An Amish Courtship on Ice Mountain

by Kelly Long

  “Will you tell me about your reading?” he asked softly.

  “There was always the family to care for . . . they needed me.” She shrugged. “I couldn’t geh to school and we had no money for books or a slate . . . so, that’s it.”

  He reached out to curl a tendril of her hair round his hand. “And you are not bitter.”

  It was a statement; not a question. “Nee . . . I love them. It was my job to honor and care for them.”

  “I’d like to care for you, Martha Umble.”

  She felt uncomfortable, restive, under his statement. “I—I don’t know how to let someone care for me.” It seemed a huge admission, and she let her breath out slowly.

  “Can I start by reading the letter that’s beneath your charming bottom?”

  She felt herself flush, then leaned forward a bit to grasp the letter. She handed it to him.

  He opened it slowly, and she tensed. She squeezed her eyes shut tight like a little girl and waited for him to begin.

  My Dearest Martha,

  It is difficult for me to put into words how I feel about you. I also know that reading a “love letter” might not be something you want to do. So, I’ll gift you with this poem instead.

  “For Martha”

  No gentle fine-boned fawn

  Nor starling on the wing

  No flower cascading humbly

  Can match the words you sing.

  A song to win my mind

  With breathless appeal

  You’re strong and wondrous

  Gott’s child of the field.

  You sing of simple joys

  The kind to see life through

  And there’s nothing more I need

  Than to spend my life with you.

  “It sounds rather silly, I suppose,” he ended. “But I mean it.”

  Martha took the paper from him and pressed it to her breast. “I’ll cherish it, Joel Umble, as well as anything else you write and read for me.”

  She leaned over and pressed her lips warmly to his, falling beside him in the comfortable bed. “Could we practice our lovemaking again?” she asked, emboldened by the warmth of his letter.

  She closed her eyes on a sigh when he found the hem of her shift and put his mouth to the crest of her breast.

  * * *

  The next morning dawned bright and fair. It was the second Sunday of the month and time for church service. Joel pulled on a white shirt atop his black pants and glanced at his still-sleeping wife with a tender smile. The nacht had been revelatory for both of them; he couldn’t help but stop raising his suspenders and fantasizing for a moment but then he ruefully went to wake Martha so they would not be late for the start of service.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “And evil begets evil . . . we all know this to be true. If there is evil among us, it must be purged lest we, as a community, begin to suffer.” Bishop Loftus paused for a breath, and Martha looked down at the clenched fingers in her lap.

  He means me—I know he does . . .

  She wished she might feel her husband’s protective arms around her, but he was seated with all of the other married men, and she with the married women. She tried to distract her thoughts from what was being said by counting the boards in the wall of Deacon Troyer’s big barn, but the bishop’s voice blasted on.

  “If your crops fail, if your children become ill, jah, even if your sons die, then you will know that there is a hex or a coven among us. But a witch is clever in her trickery. She may pose as one beleaguered with cares or poverty and then mislead some upstanding man into the devil’s ways. Jah, she spins a web with her beauty, even her nakedness . . .” Here, Martha saw that the old man paused to lick his lips, and she vowed never to geh bathing in the creek again. She drew a shallow breath and kept her head down, idly having the irreverent thought that what was needed here was another strike of lightning . . .

  The three-hour-long service dwindled to its close, and only Deacon Troyer’s sonorous snoring broke the silence as people got to their feet and began to filter out into the sunlight. It was the first Sunday community dinner to be held outdoors that spring and the youths raced to set up volleyball nets and fetch softballs.

  Families had brought quilts or blankets to spread out on the ground, making cozy spots for visiting and eating of the abundant amounts of food.

  When Joel met with her on the grassy lawn, Martha handed him the quilt they’d brought. “Here, Joel. If you don’t mind, I’m going to walk home and see how Milly and your mamm are doing sitting with my family. You stay here and enjoy yourself.”

  “No, you are not going to listen to that loon Loftus. We’ll stay here and have a nice time,” Joel said.

  “In that case, may I join you?”

  Martha turned to see May Miller standing near them, and she smiled. May had somehow ceased to be an imagined rival for her husband’s affections and had instead become a friend.

  “Of course, May,” Martha said gaily.

  “And here comes Sebastian.” Joel waved his handyman over. “I told him to come for lunch.”

  Sebastian met May with an easy smile. The four had just settled on the quilt when Bishop Loftus suddenly loomed up behind them.

  “Joel Umble,” the older man said in a brusque tone. “What Englischer is this who joins our community?”

  “My friend, Sebastian. Seb, meet Bishop Loftus.”

  Martha watched in fascination as an odd expression of aversion crossed the bishop’s face. Sebastian had held out a hand in greeting, but the bishop seemed unable to grasp it. It was as if the old man was held bound by something greater than himself. He finally turned with a grunt of dismissal.

  “Strange fellow,” Sebastian remarked.

  “Forget him,” Joel muttered, and took Martha’s arm. “Let’s geh taste the food. The tables ought to be near to bowlegged by now. Sebastian, you’ll find everything from pickled eggs to raisin pie, and a whole lot in between.”

