by Kelly Long
“What are you hiding there?” Sarah asked.
“Ach, it’s nothing.”
“Looks like a letter,” her mother-in-law pointed out, drawing close to Martha. “What does it say?”
Martha wanted to hide, but her kind heart would not let her brush aside this little woman who seemed so anxious and worried about so many things and who had also given Joel life. Martha pulled the letter from her apron and handed it to Sarah. “I don’t know what it says. I can’t read.”
To Martha’s surprise, Sarah simply shrugged, then scanned the contents of the letter. “It’s a poem for you . . . But if you cannot read, then I will teach you.”
Martha stared at the other woman, amazed that such a blessing could kumme from admitting the truth about her inabilities. “Joel doesn’t know about my lack of reading.”
“And why should he?” Sarah gave an unladylike snort. “I can teach you the way I taught both my sohns, long before they went to school . . . Ach, I do miss Judah, yet I haven’t felt like going to the bishop’s . . .” Sarah’s mood shifted abruptly, and Martha put a strong, young arm around her.
“I’m so very sorry. Perhaps—maybe I can help you, too, Sarah. I know you worry—maybe I can take some of that worry from you by talking whenever you like.”
“Perhaps . . . but please, call me Mamm . . .”
Chapter Twenty-One
Martha was hand-washing clothes with the wringer washer outside on a crisp, sunny day. She didn’t care if the clothes stiffened from cold on the lines. She simply rejoiced in keeping things clean and the pleasure of working outside.
She was humming to herself when she happened to look up and see May Miller approaching. Once again, May carried an armful of books, and Martha wished she could simply ignore her. But May stopped next to the washer with a smile on her tanned face.
“Martha—these are the rest of Joel’s books. I thought I’d return them.”
Well, they aren’t much good to me, Martha thought, at least not yet. “I’ll see that he gets them.” She took the heavy books and would have turned away from May had the other woman not called her softly.
“Martha?”
“Jah?”
“You don’t like me much, do you?” May asked with a faint smile.
Martha shifted the weight of the books to her hip and weighed the advantages and hurt feelings that might come if she told the truth. Finally she shrugged. “I don’t know you well enough to like or not like you.”
“But you think I’ve got fish hooks into your husband, right? You feel that because we used to read together that maybe there were other things we did together, hmmm?”
“Well,” Martha said flatly. “Yes.”
May sighed. “I was married once—to a man who was a monster—but I escaped and made a new life on Ice Mountain. I do not want any romantic entanglements with anyone. Now, is Joel Umble fine to look at in face and form? Of course. But I would not take your husband or anyone else’s. I want to focus on my work as a healer.”
Martha recognized the sincerity in May’s words and felt herself begin to relax. “Um . . . would you . . . do you want to come in for some tea?”
“Some other day, perhaps—and I’d like it very much, Martha, if you’d find your way to my cabin if you’d ever like to talk.”
Martha laughed. “Without Joel?”
“Without Joel!”
* * *
Later that day, Joel came in from the sheepfold to find Martha scrubbing the kitchen floor while Milly Loftus did the dishes. He pulled Martha to her feet and bade Milly to see to the needs of the family for an hour.
“We’re going to Sol Kauffman’s store,” he announced, steering Martha out the back door.
“Ach, but Joel, I don’t have a proper dress—it’s patched, and I look—”
“Beautiful,” he whispered against the soft skin of her cheek. “And I’ve tended enough ewes this year to last a lifetime. Now it’s time I see that my wife is dressed with care and also has whatever her heart may desire.”
“I have everything I desire,” she mumbled.
Joel smiled. “Me too, but I do think that a few yards of fabric won’t hurt you any.”
He led her through the wooded paths that went to Sol’s store. He put an arm around her slender waist as they mounted the five stone steps and entered the store with a cheerful accompaniment of the bells that rang whenever the door moved.
Joel could tell when she straightened her spine that some of the people who looked down on Martha and the Yoders were inside the store. He knew his young wife had more soul beauty than any woman present. And present were the Raber sisters. Joel kept his arm around Martha as Ruby flounced toward him.
“Joel Umble, what are these rumors the grapevine tells?” She pointedly ignored Martha, and Joel smiled widely.
“I believe you know my wife, Martha. Martha, you recall Ruby Raber?”
Martha nodded politely while Ruby was forced to reluctantly nod at the newest member of the Umble family.
“You’ll have to excuse us, Ruby. We’ve got a bunch of shopping to do.” And, indeed, Sol Kauffman called out Joel’s name and motioned Martha and him to the back counter of the store.
“Joel, bring your bride! Let me give a gift to you both.” Sol set a huge circular object on the wooden counter. “See? Just right, I say.”
“Ach,” Martha exclaimed before Joel could even reply. “A wheel of smoked cheese! Wunderbarr!”
“Jah.” Sol extended a hamlike hand to Martha. “Schmart woman you are, Martha Umble, to know that smoked cheese is a wonderful thing!”
Joel smiled at the gift, but then his eyes strayed to the dry goods section of the store.
