by Kelly Long
She went and knelt by her daed’s bedside and looked into his brown eyes, weary with pain. “I’m sorry, Fater. I will guard my tongue in the future.”
“Nee, you won’t, and we should be thankful that the girlie’s got some spirit!” Her grossmuder’s voice echoed from the next room.
Martha had to smile. There was little wrong with her grandmother’s hearing, despite her advanced age. Martha glanced back to her fater’s face and smothered a sigh when she saw his eyes—distracted and distant.
“Went huntin’ with Eli Loftus once, before he was bishop . . . It was when his wife was still alive. He asked me back to his cabin for lunch, and I figured I’d geh. We got there, but Violet had run to the store. He was furious . . . I tried to brush it off and take him for lunch to our place, but the anger had already got hold of him. He took the big canister of flour from the shelf and set it down on the floor, then he kicked it hard. The lid clanked off and flour flew everywhere about the cabin—a ghostly mess. Then he turns to me and says, ‘There. That’ll teach her not to have better things to do when I’m wanting lunch.’ I just stared at him, sorry for Violet, silenced by his evilness. I know she surely must have found peace in death.”
Martha swallowed hard and caught her fater’s right hand close.
“He’s still that cruel man, Dochder. Don’t forget . . .”
“I won’t, Daed.” She blinked back tears. “I won’t.”
* * *
Joel struck the muddy ground with his shovel and glanced sideways at Stephen.
“What are you doing, Joel? You heard it. I’m under the bann, and you will be, too, if anyone sees us together.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
“Well, I’m not worth it,” Stephen said flatly.
Joel stopped and laid a hand on Stephen’s bloodstained sleeve. “What really happened? I know this isn’t Dan’s blood.” He wondered briefly if he should tell Stephen of the vision he’d had at the schoolhaus, but his friend was speaking . . .
“Nee, it isn’t Dan’s.” Stephen shrugged, then swallowed hard. “I was up here walking, even thinking about visiting Dan. But then I heard something kicking about in the brush, and I went to take a look. It was a doe—bad shot by a poacher most likely. I had to take her life, but she was pregnant, and I’d hoped to save the fawn but wasn’t able to—Bishop Loftus caught me walking away a few hundred feet down the mountain, then hauled me down to the schoolhaus. And that’s all.”
Joel remembered seeing the image of Stephen and the deer and resisted the eerie feeling that raced along his spine. The second sight . . . “Why didn’t you tell him the truth?”
Stephen shook his dark head tiredly. “Practically the first words out of his mouth were about killing Dan, shunning me and mine, and I couldn’t take the risk of involving my mamm or her sister . . . so, I—went along.”
Joel thrust the shovel into the ground. “We’re going to geh talk to Loftus.”
“Nee, we’re not. Let it be, Joel. You know things aren’t great with mamm at home. I—I’m going to stay here in Dan’s cabin and make my way. I’ll get food down to my mamm and aenti at nacht. I’m sorry I won’t be able to help you on the farm.”
Joel blew out a hot breath. “This isn’t right—that man’s got you running scared. He has a lot of folks in his grip, and I don’t like it. I’m going to see Deacon Troyer . . .”
Stephen half smiled. “He’s so auld, he won’t be able to hear you.”
“How can you joke?”
“Because on Ice Mountain, what the bishop says is law. Truth doesn’t have a place here anymore.”
“Well, it’s going to,” Joel said grimly. “Somehow, things have to be put right.”
Stephen caught him in a brief hug. “Derr Herr must see to that, Joel Umble—not you.”
Joel nodded and worked in silence with Stephen for the next hour, digging the grave of their lost friend.
Chapter Ten
Late that afternoon, Martha heard the echoing sound of an ax as she tucked her mamm up more comfortably.
“Someone’s cutting wood for us,” her mother murmured. “A blessing.”
