An Amish Courtship on Ice Mountain

by Kelly Long

Because Joel Umble carried me home last nacht and I haven’t been able to think about anything else but him, and his scent, and his mouth, and ...

  “I couldn’t sleep much,” she murmured, grabbing the egg basket in preparation to go out to the small barn before starting breakfast.

  “Here now, at least put on yer wrap. Ye’ll freeze.” Her grandmother’s order was tempered by fondness, and Martha dragged the dark blue shawl off the peg by the door with reluctance. There were so many mended holes in the garment that it provided little warmth, but she loved her grandmother and knew the auld woman’s eyesight could not discern the relative uselessness of the fabric.

  “I’ll be right back,” Martha said softly, not wanting to wake her aged and ill parents in the other room.

  She stepped out onto the snow-dusted porch and ruthlessly thrust aside the image of Joel’s handsome face as she marched down the two rickety steps. “He’s not for the likes of you, my girl,” she muttered aloud, admonishing herself. Nee, Joel Umble deserves someone like the local healer, May Miller, perhaps. May is a match for him, if not in beauty, then certainly in brains, while I am simply a dumm—

  “Hello, Martha.”

  She jumped as Judah Umble stepped out from behind the barn door right as she opened it.

  “Judah! You scared me to death. I told you not to kumme around here anymore.” She moved to brush past him, but he caught her arm in a tight grasp.

  She looked up into his narrow brown eyes, which contained not a fraction of the warmth she saw in the magnetic blue of his bruder’s. She felt a flash of uncertainty. For the first time, she regretted letting Joel carry her home, even though it had brought a moment of excitement to her otherwise dreary life. Had she made a terrible mistake? Is it possible that Joel told Judah about the previous nacht and now Judah thinks he might further push his intentions toward me?

  “Let me go,” she demanded, trying to wrench her arm away, but he held her fast, and she knew she’d later find bruises on her skin.

  “Nee, my dear.” He shook her a bit, and she had the urge to knock him over the head with the egg basket, but she held back, wanting to see if her reputation on the mountain, what little of it there was, would be permanently ruined.

  “What do you want?” she asked finally.

  “I dreamed of you last nacht, as if you didn’t already know,” he sneered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know you work spells somehow by bathing in the rushing creek. You have nee shame, Martha Yoder. For anyone can see your nakedness.”

  Martha felt her heart sink. So Joel did tell his bruder . . . The handsome man isn’t what I thought he was . . .

  Judah shook her again, and this time her teeth rattled. “I saw your nakedness just a week ago. You were singing to the spirits as the water brewed around your nude body.”

  The nonsense about her singing to the spirits went over her head as she realized Judah had seen her—and he hadn’t mentioned the previous nacht. “You saw me bathing—last week?” she whispered.

  “That’s what I said, Martha,” he growled.

  She was used to his inappropriate glances, but now her hands instinctively tried to cover her body with the basket, even though she was fully clothed.

  He gritted his teeth. “You’ve hexed me, girl. You continue to entice me to the creek to burn yourself into my mind. And I’ve known you long enough now to understand that you won’t lift the curse, will you?” For a brief moment a plea echoed in his tone.

  “You’re narrish,” she said evenly.

  She was unprepared for the slap he sent cracking across her cheek. She would have fallen if he hadn’t held her upright. Her eyes welled with tears against her will. She wanted to scream for help, but her frail family was no match for Judah’s strength.

  “If you think I’m a hex, you’d better let me go,” she warned.

  But clearly his superstitions didn’t extend to the rational, and he merely laughed out loud. He leaned down into her face and bit out each word. “One day, I will enjoy beating the evil from your snow-white skin.”

  This time she did swing the egg basket, but he merely slapped her again, almost as if doing a necessary duty. She tasted blood and saw the strange heat in his gaze as he licked his bottom lip. Why, the man is aroused by striking me! Her stomach turned and she tried, horrified, to step away, but his grip tightened.

