by Kelly Long
Martha saw Mrs. Parker shed a tear, and then the other woman came forward to embrace her. Martha rejoiced in the press of the lady’s small form, wishing her own mother might have been present.
She bade goodbye to the Parkers with genuine feeling as they walked outside together, pausing to watch as Joel shook Mr. Parker’s hand. The older couple had just gone back inside when Pete Jr. came running back carrying a handful of squirming earthworms.
The little boy had tears on his face and was making to bypass Martha when she put out a gentle hand to stop him. “What’s the matter?”
“The other fellas were stompin’ on them . . . I had to rescue them! I think I’ll hide ’em in my room.”
“Whoa, Pete,” Joel said. “I don’t think your mamm would appreciate that.”
“Nee, she would not,” Martha agreed. “But kumme here, and I’ll show you a good home for them.”
Martha watched from the corner of her eye as the child reluctantly followed her to the damp front flower bed of the house. She knelt down, heedless of her skirt on the messy ground, and began to dig at the earth with her bare hands . . .
* * *
Joel stood still for a long moment; he watched his wife’s strong, slender hands in the dirt and swallowed hard. Martha had a genuineness of character that shook him to his soul . . . How many brides would dig in the mud to help a crying child . . . ? A crying child . . .
He had to shake himself and then hurried over to kneel beside Martha and the boy. The worms were soon thriving in the damp earth, and Pete Jr. gave Martha a grimy hug, then Joel helped her to her feet. The little boy was off down the street to some new adventure, and Joel looked down into Martha’s gentle eyes and tenderly thumbed a streak of dirt from her dainty nose.
“You’re wonderful, Martha Umble,” he whispered. “Do you know that?”
She dropped her gaze and shook her head. “Nee . . . I just love the kinner.” She flushed at her remark, and Joel struggled to put the image of the tombstones out of his mind . . . The kinner . . . our children . . .
He lowered his head and kissed her full lips long and sweet, careless of the fact that they stood on a main street for anyone to see. Then he came to himself and, holding her dirt-stained hand, helped her with care into the buggy.
He took out his pocket watch, easily handling the reins, then frowned slightly.
“What is it?” Martha asked.
“Our time is short for shopping.”
He glanced over to see her smile. “Don’t bother, Joel. I’m a plain woman . . .” She giggled. “I need no finery.”
His frown deepened, despite her humor. “Well, I say that you do.” He looked at her steadily. “Indulge me as your husband to gift you with a few things.”
He eased the buggy past a shiny automobile, then pulled Trotter up at a shop with bow-fronted windows. The writing on the glass read NANCY’S NICETIES, and he smiled in satisfaction. “Here we geh.” He moved to lift her down, then grabbed her hand.
“Ach, Joel—I’m all dirty and—”
“Forget it. You’re beautiful.”
* * *
The hour may have been late in the afternoon, but Nancy of the niceties was all too willing to serve customers. Martha thought the auld woman resembled a fluttering good faerie as she came out from behind the counter to gauge sizes.
“You look like you’re fresh from the garden and as pretty as a peach, child.” Nancy briskly circled Martha’s small waist with a tape measure. “I’ve got a very plain blue dress that might pass for Amish beneath your apron, if you’d like to try it on. And then we can get down to the important shopping . . .” Her voice trailed off suggestively, and Martha was confused when Nancy flashed her a cheery wink. “Maybe your nice young man here would care to take a walk around the block while we go to the back of the shop.”
Joel seemed to take the hint and straightened with alacrity, but he paused to whisper against Martha’s cheek. “You’re all right? Get anything you want, Martha Umble, do you hear?” He pressed his leather wallet into her hands.
Martha nodded and then watched his retreating back a bit wistfully. The store and Nancy seemed pleasant, but Martha was unused to such an array of dresses and finery. She felt overwhelmed but decided to enjoy herself for Joel’s sake. But then Nancy flung open a dark blue curtain at the back of the shop, and Martha stopped still.
