by Kelly Long
“Nee . . . I mean, jah. Go ahead, but she may kick. Cleo gets particular when lambing doesn’t go right.”
He nodded as Jack gave a conspiratorial squawk, clearly in favor of a kicking Cleo. But now Ransom focused on the ewe, ignoring the parrot on his shoulder as he tried to help the lambing process move in the right direction.
* * *
Beth clasped her hands in her muddy lap as she watched Ransom gentle Cleo with soft, soothing sounds from the back of his throat. Then he was carefully undoing the muddle of the baby lambs.
“Jah, twins,” he murmured. “And all I’ve got to do is figure out which legs are which.”
Beth waited and pulled long leaves from the cornstalks to create a makeshift bed for the lambs as he brought them into proper position and then moved aside to let nature have its way. Cleo delivered the twins in quick succession and then lay down on her side in preparation for nursing.
“It usually takes a gut half hour for a lamb to nurse,” Ransom said, and Beth nodded, watching him wipe his hands in the mud. She did the same after a moment, knowing the rich earth had more healthy bacteria in it than one could imagine and was a good substitute when water wasn’t available.
“Where did you get the parrot?” Beth asked, breaking the silence as she caught him studying her with some sort of speculation in his dark eyes.
Ransom smiled, and she thought how impossibly handsome he was as she struggled to hold his gaze. “It’s a long story, but the more important question is, why aren’t you at the blueberry frolic?”
She did look down then, twining her muddy fingers together. “Viola thought that Cleo might lamb, and she was right. I’m glad I was here,” she said simply. Then she looked up. “Wh–why aren’t you there yourself?”
“Family business, now finished, I hope. Anyway . . . why don’t you geh home and wash up and change? I’ll do the same and then we’ll go to the frolic. It’s not too late.”
“But what about Cleo?” Beth protested, though her heart was beating fast. Stop being foolish, she admonished herself. He’s only offering you a ride and not suggesting that you geh together—together. . . . Still, her mind whispered, no one—no man—has ever suggested any such thing before....
Ransom waved a hand toward the ewe and her lambs. “I’ll head back to the house, take the parrot with me, and return with the wagon. I’ll pick up Cleo and the twins and bring them over to your barn, safe and sound. What do you say?”
Beth found his questioning smile contagious. “All right.” She mentally thumbed through her chores for the day, then reassured herself that Viola would surely be glad she had been able to go berrying after all. She started to struggle in the mud to get to her feet when she found herself lifted from the ground as though she weighed nothing more than thistledown. She stared up at Ransom and watched in fascination as he swiped a long finger across the mud on her cheek, then wiped his hand down the front of his green shirt.
“Well, Beth Mast, we make quite a pair, wouldn’t you say?”
She nodded, then smiled with the heady feeling that bubbles were popping in her throat. “Jah . . . a pair.”
Chapter Six
Ransom bathed hurriedly and pulled on a light blue shirt. He’d already taken the wagon and settled Cleo and the lambs in the Mast barn, and now he hoped that Aenti Ruth would be napping in the family room.
He tiptoed past Aenti Ruth, asleep in his daed’s favorite chair. The posse of hounds lay in various comedic poses at the auld woman’s feet. Old Jack was drowsing atop the birdcage, and Petunia snored and sighed. All I have to do is get past her without making a single—“Wheek! Wheek!”
Ransom nearly jumped out of his skin. He’d forgotten the miserable guinea pig! And now the entire rabble was chorusing together. Aenti Ruth opened her blue eyes and fixed him with a grim look. “Going out, young man?”
Ransom came forward, bent to pet the smallest hound, and nearly lost a finger in the process. “Foul beast!”
“Not so,” Aenti Ruth said easily. “No one likes to be shaken from their sleep, but now that we’re all up—where are you off to?”
“Uh—just to the berrying frolic—probably a lot of bugs . . .”
“Gut,” Aenti Ruth declared. “The dogs like to bite the occasional bee in half—poor creatures. We’ll kumme.”
Ransom closed his eyes briefly against the image of Aenti Ruth and company joining the blueberry frolic. And what will Beth Mast say? He pushed this last thought aside without stopping to think why, and then set about cajoling Aenti Ruth into changing her mind.
