An Amish Courtship on Ice Mountain

by Kelly Long

  “You betcha, sweetheart.” Joel gave her a quick smile. “There’s no better place to get the word around about us. We’ll stop by Sol’s, and then we’ll swing past my mamm’s to break the news, and then I’ll see you home to your folks . . . our folks. Is that all right?”

  A thousand thoughts suddenly spilled in a tumult through her mind. “Joel?” She wet her lips and plunged into the chaos of her thinking. “We’re to live at your haus? What about Judah? And your mamm, what will she say? How can she welcome three invalids into her home? And . . .”

  He stopped and leaned over to press his forehead against hers. “Martha,” he whispered. “It’s going to be gut . . . or, at the very least, interesting.” He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. “And have no more fear of Judah. I will deal with him.”

  “But how . . . ?”

  She would have gone on, but he grabbed her hand again and marched her purposefully forward.

  * * *

  Joel felt there was something different going on in the community as soon as they neared the store. Then he saw the groups of concerned-looking men and women—the men talking fast while the bonneted women doled out soup and cut sandwiches. Tim Fisher, a cabinetmaker, caught sight of Joel and motioned him forward. “Here’s Joel Umble . . . perhaps he’s seen the buwe.”

  Joel squeezed Martha’s hand tightly. “What buwe?”

  “Young Jared Mast is missing . . . has been for nearly two days.”

  Joel had a brief image of the little boy who’d caught Martha and himself kissing before they’d left the mountain to marry... “Where was he last seen?”

  “Near the creek . . .” Tim’s voice lowered. “We’ve searched downstream.”

  Joel nodded, then bent to whisper to Martha. “Dan Zook’s murderer is still loose somewhere. I’ve got to try to find Jared.”

  He wasn’t surprised when Martha looked up at him with solemn eyes. “I know this mountain well, Joel Umble, and I am fast and fleet as a deer. I must search too.”

  He nodded, once more entranced by her sense of purpose and strength. And he knew her to be right about her abilities and knowledge of the mountain. Then a thought struck him—Judah might track the child with his trapping skills—but he had no desire to ask for his bruder’s whereabouts and wasn’t even sure that Judah would help if he could . . .

  * * *

  Martha wanted more than anything to see her family and to tell them all about her wedding day, but she could not bear to think of little Jared Mast alone in the woods. She ran, searching all of the childish haunts that she could remember from her own youth, and then turned toward the swamp. Her shoes began to make sucking sounds in the damp, dark earth, and she prayed, even as she searched, that the child would not have found himself near the place. She rounded a stand of tamarack pines, then came to a dragging halt. Judah crouched before her, intent on skinning something on the ground, but he looked up with a leer when he caught sight of her.

  “There is a child lost, Judah . . . little Jared Mast. I am searching for him.”

  She knew she could not outrun him, and she wet her lips, determined to at least keep a distance between them. She saw his eyes geh to the kerchief about her neck and lifted her chin.

  “I’ve heard word of the missing brat, but also had traps in this area.” He gestured toward the bloody ground, then wiped his wet hands on his pants. “You seem to be a little worse for wear since our last bundling . . .”

  “Do you mean since you tried to choke me to death?”

  She was surprised to see his face flush. “I—I meant to choke the witchery from you, Martha. Not to take your life.”

  “Then I suppose it is a relief to find yourself not a murderer.” She kept her voice even. “But I will not stand here and speak of these things when Jared might be in bad trouble.” She wondered briefly if Judah would actually let her geh . . . He seems strangely unbalanced, almost as if he truly did not want to take my life. I wonder if I might gain his sympathy and lead him back to Sol’s store . . .

  But even as she pondered the issue, he quickly closed the distance between them and laid a bloody hand on the blue sleeve of her dress. She closed her eyes and willed herself not to scream. She knew it would only excite him more.

  * * *

  Joel was staring at the map of the mountain, noting which places had already been searched, when Sol Kauffman moved next to him and spoke low. “Temperatures drop at night . . . it doesn’t look gut.”

