An Amish Courtship on Ice Mountain

by Kelly Long

  “I never knew I could feel like that,” she said, and he smiled, preparing to repeat her pleasure.

  But the snap of a branch made him turn suddenly, scanning the bank. He enclosed Martha in the fold of his arms, wondering if it might be a stray black bear come out of its den.

  “Come on.” He started to pull her from the water.

  “What is it?”

  “Probably nothing, but I’d like you to geh back home. I want to have a look around after I dress.”

  She looked as though she might protest, but then she nodded and climbed the bank, wrapping herself in one of the thick towels.

  Joel did the same. “Kumme, I’ll see you to the edge of the woods.”

  They were silent as they walked, and he kissed her quickly once they’d cleared the tree line, then he watched her run safely to the lamps of the haus. Then he turned back to the forest and began to wind his way back to the creek’s pool, not sure what he was looking for, but intent just the same.

  Joel started when another tall figure suddenly loomed up before him in the half light of the moon.

  “Stephen!” he exclaimed, not expecting to see his shunned friend.

  “Joel—what are you about in the woods this late?”

  “Were you just back by the bathing pool in the creek?”

  Stephen’s handsome mouth curved in a grin. “Spying on the newly married? Nee . . . I was coming back from taking some fish to my mamm and aenti’s haus. Why do you ask?”

  Joel shrugged. “I don’t know—I just felt—well, never mind. Probably an overactive mind.”

  “Or an overexcited husband?”

  Joel threw an arm about his friend’s shoulders. “Kumme for a cup of coffee, why don’t you? I miss your dry wit!”

  But Stephen shook his dark head. “Nee . . . I’d better get back to the cabin. But Joel, my mamm told me of Judah—I am sorry for your loss.”

  “Danki, friend. He was—a troubled soul. But . . . I’d better head home. I’ll kumme up to hunt with you soon.”

  “As long as Loftus is bishop, you’d better not socialize with a shunned man.”

  Joel laughed wryly. “I’ll socialize with whoever I want. Gut nacht.”

  “Gut nacht . . . and be careful out here.”

  Joel watched Stephen walk off, then decided he’d head back home. He had probably heard nothing . . .

  * * *

  Martha slid the blue garter Mrs. Ellis had given her up the length of her leg with trembling fingers. She settled its pretty rosette and lace around her lower thigh, then pulled on the short peach-colored gown that she’d bought at Nancy’s Niceties in Coudersport. Thus dressed, or rather undressed, she turned down the lanterns in the master bedroom to give off a warm and soothing light. Then she stood waiting, trying to curb her anxiousness. Perhaps he’d think her too bold or overly wanton, but she wanted an end to Joel’s idea of courtship.

  She threw her shoulders back and stood tall as the latch rattled on the door. Joel entered with his head down, so he didn’t see her at first but then he lifted his gaze, and Martha wet her lips, wondering how he’d respond . . .

  * * *

  Joel stood transfixed, his eyes taking in the loveliness of his wife. She wore a short, transparent gown that was more alluring than bare flesh and a pale blue frilly thing that brought his attention to the suppleness of her long legs.

  He shut the door behind him with tingling fingers and took a step toward her, not trusting himself to speak at first.

  “My hair is still damp from the creek,” she said in normal tones, tossing the mass over her shoulder and back.

  He envied her calm; he was shaken to his very core with the measure of her beauty. Her white throat was laid bare, and her round breasts strained at the thin fabric, while her narrow waist and full hips seemed to beckon to him.

  “Martha,” he said, his voice husky with feeling. “You’re so beautiful.”

  “Please, Joel. Please make love to me.”

  He nodded despite himself and crossed the floor in two long strides. He slipped one arm around her waist and the other beneath her knees. Then he swung her up eagerly and carried her to the bed.

  They tumbled together on the turned-down sheets and Joel ran his hands up and down her lush frame while she eagerly sought the damp edges of his shirt and helped him ease it off. Her kisses caused a fine sheen of perspiration on his body, and he tugged hard at the hook and eye of his black pants, feeling the stitches give way. Then he lay between her thighs and it seemed the most natural thing in the world until his brain kicked in . . . No child . . . no child . . . He lifted his hips and moved hard against her belly. Once . . . twice . . . and then he heard his own sobbing release, but he knew that he had left Martha behind in his eagerness.

