by Kelly Long
Stephen smiled at the older woman. “How much to have her—serve me for the evening?” He felt Ella stiffen beneath his arm but didn’t care.
“You’d be making me scramble to get help, young man,” Miss Millie pointed out in a teasing tone.
Stephen saw Mike approaching with a girl on each arm and spoke quickly. “Name your price. I know she’ll be well worth it . . .”
* * *
Ella longed to box his ears, though her lips still stung with the hard caress of his mouth. It was positively degrading and oddly exciting at the same time to listen to his deep voice purchase her time like he was bidding on cattle. But she was oddly sure that his offer of money was based on some plan to keep her out of hand’s reach of the other men.
Finally, Miss Millie was satisfied, and Stephen bent down to nuzzle Ella’s neck and then whisper against her throat, “Where’s your room?”
“On the third floor—it’s hot,” she murmured back, wondering how far he planned to take this game.
“Kumme,” he said simply, pulling her to the ornate staircase. He kept his arm around her waist as they mounted the steps, much to the cheering delight of his fellow firemen.
When they’d gained the second landing, the noise from below had faded and Stephen stepped away from her. She saw, much to her surprise, that his handsome cheeks were flushed with color.
“Look, I apologize for my behavior down there. I have no right to try and control what you do.”
“No, you don’t,” she muttered, then rubbed absently at her rib cage, encased in the blue dress.
“That dress is too tight—among other things.”
She found herself smiling up at him. “Would you promise to turn your back while I change it?”
“Jah,” he said simply.
“Then let’s go to my room.”
He nodded and she let him follow her up the claret-colored carpeted stairs.
She was a bit breathless by the time they’d reached her door. It was hot on the third floor, but she liked the privacy she had there, and the larger room, since nearly all the girls were on the second floor.
She pulled a key on a red ribbon from her bodice and undid the old-fashioned lock. She held the door wide for him to pass and was unprepared for the slight brush of his tanned forearm against her and the sudden onslaught of feeling his light touch produced. But she straightened her spine and closed the door behind her, pausing to press her back against the solid wood. She watched him prowl the confines of the simply wallpapered room like some restless big cat.
“Sit down,” she finally said, indicating the bed. She was frustrated that her voice sounded high and breathy, but she’d never been so intimate with a man, even Jeremy, as to have him sit on her bed. With Jeremy, it had been a deserted boathouse, where the roar of the sea was the only sound. She somehow knew that making love might be drastically different with this Amish man . . .
* * *
Stephen sat down carefully on the soft pile of linens and springy mattress beneath. He let his gaze drift over the gentle female intimacies displayed in the room—Ella’s stockings and garter belt, casually slung over a button back chair, frothy lace peeking from drawers and crocheted doilies on the dresser tops—the trappings of a woman.
“It must seem strange to you,” she said with a note of shyness in her voice.
“What?” he asked.
“All of this.” She gestured with a small hand. “Frivolity. I mean—don’t Amish women live and dress much more simply?”
“They do,” he said slowly. “But every woman has her—secrets.” He savored the word, then stretched out his hands and caught her around the waist, drawing her in to the sprawl of his legs.
He expected some protest, but she moved willingly, and he felt his throat tighten with excitement. He slid his hands tenderly over her belly, then raised them to the first blue button of her dress.
“I thought you’d turn your back,” she whispered.
“You’re not out of the dress yet, siessherz—sweetheart.” He let his fingers ease the second button open, and the high curves of her breasts were revealed. He knew by the throb of a pulse at her throat and the rapid rise and fall of her chest that she was excited. But I’ve got to be a gentleman here . . . She’s pregnant . . . He swallowed hard and dropped his hands to her waist once more as the thought beat around his brain . . . She can’t get any more pregnant . . . It would be so easy . . .
