ted gave a tender chirp.
Gray laughed for the first time in days. He bent to kiss her cheek, then pulled on his coat and hat. He turned up the collar of the black wool and went out into the breath-stealing blur of white. He turned determined steps to the barn and hitched up Thorn to a small cutter sleigh.
“All right, buwe. We’ve got a lady to catch . . .”
It took a precious half hour to make it to the candle shop but when he got Thorn under cover, Gray smiled in the blowing cold to see several candles, like halos in the dark of the storm, beckoning him on.
He knocked on the door and was nearly blown into the shop when Naomi lifted the latch.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded while he drew in harsh breaths of warm air.
“Taking you to that narrisch guy Gabe’s cabin.” He held up a hand when she opened her mouth to protest.
“I know. I know—I’m scum and a liar and a cheat but I’m not about to let you deliver that candle alone in a storm as bad as this. And don’t bother telling me you weren’t about to geh. I know you, Naomi Gish, and you’ve got the wrapped candle right there.”
“I—I wanted to burn it, melt it down. I suppose I should have. . . .” Her words drifted off and the pain in her voice lanced through him.
Still, he hadn’t kumme to try to reason with her so he kept his voice brisk. “Bundle up. It’s going to be a cold ride.”
He watched her as she hesitated, praying inside that she’d agree to geh with him. He exhaled when she nodded and moved past him to take her cloak from the peg near the door.
“Take your daed’s coat too. It’s freezing out.” He reached out his left hand to help her with the garment but she whirled away, clearly not wanting him to touch her.
Gray ignored her anger and helped her into the sleigh; then he folded his long legs to get in beside her. The cutter sleigh was meant for courting and Gray could not help feeling her pressed against his side, even through the bulk of their outer things.
“Remember that Gabe said the weather would hold,” he practically had to yell over the blowing wind.
“It is holding—right at storm level,” Naomi called back and Gray rejoiced in her small bit of humor.
“Are you all right?” he hollered every few minutes to her, not wanting her to fall asleep in the treacherous cold.
He felt her nod against his shoulder, then returned his attention to Thorn as the horse nearly floundered in a big dip, but the gelding hefted himself up and soon they had finally reached the hunting cabin above the Amisch cemetery. But to Gray’s surprise, no welcoming candle or lantern shone in any of the windows of the auld place. In fact, even through the blur of the storm, the cabin looked deserted. He hopped out of the sleigh and went around to help Naomi out and lead her to the shelter of the porch. She clutched the carefully wrapped bayberry candle in her arms.
“I’ve got to get Thorn under shelter.”
“I’ll geh inside.”
Gray helped her to the door and felt the latch give, then hurried back to the gelding, reluctant to leave Naomi alone . . .
* * *
Naomi realized that the cabin was deserted and sighed to herself. Carefully, stretching her cold fingers, she unwrapped the bayberry candle and placed it on what she thought was a table top. The white blur from the windows did nothing to aid her vision. Then she reached in her apron pocket and found her ever-present pack of matches. She lit the thick green candle’s two wicks, then stepped back to eye the light dispassionately as the contours of the small cabin were revealed. She had no desire to be trapped in the snow with Gray. In truth, if she could have, she would have run. She couldn’t face his lies and excuses.
She steeled her resolve as the door opened and Gray almost fell inside with a good bit of snow. She glanced at the candle, but the twin flames held despite the sudden burst of wind. She looked away when he took his hat off and began to pull off his coat. “So, no Gabe, it appears,” he murmured. “But the candle smells gut.”
Naomi made no comment. She could not deny that the rich, aromatic scent stealing across the cabin was wonderful, but her heart was still broken.
“Naomi, I need to talk to you,” Gray began and she shook her head.
“I don’t want to hear it, Grayson Fisher. We will wait out the storm and go back. That’s all.”
“Iris Troyer told me what she said to you.”
Naomi felt unwanted tears spring to her eyes but said nothing.
She heard Gray sigh deeply. “Jah, Iris was someone I kissed, but it meant nothing in truth. I fooled around with girls to try to forget the pain in my life. But I never, ever spoke of you, Naomi. I never laughed at you. I give you my word, for what it’s worth.”
Naomi kept her focus on the twin flames of the candle and ignored the teardrop that slipped, unheeded, down her cheek. But Gray didn’t . . . Suddenly he was right beside her, his lean fingers wiping away her tears.