In the end, a triumphant chorus of animals and bird alike heralded his passage on the road to get Beth, and he felt a headache begin to pulse behind his eyes.
“Why you were ever stuck on that redheaded Mast twit is beyond me.” Aenti Ruth’s comment intruded on his head pain, but he had to smile.
“Rose? I was a kid and, as I told Beth recently, the girl is a brat.”
“Beth cannot say boo to her own shadow,” Aenti Ruth grumbled, and Ransom turned to look at her sideways while he held the reins with ease. “At least that was the way she was the last time I visited.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said easily. “Sometimes it’s the smallest creatures who have the most dangerous bite.”
“A ha!” Aenti Ruth grinned. “You like her.”
“Like her! Liiike her!” Jack mocked, and Ransom wondered how best to kill a parrot without leaving any evidence.
“Of course I like her. She was the other attendant at Jeb and Lucy’s wedding.”
“Which gave you proper time to develop an interest,” Aenti Ruth said with smug assurance.
Ransom decided that the best course of action was to remain silent. He knew that Aenti Ruth meant no harm and probably had no way of knowing about his past....
* * *
Beth bit her lip in brief indecision as she glanced at the meager selection of dresses in the chest at the foot of her bed. She finally drew a breath and reached below some of the carefully mended pieces to lift up a sweet blue garment. She’d never worn it before and, in truth, had forgotten about it until now. She’d stitched the dress from a bolt of fabric that Rose said she didn’t want because it did not geh well with her hair, and Viola hadn’t wanted it either. So, it had been given to Beth. She hoped her stepmother would be pleased that she had done something useful with the fabric.
Beth hurried to change and then glanced in the small mirror above her dresser. She saw that even her white prayer kapp had not escaped Cleo’s lambing and was splattered with mud. Beth took another from the top drawer of her dresser and hastily redid a few hairpins before fitting the kapp into place. “There,” she said aloud, and Thumbelina meowed his approval. Beth smiled and headed back down the loft ladder to the kitchen.
Viola and Rose had asked her to pack a picnic lunch for them for the blueberry frolic, and now she realized she needed a basket of her own. And maybe Ransom will share . . . She giggled aloud at the absurd thought, then realized there was no harm in pretending she was preparing a lunch for the two of them. She had very keen ideas about what should geh into a picnic dinner, though Viola and Rose preferred the traditional fried chicken and cold salads. Beth, on the other hand, decided on fresh bread and pimento cheese, purple grapes from the arbor, little paper-wrapped cones of almonds, and a bottle of fresh lemonade. She hastily added linen napkins to the other cutlery, then snapped the lid closed on the basket. The sound of hoofbeats on the dirt road could be heard passing the window and Beth grabbed the basket, bid Thumbelina goodbye, and hurried outside, anxious not to keep Ransom waiting.
Beth had seen a circus once as a young child, and as she stood on the bottom step of the porch, she thought she was seeing one again. She stared in fascination at the moving image of the Kings’ wagon, with Ransom and his Aenti Ruth riding on the high seat with a large pink pig sitting between them. Ransom looked grim, but Aenti Ruth seemed to be having a gut time with the now-familiar green parrot on her shoulder. A strange combina
tion of sounds came from the vehicle, and Beth was trying to sort out the noises when the wagon ground to a halt as Ransom set the brake hard.
Beth watched him jump down from the high seat and walk toward her. Somehow, she felt as if his dark eyes drank in her person, and she knew she flushed, as was becoming a habit when near him.
“Your dress is beautiful.” He said the words softly to her, and Beth nodded her thanks, unsure of how to respond to such praise. She had always been taught to guard against vanity. Then Ransom gave her a stiff bow and extended his hand. “Milady of the blueberry blue dress . . . your carriage awaits.”
* * *
Ransom was torn between irritation and an odd sense of fun as he led Beth to the wagon of mayhem, but he gave in to the humor as he felt Beth’s hand in his and stopped a few steps from handing her up.