  * * *

  Martha blinked as she felt a curious wetness between her body and Joel’s. He had pulled back and was hastily sliding up his pants and then got up to walk across the room to the bowl and pitcher. She watched him wash unabashedly, knowing that the pleasure she had felt could not soften the meaning of his movements. He wanted no child with her. She didn’t know whether to rage or cry. Then her typical common sense took over and she told herself that perhaps he wanted to give them some time alone as a couple . . . She settled on this explanation, though a vague fear still gnawed at her.

  Joel came back to bed and gathered her close, and she nestled against his broad shoulder. He didn’t speak, and Martha couldn’t, either, so she simply listened to the even cadence of his breathing until she fell asleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Joel had grown used to the seemingly boundless energy that Sebastian displayed in his work about the farm, and he had come to rely on the Englischer a great deal. Joel was grateful for Sebastian especially when it came time for shearing the sheep. He had been pleasantly surprised to discover that Sebastian was familiar with sheep. The man said he’d sheared many a time.

  Shearing was not for amateurs. If a person didn’t go about things right, the fleece, that one whole piece of the sheep’s coat, could be ruined, and moreover, the sheep would run around looking like it’d had a bad haircut. Joel had even learned over the years that the other sheep would seem to mock a badly shaven sheep by baaing at it or giving it little nips on its blotchy pink skin. So Joel was always careful to keep every sheep looking as uniform to the others as possible.

  He and Sebastian set up a table and a small pen and went to the task with handheld sheep shears.

  “We might do better with an set of electric shears,” Sebastian joked as the day grew hotter and the shearing seemed to drag on.

  Joel laughed good-naturedly, then looked up as Martha came across the field carrying a metal pail. Her green dress was beautiful and her hair properly braided beneath her kapp, but Joel could still see her in the peach nachtgown and had to shake himself to greet her with a lopsided smile.

  “I made some lemonade,” she called and both men stopped what they were doing for a taste of the lemony goodness with its hint of sugar.

  Joel bent to kiss her to convey his thanks, and she smiled and nodded before walking away. Joel watched her for a long moment, then turned back to find Sebastian with a faint smile on his face.

  “What?” Joel asked.

  “Young love,” Sebastian returned.

  They both laughed, but Joel felt something deep within his spirit. Young love . . . Do I love Martha? Of course . . . But the thought stuck with him that he’d rarely if ever told her that he loved her . . . Suddenly the sheepshearing seemed to fly by as he noticed that his heart felt full and the colors of the earth seemed brighter. And he knew that he’d write Martha another letter as soon as he could.

  * * *

  Martha knelt on the expanse of hardwood floor in her parents’ bedroom. She’d just kumme in from taking Joel some lemonade and had decided to use the rest of the afternoon until supper in sewing a new dress. Sarah Umble was there to help, too, and the time seemed jolly as they worked together. Ev
en her fater helped by dutifully holding out the pincushion.

  The new dress was to be burgundy—a color that Joel seemed to favor himself.

  “Ach, but it’s nice to have something to sew on again,” Elise Yoder said, her still pretty face wreathed in smiles. Martha returned her mamm’s gentle look, glad that here, too, was a blessing from marrying Joel. Her mother seemed more relaxed in the warm, new haus and less prone to her asthma attacks.

  Martha pinned and sewed the dress bodice front to its matching back piece at the shoulders. Then she obediently stood on a small wooden stool while Sarah measured and pinned the sleeves. Elise quickly hemmed the two lengths to the proper measurement, and Martha went on to pin and sew pleats into the skirt front and back pieces and into the apron. She knew at this point that some Amish from off the mountain would also sew a cape to the shoulders, but Ice Mountain Amish were not so fancy. Next came the apron, and the stiffening needed to be sewn into the belt—this was a tricky piece of work that Martha managed quickly and neatly.

