by Kelly Long
Aenti Ruth made a brisk remark halfway through the small meal. “Well, my dear Beth, it seems that the family is fond of you. Matthew, Mark, and Luke have not even tried to beg a crust from you. And, as I’ve said before, I only wish you could have met John. I still miss him dearly.”
“Ach, I know,” Beth said with warmth. “I thought of you and prayed for you the other night, thinking about you missing John.”
Beth was surprised to see tears glimmer in the old woman’s sharp blue eyes. Aenti Ruth cleared her throat.
“Well, my dear, thank you very much. It’s not often that young people will take time to think about their elders, especially elders who are being sentimental. So, let’s change the subject . . . I bet some of you young folks don’t know the folklore surrounding the blueberries we spent so much time picking yesterday.”
“Oh, that sounds interesting,” Beth said with a smile.
“Gut. I’m glad to have your pretty ears, my dear.” Aenti Ruth adjusted herself more comfortably in her chair. “The blueberry has what is referred to as a calyx at the top of the berry, and the calyx has five points, which resemble a star. The American Indians called them ‘star berries’ and believed they flourished in order to provide sustenance for their people. The Native Americans also used the blueberries for medicinal purposes. The roots of the blueberry bush were soaked in hot water and the resulting tea was considered to feed the blood and help to reduce the pain of childbirth.”
“I never knew,” Beth murmured.
“It’s fascinating really,” Aenti Ruth said meditatively. “Ransom, are you listening?”
Beth glanced at Ransom, only to find him apparently studying her own person, and she looked away quickly.
Aenti Ruth muttered, “Hmmm. . . . Well, the blueberry juice was also used as a natural dye. The Native Americans made baskets and cloth they wanted to tint and the natural blueberry dye was ideal. Many of the blueberries that were collected ended up being dried and stored. Crushed, dried blueberries were often used as a dry rub for meat.”
“Mmm,” Beth heard Ransom say with a laugh in his throat. “Blueberry brisket.”
Beth swallowed, wondering suddenly with a piercing intensity what it would be like to be married to him and to try out different recipes for his pleasure. It was a tantalizing thought....
* * *
Ransom was admiring Beth’s profile as some of her shyness melted away and she talked and laughed with Aenti Ruth and Esther. He realized that she was someone to share life’s secret joys and laughter with—but then he harshly cut into his own thoughts.... Not for someone like you, Ransom . . . Never again . . . He shifted when Beth suddenly sat up straight on the couch, nearly dislodging Petunia in the process.
“Ach, my,” Beth exclaimed. “I’ve got to get home before Vi—”
Ransom watched her honest face as she paused, but Aenti Ruth stamped her cane imperiously on the floor. “It’s not right that a young maedel not be able to kumme and geh and have a bit of freedom!”
“Ach, nee, Aenti Ruth,” Beth murmured. “It’s my fault. I forgot the time. But, danki for the history of the blueberry—I’ve never heard it before.”
Beth got to her feet carefully, seemingly anxious not to upset the animals, and made polite gutbyes to everyone. She was walking to the front door, and Ransom realized she had no expectation that he would walk her home, which made him all the more eager to do so. But then he heard the voice begin again inside his soul . . . Stay away from her . . . You’ll only hurt and destroy the goodness she has . . .
Still, he caught up with her at the door, and she smiled shyly at him.
“I’ll walk you back.” He kept his voice casual and watched her visibly relax.
“Ach . . . danki,” she murmured.
They set out through the riotous green of summer and he struggled for a moment to find something to say. After a long pause, as he slowed his steps to match hers, he spoke softly. “So, Aenti Ruth can be quite . . . entertaining.”
“Ach, she can indeed,” Beth agreed. “You’re blessed to have her in your life.”
“Well, that’s one way of looking at it.”
“No, I mean truly . . . Sometimes it’s nice to have someone to talk to . . . it can get lonely—”
She broke off, and he slanted her a sideways look. “I’m not in the market for keeping away loneliness, Beth.”
He saw her blush, but she shook her head just the same. “Sometimes, do–do you get lonely?”
