An Amish Wedding Feast on Ice Mountain

by Kelly Long

  It seemed that the gut spiritual leader of Ice Mountain had suggested that Viola and Rose stay at home and sew the clothes for the Lott family while Beth be allowed to kumme and geh from the worksite.

  “Because you know what a treasure she is,” Martha Umble had said in rather wry tones.

  And Viola had hastily murmured some agreement.

  Beth had thanked Gott as she retreated from the top of the ladder, thrilled that she would surely see Ransom every day.

  * * *

  Aenti Ruth had asked Ransom if she might come along, and that meant, of course, that the zoo was coming too. But Ransom had somehow become used to the noise and thought the little Lott kinner might enjoy playing with the animals.

  Second John had filled out nicely, and his odd-colored fur had taken on a distinctive, healthy sheen. Ransom helped Aenti Ruth down from the wagon and then proceeded to unload Petunia and Pig. Jack flew companionably along beside the others.

  “How big is each cabin going to be, Ransom?” Aenti Ruth asked imperiously as a worker brushed past her and nearly tripped on her cane. He murmured a quick apology and hurried back to his task, and Aenti Ruth harrumphed and adjusted her bonnet.

  “The cabin will be big enough for the three Lott children,” Ransom replied.

  “Ach, jah,” Aenti Ruth said, and for the first time Ransom noticed a softening in her tone. “Kinner,” Ruth continued. “It has always been my regret that Isaiah and I never had any children.”

  “I don’t remember Uncle Isaiah all that well,” Ransom said.

  Aenti Ruth nodded. “He was killed when we had been married only ten years.” She continued in a soft, almost wistful tone, “He had a gut laugh.”

  Ransom nodded, unsure of what to say.

  Aenti Ruth cleared her throat. “Ransom, let’s go look at the space for the kitchen cabinets.”

  Just then, one of the Lott children came around the corner of the roughed-out cabin, riding on Petunia’s back. The pig squealed happily, and the little girl laughed with glee.

  Ransom thought it a cute sight and smiled himself, until Petunia made a beeline straight for Aenti Ruth. Despite Ransom’s hold, Aenti Ruth was bowled over in a pile of skirts, old-fashioned shoes, and pig squeals.

  “Oh dear!”

  Ransom heard the feminine cry of distress above the surrounding noise. “Aenti Ruth!” he called, “are you alright?”

  Petunia had stopped, and now stood penitently by while Ransom tried to help Aenti Ruth sit up. The little Lott girl had run off.

  Aenti Ruth sat up, but Ransom noticed immediately that she reached to rub her right ankle. He realized she was stiff-lipped with pain, and quickly gathered her up in his arms. He called for Jeb to bring the wagon so they might geh to Sarah’s cabin. But he wondered worriedly if the wagon ride would be too rough.

  “The wagon will be fine, Ransom,” Aenti Ruth said, making up his mind for him. “I’m not going anywhere without my animals. And besides, dear Petunia feels guilty. And she shouldn’t.”

  Ransom supposed he could only agree.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Bishop Umble seemed to have had a great effect on Viola, and Beth was told that she would be able to geh and help at the cabins more often than not—though she still had to keep up with her chores at home. But Beth didn’t mind that.

  Today, she and Lucy arrived at the worksite in Lucy’s buggy just as Ransom was loading the last animal into the wagon. Beth jumped down and hurried over to the side of the wagon to look at Aenti Ruth’s pale face.

  “Oh my! Ransom, what happened? Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Nee, I’m going to take her to Sarah’s.”

  “Let the girl ride back here, Ransom. It will be a comfort to me,” Aenti Ruth muttered.

  Beth jumped into the wagon without preamble or waiting for Ransom’s approval. The ride to Sarah’s seemed overly long, and Beth tried to steady the awkward ankle while silently praying for Aenti Ruth. Fortunately, the healer was home, hanging out wash to dry. Beth watched as Ransom lifted his aunt with tender hands and carried her through the cabin door.

  Sarah directed them to the bed in the room behind the busy kitchen, where she took off Aenti Ruth’s shoe while Beth held the auld lady’s hand. Ransom paced with visible anxiety while Jack clung to his shoulder.