He stood up abruptly, then bent to quickly kiss her mouth, seeking to leave the torture of the soft bed and her soft body, but she teetered on her high heels, then fell fully against him. He found himself on his back in the embracing mattress with Ella sprawled atop him. He couldn’t suppress the groan that came from the back of his throat as she scrambled to get off, but she only made the tight situation worse by sending a shocking knee into his groin.
He literally saw stars, but they soon faded in the lamplight as she hovered close, asking if he was all right, her dark eyes twin secrets of delight. She bent nearer and he arched his neck, unable to do anything else with her mouth in such proximity. The kiss was long and intoxicating. He forgot reserve, restraint, as his fingers cupped her face to position in for his kiss. He was intent on running his tongue across her lips when she suddenly grew pale. He moved fast, sitting up with her and snatching a lined wicker waste bin from the floor just in time.
He rubbed her back and held the escaped loose tendrils of red hair from the mass on her head. When the storm had passed, he handed her his handkerchief, and she wiped her mouth slowly before lifting her head to stare into his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered miserably.
“For being pregnant?” He leaned forward and pressed his lips against the freckles on her pale cheek. “Don’t be.”
After a minute, he eased her down into the bed, carefully arranging the pillows behind her back. “You change that dress and I’ll go get you a drink, all right?”
He watched her nod, then he turned from the bed and headed to the door. It surprised him, how much she shook him. Feelings at core level, primal and deep, always seemed to surface when he was near her. I suppose that’s what love feels like . . . He stopped still on the thick carpet at the striking thought, then pushed it aside, not sure he even knew what love was. He went down the hall to fetch her some fresh water.
* * *
Ella changed into one of her plain gray uniform dresses and, feeling rather tired, lay back on the pillows Stephen had arranged. She became drowsily aware that her door was being eased open and was surprised that Stephen had found her a drink so quickly. She sat up straighter in expectation and nearly screamed aloud when a strange man with slicked-back hair and dark clothes entered the room instead.
* * *
Mitch had found his way through the maze of the big house and tracked down Ella and the fireman. He’d listened at the door to their talk, then ducked into an alcove when the fireman left the room. Then Mitch had moved to open her door—his head pounding with the adrenaline rushing through him.
She was sitting on the bed, looking tired, but her body tensed up as her eyes met his, and he knew she was about to scream.
“Don’t yell—please,” he said, his heart pounding in his throat. “I—I just want to talk.”
“The party is downstairs,” she said coldly, lifting her chin and slowly getting to her feet. “Who are you?”
He admired her tough attitude and again thought about her being pregnant.
“Look, I’ll tell you the truth.” He held up his hands. “Your uncle and step-aunt sent me.”
“Why?” He watched her inch toward the dresser, thinking she probably had some sort of weapon concealed there.
“Don’t—don’t do anything sudden-like, all right? I didn’t know you was pregnant.”
She stared at him. “What difference does it make? Who are you?” she demanded again.
“It don’t matter who or what I am. But you should know that your uncle and aunt—they’re evil and out for
ya. And if they knewed ya were pregnant, why, they’d only be out to git ya more.”
He watched her put a protective hand against her belly as she straightened her shoulders. “So you’re here to take me back to them?”
He wet his lips and said the first truth that came to his mind. “No, but I can’t kill no baby.”
He had no sooner uttered those words than he felt a tremendous blow to the back of his head. As if in slow motion, he fell to the floor, feeling darkness swallow him.
Chapter Eleven
Stephen felt the blood pound in his temples as he stared down at the man he’d just knocked out with the water pitcher he’d been carrying.
“Are you all right?”
Ella nodded, but he saw her ashen color, and he stepped over the unconscious man to open his arms so she could hurry into his embrace.
“I’ve never struck another person,” he confided on a half laugh. “The Amish are supposed to be a peaceful lot, but when I heard him and what he was saying to you . . . I lost control.”
“Should we call the police?” Ella asked him with a shiver as the man started to move.
“Not yet,” Stephen said, moving her carefully away from the stranger. “I want him to talk about your aenti and onkel. He may clam up if we get the police.”