  “Listen very carefully, Martha, for Derr Herr has spoken to the gut Bishop Loftus, and he has instructed me as to what to do to save your soul. I will court you for an appropriate amount of time, and then I will marry you. I will keep your belly filled with child and your mouth bound shut until you can do no more harm to me or any other man. And if you refuse me in marriage, I am prepared to do as Gott would demand and expose you before all the community for your wicked ways. Then both you and your family will be shunned.”

  For the first time his gaze softened. Not much, but enough to keep her wondering just what his intentions were. He brushed his hand over her cheek in an almost tender gesture. He truly is narrish. “But I would rather see you saved, Martha,” he said in a low voice. “And you know your poverty-stricken family needs the support of the community. Do you understand what I say?”

  Martha wanted to dispute his claim, to tell him what she thought about his hellfire, but the truth in his words and the unfamiliar madness in his eyes kept her mute, so she could only nod in agreement.

  “Gut,” he whispered, finally releasing her so abruptly that she fell to her knees before him. He stared down at her with dispassion again. “Very gut.”

  He left the barn, and Martha expelled the breath she found she’d been holding. I’ll tell someone, her mind screamed, and then she lowered her head in despair, for she could not bear the thought of shaming her family so with her own behavior. She knew Judah took his spiritual instruction from the dark Bishop Loftus, never stopping to think on his own. The bishop would surely support his claim. She had no other strong kin to turn to, and she believed every word Judah had said about exposing her. For the briefest of moments, she once more felt Joel’s strong arms around her, comforting and secure, but she could never bring the ugliness of Judah’s threat out into the open when it might turn bruder against bruder. She let her bruised face fall into her hands for a moment, then cried out to Gott.

  “Help me, Derr Herr. Sei se gut, help me!”

  Chapter Three

  “You know your bruder’s crazy, don’t you?”

  Joel rolled his eyes at his best friend, Stephen Lambert, as they worked in the snug barn, pitching hay from the vast mows down to the stock below. Stephen was a hired hand around the farm who helped out wherever he was needed.

  “He’s not crazy,” Joel said. “He’s—religiously fervent.” And crazy . . . and torturous . . . and cruel—and the bruder I am called to love . . .

  “Uh-huh. I met him walking through the woods on my way over here this morning, and the man was muttering something about women and curses—not that women can’t be a curse.”

  Joel grinned. “You tell that to Rose Raber, why don’t you?”

  Stephen had the grace to flush, but then pointed the pitchfork handle briefly in Joel’s direction. “Jah, and you tell it to her sister, Ruby.”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Joel said as his mind flew back to the moment he’d first seen Martha in the creek. Somehow now, Ruby Raber’s renowned beauty and charm could do nothing to equal the vision he’d held in his arms the previous nacht. And the woman I plan on courting—if she’ll have me.

  Stephen’s snort brought him back to the moment. “See, you’re daydreaming about her already, Joel. Better get to courting, I say.”

  “Perhaps I’ll take your advice and—” He was cut off by a woman’s shrill scream. Mamm! “Ach, nee . . .” He dropped the pitchfork and hurried down the ladder to the barn floor.

  “Do you need help?” Stephen called from above.

  “Danki. But if Judah’s not around, Mamm’ll do better wit
h me alone.” Joel trudged as fast as he could through the thick snow to the cabin, having no idea what he’d find and praying his words to Stephen were true. His mother favored Judah, and her preferential treatment to her older son had always confused Joel.

  His mamm was what folks on the mountain politely called “odd in the head”—not narrish, just odd. Joel knew the truth to be more that his mother had always been rather childlike. Upon his fater’s death, she had retreated further into a state of fearful anxiety that made her difficult to reach at times.

  He pushed open the heavy back door of the haus and froze when his gaze landed on the bloody paw prints on the floor.

  “Ach, Joel, where’s Judah?” his mamm sobbed.

  He went to her, standing a few steps away, and forced himself to remain calm. “Mamm,” he said, measuring his tone and words, “tell me what happened.”

  Mamm’s tears flowed down her thin cheeks. “I broke a glass and Puddles stepped on a sliver. I’m afraid it’s still in his paw. I hurt him—oh, I hurt him!”

  Joel took a quick glance at the big gray cat licking its front paw, looking more annoyed than hurt. He took another step toward his mother.