  Joel shook his head. “Derr Herr knows where the child is.”

  “Jah . . . that be true enough. More than likely the buwe had some secret hiding place and—”

  “Wait,” Joel snapped. “What did you say?”

  “I said that the child must have some place secret he goes.”

  That’s it . . . someplace secret . . . Joel turned with the heavy walking staff in his hands. “I’ll geh to the high timber and search.”

  Sol waved a hamlike hand in front of Joel’s face. “Men have already searched there, yesterday.”

  Joel moved past the older man. “Still, it never hurts to have a second pair of eyes geh over things.” He ignored the pain in his ribs and Sol’s bemused expression, then hurried on to climb further up the mountainside.

  Joel had to stop and catch harsh breaths more than once as he headed for the high timber. He thought long and hard as he moved, going over in his mind the map that Pete Parker had shown him. If nothing else, perhaps the simple vantage point of the Indian burial mound might offer him some perspective.

  His mind drifted to Martha, and he wondered at the fact that she was now his wife. My wife . . . to hold and protect, though little gut I did her last nacht . . . I could barely protect myself the other day . . .

  He looked up and saw large twin birch trees standing on either side of what looked like a simple hill, with mud and new grass showing through. And then he saw it . . . a small black Amish hat at the base of the mound. He hurried forward and grasped the child’s hat, then looked up in surprise as a tall Englisch man walked around the mound, carrying Jared Mast in his thick arms.

  “Is this little man the one you seek?”

  Joel nodded, stepping nearer to see that Jared’s eyes were open but that he had a thick bump on his pale forehead and cuts and scratches on his small face and arms.

  “Where did you find him?”

  “Oh, the weather was so nice today that I decided to do some fishing. He was down the bank aways, near the head of the creek.”

  “Well, I’ve got to thank you, and I’m sure Jared’s family would want to . . . Can you follow me back to the community with him?” Joel asked.

  “I’d actually be more than happy to. You see, I’ve been staying over at one of the cabins beyond the ridge, but I really need a job to pick up some pocket money. Do you know of anyone who might need a hired hand?”

  Joel smiled and put out his right hand. “I’m Joel Umble, and I’d surely be glad of another man about the place. My best friend—well, he had to move . . . So, anyway, if you can do a little farming or know anything about sheep . . .”

  The tall man’s blue eyes twinkled as he neatly held Jared and returned Joel’s handshake. “Sebastian.”

  Joel waited for a surname, but none seemed forthcoming, and that was all right with him. They began to walk together down the mountain, but Sebastian veered off on a side path that Joel would not have taken. “The main trail is faster,” Joel commented.

  “It is important that you take this path, Joel Umble.” Sebastian gave him a wide smile, and Joel shrugged.

  “Lead on, then.”

  Joel said the words lightly, but something triggered in his heart as he edged down the mountain after the tall man bearing the child. Did I just give permission for something more than a different path? He shook himself with a half smile. I’m overtired . . .

  * * *

  Martha’s first impulse was to blurt out to Judah the fact that she and Joel were married. But as his hand tightened on her
arm, she instinctively knew that such news might not be in her best interest. “Judah, let geh. You’re hurting me.”

  She saw his eyes glitter and hid a groan. Never tell him I’m in pain . . . never . . .

  “Judah. I’m going back to Sol Kauffman’s. Do you—do you want to kumme and help me look for Jared?” She saw the confusion in his eyes at her gentle tone, but then he jerked her close. “You would use soft words to hex me.”

  “She is no hex!”

  Martha cried out in relief as Joel’s voice echoed in the clearing. She saw him and a large man carrying an alert Jared Mast, and she pulled from Judah to cross the brief space into her husband’s arms.

  “Joel,” Judah sneered. “What game do you play at now? What is this maedel to you?”

  Martha felt Joel’s arms about her and took a deep breath, anticipating the harsh words to come from Judah, despite the Englischer’s presence.

  “Judah, you would curse Martha—the one who is now my wife and your sister. Stop this narrish behavior and accept what you cannot change.”