“Well—” Ransom blew out a short breath. “That’s sort of a loaded question. In truth, there have been a lot of times I’ve, uh, sought out . . . well, never mind. Let’s just say that I’ve tried to get past the loneliness, but I think I deserve it.”
“You deserve it?” Her tone was one of amazement.
“Forget I said that.”
“Ne–nee . . . I want to know why someone like you would ever feel that way.”
He laughed wryly. “Someone like me? What delusion are you laboring under, Beth Mast? You think I’m some perfect person? I’m not even whole inside. . . .”
“Wh–what do you mean?”
“Nothing. Just drop it . . .”
He heard her suck in a breath and clenched his jaw, not wanting to see if he’d made her cry. Idiot ... why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut?
“Maybe you’re not the only one . . .” she murmured.
“What did you say?”
They stopped at the front of her haus and he suddenly really wanted to hear her response. But she scampered up the steps and then turned quickly to give him a brisk wave.
He lifted a hand in return, feeling he’d missed something but unable to identify the sensation of loss. He turned around and started back toward home, wondering what she’d meant.
Chapter Thirteen
Beth knew she was being secretive—spending time with Ransom and his family—but she wanted to keep the afternoon to herself and prayed that Gott would forgive her for wanting to hurry to get home before Viola and Rose might notice she had gone.
And because Beth knew that Rose and Viola were sure to arrive home anytime, she set about making a gut supper for them. She hastily pulled a heavy cast-iron frying pan down from its nail on the wall, then put it on the cookstove. She had the fried potatoes well-seasoned and browning nicely in the pan and idly stood eating the remains of a sweet banana bread when the back door squeaked open.
Beth turned with a ready smile, her heart beating a bit anxiously, and called out a gay greeting.
But Viola had a frown on her face, as did Rose, and Beth felt her heart plummet.
Viola stalked to the clean kitchen table and very carefully drew from behind her back a man’s straw hat, which she placed on the old wood.
“A man’s hat, Beth. Left on the porch. Do you know who it belongs to?”
Beth wet her lips. Ransom must have left it by mistake . . . “I–I—” She straightened her spine. “It’s Ransom King’s. He stopped and gave me a hand with the blueberry sauce.”
“Indeed?” Viola’s eyes glittered and Beth held her breath.
“Well, we must return his hat to him, Rose, mustn’t we? Now, Beth, my dear, please come and sit down for a moment while the potatoes cook.”
Beth moved with halting steps, feeling anxious at what was coming and slid onto the bench at the table, noting that Rose did the same with a sulky air.
“Beth,” Viola began, “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
Beth folded her hands in front of her and looked at Viola, while Rose seemed uninterested.
“Jah, Viola?”
“You know that your dear fater left us very little money except, of course, for the money we earn on the sheep farm.”
Beth nodded, unsure of the feelings she had about who it was who actually did the labor on the farm. What am I thinking? Uncharitable and mean thoughts about my own family? But there was some tiny niggle of feeling deep inside her that said perhaps the truth was not always as it ap
peared....
“Beth, since Rose will most likely marry soon, she will need more things, pretty things, for her hope chest, and we simply do not have the extra money.”
“Rose is marrying?” Beth asked in confusion.
“Of course, you silly girl. Why, Ransom King is always seeking her out—it is only a matter of time until he asks to court her! Why, I imagine it was she that he sought today when he stopped in.”
“Oh . . .” Beth murmured, her thoughts about Ransom in a turmoil. Plump fool that I am . . .
“In any case, I’ve decided that you shall run a pie stand to sell to the Englischers who are staying in the summer cabins over on the far side of Ice Mountain. I’ve already gained Bishop Umble’s approval.”
“A—pie stand?” Beth felt her natural shyness cause an ache in her stomach.
“That’s what I said—and the profits shall be used for Rose’s hope chest. Now, you can begin tomorrow and bake an assortment of pies tonight before bed. You may use the wagon to transport the pies over yonder each morning. I only expect you to work at the stand for a few hours, and then come back to do your normal chores.”