“Jah, Mamm,” Martha responded in soft tones, though her heart had begun to gallop in her chest. Could it be Judah? But nee, he would be unlikely to put himself out doing extra work for my family . . . Still, she slipped into the small pantry and out the side door of her room, the better to safely see who it was that was working the craggy wood knots she’d managed to gather the previous fall.
She recognized Joel’s tall form, his light blue shirt clinging damply to his broad back, and she hurried to draw a fresh bucket of water from the well, then approached him, watching as he swung the ax with ruthless precision.
When she took another step closer, he stopped and turned to look at her, then swiped a dirty arm across his forehead. She could see that his blue eyes were stark with both anger and grief.
“How is Stephen?” she asked softly.
He swallowed hard. “As well as can be expected. . . The bishop shunned him and then ordered him to bury Dan.”
She reached and touched a dirt smudge on his right arm. “And you went to help?”
“Stephen’s been my friend since we were kinner . . .” He shook his dark head. “There was little else I could do.”
She set the wooden bucket of water on the ground at his feet. “Of course you had to . . .” She stooped and dipped the hem of her dress into the cold well water, then rose to her feet. She lifted her dress and began to wipe at the mud on his face.
“Ach, Martha . . .” he whispered, and turned so that his lips found the inside of her outstretched wrist. It was difficult for her to concentrate, but then he pulled back, and she found the fine bone structure of his cheeks and forehead. He closed his eyes, his lashes lying in thick, dark crescents against his flushed skin, his lips parted as she trailed the cloth over the firmness of his mouth. His breathing became ragged, and she couldn’t resist dropping the hem of her dress and raising herself on tiptoe to press her lips against his own. And it was as if he stood spellbound, letting her explore with tender grace the shape of his mouth.
She vaguely heard the ax fall from his hand with a dull thud, and then he was kissing her in return. She smelled earth and something like the spring wind as he slid his hands up to cup her face. “Dear Gott . . . you’re sweet.”
She shivered with pleasure when he ran his tongue against the seam of her lips. She looked up and his eyes were open, rich blue, the pupils huge. Slowly, she opened her mouth to the demand of his seeking tongue and then savored his sweet breath as they kissed, tasting each other. She knew a burning ache in her breasts and instinctively nestled closer to him, seeking some kind of relief to the teasing pleasure-pain she felt.
Then she suddenly became aware that they were kissing in the broad light of day and that Judah could kumme around at any time. She wrenched herself from Joel, and he almost staggered forward. “Martha, what—” he gasped.
“I’m sorry, Joel. It’s not that I don’t want your mouth and your mind . . . and all of you . . . but right here . . . before my parents’ home . . .” She struggled for words.
He visibly came to himself by slow degrees, then nodded in agreement. “Jah . . . your home. I’d better geh, Martha . . . I’m sorry that I lost control.” He bent and picked up the ax, then grabbed his coat from the old log.
Martha pressed her hands together in sudden uncertainty, wondering if she’d put him off for good, when he turned and bent to swipe her cheek with a quick kiss. “I’ll still kumme to court tonight, if it’s all right?”
She nodded before she could help herself, then watched him stalk off through the newly budding trees while she prayed that Judah would not come to her that nacht.
* * *
Joel decided to bathe in the icy creek that ran past the back of his family’s property. It would cool both his body and his blood. Kissing Martha was as heady as drinking dandelion wine and twice
as sweet. He could hardly wait until the evening . . .
He stripped down and was about to take the first mind-numbing plunge when a pitiful sound reached him through the rush of the water. He scanned the opposite bank and groaned aloud when he saw his sheep, Lost Lenore, floundering against some rocks.
He slid into the water and concentrated on speaking in loud but calm tones to the ewe, not wanting her to spook and be lost downstream. It was miraculous that she’d managed to hang on in full wool.
He made his way across and got close to her, but her soaking wool was pulling her under, and once she saw him, her movements increased frantically.
He knew she probably weighed close to two hundred pounds and it would take all he had to get her out. But they that wait upon the Lord shall find new strength . . . New strength, Derr Herr, please . . . The Scripture floated through his mind as he grasped Lenore and tried to haul her out of the current and onto the higher bank.