  Martha saw the look of disbelief on Judah’s face, but Joel was already shepherding her to turn away. She jumped when she heard Judah’s enraged snarl.

  “This is not over, Joel Umble! We will have this out, and in the end, she will be mine.”

  Martha paused as Joel spoke over his shoulder in even tones. “Jah, my bruder, we will have this out, I assure you.”

  Then Joel led her on up the path. “Martha, meet Sebastian—er, Sebastian—he found Jared.”

  Martha smiled in greeting, thankful the child was well. But she could not help but feel as though Judah stared after them with menacing eyes...

  Chapter Eighteen

  “That went well, don’t you think?” Joel’s voice was teasing and merry, and his spirits lifted when he saw that Martha couldn’t resist smiling.

  They’d kumme into the sheep barn for a brief respite after telling Joel’s mamm of their marriage. Sarah Umble was still sobbing into Puddles’ sleek fur when Joel walked with Martha outdoors.

  “Your mamm doesn’t favor me, to say the least,” Martha said, bending to pet the woolly back of a sheep in the pen.

  “She’s very anxious about change, about life, about everything.” He drew up close to Martha and eased in front of the wooden slats of the pen. “Don’t worry. And why don’t you try giving me a pet?”

  He watched her smile up at him in the sunlight that filtered through the thin cracks in the barn. She was dark and light, a gift from Derr Herr, and he wanted so badly to keep her safe. Even from myself . . . But maybe just a touch, a kiss . . . small things for a husband to ask . . . Yet he was unprepared for the raw passion she gave when his mouth found hers. She laced her slender arms about his neck and met his tongue with tiny, definitive strokes of her own. He forgot everything as she pressed full-length against him; the peaks of her breasts were hard against his chest and he groaned aloud when she slipped one hand down to skim his waist. His eyes widened in pleasurable shock, and he turned her so that her back was against the wooden wall of the barn.

  Right here . . . right now . . . His body demanded what his mind could not. He remembered the tombstones and wrenched himself away from her with a hoarse cry.

  He glanced at her and saw the bereft expression on her pretty face. “Joel—I—did I? I’m sorry. . .”

  “Nee, sweetheart,” he finally managed between breaths. He swallowed hard. “I want to court you for a time, woo you, win you . . . Will you let me do that? A courtship here, in the presence of all, on Ice Mountain . . .”

  He saw the tears tremble on her lashes and wanted to kick himself.

  “Then we will not be as man and wife? Not share the same bed?”

  He thought fast, ignoring the subliminal roar that screamed he could not possibly share a bed with her . . . “We will sleep together, of course.” He reached to stroke her cheek. “I—I just want to give you some time . . .”

  He felt more than saw her nod hesitantly, and his gut twisted at the pain he knew he was causing her . . . But better a small pain now than that of death and loss . . . I will never get her with child—never. He took her small, work-calloused hand into his very carefully. “Kumme, my frau, let us geh and see your folks.” He forced himself to ignore her trembling as they left the dimness of the barn for the bright sunlight of day.

  * * *

  Two days later, Martha had to shake herself in the middle of her family’s move to Joel’s haus to try and forget his words in the barn. A courtship. . . even though we are married . . . even though I want no part of more time to court . . . But then she remembered Joel’s mutterings while he’d been injured on their wedding nacht . . . He’d talked in his delirium about lengthening the courtship at that time. Could it be that even then he regretted that he married me? She was trying to push such thoughts aside when her grossmuder must have noticed her standing idle and called to her.

  “Well, girlie. This is a change of the order of things, don’t you think? Or are ya just daydreaming about your man?”

  Martha felt herself flush and went to sit on the small chair near her grandmother’s bed. “I’m thinking, Grossmuder, that’s all. The last two days have been—difficult.”

  Esther Yoder chuckled faintly. “I’d like to have been there to see Eli Loftus when he heard of yer wedding.”

  Martha suppressed a shudder. “Nee. I’m glad you missed that.”

  Martha’s mind drifted back to the day before, when she and Joel had gone to the bishop’s home to reveal their marriage.