  “Sprained. Badly,” Sarah pronounced after a long moment. “Ransom, if you’ll hold your aenti’s foot steady, I’ll put some strapping on it.”

  Beth bit her own lip as she felt Aenti Ruth’s aged hand tighten against hers while Sarah finished stabilizing the injured foot. But Sarah worked quickly and soon had Aenti Ruth relaxing against the plump feather pillows with some tea she brewed for pain.

  “She can rest here today, Ransom. And then I want her to put no weight on her foot for at least a week.”

  “We’ll have to tie her down,” Ransom quipped, but Beth could tell that he was glad the diagnosis wasn’t more serious for his aenti.

  Beth realized that she was able to read his emotions to some extent, and the feeling of insight was heady.

  But she was surprised when they left Sarah’s haus and he took her hand, almost absently. Perhaps he’ll kiss me again.... The thought made her shiver with delight. But then she noticed that his expression was sober and distant, and she waited to hear what he’d say.

  * * *

  “Beth . . .” Ransom found himself at a loss for words. Then he closed his eyes for a moment and turned to face her.

  “I’m sure Ruth will be well. She’s a strong woman,” Beth hastened to assure him.

  “She is strong, that’s true. But . . . that’s not it. I—Let’s walk in the woods for a bit, can we?”

  “Of course,” she agreed, her pretty face flushed.

  He knew instinctively that she wanted to be kissed, and he longed for the touch of her soft mouth as well. But he knew he wanted to try to tell her . . . something . . . anything.

  “Please don’t worry so much, Ransom.”

  He looked at her. “Actually, I was thinking about the last time I was trying to help someone who was in great pain. . . .”

  “When was that?” Beth asked quietly.

  Ransom shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to stare out at the trees. “When the girl I—Barbara . . . She died,” he said baldly, then bent his head. They died . . . they died . . .

  “Your—the maedel—your true love died?”

  “Jah . . . but she wasn’t . . .”

  “She—she was ill?”

  “Nee, it was—it was what they called an accident, but it wasn’t. It was my doing, my fault.” He looked at her then, expecting to see the horror in her blue eyes, but instead he encountered grief to match his own....

  * * *

  Beth stared up into his dark eyes, wanting to be present, to say something of comfort to him, but she had been catapulted into her own waking nachtmare. She felt her heart begin to pound in her ears and knew once more the swamping guilt and pain....

  She wet her lips and swallowed hard, longing to run, but then, suddenly, she was in his arms and he was kissing her with deft, hard strokes, as if he wanted to drive something from her mind . . . from his mind . . .

  She kissed him in return as she had never done before. She put her hands against his chest and felt the muscled flesh beneath the blue of his shirt. Her fingers convulsed against this hidden pleasure and she heard him groan deep in his throat. She had a strange sense of connection within her own body. She felt as if she was spinning at each touch of his lips and wanted the moment to go on forever....

  He broke away from her with all the suddenness of a dousing in icy creek water and she stepped back, feeling herself gasp for breath.

  “I’m sorry, little hare,” he muttered. “But we’re no more than twenty feet from the main trail—anyone could see.”

  She nodded in understanding. Of course he wouldn’t want anyone to see . . . not stolen kisses with the likes of me . . . but oh, I can live on thes
e experiences for the rest of my life....

  “Beth?” His questioning tone brought her out of her own musings and she looked up at him to find his cheeks ruddy with color and his dark eyes narrowed, as if he were in pain of some sort.

  She reached out automatically to touch his arm and heard his sharp, indrawn breath.

  “Ach, Beth,” he said. “How I wish you could understand, that you could know—”

  Then tell me, she thought, but she didn’t speak aloud, not when she herself was so reluctant to let him see what hid in her own heart....

  * * *

  He shouldn’t have kissed her.... The thought ran around in his head, intermixed with the unadulterated pleasure he’d felt touching his mouth to hers. It was becoming an indulgent habit, and he knew he had no right to tell her that he loved her and that he wanted . . . What do I want? To court her? To make love to her? And then what?