The small room was awash with lace and delicate batiste fabrics, as well as silks and satins. Two shapely mannequins wore a minimum of undergarments, and Martha felt herself blush. Her own underwear was limited to two ragged shifts, which she alternated for washing. She reached out tentative fingers to a short, peach-colored gown and Nancy smiled her approval.
“Just right for you and your pretty coloring.”
“Thank you,” Martha murmured, unused to such casual compliments. She considered the brevity of the gown and then decided with a soft sigh that Joel had seen her in far less . . .
* * *
Joel walked down the pleasant streets of the town without really paying much attention to where he was going. He was lost in thought after a long day of realizations and secrets . . . And I still have my wedding nacht to get through without hurting Martha . . . His footsteps slowed as he became aware of his surroundings and had the sudden feeling that he was being followed. He lowered the brim of his hat and took a quick glance over his shoulder. Three rough-looking Englisch men wearing plaid flannels were about twenty feet behind him. Joel turned down a shady side street, not wanting any trouble. He knew well enough that his people were sometimes not looked upon with favor. And now the men behind him began to snicker and call out. Joel exhaled slowly when he heard the insulting and guttural words.
“Clay ape, Aim-ish. Why don’t you go back to the dirt where ya came from?”
Joel knew that the expression “clay ape” was not spoken idly. It was a cruel reference to his people’s relationship with the soil but was also usually accompanied by rock throwing, or “clayaping,” as it was called. He had even heard of an Amish infant killed in his mamm’s arms when a vicious rock had found its mark. It wasn’t that he was fearful; he knew both his back and arms were strong—yet the Amish were forbidden to use violence. He quickly decided, though, that it was his wedding day and he needed to get back to Martha.
The image of her sweet smile behind his eyes made him turn and face the other men. The first rock caught him unprepared and struck a glancing blow off his forehead. He saw illuminated darkness for a few seconds, lost his hat, then felt blood trail over his eye. Nonetheless, he raised unpracticed fists to his attackers and laid one of them low with a satisfying blow to the other man’s chin. He felt a wave of dizziness that he ignored with determination, then turned a grim face to the other two. An axe handle stuck him solidly in the chest, seemingly out of nowhere, and he reeled backward, fully intending to continue the fight but suddenly unable to find his footing. Merciless blows seemed to rain down on him from every direction, and he felt himself slipping into darkness when a piercing whistle cut the air. He thought the sound funny somehow as it continued in sharp blasts. Very funny . . . I’ll have to tell Martha all about it . . .
Chapter Sixteen
“It weren’t any of the townsfolk that did this, ma’am. Those men were from up north aways—troublemakers, and awful drunk too. I’ve got ’em locked up good ’n tight.”
Martha heard the police chief’s words but couldn’t take her eyes from Joel where he lay in the big featherbed, oblivious to everything around him. She strained to listen as the old doctor murmured to himself while he tended her husband.
“Hmmm . . . bruised ribs . . . probable concussion . . . multiple contusions . . . but lucky to be alive.” The doctor turned from Joel and snapped his black bag shut before looking at her. “I could send a nurse around to care for him tonight. He’s likely to be delirious—might run a fever.“
“Nee,” Martha burst out, then lowered her voice. “I mean, no, thank you, Doctor. I will care
for him as a wife should.”
The old man studied her for a brief moment. “Good enough. I’ll be around early tomorrow morning.”
“Jah . . .” she whispered, moving forward to take the chair the doctor had abandoned close to the bed. She vaguely heard the two men mutter to each other as they left the honeymoon suite of the inn.
“That’s one helluva wedding night . . .”
“Shush! She’ll hear . . .”
The door closed gently, and she was finally alone to be with Joel. The police had found her in Nancy’s store, and she had followed them shakily down the street to the Buttonwood Inn, where Joel had been brought to be seen by the doctor. Now he lay without his shirt or suspenders, the crisp white sheets drawn up to his waist. She might have thought he was merely sleeping if it weren’t for the bruises that marked him in the glare of the bedside electric lamp. And there was also the bandage wrapped round his head, stark white against the rumpled darkness of his hair.