  “We realize,” Joel had said, “this is not the traditional way of our people, but we all know of those who have been married in the Englisch world and then have been accepted as truly wed by the bishop and church community.”

  “It is not merely a formality that makes a marriage, buwe. And how foolhardy you’ve been to take a hex such as this to your heart. What did your older bruder counsel?”

  Martha had told Joel some of the things Judah had claimed the bishop had said about her, and she knew her husband was not going to be distracted by wily questions or speaking. Still, she could tell from the tenseness of his body that Joel was angry. And she’d listened to the subtle tones of her husband’s voice and knew he would not stand for much more.

  “Judah, to say the very least, was not taken into our counsel, nor was he aware that we had plans to marry. And I fear, Bishop Loftus, we will have to leave if you plan on continuing to insult my wife.”

  Martha probably would have laughed, had she been able to, as the bishop gobbled like a spring turkey. He gritted his teeth and opened his mouth, only to be halted by Judah’s abrupt entrance. Martha thought it odd that Judah felt confident enough in the place not to knock, but this thought drifted quickly away as Joel began to speak.

  “Judah. It’s gut that you are here. I want to introduce you more formally to my wife, Martha Umble. I will begin the movement of her family to our home as soon as possible.”

  Judah took a step nearer to Joel, and Martha had wanted to cringe at the fury in the other man’s eyes.

  “I—I am the first sohn! The eldest! And I will not permit this—this hex and her coven to move to Mamm’s home.” Judah’s face grew red, but then the bishop spoke in an almost hypnotic tone.

  “Never mind, Judah. No marriage based on evil will last, and time will bear that out. We must wait and see the fullness of loss that your younger bruder will reap by sowing on unholy ground. Therefore I will invite you to come and make your home here with me, the better for your training in the Ordnung and your certain future as both a church and community leader.”

  Martha had shivered at the hateful words, but then she looked to Judah and saw an almost peaceful calm replace the anger on his face. It was as if he was lulled by the bishop’s eerie words, and she had wondered at the evil in both men . . .

  “Now you, Grossmuder . . .” Joel brought Martha back to the present by swiping a kiss on her cheek. She watched him gently wrap her
grandmother in the many quilts he had brought to the haus. She automatically moved to help, but wondered whether his light kiss had been real or merely a ruse to make her family think he loved her . . . Love me . . . I’ve never thought of it . . . I just focused on the marriage and having Joel in my life forever. . . But does he love me? It was a question meant for another time. Right now, she was forced to focus on the move . . .

  * * *

  Joel concentrated on his footsteps carefully as he carried fragile Esther Yoder down to his home. At the very least, he was happy that his mamm seemed to accept the facts of his marriage and the coming of the Yoders. Although she had sobbed for nearly an hour when Judah had kumme and taken away his possessions. Yes, Judah is living and training under an evil man . . . What can I do to help my bruder ? And do I really want to help him? He rallied his focus as the newly hired Englisch hand, Sebastian, passed him carrying a barrel holding the Yoders’ scant possessions.

  “You bear a beautiful burden—if it be a burden, Joel?”

  Joel had to smile down at his new grossmuder at the merry words. “Jah, truly beautiful.”

  He wanted to say the same thing to Martha as he saw her in the distance climbing the steps to his home. They’d had little time to talk or even to see each other with the sudden move; now he wanted to seek her out.

  He reached the boundaries of his family’s farm and soon gained the steps with the spritely Esther Yoder held safe in his arms. And then he took her to the aired and ready guest room. He knew that they still needed to figure out the living arrangement of the rooms but felt that his new grossmuder would blossom with the sunlit windows at the back of the house.

  “Go on now, sohn.” She reached to pat his cheek when he’d placed her on the bed. “Geh and see your wife for a minute or two.”

  “How do you know what I’m thinking?” he asked with a smile.

  “Ach,” she said softly, her face softening in memory. “I was once young and married too.”

  He bent and kissed her gently on her rose petal–soft cheek, then left the room, leaving the door ajar so that she might feel part of the bustling atmosphere of the haus.