  As she worked, she thought of Joel and their lovemaking the nacht before. It was therefore a surprise when she came back to the moment to hear her mamm’s gentle voice.

  “Perhaps one day soon, we will be sewing for a baby.”

  Martha bit her lip, not wanting to give her mother the wrong idea, but she couldn’t help the words that tumbled out. “But, Mamm, we’ve only been married a short time.”

  “Plenty of time to make a baby,” Sarah remarked, causing Martha to blush.

  “I’m nearly finished here. What’s something special that I can make for Joel’s dinner, since he’s been working so hard?” She was relieved that she was able to come up with a thought to change the course of the conversation.

  “Stuffed meat loaf,” her fater said promptly, waving the pincushion for emphasis.

  “Mashed potatoes, gravy, corn, and something for dessert,” Sarah chimed in.

  “Mayonnaise cake?” her mamm offered and Martha nodded.

  “All right,” Martha smiled. “I’ll clean up here and then get to work!”

  * * *

  Joel sat in the sunshine on an auld picnic bench. The shearing had been accomplished, and he had a few minutes to jot down some thoughts for Martha. It was easier for him somehow to write what he was feeling than speak directly to her. He supposed that it had always been that way, when his gifts to his mamm on various occasions had been handwritten cards and the like. But he struggled now, unsure of how to explain to Martha how much she meant to him.

  A persistent whine broke into his thoughts, and he looked up to see an unfamiliar little dog, its white fur splotched by mud and its plumy tail wagging in faint hopefulness.

  Joel patted his leg and tried an experimental call to the animal. The little dog bounded to him and promptly jumped into Joel’s lap.

  “Why, hello . . . Hello there, little friend. Let’s see if you have a collar under that mud . . . Nope. Well, you’re welcome here.”

  The dog seemed to sense its change of circumstances and licked Joel’s cheek appreciatively. Joel smiled, hoping Martha liked animals. He’d always wanted a dog to help him herd sheep, but Judah had presented an obstacle. His brother had had no softness for animals.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up and we’ll geh and see the lady of the haus.”

  The little dog happily accompanied him to the creek and, once bathed, turned out to be pure white with a nice pink belly. Joel scooped her up into his arms once more. “All right, little one, let’s geh home.”

  * * *

  Martha was making stuffing. It was rather tedious an affair to get it just right, but she was persistent. She tore up two loaves of the previous day’s bread into small pieces, then raided the spice cabinet for salt, pepper, celery salt, parsley, and a touch of garlic powder. She liberally spiced the bread, then turned to the cookstove. In a small cast-iron pan, she melted two sticks of butter and chopped up some celery and an onion to simmer in the butter. Then she cracked six brown eggs into the bread and finally added the celery and onion. She used her hands to squish the whole mass together and finished off with a mere drop of milk to make it a bit moister.

  She was rinsing her hands at the pump when Joel came in carrying a little white dog. Martha was enchanted. She’d always wanted a dog, but the family had decided that the cost was too high. And they hadn’t wanted a part-feral animal.

  Now Martha dried her hands on a dishcloth. As she approached, the stray animal leaped playfully into her arms.

  “Ach, Joel, she’s beautiful. May we keep her?”

  “Of course. She can both keep you company in the haus and learn to herd a bit with me. I don’t think she’s very auld . . . What shall we call her?”

  “Sophy,” Martha responded promptly.

  Joel leaned close to her, reaching to brush a stray tendril of hair from her face. “Have you had that name saved up, sweet Martha?”

  “Jah . . .” She stood very still, hoping he’d kiss her, but he dropped his hand and moved away.

  “Sophy it is. Let’s see how she gets along with Puddles.”

  The gray cat came streaking into the kitchen and skidded to a complete halt as Joel took the dog from Martha’s arms and set it on the floor.

  Both animals regarded each other warily for a few seconds, then Sophy’s plume began to wag and Puddles let out a tender meow.

  “Well, that’s that.” Joel smiled, and Martha nodded.

  She felt flustered around him, and became doubly so when he reached in his pants pocket and withdrew a folded sheet of paper.