Clearly terrified, she bucked her rear legs and caught him square in the chest. Out of breath, he heaved Lenore once more toward a foothold, but only ended up moving her a few inches. His bare feet were cut on the churning rocks of the creek bottom, but he pressed on and finally got her clear of the water. Once on solid ground, the ewe scrabbled to her feet, then balefully cried out to him as he staggered from the creek.
He was gasping and slicked his hair back from his face only to hear the sound of crude laughter. He recognized his bruder’s voice and bit the inside of his mouth to keep from commenting as he slowly made his way to sit naked on the ground while Lenore pressed her wet body against his side.
“Ach, Joel, you really are a sight, yet you’ll sit there freezing for that stupid sheep without anything to show for it.”
A rough towel hit Joel on the side of the head, and he snatched it away to start rubbing Lenore down.
“The towel was for you, little bruder.”
“Should I be grateful then?” Joel bit out, the cold starting to get to him.
“You should be.” Judah’s tone was mocking, even over the sound of the creek, and Joel knew a sudden and frightening urge to strike his brother.
Over a simple exchange . . . what is wrong with me? I can usually handle Judah fine . . .
But the feeling persisted, and Joel used the warmth of his anger to haul himself to his feet and focus on crossing the log footbridge back to where his clothes lay. He pulled on his pants and watched Judah warily out of the corner of his eye. Lenore had abandoned him and run back to the barn, and Joel planned on getting into the haus to tend his feet before any more conflict with Judah could occur. But his older bruder seemed to want to toy with him and followed him into the cabin making hurtful remarks.
At supper that nacht, Joel broke his bread and tried to put aside Judah’s malice, but it wasn’t easy.
“I’ll be leaving tomorrow at first light to check my traplines,” Judah announced when their mother had served the chocolate sheet cake she’d made for dessert.
“Ach, Judah, must you?” she implored, and Joel felt a surge of impatience when his bruder grinned at him across the table.
“Joel will keep you safe enough, Mamm . . . or at least he can try. I’ll only be gone three days.”
“Mamm and I will be fine, Judah. You geh and do your work—such as it is.”
Joel felt even more startled inside than Judah looked. It was almost funny—almost. He rarely, if ever, was moved past irritation with Judah, yet here he was, deliberately serving insults with the chocolate frosting and actually feeling gut about it in the process. Fortunately, Joel caught sight of their mother’s strained and anxious face, and all anger left him. But the situation was eerie and left Joel feeling cold inside; he counted the hours until he might gain warmth from Martha.
* * *
Martha finished her evening chores and saw to it that everyone was tucked in and then fast asleep. She hastened to her room and set the tiny place to rights before sitting down nervously on the edge of her bed—waiting and praying, and still fully dressed, with her hair properly kapped. The moonlight stretched long fingers across the floor and up her legs, and she almost fell asleep, but then jerked herself back to attention. Perhaps neither Joel nor Judah will kumme this nacht after all.
She lay down stiffly on her hay-filled mattress, only to be startled into alertness by a bold knock on her door. She knew instinctively that it was Judah, and her throat constricted with fear. Still, she forced herself to stand and cross the floor, opening the door before he might knock again and disturb her family . . .
Chapter Eleven
Judah entered without preamble, pushing past her to take his coat off and throw it carelessly on the foot of the bed.
“Lie down,” he ordered, his eyes glittering.
She felt her heart begin to gallop at his command but knew she must be silent. She thought of protesting and decided it would probably only provoke him more. Yet, to rape me in my own bed, I—
“Hurry,” he growled and she lay down with her hands fisted at her sides. She longed to close her eyes but stared up at him instead as he seemed to tower over her.
“Have you no bundling board?” he asked after a long moment, and she drew a sudden breath of reprieve.
“There—there are some pieces of wood beneath the overhang outside.”
He nodded and jerked the frail door open.