She prayed softly, feeling tears flood her eyes as she wished there was something more she might do. But then Joel stirred, and she leaned closer, gently letting her fingers hover over his right hand. He groaned faintly, and she nearly jumped at the raw sound.
“Joel, shhh . . . it’s all right.”
“Nee,” he breathed, flinging an arm across his eyes. “Not right . . . How can I tell her? . . . Seven times . . . Seven stones . . . Keep the secret . . . Keep her whole . . .” His voice trailed off in a child’s singsong rhyme, and then he was still again.
Martha bathed his face and chest with cool water from a nearby bowl and pitcher and kept fierce watch over him. At one point, he reared up and caught her shoulders in a painful grip. “Don’t hurt her! Must not hurt her . . . Keep to the courtship . . . Go on courting . . .”
She eased him back against the pillows when his grip slackened and slowly turned his fevered words over in her mind . . .
* * *
Joel came awake in painful degrees. His head throbbed, and it hurt to take a breath. But at the first thought of Martha, he risked opening his eyes.
“With us again, son?”
Joel blinked, and even that hurt. He didn’t recognize the aged voice or the walrus mustache on the round face peering down into his own, but he nodded.
“Good. Your wife tells me you were out of it most of the night, but you’ll pull through.”
“Martha?” His voice rasped in his own ears.
“She’s right here. I’ll leave you a bit of something for the pain, and you should be yourself after a week or so.”
A week . . . a week . . . He cudgeled his brain for the reason that the time seemed impossibly long, and then realization dawned.I missed our wedding nacht . . . Another thought struck and he almost sat up. We’ve got to get back to Ice Mountain today ...
He heard the door close; then Martha sat down next to him. “That was Dr. McGuire. He saw you last evening. Ach, how do you feel, Joel?”
He half smiled. “Wretched, but well enough for us to geh back home today.”
“Nee,” she said firmly.
“Martha—we’re up against a ticking clock here—your family, my mother, not to mention Judah. I wanted to announce our marriage in church service today.”
“The owners of the inn here, the Englisch Summerson family, have asked us to stay free of charge. They feel so bad that this happened in their town.”
Joel blew out a breath of frustration and gingerly put a hand to his side; then he sat up with a gasp of pain that he tried to suppress for Martha’s sake.
Martha pushed him back, seemingly without compunction, and his jaw tightened. “Martha Umble . . . I am your husband, and you must obey—”
She broke out in a casual burst of laughter. “Obey you? I think not—not when you’re hurting so.”
He frowned at her, not knowing exactly how to deal with her strong will and her obvious concern for him. He wanted to level the field with her, and a small idea began to form at the back of his throbbing head.
“We had no wedding nacht . . . I regret that,” he said softly. Not that I would have done anything after that vision . . . Maybe the knock on my head will do me gut and I’ll be free of this miserable second sight ...
He came back to the moment and saw Martha eyeing him carefully, cautiously, and he managed to suppress a grin.
“I, too, regret it, Joel,” she whispered.
Against his will, his body responded to the cadence of her soft words, and he felt himself becoming confused as to what he was trying to accomplish . . . Level the field . . . Right . . .
“Take your hair down,” he said abruptly, and was glad when her doe eyes widened a fraction.
Instead of obeying his command, though, she leaned forward and pressed a gentle hand to his bandaged forehead. “Perhaps you have a fever .. . I will give you some of the medicine the doctor left.” She turned away, and he moved restlessly in the big bed.
“I don’t want the medicine. Danki.”
She raised a perfectly arched brow at him and poured something from a brown vial into a small glass of water. “You may not want it, Joel, but you’ll have it all the same. You forget that I am used to the occasional tempers of those who are in pain.”
Her pretty mouth turned down tiredly for a moment, and he felt like an ass. Here she is . . . caring for me, always caring for someone, and I’m behaving like a five-year-old . . .
