An Amish Wedding Feast on Ice Mountain

by Kelly Long

  “Are you going to answer me?” she asked, slightly breathless.

  He reached out a hand and thumbed a strand of hair away from her face, and she swallowed hard. “Ransom?”

  “Don’t fret, little hare. I admit I shouldn’t have said we were courting without your permission, but we can always break it off.”

  Beth knew a sudden disappointment and turned from him to walk toward the water. “Of course . . .” She knew her voice sounded thin. “That’s what you would want.”

  She didn’t expect to find him so close behind her, and she squeaked when he laid his big hands on her shoulders. She shivered when he put his mouth close to her ear. “What are you saying, sweetheart? That you’d like to court the likes of me?”

  She longed to tell him just how much she’d like to court with him, but she stilled when he nipped gently at her earlobe. Longing swirled through her brain and made her body sing. She leaned against him, feeling the length of his legs tense against the back of her dress. But then, she came back to herself, straightening her spine and turning in his arms.

  “Of course I’d like to court with you, Ransom King, and so would half the other single maedels of Ice Mountain.”

  She watched his dark eyes blink; then a wry smile played about his lips. “So is that jah or nee, Beth?”

  She clasped her hands together between his body and hers, directly in front of her belly, and she blurted out what came to mind. “You must know that I’m not gut courting material. You can see how plump I am . . .” She let the words tumble out on a sigh. “And there’s . . . a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

  “More secrets, sweet Beth?”

  “Jah.”

  He inched impossibly closer and she watched him as he closed his eyes. Long lashes feathered on ruddy cheeks, and then he bent and kissed the tip of her nose. She felt slightly foolish when she blushed, but he smiled as he opened his eyes and drank her in.

  “Let me tell you a secret,” he said in husky tones. “There are far too many sharp edges in this world, too many places where a man can’t find rest . . .” She felt him skim his hands down her shoulders and then her arms. “But you, sweetheart, are so wonderfully soft and gently curved. When I touch you, I feel like I’m coming home.”

  Her breath caught at his amazing words and she leaned into him and lifted her mouth to his, kissing him with sudden confidence....

  * * *

  “Courting? Exactly how much of Sarah’s pain tea have I been having?” Aenti Ruth stamped her cane imperiously from her supine position on the Kings’ couch and glared at Ransom with a demanding eye.

  He smiled at her and reached out to rub Petunia’s left ear. “Feeling left out? You can help Beth with proper advice on courting.”

  Aenti Ruth sniffed as she rubbed Second John’s thin coat. “I might at that. I doubt the child knows what she wants for the future.”

  Ransom allowed for a rare moment of lassitude, then, as he recalled Beth’s bold kissing of the morning. Her small tongue had teased at his lips like a busy hummingbird seeking nectar. And he’d complied only too willingly, eager to participate in the mutual sweetness. “Ach, she knows what she wants . . .” he drawled, feeling heated by the memory.

  His aenti harrumphed impatiently. “Ransom King, where exactly is your head?”

  He laughed and leaned over Petunia to kiss the auld woman on the cheek. “Some fancies are best left unspoken.”

  She swatted him away with a gentle hand. “Well, I’m sure Viola had a fit. She’s never wanted anything much for that child save the best of a load of work.”

  “Let me handle Viola.”

  He made to move away when she caught his hand and whispered low. “Beth cannot give her heart to you in truth, Ransom, until she’s found the recipe for being true to herself.”

  Aenti Ruth’s words were sobering, and he nodded, thinking hard.

  * * *

  The corn leaves seemed gigantic, so large that she was able to hide under them. Perhaps if she were able to stay here forever, no one would find her. She could become part of the dirt. A crow flew overhead, its tar-black feathers reflecting the harshness of the moon’s light. She thought the bird saw her, and she drew further under the leaves. The crow screamed, a guttural, cackling sound, and Beth squeezed both fingers into her ears. She determined that the best, maybe the only thing she could do, was to be silent. . . .

  Beth awoke to find the lantern burning gently in her room. Her jaw hurt, and her bedclothes were stained with perspiration. She remembered the dream, and she remembered hiding in the cornfield the day her fater died.