  “Don’t touch me.” She recoiled.

  “I know,” he said soothingly. “I won’t.”

  His mother didn’t like him to touch her, especially when she was upset. But Joel had become expert at de-escalating situations like this over the years, even when he couldn’t offer anything but the anchor of his voice. He often wondered what his mamm had been like when she was young and perhaps more carefree. Certainly her fears had grown since he was five, the time his daed had died from pneumonia.

  “I’ll have a look at the paw, all right?” he said.

  His mother turned and gripped the bone-white sink with even whiter fingertips. “I can’t watch,” she wailed over her shoulder, rocking from front to back. “You know I can’t watch!”

  “No watching. It’s fine.” He bent and lifted Puddles into his arms. He felt the pad of the furry paw with tender fingers. Joel closed his eyes for a moment, visualizing the flesh. There was indeed a deep gash in the main pad and a protruding sliver of glass. “You’re a tough old cat,” he murmured. But as if to contradict Joel’s words, Puddles started to squirm when Joel skimmed the pointed edge of the glass. Better to yank out the sliver than to try to ease it out slowly; he extracted the glass with a quick movement that had Puddles clawing in his arms. Then, when Joel touched the injured paw once more, the cat quieted and finally stilled.

  “Is it over?” Mamm asked, turning weakly from the sink.

  “Jah. He is well.”

  “Ach, gut.” She leaned against the sink, as if the Puddles ordeal had sapped all of her energy. “I was so worried.”

  “There’s nix to worry about.” Joel held out the cat to his mother. “See? He’s fine.”

  “Then I didn’t do anything wrong?”

  “Nee. Everything is all right.”

  She sighed, her eyes red from crying. “Thank Derr Herr. I was so worried and—” She broke off, and Joel frowned as the door banged open and Judah entered, stamping his boots on the braided rug.

  “What’s this mess?” Judah asked, gesturing to the floor.

  “Puddles cut his foot.” Mamm’s voice trembled. “Ach, Judah—I wish you’d been here.”

  “It’s all right, Mamm,” Judah said softly.

  Joel watched him gather their mother in his arms, and once more, he was struck by the almost odd sway his bruder seemed to hold over their parent. But families stick together on Ice Mountain, no matter how odd ...

  Then Judah stepped through the bloody paw prints and put a hand out to stroke the back of the cat where it nestled in Joel’s arms. “Ach, jah—the pretty cat.” Judah’s movements were gentle, but his tone was not.

  Puddles squalled and jumped down, skidding out of the room as if his tail had been scalded.

  Judah’s lips curved into a sharp grin. “A pity the glass didn’t run deeper.” He looked directly at Joel. “It will give me great pleasure to skin that cat one day.”

  “Judah,” Joel warned in a low tone. “You’ll upset Mamm.”

  But his bruder merely laughed and reached out a hand to pat their mamm’s shoulder. “She knows I only jest. What good would a cat pelt be, hmmm?” Then Joel watched him leave the room.

  Joel glanced at the smeared trail of blood on the floor, then at his mother, who was not shaking now. “He was only joking, Mamm. He didn’t mean it.”

  She shook her head, her eyes distant, looking at some past or future thing, but there was no condemnation in her words. “Jah, he does, Joel. Perhaps he does.”

  Joel drew a deep, steadying breath, pushing aside his mother’s words, then grabbed a damp rag from the sink and began to clean the bloody floor.

  * * *

  Martha somehow managed to hide her tears and scramble the eggs she’d gathered, rationing out the bacon that had been a gift of May Miller by crumbling its fragrant crispiness into the eggs. May’s gift had been much appreciated, but Martha had struggled with her pride when she’d received it. Everyone on Ice Mountain knew that Martha’s family was poor—indeed, the poorest family in the Amish community. But Bishop Loftus encouraged folks not to “overdo” their support of the struggling Yoder family. The gut bishop had his own ideas about the poor, which didn’t much coincide with the Bible’s, Martha thought wearily. When she made up the trays for her parents and grandmother, there was little left over for her, but she gave up most of her portion gladly, knowing that the others needed the nourishment more.