“What shall I put the pies on?” Beth asked, beginning to feel swallowed by the amount of work she was expected to achieve each day.
“You and Rose may walk over to the Kings’ woodshop and ask if they might kumme and put up a little stand—I’m perfectly willing to pay for it, of course.”
“Jah, Viola,” Beth murmured, her usual anxiousness to please her stepmother somehow not quite outweighing her thoughts of work. Yet, perhaps Gott has given me the extra work to keep my mind from foolishly straying to Ransom . . .
* * *
Ransom was in the woodshop, talking with his daed, when Beth and Rose came over in the dusk of the evening. Going outside to greet them, he saw that Beth was holding her hands behind her back while Rose stood primly beside her stepsister, carrying a man’s Amish hat.
Great, Ransom thought. Just great. I left my hat over there and now Beth’s family will know I visited her....
“We’re only to stay a few moments, Ransom,” Rose said with a faintly simpering frown at Beth. “Mother wanted to see if you might come over to the far side of the mountain tomorrow and build a little pie stand. We need to increase our income, don’t we, Beth?”
“Jah.” Beth nodded, staring straight ahead.
Ransom felt like wringing Rose’s neck when she teasingly put his hat back on his head. He straightened the brim and looked once more at Beth. “And I take it that you will work this pie stand, Beth?”
But before Beth could reply, Rose gave a faint cry and collapsed in a heap on the ground at his feet. He bent automatically to lift her into a sitting position, and Beth scrambled to try to help.
“Ach . . . Rose!”
Beth was very clearly concerned, but even in the fading light, Ransom had seen Rose’s eyelids flutter a bit as soon as he’d touched her. So he drew Rose up on wobbly legs, then put a purposeful foot lightly on her right insole.
Rose snapped to a straight stance. “Ouch! Ransom King, you are the clumsiest—I mean, how clumsy of me . . . Ach, Beth, I’m glad you’re strong so I can lean on you on the way home.”
Ransom resisted the urge to step on her other foot and instead moved close to Beth and caught her chin in his hand, much to his own surprise. “Your—uh—kapp string needs straightening.” And with gentle fingers, he touched the white string and brushed the soft curve of her cheek. He was aware of both girls’ eyes upon him but didn’t care at the moment. He wanted to convey to Beth that he cared for her . . . That I care for her? What am I thinking? I’d only ruin her life, choke it from her . . .
He moved his hand from her face and offered his fingers to Rose in a brief salute. “Tell your mamm I’ll be over there bright and early to set up the stand.” He waved them off into the gloaming, cursing hard against his own irrational desire to kiss Beth good night.
* * *
“Well, Beth, you are a clever minx,” Rose said irritably as they headed out onto the main path.
Beth glanced at her stepsister. “Likely you’re still feeling poorly, Rose dear. We’ll geh home and I’ll make you some tea.”
“I don’t want any tea, but I do want you to know that any interest Ransom King shows in you is based on pity—not feelings of the heart.”
Beth swallowed hard to keep the tears from filling her eyes; she resolutely clung to the belief that Rose was overwrought and tired. She didn’t want to imagine what Rose meant about pity, though her self-aware mind whispered that it had something to do with her weight.
“You needn’t worry, Rose. I don’t expect I’ll have much time to speak to Ransom in the future, what with the new pie stand and all.”
“I was never worried, Beth. Simply pointing out a fact.” And Rose flicked irritably at one of Beth’s kapp strings.
This time, Beth allowed her tears to fall....
* * *
Beth was dreaming, terrorized by the familiar scene playing out before her eyes. Her mind caught each sound, each word, and then she touched her father’s arm . . . The horse screaming, the lurching pitch and then she was thrown free . . . always free . . . But I don’t want to be . . . I don’t want to be.... I’m not free inside . . . I deserve to be punished . . . Deserve to be unloved. . . .