“Beth Mast, sei se gut allow me to introduce my—extended family. Great-Aenti Ruth, I believe you know from past visits. That shoulder-perching pal of a parrot is Old Jack. And Petunia the pink pig will not gladly surrender her seat to you, but she does like to give snout kisses. The three hounds hanging from the back are Matthew, Mark, and Luke—Matthew bites. The tailless fur ball in the birdcage is Pig—just Pig, don’t ask me why. Have I missed anyone, Aenti Ruth? Hmmm?”
Ransom laughed in the face of the daggers that flew at him from the keen old blue eyes.
“I believe, Ransom King, that you may accompany Petunia in the back of the wagon and Beth shall drive.” Aenti Ruth’s tone dared him to contradict.
“Liiiike her! Like her!” Old Jack mocked, and Ransom frowned, wishing he might toss Aenti Ruth and the parrot into the back with the hay, but instead he smiled good-naturedly.
“All right, Beth . . . Can you manage Benny and the reins?”
Beth nodded, looking confused, and he concentrated on handing her up into the wagon. Then he swung into the back and unceremoniously grabbed Petunia and hauled the protesting pig into his lap.
“Ladies,” he called over the barking, squealing, wheeking, and squawking. “Let’s geh to the blueberry frolic—I’m sure it will be one that none of us shall ever forget!”
Chapter Seven
Beth focused on the reins between her fingers, feeling rather nervous of Aenti Ruth’s closeness. The last time she had met the auld lady had been about two years before, when there’d been a community picnic. Aenti Ruth had demanded fresh lemonade, fresher than what was being served, and Beth had gone to make it with pleasure.
Now, Beth nearly jumped on the wagon seat as Aenti Ruth laid a bony hand on her knee and leaned close to speak above the noise of the animals.
“You’ve become more beautiful, child, since I saw you last.”
Beth smiled uncomfortably. Beautiful? What is it to feel beautiful and not hollow inside? Not to feel separate and naked?
Aenti Ruth gave her knee a sharp tap. “Feeling beautiful comes from an inner knowledge, Beth Mast, though I doubt you’ve ever been given a chance to cultivate such thoughts.” She sighed and withdrew her hand. “Still, you’re a gut girl, and there’s something to be said for that.”
“Danki,” Beth murmured, feeling confused and wanting to change the subject. She felt as if Aenti Ruth’s words were stones thrown at unbreakable glass, and she refused to drink them in. “Your—animals are unique.”
“Ach . . . not animals—family. Family! I nearly lost my mind when my dog John had to be put to rest. He had an enlarged heart, but he was a faithful buwe to the end.”
Beth smiled. “I love my cat, Thumbelina, the same way. He’s a Maine coon.”
“Beautiful,” Aenti Ruth said, nodding her bonneted head.
“Here we are,” Ransom called, breaking into their conversation over the skirmishing sounds in the air.
Beth pulled gently on the reins and crossed the short wooden bridge that led to Stout’s Hollow on the east side of Ice Mountain. The cool, shady place, so right for blueberries to grow, soon enveloped them in the heady scents of summer.
Beth eased Benny into a shady spot, and she noticed that Ransom was out of the wagon in an instant, taking the reins from her and tying them on to a low-hanging branch. She watched as he swung Aenti Ruth to the ground and then turned to look up at her.
“And now our fair driver.” He reached strong arms up and caught her waist, and, before she could protest that she was too heavy, he’d lifted her down with a warm smile.
Beth swallowed, touched by his expression. But then she bit her lip. Maybe Viola was more than right in saying she had no experience with men, for certainly Ransom was simply being kind—as he would be to any girl. And, as if to prove her unspoken thought correct, two girls Beth knew from church meetings came up to the wagon, smiling at Ransom, twisting their kapp strings and talking in a manner that was alien to Beth.
“Ach, Ransom, will you kumme and share our picnic sei se gut?” one girl pleaded, reaching to touch his sleeve.
“Well, I’d normally love to, girls, but I must settle my aenti and see my mother for a moment.”
Beth thought his dark eyes danced with merriment, so that he really did look as though he was promising the girls something.
“Jah, Ransom,” the other girl cooed. “We surely have the sweetest place to sit—right by the creek.”
Beth looked at the ground, then snapped up her head when Aenti Ruth cleared her throat. “Leave with what little humility you possess, you twits. Ransom is engaged in unloading my animals.”
“Liiike her. Liike her!” Old Jack crowed, then flew to sit on Beth’s shoulder.