“Don’t,” she gasped
but he let his hand trail downward to find the contours of her neck and shoulder. Even through the damp layers she wore, his touch sent her heart soaring, but she did not want to believe him.
“Don’t touch, Naomi?” he whispered huskily. “Ach, but I cannot imagine ever stopping . . . not when the feel of you brings me peace inside such as I’ve ever known. Peace, Naomi. Something I would never find with anyone else.”
“You don’t know that.” The words had slipped out before she could help it and she saw his small smile out of the corner of her eye.
“I know it, and I can think of no better place than a candlelit room, smelling like Christmas, to tell you that I love you, Naomi. You are beautiful and so smart and so wise and there’s a storm of peace raging inside of me that only you can create, sweet Naomi. A storm that rivals the one out there . . .”
* * *
Something flickered in her heart, fanned by the truth she heard at the center of his words. She half turned and looked up into the light of his gray eyes.
“I love you too,” she said simply and she felt his big body shake as he rocked forward and pressed his legs into her. She bobbled off balance for a moment and bumped the table. Gray watched the large candle tip and start to fall, headed directly for her long skirts. He grabbed the candle without thinking, then set it back on the table.
“Gray!” she gasped.
“What? It’s fine.”
“Nee . . . you used your right hand. You used your right arm!”
He heard her words as if from far away and stared down at his right hand as he flexed his fingers with relative ease. He remembered with clarity Gabe’s words . . . “Your payment will be great” . . . Then he looked into Naomi’s peace-washed eyes and knew that the true miracle was her love for him.
Epilogue
One Year Later
Christmas Eve
“Is she asleep?” Gray whispered as Naomi returned from peeking into the small cradle that was warmly ensconced in the corner of their bedroom.
“For now.” Naomi smiled, her face illuminated by the glow of the bayberry candle that sat on their bedside table.
Gray made room for her in the bed to snuggle close and he couldn’t help but smile as he pressed his mouth against her neck, loving her shiver of delight. “You know, your daed told me he’d like a boy babe next time. . . .”
“He’ll take what he gets,” she said practically and Gray had to smile.
“Mistress of the candles of Ice Mountain and mistress of my heart, I love you, Naomi Fisher.”
“I know.” He heard the confident satisfaction in her voice, as pure as the shine of candles on snow, and began to prove his love for her once more....
Read on for a preview of An Amish Courtship on Ice Mountain by Kelly Long, coming soon.
Prologue
Fall, 1950
Ice Mountain
Coudersport, Pennsylvania
Twelve-year-old Joel Umble crept forward on his hands and knees in the thick pine needles, then paused to kneel upright, extending his right palm to the big wolf caught in the steel trap. The animal had nearly chewed its front left foot off in an attempt to escape the cruel teeth of the metal and now gave a threatening growl.
“Kumme, hund, peace between you and me,” the buwe murmured. “I will pray for your healing and set you free.” He swallowed, never breaking his gaze with the large golden eyes, which were dilated with pain and rage. Joel inched closer, praying aloud, until he’d stretched his palm and fingers to their utmost.
Savage white teeth closed with a snap, and Joel drew a thankful breath when the long snout and black nose lowered and he felt the brush of the animal against his skin; seeking, scenting, roughly tender . . .
The sudden report of the gun seemed to shake the ground beneath Joel’s knees, and his arm was splattered by the wolf’s blood. He twisted in surprise and fury as his older bruder by two years, Judah, lowered the weapon. “Joel, you’re a fool. Praying for a pelt . . . What would Fater have said?”
Joel blinked away angry tears and turned back to the dead animal, sinking his hand into the thick gray fur. “Fater did not trap,” he bit out.
Joel heard Judah step closer, the pine crunching beneath his boots. “The wolf was mine and what is mine, I keep. Remember that, Joel.”
“And what is Gott’s?”
“What He takes, little penitent.” Judah laughed with open cruelty. “Now geh back to the cabin; I must skin the beast.”
Joel got unsteadily to his feet, then walked away from the wolf as his bruder passed him with a hunting knife drawn.
Chapter 1
February 14, 1958
Ice Mountain
Martha Yoder wanted a bath in the creek. She was tired of cramming herself into the tiny hip tub her family used all winter and gathered towels and a clean nacht gown and slipped out of the cabin before anyone noticed she was gone. The moon cast a haloed light on the surface of the deep snow as she plowed her way to the small shed where tools were kept. She wanted an ax in case the deeper part of the creek was still frozen over.