Martha shuddered and forced herself to slow her breathing. She knew that bundling was a time-honored tradition in her Amish world. Sometimes called bed courtship, it had originated as a means to keep courting couples warm. Martha had heard her grossmuder speak about how her own suitor had to be sewn in a long sack to prevent any intimacy. But now, bundling had become a way for courting couples to share time together and to talk in whispers while getting to know each other better.
Judah returned with a long, jagged board, which he pressed hard against Martha’s side and legs. “This will serve,” he growled. “And I am sure that I will be safe from any temptation so long as you invoke no witchcraft.”
“I am no hex, Judah,” she said before thinking. He lay down on his side facing her and reached a casual hand up to jerk with savagery at her kapp. The pins caught in her hair, and she had to blink back tears at the sudden pain.
Judah flung the white kapp to the bottom of the bed, then grabbed her shoulder until she was forced to turn on her side, face-to-face with him. She bit her lip and made herself stare into his brown eyes. There was almost a dullness in them, as if he truly were spellbound, and she knew that pleading with him would make no difference.
“Not a hex, hmmm? The gut Bishop Loftus warned that you would say that.”
“The . . . bishop?” she stuttered in surprise, feeling as though something slimy had crawled down her back. “You’ve talked of me with the bishop?”
He caught her fragile jaw in his cruel grasp. “How dare you question me? You are wicked and a hex, but it is my task to save you.”
“Nee, Judah—we can none of us save ourselves or others. Even our breath is Gott-given. Surely you realize this.”
“We will see, hex . . . Let us examine your breath for what it is.”
She tried to press her back against the wall behind her, instinctively wanting to elude his hands, but the bundling board proved no impediment as he released her jaw only to move both hands now to the slender outline of her throat.
“Your heart beats like a wild rabbit’s,” he murmured as she reached her own hands up to try and claw at his fingers, but he merely tightened his grasp.
“Judah,” she gasped. “Think . . . please.”
He smiled, and she knew he was beyond any rational thought. He began to choke her, and she felt growing pain that burned her lungs and throat in merciless waves until everything dissolved into one black and blessed center.
* * *
Joel found his way through the dark forest, then was led by the faint glimmer of a guttering candle shining from what he thought was Martha’s window. He soon rea
lized, though, that the candle shone through her open door, which hung forlornly in the nacht wind.
He entered with a cautious knock, instinctively feeling that something was wrong.
“Martha?”
At first he thought she lay deeply asleep as the candlelight threw eerie shadows over her bed. But as he stepped closer, his mind registered several things at once: She didn’t appear to be breathing, her clothes were disheveled, and an apparent bundling board lay jagged and cruel against her inert form.
He laid the board aside, then put his hand on her chest and mercifully found her to be alive. “Ach . . . praise Derr Herr.” He lifted her into his arms and put his mouth against her throat, letting his lips feel her pulse. Then he ran out into the nacht, knowing that he had to get Martha to the healer.
He prayed as he ran and soon gained May’s cottage on its steep hill. The door was opened before he could even knock.
“In here.” May led the way to an adjacent bedroom, and Joel laid Martha down with gentle hands. May turned up the kerosene lamp, and Joel stared with sudden horror at the bruises on Martha’s throat.
“I—I couldn’t see this before.” He reached tender fingers to brush against the marred skin.
“Joel. I think you’d better geh out. Fetch me a bucket of fresh water from the well and I’ll call you when—in a few minutes.”
Joel nodded and stalked from the small bedroom, automatically reaching for the bucket, even as his mind burned with the image of Martha’s abused throat.
* * *
Martha heard the gentle persistence of the feminine voice calling her name. But sleep seemed so much more pleasant, and she was reluctant to leave the cocoon of warmth that surrounded her mind.
But finally, she came awake to find herself in a strange but comfortable bed and looked up to see May Miller’s placid face above her.
“Can you speak, Martha?”
It seemed an odd request, but then the horror of Judah choking her came back in a frightful rush. She opened her mouth and tried to speak, only nothing came out but a raspy whisper.