  He let his mind drift dangerously close to the memory of what had happened in the past, and then he was lost.... He was once again seventeen, hearing Barbara’s screams. The smell of smoke and blood hovered in the air, choking him. Ransom clawed desperately at the car door, but he was unable to open the mangled frame. Once more, he heard Barbara scream his name, but there was nothing he could do to save her—to save them....

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The next evening, Beth lathered barbeque sauce on the baked meatloaf, then set it back into the oven. The potatoes were ready to mash and she drained them, then poured them back into the blue bowl with the chip on its edge. She added a stick of butter and salt and just a touch of cream, then hurried to use the potato masher to create a smooth and fluffy mass. She had lemon sponge cake for afters . . . but she knew she would only be able to peck at her food while in the presence of Viola and Rose. She’d eat the remainder of the potatoes in private later on that night....

  At supper, the talk was mostly of Viola’s birthday, which was coming up in a few days. Rose had cornered Beth in the pantry and told her that she was going to see Ransom later that evening to ask him about crafting a spice box for Viola. Beth had stared at her stepsister. “A spice box? For the kitchen? But Viola never cooks—I cook.”

  This was a dawning realization for Beth as she spoke the truth in a way she normally didn’t.

  “Of course you make a dish here and there,” Rose said testily.

  “I cook.” Beth savored the rush of freedom that came with the simple words. I cook, she thought. The words were almost better than fresh strawberry jam on a spoon....

  * * *

  Ransom watched Abel’s movements out of the corner of his eye. The workshop normally hummed with the sounds of pneumatic drills and hammering, but it was nearly silent now, as if his little bruder carried as much on his mind as Ransom did himself.

  “How’s the girl . . . situation, Abel?”

  The buwe shrugged. “We broke up.”

  Ransom paused in running the lathe down a piece of cherrywood. “I’m sorry, Abel. What happened?”

  “Nuthin’ . . . she decided she preferred an Englischer, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, but that hurts, I bet, just the same.” Ransom cleared his throat. “Did you . . . Did she . . .”

  Abel met his gaze with a hint of a smile playing about his lips. “Nee, big bruder. We didn’t . . . but someday . . . with the right maedel . . .”

  Ransom nodded. “That makes you a wiser young man than I was, Abel; much wiser.”

  “You had an Englisch girlfriend?”

  Ransom turned back to the cherrywood. “Never mind.” He knew his voice was gruff, but he had no desire to visit the dark corners of his mind yet again. He sighed aloud, then forced himself to concentrate on the variations in the color of the wood.

  A bit later, Ransom looked up from lathing a piece of maple and listened to the sound of a buggy and a horse in the cool evening air. He looked up expectantly, hoping it would be Beth. He went out into the gloaming and recognized Rose alone in the buggy.

  Great . . . He went around with a sigh and reached up a hand to help her down.

  “Ach, Ransom . . . I’m so glad to catch you alone. . . .”

  “Catch” being the operative word here, he thought.

  “Why is that?” And where’s Beth . . . ?

  “Why, my mother’s birthday, of course. I was hoping you’d have a spice box or perhaps a keepsake box already made in the shop that I could purchase. Her birthday’s this week.”

  “Sure,” he said politely. “If you’ll stay here, I’ll geh and look.”

  “Ach, no, I’m afraid of bats.”

  “Bats?”

  “Jah. Besides, won’t it be fun to be alone in the workshop?”

  Nee . . .

  “Sure,” he said again. “Where’s Beth?” he asked casually.

  Rose simpered. “Oh, home, doing something or other. You know how much she likes the housework.”

  “Right.”

  He led her into the dusky workshop and turned up another lantern. They had a supply of items that were ready for sale in a room at the back, but he had no intention of getting caught with Rose Mast alone in a secluded spot. He invited her to sit down at the workbench, then hurried to the back and grabbed up a spice box. It was a simple thing, really—more like a rack. But it was pretty, with small, patterned scrolls on the front. It was just right for a birthday present.

  When he came back, he found Rose poring over his sketchbook. “Ransom! I didn’t realize you were so talented,” she said.