Chapter Fourteen
Beth stood alongside the makeshift pie stand and felt perspiration run down her back. She had been up since midnight baking pies, and then, because it was so early and Ransom had not come yet to make her pie stand, she’d tied off Teddy, the family’s horse, to a convenient branch, and was prepared to sell out of the back of the wagon. She could see the row of cabins in the near distance and studied them briefly for any sign of awakening. The cabins were rustic, similar in style to the Amish homes but varied in size. Bright swimming towels were hung casually over front porch railings, evidence of creek wading, and fishing rods were also to be seen in abundance. Beth wondered briefly at the lives of the Englisch who rented the Amish-owned cabins for the summer months, but then her thoughts turned toward home.
She had not realized that the family’s money situation was as bad as Viola had said, and she felt guilty for the faint rumblings of feeling she had inside that said Rose might have gotten up to help bake as well. “You’re getting mean, my fine miss,” she whispered, waiting for someone to kumme to the wagon.
Then a child’s plaintive wail cut across the hill from one of the cabins. Beth saw one of the doors fly open and a harassed-looking woman step out onto the porch. Kinner tumbled behind her like so many puppies, and when she saw Beth, she made a beeline straight for the wagon.
Beth listened as the Englisch woman practically shouted over the voices of her children. “Do you have any apple pie? They need something for breakfast!”
Beth indicated the three apple pies she had. “I have one lattice top and two with crumb topping.”
The woman considered a wad of dollar bills in her hand. “How much are they?”
Beth glanced at the four children and back to the tired-looking mother. “Two for seven or four dollars each.”
“I’ll take two,” the woman decided, smiling with apparent relief at the reasonable cost.
Beth watched them head back across the grass in relative silence now that the kinner had the prospect of food and told herself that Gott wouldn’t mind if she didn’t make as much profit on some folks’ purchases when her pies could make children happy.
Later, after she had done a rather brisk trade despite her shyness, she had only two pies left—a pecan and a strawberry rhubarb—when she heard a sudden rustling from the narrow path behind her. She tensed, wondering who it might be. She expected that someone Amish would emerge from the woods, but instead, it was a lanky, older Englischer, carrying a fishing pole, with a cigarette clamped between his lips. Beth met his eyes and for some reason felt a shiver of fear slide down her back.
The man stopped to grind out the cigare
tte with a booted heel directly in front of the makeshift stand and looked down at her with a faint grin.
“Am—ish girl. Kinda pretty too. I’ll take that pecan pie.”
“Thank you,” Beth whispered, feeling her heart begin to pound with nervousness. The cabins across the hill suddenly seemed very quiet and she realized how alone she was.
His grin widened. “Scared as a rabbit, ain’t ya?”
Beth thought about running into the woods behind her, but she knew that would not help. The man might follow . . .
She swallowed hard and straightened her spine. “Go away.” Her voice came out in a thready squeak and she felt herself begin to shake.
The man laughed, then reached out to put a rough hand on her shoulder. “How’s about a little kiss?”
“How about you get going down this mountain before I shove that pie and my fist down your throat?”
Beth jumped and turned at the sound of Ransom’s voice. Neither she nor the Englischer had heard anyone coming, and Beth saw the Kings’ wagon and Benny pulled off some distance behind them.
“Here, now,” the Englischman said softly. “We wuz only havin’ a little fun. I’ll take my pie and head out.” He picked up the pecan pie and started to walk away.
“Wait!” Ransom’s voice snapped like a whip. “Did you pay for that?”
The man turned back around and Beth whispered frantically, “It’s all right, Ransom. Sei se gut . . .”
“How much is the darn thing?”
“Ten dollars even,” Ransom replied.
The man muttered to himself, then pulled two balled-up bills from his front jeans pocket. He threw them carelessly on the ground and headed toward the tall pines with the pie. Beth listened to the silence after he had gone.
She watched Ransom bend and pick up the money, carefully smoothing it out before he handed it to her. “The—the pies are eight,” she whispered.
He lifted his head so she could see the anger on his face. He also looked a bit pale and had a faint, dark shadow along his jaw. “Take the money,” he said tightly.
Beth took it, then watched him turn on his heel and head back to his wagon. She fingered the plastic covering of the strawberry rhubarb pie and waited until he’d pulled the wagon into the space near hers, then watched him jump down from the high seat.