Once Ella was safely on the other side of the room, Stephen hauled the damp man into a chair and waited for him to come around.
It didn’t take long before the man was groaning and clutching his head. But the words he spoke while his eyes were still closed echoed in the room. “The baby—save the baby.”
“You said you came from Ella’s uncle and aunt . . . why?” Stephen watched the man’s eyes slowly focus.
“They paid me to do a job—to kill the girl.”
Stephen struggled to restrain himself as he glanced at Ella, then back to the stranger. Stephen longed to pummel the man again but needed more information.
“I set the fire at the boardinghouse and saw you bring her down the ladder.”
“That’s arson and attempted murder—federal crimes,” Stephen bit out.
“I know . . . but I couldn’t kill no baby. I was there that night on the road by the pond . . . that Lester Pike—he told me things about God . . . Anyways, I’m done. Turn me in.”
Stephen looked at Ella. “Is there anything else you want to know?”
“Yes . . . My aunt and uncle want me killed . . . Is it—about the letter and the will I took from my uncle’s study?”
The man nodded his head. “Yeah . . . I think so . . . And I know they won’t stop—even if I go in the slammer. They won’t stop, and there’s no place you can hide from them.”
“I know a place,” Stephen said grimly “I know a place where you and the baby will be safe . . .”
PART II
ICE MOUNTAIN, 1958
Chapter Twelve
The filtered sunlight of a summer’s afternoon cast both shadow and light on Ella’s face as she sat on the wagon seat next to Stephen. They were headed away from Coudersport, high up into the mountains, on a road that had long since ceased to be macadam.
“What will they say? What will they think of me being pregnant?” Ella knew that her questions had increased the closer they got to what Stephen called the Ice Mine, but he merely focused on the reins of the wagon, handling them with easy dexterity, and gave her what she considered to be a forced smile from his beautiful mouth. When he spoke, his words were measured. “You’ll be safe, Ella, and Joel Umble—the spiritual leader of the community—is my friend.”
“How long has it been since you’ve seen him?” She was nervous, but her temperament made her curious as well. “Did he stick by you when—when they thought you had killed someone?”
She watched him lower his dark head, then finally lift his chin to stare straight ahead at the road. “Jah, Joel did . . . and Martha, his wife. But—my family did not.”
“I’m sorry,” she said instantly. “I know how that must have felt. My own family, after my father died, turned against me . . . My uncle was . . . cruel, to say the least, but to think he wants to kill me . . . I still don’t understand.”
She felt Stephen’s sharp gaze. “How was he cruel?”
Ella blinked back unexpected tears at the tenderness behind the question and allowed her thoughts to unwind a bit from the tightly held ball she’d kept locked up inside. “I grew up in Cape May, New Jersey—it’s a beautiful seaside town full of old Victorian houses . . . I was raised in one called the Sea Glass Castle, or the Glass Castle for short. It was a truly beautiful place with lots of nooks and crannies to hide and read in, and the ocean was only five minutes’ walk away . . . My uncle and step-aunt always coveted the place. They tried to buy it from my father many times, but he would never sell—and then my father died when I was seventeen, and they—they managed to take the house and my father’s money because I was underage and they were on good terms with a local judge. I lost my home . . . I guess that’s how he was cruel.”
“I’m sorry, Ella,” Stephen said softly. “You do understand what it’s like to lose family . . . What about your mamm?”
“My mother died when I was born. And—and your dad?”
She heard him sigh briefly; then he shot her a sideways glance. “My fater died when I was young—a hunting accident. My mother and her sister raised me, but they were—are—bitter women, and I ran wild in the woods most of the time to avoid their venom. I tried to love them—and maybe I do in some small way. But when I was accused of murder—well, they had more to say about me than other folks who didn’t even know me well . . . It was as if suddenly I could see the truth about what they really thought. I couldn’t stand it any longer—so I left the mountain.”