  “Martha, what have you eaten this morning, child?” her mother, Elise, asked with a wheeze from where she lay, propped up on a small pile of threadbare quilts.

  Martha smiled cheerfully. “More than enough, Mamm.” She put the tray on her mother’s frail lap. “Your breathing sounds tight. I’ll make a batch of May’s tea for you right after you’ve eaten.”

  Her mamm’s asthma, always worse in the fall and winter, had been particularly bad lately, even though it was nearly spring. Martha suppressed a sigh of worry and turned to wake her fater, who slept in a bed positioned opposite his wife’s. Chet Yoder had once been a stalwart vision of a man—tall, strong, and more than able to provide for his family. But a logging accident had rendered his body useless from the waist down, and his once-proud frame was now all but a hollow shell. Still worse, he was broken in spirit, Martha thought as she turned to tend her daed. He no longer seemed to seek after Derr Herr and frequently stared off into the distance as if attempting to capture the past and its happenings.

  “How are you this morn, Fater?” Martha asked, not truly expecting a reply.

  “Your mouth’s bleedin’, Dochder,” Chet muttered, and she ducked her head away in surprise. “Don’t chew your lips in the cold, Martha. It only brings ice and blood . . . ice and the taste of blood.”

  Chapter Four

  After the incident with his mother’s cat, Joel continued the day’s work as he absently twisted his red oak shepherd’s crook and tried to concentrate on the book he held in one hand—an account of using selenium in pregnant ewes as a nutrient to improve fetal hardiness—but all of the writer’s successful results vied with the vivid flesh and blood image of Martha Yoder. He glanced at the pale blue late-winter sky and chafed at the hours until dark when he could go and discover whether or not she would consider courting with him.

  He was jolted back to awareness of the moment when one of his Clun Forest sheep nearly knocked him off balance with some good-natured attention-seeking. He looked down into the intelligent black face of the creature and recognized Lost Lenore, a ewe that had terrific maternal instincts, as long as she wasn’t wandering off by herself into the forest to graze.

  He glanced out over the peaceful flock of sheep, knowing each one of the seemingly confusing mass, by looks if not by name and personality. He ran a partial confinement operation, letting the flock forage beneath the snow for a few hours each
day or else providing them with hay and then herding them indoors to be kept safe against the cold and the nacht.

  His stomach rumbled and he knew it must be nearing dinnertime. His mamm was a gut cook, despite her anxieties, and he hoped she might serve apples and onions—a traditional favorite. He had started to herd the flock into their large barn when he heard a high feminine voice call his name.

  “Joel Umble, what are you reading now?”

  He looked up with a faint smile when he saw Stephen’s love interest, Rose Raber, delicately picking her way across to the fence nearest him.

  “Just a book. Stephen’s up in the haymows.”

  He watched her narrow lips turn down briefly as she sniffed and gave a pat to her bonnet. “I was actually looking for you.”

  “Me?” He was surprised, and his quick mind figured that she was probably up to some scheme or another and wanted his help. Poor Stephen . . . He doesn’t stand a chance against a calculating female . . . He came back to the moment to find Rose tapping an impatient shoe on a rock and thought helplessly of Martha’s slender, pink feet in the snow the nacht before.

  “Joel Umble—are you even listening to a word I’ve said?”

  He smiled good-naturedly. “Nee, forgive me.”

  Her blue eyes sparkled for a moment, making him think of cold gems. “Certainly you’re forgiven . . . I only came over to invite you, and your family, of course, to supper tomorrow nacht. You know we’re to host the hymn sing, and Mamm thought it would be nice to have some guests beforehand.”

  “Ach, surely. I’ll tell Mamm . . . and Judah, of course.”

  “I already saw Judah,” she replied airily. “I stopped by Bishop Loftus’s haus before I came here, and Judah was there.”

  As always, Joel thought tiredly. His bruder and the bishop seemed to be close, though Joel often found himself questioning the teachings of the community’s spiritual leader. Then he thought of something.

  “Uh—Rose—perhaps you might invite Martha Yoder to come as well?”

  He cocked his head in confusion when the pleasant expression melted from the girl’s face.