  She climbed down the ladder to get a cool drink. She’d somehow managed to slip up to bed without a direct confrontation with Viola or Rose about Ransom’s claim that she and he were courting. She made her way quietly, her hands still shaking from the dream, and went to the icebox. Her hand hovered between the lemonade and the jar of apple butter, and she thought of the good, fresh bread tucked neatly into the cupboard. But for the first time, she considered what comfort the apple butter would truly bring. She decided to get a glass of water instead and went back to her room.

  In bed, Beth sipped at the water. She thought about Derr Herr being the Living Water that was meant to fill her spirit. She knew, though, that since her fater’s death, she had remained disconnected from all the comfort Gott was able to bring. But then weariness overtook her. She put the glass on the bedside table, lay down, and slipped into a dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  Ransom couldn’t sleep. Ryan Mason’s words burned in his brain. What was it about Ice Mountain that gave certain people the ability to look into the past? Ransom understood that the bishop had this gift, but who was Ryan Mason to tell him such things? He threw back the light quilt and got out of bed. The moonlight poured through his bedroom window as he reached for the Bible he’d brought home from his grossdauddi’s. He flipped it open slowly, and the small black-and-white paper fell into his hand. He closed his eyes hard, wishing he didn’t understand the shadowy life of what might have been that was portrayed in what he held. He opened his eyes and turned the picture over in his fingers. Even in the moonlight, he didn’t have to strain to make out the contrast between black and gray....

  Eerie voices filtered through his consciousness—the technician’s cheerful explanations; Barbara’s exultant laughter; his own voice—unsteady maybe, but determined . . . then the screams from the nacht in the car . . . as if he could hear both of them crying out.... His fingers closed gently on the picture, and he knew for certainty what he had to do....

  * * *

  The morning dawned bright and clear. Beth got up early and went out to the kitchen garden to cut some fresh rhubarb for a deep-dish strawberry rhubarb pie to take to the worksite. She felt as if she was moving in a daze when she thought back to her boldness in kissing Ransom the day before. Of course, all of the nonsense about courting would surely fade, but it felt good to imagine it might happen.

  She took the small knife from the garden shelf and went to the rhubarb with its pink-throated leaves and started to cut at the base of a thick stalk. She felt the knife slip in the morning dew and quickly drew her hand back. But it was too late, and red blood spilled down against the pink and green of the vegetable. She sighed to herself, then ran over to the spigot and started rinsing off her fingers. The cut was minor, but the blood running down her hand suddenly made her heart pound. She heard again the horse’s scream and remembered the powerful jolt. There was blood, but it wasn’t hers, and then she was free again, running, running, running through the cornfields.

  “Beth, what are you doing standing there?” It was Viola’s voice. Beth snapped back to the present and hastily put her hand behind her back.

  “Just getting rhubarb for a pie, Viola.”

  “For Ransom King?”

  “Nee,” Beth stuttered, unprepared for Viola’s tight voice this early in the morning.

  “You may as well be making it for him—n
ow that you’re courting, of course.”

  Beth tried to grasp what she’d thought of the previous nacht—that she had Gott to help her in times of trouble. But it was hard, and she found herself on shaky spiritual ground as she faced her stepmamm.

  “I—we . . .” She faltered, and Viola’s face took on a distinct look of distaste.

  “Jah . . . I can only image what ‘we’ was involved in catching a man such as Ransom. I warned you that you must curb your appetites.”

  Beth felt the older woman’s eyes rake her figure, and then she thought about what Ransom had said about her curves. She straightened her shoulders a bit, and Viola openly frowned at the movement. Her stepmamm was poised to berate her further when a man’s cheerful voice broke into the momentary silence.

  “Frau Mast—Beth, I hope you don’t mind me stopping by so early.”

  Beth turned to see Ryan Mason walking through the wet grass. He had a smile on his face and she couldn’t resist smiling in return. The Englischer’s presence surely meant that Viola would not speak harshly to her any more at the moment.

  “Frau Mast, you have a lovely daughter,” he said.