She whistled as she made her way along the moon path, the sound comforting in the still of the night—not that she needed any solace to be alone. Caring for her aged grossmuder made the winter days long in the cabin and though there was her mamm and daed also, Martha was the most able-bodied and handy. And then there was Judah. . . .
Tall, pompous Judah Umble had been pursuing her since she’d turned sixteen, but there was something about him that made her cold at times.... Not the clean cold of a winter’s nacht, like now, she thought . . . but rather a cold of the soul that she could not quite explain. She pushed away ideas of Judah, not wanting to interrupt her mental peace, and finally reached the creek. Casting a quick, perceptive glance around, she dropped the ax and her armload of things and began to strip down to her bare skin.
The cold was exhilarating, and she gave a little squeal of delight as she ran and plunged, toes first, into the swirling water. She stood for a moment, her unbound hair caught in the current, and gloried in simply being alive....
* * *
Joel Umble couldn’t sleep. It was nigh on ten o’clock, he knew, but the moonlight that slid through the single window of his and Judah’s room beckoned him somehow. He knew his bruder would scorn him for such ideas as the call of the moon, but for once, he didn’t seem to care. He slid naked from his narrow bed and went to the window, the sill just bumping the height of his lean hip. He pressed his forehead against the cold glass and felt his restlessness grow, especially when Judah began to snore.
A brisk walk in the snow, he thought, turning to quickly get into his clothes with as little noise as possible. He’d become adept over the years at slipping out of the haus, seeking peace and time alone, away from Judah’s cruelty and his mamm’s anxious thoughts. And tonight was no exception. He crossed the kitchen, stopped to stroke his mother’s cat, Puddles, and then went out into the nacht.
It was times like this that he missed his fater most of all—the great, tall man who’d slung him over a broad shoulder and galloped along like the fastest horse. They’d often shared a walk in the woods together. His daed had taught him the ways of nature and the wild, letting Joel see the Living Gott in every tree, leaf, and creature. It had been a blessing to have such a man in his life, even if it had only been for a short time.
He walked easily now through the deep snow, hands fisted and stuffed in the pockets of his heavy black coat. He pulled his dark hat down closer as the wind picked up, then nearly stopped still when the sound of a woman’s voice came to him, high, melodic, carried by the nacht air from the nearby creek like a siren’s song.
He followed the sound, finding himself strangely drawn, then came to an abrupt stop at the edge of the creek bank when he saw the naked back of the girl. He retreated behind a nearby pine tree automatically, but she soon stopped singing, as if aware somehow of his presence.
She turned in the water and he stared, transfixed from hi
s half-hidden position—at twenty years old, he’d never seen a woman’s bare breasts before. He didn’t count the hired girl’s dusky nipples, which pressed through her thin summer dress; no, this was different—painfully different.
“Who’s there?”
He caught his breath when he recognized Martha Yoder . . . he realized that he’d been too busy looking at her body to notice her face, but now he turned and pressed his back hard against the tree.
“No one,” he muttered, answering her before he could help himself.
“I’m getting out. Don’t tell me it’s not you, Judah Umble! How dare you spy on me like this. . . .”
Judah? Ach, praise Gott she thinks it’s my bruder . . . though the image of her white breasts with nipples as red as strawberries was burned into his retinas. He felt hesitantly for the ground beneath his boots and started to move away when he tripped and sprawled face forward in the snow....
* * *
Martha was furious. Not only did the man have the nerve to seek her out in broad daylight, now he was stalking her by the light of the moon. She grabbed up her pile of clothing, careless of the pins that pricked her skin here and there, and marched over to where he was scrambling to get to his feet.
“Gut for you—falling on your face, Judah,” she scolded. His hat had fallen off, and his black hair seemed more tousled than usual in the half light. She hugged her belongings to her and waited for him to rise. He seemed to be taking a long time at it....
“Are you hurt?” she snapped finally in exasperation.
“Nee,” he whispered. “Just geh.”
She tossed her head. “Judah Umble, I can’t leave you lying here in the snow. You’ll freeze to death.”
“And you won’t?”
“Nee, I won’t. I’ve got the blood for it. Now, get up.”
The Amish Christmas Candle Page 6