  “Here, sweetheart. I tried to put down some things I’ve been feeling . . . and, well, you can read it.”

  “Nee. I can’t,” Martha snapped.

  “What?”

  She could have bitten her tongue at her brash announcement, but she was tired of having secrets from him. “I can’t read, Joel. Your mamm has been giving me lessons, but I can’t read what you’ve written here.”

  “Ach, all right.” He paused. “I’ll read it to you.”

  “Is that all you’re going to say?”

  His blue eyes flashed at her. “Jah. What’s wrong with being a gentleman and reading it for you?”

  Martha flounced from the sink, carefully stepping over the two animals. “You could ask me why I cannot read . . . why I cannot write. You could give me a chance to tell my story, or be interested in it. I don’t like when you sweep everything under the rug and we don’t speak of things. You’d rather just turn the lamps down and geh to sleep!”

  “What exactly are we talking about here, Martha?”

  She hunched a shoulder at him. “Nothing.”

  She didn’t look at him for a long minute, and she finally heard his sigh. “Martha, will you come with me into the bedroom for a minute so we can talk in more privacy?”

  “I have the supper to tend to,” she muttered, not wanting to geh anywhere with him at that moment.

  “The stuffing will wait. Please kumme . . .”

  She hated that she wanted to respond so easily to the husky note in his voice, but he had said “please” . . .

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Joel stood in the master bedroom facing his wife, and he had trouble not imagining her in the peach wisp she’d worn for him before. Men think too much about sex . . . I need to respond to what she said. “I’m sorry, Martha—I guess I was surprised to learn you can’t read, and I just went on with offering to read the note because I didn’t want you to think it was a big deal to me.”

  “Well, it’s a big deal to me,” she said softly.

  Joel sat down on the edge of the bed and patted a spot next to him. “Kumme here, will you? And, please, tell me about you and reading and school and anything else that you might want to talk about.”

  He could see that she was reluctant, but she finally came over and sat down. He reached his arm around her stiff back and pulled her close. “Martha—I love you. Tell me anything you want.”

  She turned to
face him and tears trembled on her lashes. “Ach, Joel—you really do love me?”

  He stared into the doe-brown depths of her eyes and nodded slowly. “I love you.”

  Martha swallowed. “Joel, I love you, too, but I’ve thought—it seems that when we are together . . . making love . . . that you are distant somehow.”

  Joel took a deep breath, then shook his head. “Martha, I never meant to hurt you. I—I just want to wait a bit until we have children.” Tell her . . . tell her the truth about the vision . . .

  But he could not bring himself to say the words, and a knock on the door interrupted their privacy.

  He glanced at Martha, then rose to his feet. “Kumme in.”

  Sophy bounded into the room, and his mamm soon followed. “We have a dog, Joel Umble.”

  “So it would seem, Mamm. Puddles likes her—do you mind?”

  Sarah shook her head. “Wouldn’t matter much if I did—she’s made herself right at home. Are you two bickering?”

  Joel had to laugh, and Martha giggled. “Nee, Mamm.”

  “Gut . . . because that stuffing won’t wait much longer.”

  Martha got to her feet and reached to kiss Joel’s cheek; then she hurried out of the room with Sarah and Sophy on her heels, leaving Joel to think in silence.

  * * *

  Martha turned the bed down carefully, then slipped into a simple cotton shift and started to take the pins out of her hair. Sophy had made herself comfortable at the foot of the bed, with Puddles in close attendance. Martha thought over the nice supper they’d shared and then, on impulse, took the first letter Joel had given her from the place she’d carefully kept it in the dresser drawer. She opened its folds and went to sit on the side of the bed, trying to puzzle out the sounds of different letters she could now recognize.

  Joel entered the room while she was trying to read, and she hastily slid the letter under her hip. She bent her knees and scooted backward on the bed, resting her chin on her kneecaps. She watched her husband undress, sliding his clothes off with unabashed grace, then turning to come to bed. He lay down beside her and rolled onto his side to prop his head up with an elbow. She glanced through veiled lashes at him, studying the tan skin of his arm and the dark thatch of hair at the juncture of his arm and shoulder.