by Kelly Long
“Anything,” he muttered as he freed her hair from its pins.
“Actually, I was thinking nothing. You’ll wear nothing.”
“I can do that,” he whispered. “If you help me, I can do that right now.”
She sat up and ran her fingers beneath his suspenders, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his chest beneath his blue shirt. “You’ll have to sit up, Herr Umble, if you please.”
“Right.”
He sat up slowly, as if he were dazed, and Martha rejoiced inside at his arousal.
He kept his hands on her while she eased his suspenders down. Then she found the pins to his shirtfront and flung them away with little patters of sound.
She shivered deliciously as she ran her hands over his chest and down to the leanness of his ribs. He helped her get his shirt off as she paused to take quick nips across his chest.
“I owe you for that,” he rasped.
She swallowed hard, her own skin tingling beneath the weight of her dress and apron. Then she forced herself to concentrate and ordered him to stand up.
“I can’t,” he half laughed. “I can’t stop kissing you.”
“Try,” she choked as he sucked hard at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.
He finally got to his feet, and she knelt upward so that she was level with the dark, arrowed hair of his belly.
“Hurry, please . . .” he begged, and she took a fierce grip on her own emotions.
“Boots first,” she reminded him, as if she were his teacher.
He bent and helped her with the laces, his breathing fast and shallow, and she had his boots and socks off in seconds. Now he stood again, his head back a bit, his eyes closed as he caught the sides of her face in his hands and held her close to him. She ran her fingers inside the waistband of his black pants at his hips, teasingly letting her hands move forward and back.
“Dear Gott, Martha . . . I can’t . . . I want . . .”
“I know,” she said soothingly, then helped him ease the pants off until he stood naked before her. She let herself touch him everywhere but the rampant part of him that taunted and pressed against the flesh of his belly.
Then he dropped back to the floor beside her. “I can’t wait much longer,” he confessed and started to reach through the layers of her clothes.
“You don’t have to wait, Joel.”
He made love to her while she was still dressed, and the luxuriant feel of his smooth skin against the rasp of her clothing was enough to make her gasp for air as he pushed hard and whispered small words of encouragement to her. She soon dissolved in a thousand grains of spun sugar and then knew he’d had his own pleasure by the sobbing breaths he drew and the way he held her close. No trying to stop a boppli this time, she thought in dazed pleasure. No stopping at all . . .
* * *
Much later, Seb hailed Joel as he headed for the sheep barn. “Hey, boss, wondered if you’d like to take a walk with me up to the high timber.”
Joel stopped still. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
Seb nodded cheerfully. “I am but a servant as you are, Deacon Umble. It is time for me to go.”
Joel swallowed. “Will I see you again in this—lifetime?”
“Hard to tell.” Sebastian extended a hand, and Joel shook it heartily. He knew that Seb’s leaving was necessary somehow, and he turned to fall into step with him as they started the climb to the high timber.
“Hey, Seb?”
“Mmm-hmm?”
“Was young Jacob Mast dead when you found him?”
Seb smiled. “I think we’re all a little bit dead until we find hope and friendship and love.”
And Joel knew that these were words to base a lifetime upon.
“And you truly are . . . ?” Joel asked, trying to grasp what seemed impossible. “But why me?” Sebastian looked out at the flock of sheep. “Angels are messengers or servants or protectors . . . At times lately, you’ve seemed to need all of these.”
Joel half laughed. “You’re right about that, but really—so many people need protectors. Why me?”
Sebastian spoke meditatively. “Someday, a great many people will need you, Joel. Need you to serve them and speak for them and protect them. I’m here to help you get going on that path.
“And my kind are always around. Always fighting against the—opposition, you might say.”
“You mean evil, don’t you?”
Seb nodded. “Yep.”
Joel spoke slowly. “I never understood my brother . . . Judah was—he seemed evil to me, though I hate to speak of him like that . . . He was my older bruder and I wanted to love him . . . He never let me.”