  Uh-huh, he thought.

  He showed her the box.

  “How much will that be?” she asked. “It’s beautiful.”

  He waved a hand in dismissal. “Just take it and wish Viola well.”

  “All right,” she said, seeming at a loss for how else she might stretch out the moment. He opened the door of the woodshop and was prepared to lead her back outside.

  “Oh my!” she said. “I nearly forgot. I brought flowers for your Aenti Ruth. May I see her?”

  “Well, you know, she’s bound to be tired.”

  “It’ll only take a minute.”

  Ransom sighed and led her to the porch after she retrieved the flowers from the buggy.

  Petunia had taken to guarding Aenti Ruth since the accident and truly seemed a penitent pig. However, Ransom could tell right away that Petunia, for whatever reason, had taken a distinct dislike to Rose. The pig made a grunting sound low in her throat, and Rose jumped back and grabbed Ransom’s arm.

  “Ransom!” Ruth said irritably from the couch where she was lying. “What is going on? I’m trying to sleep.”

  “Here’s Rose Mast, Aenti Ruth. She brought you some flowers.”

  “Bah!” Aenti Ruth said. “What good are flowers to a sprained ankle? Tell the twit to go home!”

  Ransom turned to Rose. “Aenti Ruth is not herself. Maybe it would be better if you came back another day.” But Rose flounced past him and Petunia to go to Aenti Ruth’s side.

  “Oh, Frau Mast. I’m sure you would love the flowers. Beth—I mean, um, I–I picked them just this evening.”

  Ransom rolled his eyes.

  “That’s right,” Aenti Ruth said. “Beth picked them, I have no doubt. Now please, go on home.”

  As if to emphasize the point, Second John jumped down from the chair and started growling in his puppy way. He bared his little canines and Rose once more seemed frightened. Soon, each of the animals was adding to the sounds in the room. Pig was wheeking, Jack flew around sporadically, and Matthew, Mark, and Luke started to circle threateningly.

  Rose fled, dropping the flowers, dashing past Ransom and out into the night.

  “Good riddance to bad rubbish,” Aenti Ruth groaned.

  Ransom had to agree. He bent and picked up the flowers gently from the floor and walked to offer them to Aenti Ruth. “I think these flowers were actually from Beth. Would you cherish them more if you knew they were from her?”

  Aenti Ruth blinked pain-filled eyes at him and smil
ed. “The question is, buwe, would you cherish them more?”

  * * *

  Beth smiled as she washed the dishes in the evening twilight and reflected on the trust and acceptance the Lott children seemed to place in Ransom. He would make a wonderful father, she thought. But with some other girl, maybe . . . Barbara . . . someone like Barbara . . . Then she slowed her thoughts, and some part of her stood up a little straighter. But he’s kissing me, sharing his work with me, playing with the children with me . . . She thought back to a recent afternoon at the worksite. Beth had realized that the children were running wild while their mamm was involved with plans for the cabin. Beth decided to teach the kinner a game she’d liked to play herself when she was little.

  “Sienna, April, May, kumme! I will show you a fun way to spend the afternoon.”

  She had led them to a spot that had been untouched by the fire and sat down on the grass beneath a comforting maple tree. “Let’s play restaurant,” she’d said with a smile.

  “We need to have different people in the restaurant. When you go to a restaurant for real, who is in the restaurant?”

  Sienna raised her hand. “The customers!”

  “Right,” Beth had replied. “So, we need a customer . . . who else is there?”

  “The cook!” Sienna replied again.

  “And there’s one more person in the restaurant . . .”

  May took her thumb out of her mouth and smiled. “The waiter!”

  “Great!” Beth had laughed at the imaginary fun. “All right, so who wants to be who in our restaurant?”

  “I want to be the waiter,” Sienna said.

  “I want to be the cook,” April said.

  But May pouted. “I wanted to be the cook.”

  “All right, we’ll have two cooks,” Beth soothed, heading off an argument. “And I’ll be the customer.”

  Just then, a male voice joined the conversation, and Beth looked up to see Ransom standing above them.

  “Can I be a customer too?” he asked.