He drank the contents of the glass she held to his lips without protest, and in a few minutes, his pain seemed to drift pleasantly away. He relaxed into the thick mattress and eyed Martha with pleasure. “Please, sei se gut, take your hair down, my wife.” He felt the words slip easily from his mouth, and his mind filled with lulling, arousing images of her naked in his arms.
He heard her brief sigh of consent, and he followed her movements when she rose to cross the room and turn the lock on the door. She turned back to face him as he lay waiting and he saw her reach for the pins that held the luscious fall of her hair in place . . .
* * *
Martha watched his eyes close, the thick dark lashes lying in even crescents against his bruised and flushed cheeks, and she dropped her hands from her hair with a faint smile. He needs to rest, and I must not worry about my family at home . . . I know Derr Herr will bless and keep them—keep them safe from Judah . . .
* * *
He was hot, burning with need. Sensation trailed down his back in molten pinpricks, leaving him in a state of near-painful arousal. Martha seemed both close and far away, evading his hands and the lift of his hips. He wanted her so badly that his mouth watered, and then she was tangled in the sheets next to him. He forgot about his injuries; they seemed as nothing compared to his desire. He found the tight peaks of her breasts with his hands, and his mouth met hers until everything convulsed in a heated rush of passion that left him gasping for breath . . .
Joel awoke with a start, sucking in air and realizing that it had merely been a dream . . . He shivered and glanced around, wanting Martha. He half turned and saw her sleeping soundly atop the covers, fully dressed. Faint, bruise-like circles were beneath her eyes, and he knew she must be exhausted. Yet even in sleep, she held herself stiff, obviously afraid that she’d hurt him in some way by getting too close. The only concession to comfort she’d made had been to remove the kerchief from about her neck, and he winced as the sunlight played on the marks still visible on her pale throat. Joel lay back down and put out a tentative hand to press against her abdomen, feeling her breathe. He closed his eyes, able to forget his worries for a while, as the even softness of Martha’s breath lulled him back to dreams . . .
Chapter Seventeen
“Do you want me to manage the reins, Joel?” Martha asked the question for what seemed like the fifth time and was frustrated once more by the shake of his dark head, now absent its white bandage.
“I’m fine, Martha. Don’t worry.”
She sighed to herself and glanced down at Trotter’s broad rump as the
horse quickly ate up the distance to Ice Mountain. She had persuaded Joel to rest for a full day, but then he’d insisted on rising, eaten a hearty breakfast, and kissed her into agreeing that they should geh home.
An hour slipped by, and soon the wild ferns that were unique to Ice Mountain began to appear. Tiny buds of forsythia dotted pale brown branches, and the pines seemed to take heart and stand taller, shaking off winter’s burden. The lichen, the rock, and the bright green mosses all stood out in royal greeting to Martha’s heart as she realized that it was spring.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Joel asked, and she nodded. He whistled softly. “But not half as pretty as you, Martha Umble.”
She knew her cheeks flamed in a blush, but she smiled at him all the same. Here was her husband—the one of her heart’s desire and dreams! And Gott had made it possible that they should wed.
Martha waited as Joel paid Mr. Ellis for Trotter’s time and the buggy, and she was glad when the kind Englisch man offered her husband a stout walking stick.
The hike up the mountain was a good mile or so, and she watched him out of the corner of her eye, trying to make sure that he was not exerting himself overmuch. There had been no mention of stopping at the Ice Mine—even for a few minutes. Whatever he had seen there, he didn’t want to share, and Martha shied away from raising the issue.
The smell of the clean, fragrant mountain air was invigorating to the senses, and Martha rejoiced inside when they cleared the tree line at the head of the trail.
“I’m anxious to see how my family fared,” Martha said softly as they walked over the pine needle–laden floor of the woods leading to the community.
He squeezed her hand comfortingly. “May is very capable; no harm will have come to them.”
Martha nodded, trying not to wonder about May’s capabilities and telling herself sternly that Joel had married her and not the young healer of the mountain.
Then she realized that the small path they were on would lead directly past Sol Kauffman’s store—an easy spot for one and all to learn word that she and Joel were together. “We’re going past the store?”