“No, he was a difficult case, and he fell under the wrong influence . . . But some people are like that, Joel. They resist love, authentic love. They might be hurt themselves or simply making a choice. But love has no place in their lives . . . And oh, I’m not talking about some romanticized love . . . No, I mean the love that is action and doing and giving—wholehearted, sold-out, and sacrificing for others.”
Joel looked at him and felt as if he were being swallowed up by those gentle eyes. “You will love like that, Joel. You will lead like that. And . . . well, I suppose that I’ve said too much . . . My time here is about done. It’s time for me to go on alone from here.”
“All right. Hey, Seb . . . ?”
“Yes?”
Joel wiped the tears from his eyes and spoke softly. “Thank you.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Martha bent over the tiny kitchen garden plants that were growing stronger each day and then paused to watch Sophy unsuccessfully chase chipmunks. She felt a peacefulness in her soul, as if her days were now strung together like drops of pearl and that she was truly blessed.
She was surprised when Sophy’s normally cheerful bark turned to a fierce growling. Martha looked up to see Bishop Loftus walking toward her with a determined gait, totally ignoring the dog. Martha swallowed and gripped the hoe she held as if she might have to defend herself. But then she told herself that it was the bright light of day and she was only a call away from the haus.
Martha set her lips and managed a polite greeting when the man came to stand less than two rows away from her in the garden. “Hello, Bishop Loftus.”
“Your hair is coming down,” he practically growled, and Martha hastily put her hand to the loose tendrils that had worked their way from her kapp while she worked.
“I—I shall geh and fix it now.” It was, she thought, the perfect reason to escape the man’s presence.
“Nee,” he said. “I have come here to risk speaking with you.”
“Risk?” she questioned.
“You are a hex, and I take great risk to my soul in addressing you, but you have been a thorn in my flesh long enough.”
She stared at him, wondering how he had gotten so odd in the head.
“I have been having trouble with my eyesight of late, and I know it is you who has put this curse upon me.”
Martha had no words, but she tried to be reasonable. “I could not and did not curse you.”
“Liar!” he hissed. “I saw you in your cauldron, seducing an innocent man who was fool enough to marry you. You’re a witch! And your baser nature was revealed as your body was bared. No doubt that was the moment my eyes were cursed.”
Martha gasped. “You watched Joel and me in the creek? You watched me bathing? You’re a twisted and sinful man, and I will tell my—”
“You will tell no one.” He took a step closer to her, and she tightened her grip on the hoe even further. “And you will tempt me no further to sin or I will see you stripped naked and horsewhipped, as should be done to beat the evil from you.”
Martha noticed that his dark eyes glittered, and he wet his lips. She was repulsed and thought of Judah and his preoccupation with beating her sin from her, his excitement when he was hurting her. The bishop was voicing the same ideas, and she wondered if he’d been behind Judah’s obsession all al
ong. She stood mesmerized, as if gazing into the eyes of a big snake.
The bishop seemed to note her paralysis and took advantage to step near her and to boldly pinch her breast.
Martha reacted without thought and brought the handle of the hoe down hard on the man’s head. “Who do you think you are?” she cried, pushing past him to run to the sheep barn, where she knew Joel was working. She didn’t stop to look back.
* * *
Joel looked up from the ewe he was tending to see his wife come bursting into the barn, sobbing as she ran. “Joel, ach, Joel!”
He caught her against him and felt the rapid beating of her heart.
“He grabbed my breast . . . Ach, I think I’m going to be sick.” She sagged to her knees in the straw, and Joel followed her.
“Who? Martha, you must tell me what you’re talking about. Just calm down.”
Joel caught her wild-eyed look, and she seemed to steady herself while gazing into his eyes.
“The bishop . . . he came to the garden and he called me a hex and grabbed me. He saw me naked in the creek and watched us . . . Ach, Joel!”