  Martha smiled at the handyman. “And try the sherbet punch . . . Joel and I made it together.”

  She glanced up at her husband and was both pleased and flustered when he bent to kiss her cheek with his warm lips.

  * * *

  Joel tamped down the anger he felt at Bishop Loftus and tried to focus on the scoop of chocolate parfait he’d just piled on his plate. Yet his mood did not improve.

  “Ah, don’t do it, Joel . . .” Sebastian said from beside him.

  “Do what?” Joel was afraid of the answer. Sebastian had an eerie way of pinpointing what a man was thinking.

  “Yes, that’s right, but don’t hang on to your anger, Joel. It eats at a man, makes him bitter and old before his time.”

  Joel started. “See, that’s what I mean—you’re enough to scare a body, Sebastian.”

  “Don’t be scared. Just take the advice,” Sebastian returned amiably.

  Joel nodded. “Maybe I will, at that.”

  * * *

  They had just cleaned up and had a rousing match of volleyball when Martha told Joel that she’d be more comfortable going home to check on the folks.

  “It’s not that I don’t think your mamm and Milly can manage, but it’s the first time I’ve really been gone, except for when we got married, and—”

  “Martha, you don’t have to explain.” Joel smiled. “It’s fine.”

  Sebastian offered to see May home, and Joel and Martha quickly walked the short distance to the Umble farm. Joel must have caught sight of something on the front porch, though, because Martha suddenly found his lean hand clamped over her eyes.

  “Ach, Martha! It’s a surprise. No looking until I say so.”

  “All right.” She let him lead her and caught the enthusiasm emanating from his strong frame.

  “Now!” he said.

  Martha opened her eyes, completely unprepared for what she saw. Sarah stood just outside the front door, clasping and unclasping her hands as Martha ran up the porch steps after placing a kiss on Sol Kauffman’
s thinning pate. Milly paced about excitedly. But best of all was seeing the glowing smiles of her mamm, daed, and grossmuder as they sat upright in wheelchairs.

  “Ach, Joel!” she cried, flying off the porch to throw her arms around her husband’s neck. Joel caught her and spun her around clear off the ground.

  “It’s too much . . . really!”

  “Nothing is too much for you and my new family, sweetheart.”

  She ran back to the porch, talking with each person and thanking Derr Herr silently for a husband as thoughtful as Joel.

  Later, the family sat in the gloaming together and watched the lightning bugs blink a magical chorus. It was more wonderful than Martha could have imagined.

  And after that, when Martha had everyone settled for the night, she slipped out of her dress and shift and took down her hair. Then she hastily crawled beneath the covers before Joel came in. She reached to turn down the lamp to a mellow warmth and sat still, watching Joel undress and admiring his lean frame. When he had everything off, he hurried to the bed, only to discover her own bare skin. They laughed softly together, and he pulled her atop him so that her hair formed a curtain to hide their hot kisses. “You’re enchanting,” he murmured against her mouth.

  “You mean I’m a hex?” she teased, running her short nails down his belly.

  “Jah,” he whispered. “The hex of my heart.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The next morning, Martha awoke before dawn, only to find Joel already gone from the bed. She dressed hurriedly, wondering at the hole in the window, and went out to the kitchen.

  Joel was busily scrambling eggs, and she stretched up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Why are you up so early?” she murmured, not wanting to break the peacefulness of the dawn.

  “I was hoping to make you breakfast in bed, but since you’re up—we can share.”

  She sat down at the table at his invitation. Then he fed her hotcakes and raspberry jam with his lean fingertips, pausing to give her sweet, sticky kisses that made her hungry for more. He allowed her a fork for her eggs but took it back to give her bites of bacon.

  “Joel?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “What happened to the bedroom window? I remember something from the nacht, but I thought I was dreaming.”

  He shrugged and moved closer to kiss jam from the edge of her mouth. “A night bird, sweetheart. Too focused on the hunt. There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll get some glass from Sol when he opens.”

  She looped her arms around his shoulders. “Why do I think there’s something you’re not telling me?”

  He kissed her deeply and gave a deep-throated laugh. “Let’s concentrate on the raspberry jam . . . I never knew it could be so . . . rich and thick.”

  Martha had to agree, but something niggled at the back of her consciousness that went beyond the sweet kisses they shared.

  * * *

  Joel knew it was wrong to lie to Martha, but he couldn’t bring himself to worry her. He threw the piece of coal up and caught it as he walked to Sol’s, finally tossing it away in the brush.

  Little Jacob Mast stepped out onto the path in front of him. “Hey, Jacob, how have you been?” Joel asked.

  “Pretty gut. You still kissin’ girls?”

  Joel laughed. “Sometimes. You know I haven’t seen you since the day Sebastian brought you back.”

  “Ach . . . him. He’s an angel.”

  Joel ruffled the child’s hair. “Is that what your mamm says?”

  Jacob wrinkled his nose. “Nee.”

  “Then why call Sebastian an angel?”

  “I was dead for a while and he was all white and shiny and when he picked me up—I came back to life.”