The girls frowned, but then walked off giggling, and Beth heard Aenti Ruth tsk at their lack of modesty. “Ransom, if you spend your time with the likes of those creatures, you surely will geh down a peg in my estimation.”
Beth said nothing but noticed that Ransom didn’t speak either. Well, why should he deny it? He’s handsome—they’re pretty. Like likes like, after all.... She resolutely lifted her chin, then wondered if she was simply being too self-involved. Old Jack seemed to feel her mood shift because he sidled down her shoulder and plucked at one of her kapp strings. She laughed out loud and felt her good humor renewed.
* * *
Ransom frowned as he began to hoist the animals out of the back of the wagon. He grew tired of the virtual attacks of the women in the community. At least Beth was demure, though he knew she had a temper as well. He half-shook his head, berating himself for even thinking about Beth. She doesn’t matter. No girl will ever matter again....
Yet he couldn’t help but admire the gentle downward stroke of her lashes as she accepted her picnic basket from him, and he had a vague idea that he might like to see what she looked like after having been thoroughly kissed.
“Liiike her!” Old Jack squawked, but Ransom ignored the bird and put a hand on Aenti Ruth’s elbow, only to have it immediately brushed aside. “I’m not some two-toed sloth that has to be led across the field, buwe! I geh at my own pace.”
“Jah,” he muttered and glanced at Beth, only to see a faint smile playing at the corners of her pink lips. It made him smile too, and he handed off the hounds’ leashes to his aenti and leaned close to Beth.
“Do you too geh at your own pace?” he asked softly. “Or may I take your arm?”
“I—”
“Ransom!” Aenti Ruth crowed. “There’s your mother coming, and you know she’s only going to fuss. Head her off with Petunia, who’ll probably eat from everyone’s plate anyway!”
Ransom reluctantly obeyed, moving from Beth’s side to put Petunia on the ground. The pig immediately took off, leaving faint screams and scuffles in her wake. Ransom watched his mamm stand, obviously torn between the pig and the advancing human pit viper, and realized he’d now have a chance to talk to Beth alone. But when he turned, he found her gone. He scanned the groups of picnickers and Amish women with blueberry baskets on their arms and finally located Beth with her stepmother. It looks like Beth is being lectured . . . naturally. . . .
H
e edged closer and ran full tilt into a feminine body. He looked down at the red-haired girl in his arms and stifled a groan. Rose Mast . . . and she looks like a cat ready to have Old Jack for dinner....
* * *
“Really, Beth . . . I cannot think what came over you—arriving at the frolic in a wagon, with Ransom King and that aenti of his . . . and that dress . . .” Viola picked sharply at Beth’s sleeve. “Why, this blue is hardly your color, my dear.”
Beth felt her eyes fill with tears. She’d been so sure Viola would be glad she’d done something worthwhile with the castoff fabric. “Perhaps you’re right, Viola,” she murmured. “I–I suppose I could have used the fabric for quilt squares or something. . . .” Beth ruthlessly squashed the memory of Ransom telling her the dress was beautiful and felt like running home.
“Well, you’re here now . . .” Viola spoke in measured tones. “You might as well geh and pick enough berries for jam. You won’t have time for that lunch basket, so hand it to me, sei se gut. I can hardly think what got into your head . . .”
Beth gave Viola her lunch basket in exchange for an empty picking basket. She drew a deep breath and nodded in agreement with her stepmother. “Jah, Viola—I’ll geh and start picking the berries.”
She bent her head and walked away toward the laden bushes, choosing to move a distance from the happy young people gathered. She was wishing vaguely for Lucy’s company when she heard Rose’s light laughter. Beth saw her stepsister standing near Ransom. She couldn’t see his face, but he appeared to be listening intently to everything Rose was saying, and Beth turned away, unsure as to why she felt such frustration at the sight.
But she shook off the thought and concentrated on picking berries. There was a certain knack to picking blueberries—they hung on the bushes in bunches like grapes, and Beth knew the secret for getting the ripest ones. She held her basket in one hand under the berries and with her other hand, she cupped a bunch and gently rubbed them with her fingers. The ripe berries dropped into her basket while the unripe ones remained attached to the bush.