Joel pulled her close and gently stroked her back. “It’s all right, Martha. It’s all right. Are you hurt anywhere? Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head. “Nee, but I was scared and angry, Joel. I—I hit him with the hoe.”
Joel smiled. “Well done, my love! Now let me geh out and finish what’s left after the hoe.”
But Martha caught him by his arms. “Nee, Joel, sei se gut, let him be.”
“Why would I do that? Dear Gott—he’s as bad as Judah was.”
“I’m all right, Joel. I—I want to let Gott handle this. I do not want to cause any trouble in the community.”
“Trouble in the—nee, I—” He broke off suddenly and leaned forward to try to rest his head on her shoulder. It was another vision that had taken him right when his wife needed him most. He tried to break away from it, but the vision held—enlarging, clearing, until he saw that he stood next to Bishop Loftus’s bed and the room was dimly lit. The old man seemed to be gasping for breath, and clutched his chest as if in great pain. Blood ran from his nose and he turned his head. His eyes seemed to lock with Joel’s, to plead, but then there was nothing and Joel was back in the barn, holding Martha close again.
“Joel? Are you all right? Did you have another vision?”
He nodded slowly. “It was Loftus—he was—I think he was dying . . .”
“Ach, Joel, you must let this geh as I’ve told you. You cannot be responsible for killing a man.”
Joel smiled sadly. “I didn’t hurt him—he lay in his bed. His eyes—his eyes reminded me of Judah . . .”
Martha swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “We will say nothing of what happened today—Gott will handle it. I know He will. Please, Joel, promise me that you won’t see Bishop Loftus or try to get even with him . . .”
“I promise. I promise because I think his time is short and I—I think I’m supposed to tell him that, Martha. I think his eyes looked at me—I don’t know. I sound narrish.”
He clung to her for a moment, then gently kissed her lips. “We will see what comes to pass.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
The fullness of spring had brought its rich beauty to the mountain when Martha heard for the first time about the spring program that the kinner would be putting on at school.
She was arranging pussy willows in a deep jar when Joel looped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Don’t forget, my love, that this Saturday is the school program.”
She turned in his arms and stretched to kiss his tanned throat. “What school program is that?”
“Ach . . . I’m sorry, Martha. I thought you knew. There’s a spring program that the kids have every year to raise money for new books . . . I’d be honored to take you if you want to geh?”
She smiled widely. “Of course I want to go. My own reading lessons with your mamm have been going really well, and since I didn’t geh to school myself, I’ve never been to a spring program. It’ll be educational!”
He laughed and bent to hug her closer, and she rejoiced simply to be in his arms.
* * *
Joel put the last board in place and nailed it down firm.
He then walked over everything to make sure it was secure. It had taken him some time to complete and transform one of the smaller barns into a workshop for his father-in-law. But now it was finished, and the walkway between haus and barn was complete as well. He walked back to the porch and went in to find Chet working a puzzle of blue jays near the living area’s large window.
The older man’s big hands seemed to struggle to maneuver the small pieces, and Joel felt good inside knowing that the new shop would give Chet something more engaging to do.
“It’s finished,” Joel announced, and Chet rolled his chair back from the table with a sigh of relief.
“Danki, buwe. I’m just about over trying to work puzzles and such.”
“Well, you won’t have to anymore. May I take you outside?”
Joel carefully navigated the chair onto the front porch, then gestured to the ramp and wooden walkway. “Please . . . after you.”
Chet gave him a grin, then eased the chair down the ramp, only to gather speed on the wide wooden planks.
Joel followed and then waited as Chet grasped the low-placed handle and slid the workshop door open wide.
“I hope you like it,” Joel said softly. He watched as the older man slowly moved forward, drinking in each detail.
Joel had taken care to make the shelves at just the right height and had bought a fine set of tools from Sol Kauffman.
Chet picked up a screwdriver, and his big hand shook. “Too much, buwe. You did too much.”