  Joel blinked. “Okaaay. But I think you were just imagining that—”

  “No. That’s playing with your mind. This wasn’t playing, and I know he’s an angel. Maybe he’s here to help you too. Okay. Gotta go. See ya!”

  Joel watched the child disappear around a bend in the path and shook his head. One of these days, I need to have a talk with my hired man . . .

  * * *

  That evening, after a filling supper, Joel went out on the front porch alone to stare up at the stars, his thoughts running in a thousand directions. But he was mostly focused on his wife and the smile of love she’d shown him the day before when she’d seen her family in their wheelchairs, suddenly having the ability to move again.

  He dragged his thoughts back to the present when he heard the screen door open and then slam again and turned to see his father-in-law trying to make it out onto the porch in his wheelchair. Joel moved to help him, but Chet Yoder waved him off with a frustrated grunt.

  “No, buwe. Let me try.”

  It was frustrating to watch someone struggle, but Joel recognized the importance of the other man’s independence and his need to be self-reliant after so many years of enforced care.

  Chet finally made it through the door and wheeled himself out onto the porch, gasping a bit for breath. Joel let him compose himself and then remarked on the stars.

  “The nacht sky always settles me somehow.”

  “Used to calm me too,” Chet muttered.

  “And now it doesn’t?” Joel felt like he should tread lightly with this man he hardly knew but respected deeply as Martha’s fater.

  “Nee, not much can bring me calm now, though I’m grateful for this chair . . . Ach, I miss working, especially with my hands . . . Makes a man feel useless when he can’t work.”

  Joel felt a sudden idea form in his head. “Chet, do you think you’d like one of the smaller barns to be made into a workshop for you? There’s a lot of things we could set up for—like fine woodworking or leather work . . .”

  “How would I get there? I can’t run this thing through mud and such.”

  “Sebastian and I could make a wooden walkway for you and then build shelves and things at a low level so you could reach them easily . . . What do you say?”

  Joel waited.

  Chet’s voice rasped when it came. “I’d be mighty thankful, sohn . . . I’d be blessed.”

  Joel nodded and swallowed. “We’ll get it done soon.”

  “Danki, buwe.”

  The two men said nothing more, but relaxed in the rich blanket of nacht that spread itself over the mountain.

  * * *

  Martha’s strong arms easily pushed her mamm’s wheelchair down to the area allotted for the kitchen garden.

  “Ach, Martha, it’s been so long since I’ve been able to see a garden. It does my soul gut! You must tell me, child, what everything is, since it’s just beginning.”

  Martha bent to kiss her mamm’s cheek and then began to point to various specks of green that showed promise against the rich earth.

  “Bush beans, eggplant, muskmelon, kidney beans, Swiss chard, turnips, potatoes, and watermelon—just to name a few!”

  “Wunderbarr!” Her mamm’s gentle hands clapped lightly, as if she’d just seen a performance of the highest art.

  “Is your asthma all right out here?” Martha asked, returning to the chair.

  “Ach, jah—I haven’t felt so good in a long while, but now I insist that you take me back. If you can manage with Milly to bring your father and then grossmuder out . . .”

  “All right, Mamm.”

  Martha turned the chair back toward the haus and found herself humming with pleasure.

  * * *

  Joel replaced the glass in the master bedroom window with a minimum of fuss, then went outside to look for Sebastian.

  Jacob Mast’s claims about Seb sort of hovered at the back of Joel’s mind. The Englischer did have an uncanny insight into things . . .

  Sebastian was sitting on the creek bank on a comfortable-looking bed of moss, bottle-feeding one of the lambs that had been rejected by an older ewe.

  Joel sat down and stared out into the rush of the creek.

  “Something on your mind, boss?” Seb asked easily.

  J
oel looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Are you an angel, Seb?”

  The sound of the lamb guzzling took hold of Joel’s mind, and he decided he was being distinctly foolish.

  “Well, Joel, who told you that I’m an angel?”

  “Jacob Mast.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, I suppose the answer would be yes—I’m an angel, but I think I make a rather good hired hand too.”

  Joel nodded, not missing a beat. “Yep. You are at that, Seb. You truly are.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The following day, May Miller stopped by in the afternoon and Martha was glad to offer her teaberry tea and the first piece of an angel food cake.

  The two sat down together afterward on the porch swing and May talked about some new medicine tinctures she wanted to try for Martha’s mamm’s asthma now that she had improved.

  May also brought word of a painting frolic that was coming up.

  “Frau Raber is having her front room brightened up, so she and those two girls of hers have turned it into a frolic.”

  “I’ve never been to a frolic,” Martha said worriedly. “What do we do?”

  May smiled. “You paint, eat, and gossip, though I usually leave early. The menfolk go and get drunk with Sol Kauffman, passing around the jug of moonshine.”

  “Ach . . .” Martha said softly, not knowing if she liked the idea of Joel drinking.

  “Joel won’t drink much, if at all,” May said comfortably.

  “You know him so well, don’t you? Sometimes I feel—well, at a loss as to what he’s really thinking.”

  “Why not ask him?” May suggested with her usual practicality, but Martha shook her head. “He puts me off . . . like when we were at the Ice Mine together and he—well, he saw something but wouldn’t talk about it.”