  “I do indeed,” said Viola, seeming mollified. “But how do you know Rose? Or . . . ach, you mean Beth, of course.”

  Beth said nothing.

  “Ah, yes,” Ryan said. “Beth is your stepdaughter. What was your first husband like?”

  Beth stared at him, appalled, while Viola stuttered. “My first husband . . . ?”

  “Yes, your daughter Rose’s father.”

  “Why—he was fine. Just fine.”

  Beth realized she had never asked Viola, or Rose, about their life before they came to the Mast house, and here was an Englischer boldly putting the question to her stepmamm.

  “Fine is good.” Ryan nodded. “Sometimes. But then, we all say ‘fine,’ don’t we? Like ‘How are you?’ ‘Fine’—or ‘How are you feeling?’ ‘Fine.’ But the truth is, many of us are not fine. We’re really hurt on the inside somewhere. . . .”

  His soft words hung in the air, and Beth stared at Viola, amazed to see the older woman’s eyes look as if they sparkled with tears.

  “You–you must excuse me, young man. Something seems to have gotten in my eye. And . . .” She turned to geh, then stopped. “Ach, and, Beth—hurry on with that pie.”

  She walked back into the cabin.

  Beth stared at Ryan in confusion. “How did you . . . I mean . . . I never thought to ask her . . .”

  Ryan smiled. “Don’t worry, Beth. It’s . . . fine. But I was thinking that we might have a good, old-fashioned pie bake-off to put a bit of money in Olivia Lott’s pocket. And because you seem to bake more pies than anyone I’ve ever known, I’d like to know what you think of the idea?”

  She hesitated, and his smile grew. “I’ve already cleared the plan with Bishop Umble at breakfast this morning.”

  “Well, that’s all right, then! I think it’s a wunderbaar idea! We could do it the day of the finishing frolic at the cabins.”

  “Great plan! I’ll just—”

  “Mason, what are you doing here?”

  Beth looked up to see Ransom rounding the kitchen garden’s edge and was surprised by the anger in his voice.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Ransom was furious, though he also knew he was overreacting. What harm is there in the Englischer talking with Beth in the dew of the morning, when she looks as beautifully flushed as a new rose and . . .

  “Ransom? I was discussing with Beth the plan for a pie bake-off.”

  Ransom frowned, then saw Beth’s confused expression. She came forward and put a hand on his arm. “Is everything all right?”

  “You’re bleeding!” He caught her small hand in his own, knowing his words had come out more harshly than he’d meant.

  “It’s nothing,” she said. “Do you not like the idea of a pie bake-off? It’s to raise money for Olivia Lott and the kinner. We—”

  “Fine, fine . . .” he muttered, intent on her wound. “Excuse us, Mason. I’ve got to take care of her hand.”

  “Surely.” The Englischer nodded and walked away while Ransom urged Beth up the steps of the porch and into the cabin.

  “Ransom . . . it’s all right. I’m okay.”

  But he pulled her inexorably to the kitchen pump and got the water going. “Just hold on a minute, Beth. Where’s your first aid kit? Do you have any bandages?” His heart had started to work harder the second he’d seen the blood, but now he was beginning to feel frantic. He needed to do something—anything—to help her. To help her . . .

  His feelings must have communicated themselves to her in some way, because she suddenly lifted wet hands to touch his cheeks. “Ransom,” she whispered softly. “Kumme back. I’m all right. See? It’s stopped bleeding already.”

  He wanted to cry; trapped between the past and the present, he stopped short and turned his head to press his lips against her damp hand. He closed his eyes while he tried to regulate his breathing.

  “How do you know, little hare?” he choked out finally. “How do you know what I’m thinking and feeling?”

  He opened his eyes and looked down at her, watching her wet her pink lips.

  “Ach, Ransom . . . I just do. I–I love you.”

  He bent to kiss her, wanting to tell her that he felt the same, when a loud screech rudely interrupted them. Rose stamped a rather long, bare foot on the kitchen floor and glared at her stepsister.

  “You make me sick, Beth Mast! You love him? Is that what you’ve been saying to try to catch him? Mamm!”