“You are my fater and have blessed my life with your beautiful daughter. I could never do too much for you.”
Joel stepped forward and put a hand on Chet’s shoulder, only to have it grasped tightly by the other man. It was a moving feeling, and Joel knew a sense of completeness in his soul.
* * *
The Saturday of the spring program dawned bright and clear. Martha took care with her dress, pulling on the fabric of a subtle pumpkin color that brought out the shine of her hair and eyes. And Joel noticed.
He caught her around the waist when she would have put her apron on. “Joel, we have to get ready to geh. Now behave,” she playfully implored.
“Mmmm, I’ll behave . . . exactly the way you need . . . It’ll be no trouble to slip off that delicious dress—I promise.”
His hands were already matching his words, quickly lifting the dress over her head and laying it neatly on the bottom of the bed. He kept his promise despite her faint protests, which quickly turned into soft cries of heated pleasure.
* * *
They were only a bit late to the program, and Joel felt it well worth the struggle to find seats when he could still see the flush of passion on Martha’s cheeks.
He sat next to her and automatically took her hand in his as Bishop Loftus rose to make opening remarks.
He knew that Martha had tried to forget what the man had said and done to her, but it was not easy. But then Joel murmured in her ear, soft words describing how he’d felt less than half an hour before, and he knew she didn’t even notice when the bishop had finished speaking and taken a seat.
Joel had to admit to himself that the teacher, Tabby Stolfus, who was Milly’s mamm, had done an excellent job preparing the kinner to sing and recite. They were sweetly off-key, but Joel loved it all the same.
As he sat, he let his eyes drift over the crowd, thinking about the things that Sebastian had told him. He wondered for the umpteenth time what the angel had meant by Joel leading and then dismissed the thought as he looked at Martha and saw her genuine pleasure in the children and their accomplishments.
* * *
Martha had felt a sourness in her stomach when the bishop had risen to speak, but she had quickly f
orgotten the aulder man when Joel teased gently in her ear.
But now she rejoiced in the children’s reading—following along in her mind with the younger class’s recitations and loving the simple poems that were read as a welcome to spring.
After the program, she and Joel walked slowly home, taking their time, stopping to kiss and kiss again, until she felt as though she sipped fine dandelion wine as she reveled in how much she loved and desired her husband.
Chapter Thirty-Five
There was a fine, misting rain dampening the mountain day, and Martha decided to clean off the back porch, which was a catchall for boots, shoes, fishing gear, and the odd box or so.
Martha found one cardboard box that held a variety of books, and she carried it inside the haus, thinking the books were probably Joel’s. But when she set the box on the kitchen table, she had the strange urge to look through the books, rejoicing in the fact that she could now read most of the titles.
She glanced through the covers, not sure what she sought, but seeking all the same.
Joel came whistling into the kitchen, and she looked up just as her hand brushed the leather spine of a book. It was slender, easily lost between two bigger novels. She took the leather-covered book from the box and examined it more closely. With newfound confidence she opened the cover, finally able to make sense of the words written inside. But what she read there almost caused her to drop the slim volume before she handed it to Joel.
“It may sound strange, but I think that’s Judah’s journal.” She waited expectantly until Joel opened it.
She watched him skim the inside cover and then he smiled at her. “It is. It’s Judah’s.”
He bent and kissed her. “Danki, sweetheart.”
“You’re welcome . . . but I have no idea how it got here.”
Joel shook his dark head. “Actually, I got the books from a pile Bishop Loftus had. He was trying to figure out which ones were appropriate for the school kinner. I grabbed a handful or two of the others he wanted to give away.”
Joel was skimming pages and stopped suddenly. “Listen to this,” Joel choked out. “‘Today I shot Dan Zook as he lay asleep in his bed. It was hard at first to take a life, but I did it to please my master, to show my worth. Auld Dan will geh to heaven anyway, so what does it matter?’”