“And now you’re going back to all that—for me?” She reached impulsively to touch his hands on the reins. “Oh, Stephen, turn back around! I’ll find another way. I don’t want you to be hurt because of me.”
He looked square at her then, his now-green eyes intense with something she couldn’t fathom. He cleared his throat, then spoke hoarsely. “Danki, Ella, for thinking of me . . . but around this bend in the road is the Ice Mine and the little house where they sell tickets to visit the place in the summer . . . And I don’t want to turn back—it’s a small enough hurt to face to comfort and keep you safe—remember . . . we’re friends.” His long fingers stroked her own, and then she slid her hand away and nodded.
“All right . . . I remember. Friends.”
* * *
The scent of the mountain is the first thing that hits you . . . full of richness and mystery and hope . . . Stephen thrust these thoughts away, not wanting to dwell on the beauty of the place where he was raised—it hurt—and he didn’t want Ella to see how much returning to Ice Mountain shook him. He turned the horse into the Ellises’ stock pen as Mr. Ellis, a jovial Englischer who was a great friend to the Amish, came out to assist Ella down, then turned to help Stephen unhitch.
“It’s been a while, son. Heard you were working in Coudersport as a firefighter.”
Stephen nodded. “Thought I’d take a little break . . .”
Mr. Ellis cast Ella a smiling glance as she stood with her dress blowing and pressed against her in the slight mountain breeze. “You’ve been busy, Stephen. Do you know when you two are due to deliver?”
Stephen turned and looked at her, and the thought hit him like a lightning bolt. He thinks Ella’s baby is mine . . . Maybe it would be best for everyone on the mountain to think the same . . . He sought Ella’s dark eyes but found no answer there, and he wet his lips before he answered Mr. Ellis. “Busy enough, sir. But I’m not much on dates of delivery—better to just let things happen as they come.”
Mr. Ellis clapped him on the shoulder. “Now that’s a good answer, son! Do you both have time to see the mine before you head home? The icicles are nearly full grown.”
Stephen didn’t look at Ella this time but shook his head. “Nee, danki. The hike up the mountain w
ill be long for her . . . We’ll stop on our way down sometime.”
“Good enough.” Mr. Ellis briskly started to talk price on putting up the horse and Stephen concentrated on the business and didn’t realize when Ella walked away.
* * *
Ella was enchanted by the beautiful little white house and attached gift shop. Apparently, many traveled during the summer to see the mine. But an ice mine in late spring or summer? It sounded strange to her, almost miraculous. She took a deep breath of the fragrant air and thought that it seemed like home somehow, then she wandered along the brief path to admire the fern-filled side of the mountain.
“They only grow here, you know.”
She whirled to find Stephen close behind her, and she laughed. “Ooh, you scared me. What only grow here, the ferns?”
“Yep. Folks from all over have tried to cultivate them elsewhere, but this variety only thrives on Ice Mountain.”
“I can understand why—the air is so full and rich. It reminds me of the sea somehow . . . May we see inside the mine?”
She watched him nod, but sensed that it was something he’d rather not do and quickly changed her mind. “Oh, Stephen, maybe sometime later—I’m sorry. How far is it to your community?”
He smiled then, a flash of white teeth and a stray dimple appearing beside his mouth. She forgot what Jeremy looked like, what any man had ever looked like, as she gazed up into his blue-green eyes, shot through with sunlight. “You want to see the mine—kumme. We’ll have a quick look.”
He took her hand, and she thrilled to his long fingers twining gently through her own and followed him to what seemed to be a thick wooden door, set in the side of the mountain. He lifted the wooden bar across the latch, and a blast of cold air burst forth from within. Ella shivered in delight. He turned up a lantern and held it high as he scooped her close beside him. She wasn’t sure if it was the palatial display of ice or his nearness that made her heart thump with delight, but suddenly, most assuredly, she had found a place that rivaled the beauty of the sea.
“Oh,” she said on a sigh as she gazed at the magnificent, crystal clear ice. “It’s like sea glass.”