  Ransom blew out a breath of exasperation and would have defended Beth’s honor on the spot, but she laid a pleading hand against his shirtfront and shook her head. “Sei se gut, Ransom, let’s geh to the worksite.”

  “Mamm! She’s running away and trying to get Ransom to geh with her!”

  “Rose! What en der weldt are you yelling about?” Viola’s voice echoed above the fray. “Honestly, you sound like a boppli!”

  Ransom was still ready to silence Rose, but he noticed the strange expression on Beth’s face as she listened to Viola put her dochder in her place for once. Beth looked surprised and confused, and he bent to kiss her tenderly, careless of the other women in the room....

  * * *

  I love you . . . I love you. . . . How could I have said that to him? Beth tried to concentrate on slicing the honey ham in front of her into thin pieces as she worked on assembling sandwiches at the cabin site with Mary Lyons and Lucy.

  Her best friend nudged her when she started to slow down production. “Beth.” Lucy giggled. “You just put that slice of ham in the horseradish mustard jar.”

  Beth felt herself flush. “I’m sorry.” She glanced past Lucy to find Mary’s eyes full of warmth and kindness.

  “I remember when I first began to think of Jude . . . well, I still think of him, and it distracts me.”

  Beth felt the other women laugh with her and risked taking a glance at the spot where Ransom was poised on the side of one of the roofs, a hammer in his hand and a nail in his firm mouth. Everything about him seems tantalizing. Even in a simple white shirt and dark pants, he caused her heart to beat faster and whatever was before her eyes to melt away in pleasant reflection . . . especially when she was thinking about his kisses.

  “Word’s gotten around, Beth,” Lucy said happily. “About you and Ransom courting. Kumme this fall, I expect we’ll be sisters in truth as well as heart.”

  “Ach, I . . .” Beth knew that courting, normally done in secret, would usually result in marriage for a couple. But she wasn’t even sure if she and Ransom were truly courting. It was all very confusing.... She was saved from having to make a proper reply when Bishop Umble stopped by with his cheerful blue eyes snapping.

  “Ladies, have you heard about the pie bake-off during the finishing frolic? Coming up fast, I think. The cabins are nearly done, and I think we’re set to have the frolic next Thursday. Hope to see you all here
! Ach, and Beth, Ransom tells me that you are the finest baker of pies he knows!”

  “Danki,” Beth murmured, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the focus of the bishop’s conversation being on her and her baking.

  But everyone laughed good-naturedly, and Beth swallowed, then relaxed. She wasn’t used to praise, yet she knew it was all right to drink in a compliment now and then.

  She realized that Bishop Umble was still speaking and she dragged her attention back from her inner thoughts.

  “Well, that’s a fine thing, Beth! Just what a man needs. I’ll leave you to it!”

  “What? I—” But the genial spiritual leader had moved on, leaving Beth with no idea what she’d gotten herself in to....

  * * *

  “You’re going to fall through that roof, little bruder, if you don’t keep your mind on your work!” Jeb’s teasing voice drifted up to Ransom, and he looked down between the cabin’s beams to smile at his older bruder. He took the nail out of his mouth.

  “And just where do you think my mind is, Jeb?”

  Jeb looked away, then grinned back up at him. “Here’s someone who might be able to answer that question.”

  Ransom watched his bruder sweep off his hat, then hurry away as Beth’s charming figure came into view. “Hello, sweetheart,” he called down.

  She peered up at him, her blue eyes wide. “Shhh . . . you don’t have to say that, Ransom.”

  He slipped his hammer into his tool belt. “Say what, Beth Mast?”

  She looked at him as she probably would a naughty child, and something impish and fun, long subdued, took hold of him. He crawled backward down the slope of the roof, then shimmied down the wide logs to swing himself to the ground.

  She frowned up at him. “You don’t need to call me sweetheart.”

  “I think I should call my courting maedel anything beautiful that I like, and ‘sweetheart’ fits you perfectly.”

  He watched her exhale and he caught her close. “Ransom,” she squeaked. “Everyone will see and besides. . . Bishop Umble said I should give you this.”