Sol’s dochder, Lucy, was a big, comfortable-looking girl who smiled on them with visible excitement. She was waiting with her shears on the other side of the wooden counter, which was notched to indicate yardage, and leaned across to whisper conspiratorially. “Heard about the marriage. Congratulations.”
Martha nodded, her throat feeling dry. She knew what it was to come in to Sol’s store with less than five cents, and the prospect of shopping for dress material left her feeling nervous. But Joel was smiling, clearly happy that she might have some new things. She decided to be brave for his sake.
It had been a long while since she had purchased anything like the makings for a new dress, but she had a keen eye for color and was an excellent seamstress, thanks to her grossmuder ’s teaching. So she directed Lucy cautiously to pull down a bolt of forest green, as well as one of a rich burgundy color.
“These are pretty, Joel,” she murmured softly.
He smiled down at her. “Indeed they are, but please, sweetheart, choose many more.”
“He’s right, Martha Umble,” Lucy said as she came around the counter to briefly measure Martha’s waist. “Better to have an extra dress or two, because likely the pair of you will be asked all around the mountain to celebrate your marriage.”
Martha nodded and noticed Joel staring up at the rainbow of colors. “Was there something you liked?” she asked hesitantly.
His teeth flashed white for a second, and he bent close to her ear. “Jah, the wedding blue, Martha. Why should you not have the dress of a bride when that’s what you are in truth?”
“Ach . . . if you’d like.” She chose a light blue and then folded her hands and stepped back from the counter as Lucy applied her shears with a ready expertise.
Martha watched in fascination as each piece of fabric was wrapped carefully in brown paper and tied with string, but she was appalled at the cost when they stood once again at the counter by Sol’s cash drawer. She tugged on Joel’s sleeve as he paid, and he looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
“Joel, sei se gut, this is all wonderful, but isn’t it—well, a bit costly?”
He hugged her close and kissed her temple. “You are worth costly things, Martha, and besides, remember, I know you didn’t marry me for my money.”
She swatted h
im lightly on the arm for his joking, then simply rejoiced in the feel of his strength around her. Little did she know, but their casual and tender way with each other assured many more than the jealous Ruby Raber that theirs was a love match and meant to last.
* * *
As was common on Ice Mountain in the spring, a sudden thunderstorm brewed up and caught them with their packages on the way back. They had to run the last few yards, getting wet and breathless together.
They blew in through the back door, laughing, while Milly Loftus looked on with a faintly indulgent air. Joel took the brown paper–wrapped packages from Martha and kissed her quickly on the lips. He noticed her blush and appreciated the rosy hue, thinking that he’d also enjoy seeing such a flush over the expanse of her throat and breasts.
But he drew himself up sharply and left the kitchen, whistling in cheerful tones.
* * *
Martha sent Milly to fold the wash, which the girl had managed to get in before the storm, and set about making some sandwiches for her family and Sarah. She hummed softly to herself as she worked, praising Gott for the amount of food available. She listened to the rolling thunder and crashes of lightning with pleasure, always having enjoyed hearing a storm.
When she heard a knock at the back door, she turned from the table. She wondered who might be out in such weather and quickly moved to raise the latch to give the person shelter. But Judah loomed up before her, tall and menacing, his eerie face and dull eyes illuminated by the violent flashes of lightning. She opened her mouth to scream and he moved fast and clamped a cruel hand across her lips. Martha struggled furiously, knowing Joel was somewhere in the haus. But Judah’s strength was far greater than her own, and he pulled her outside into the storm and flung her down on the muddy ground. She blinked in the heavy rain and tried to rise, but Judah fell full length upon her and clamped his mouth to hers, nearly suffocating her, and effectively silencing her scream . . .
* * *
Joel came back into the kitchen and stared, perplexed, at the screen door standing wide open. He walked out onto the porch and scanned the ground before his eyes landed on a blue-and-white bundle against the rain-pelted earth.
“Martha!” He ran to her and fell on his knees beside her. “Martha, are you hurt? Can you hear me?”
He scooped her up and carried her inside to the living area and laid her gently on the soft couch, heedless of the water and mud that covered her. She opened her eyes slowly as he spoke to her and wiped her face with the end of his shirt. Her mouth was bleeding, and a heavy bruise was beginning to swell her right eye.
“Martha?” He didn’t want to upset her, but he had to know what had happened. “Who did this to you?”
“Judah,” she whispered softly, then reached her arms to hug her body protectively.
“Did he—”
She shook her head weakly. “He . . . hit me. Then suddenly ran off.”
Joel’s mouth tightened. He gestured for Milly Loftus, who had hurried to get a small basin and cloth, to come closer. “Stay with her, Milly, please, and don’t alarm the rest of the family, sei se gut. I must geh and find my bruder.”
Martha caught his arm with dirty, slender fingers. “Please, Joel. Don’t geh . . .”
He gently loosened her grasp and bent to kiss her forehead. “I must, Martha. I will kumme back.”
He recognized the acceptance in her eyes and quickly set out on foot to hunt for Judah. His first impulse was to go to the bishop’s haus, but something in him said that Judah wouldn’t be there. Instead, he followed his brother’s tracks away from the place where Martha had lain, winding deeper and deeper, up and into the forest.
Joel’s breathing grew harsh as he ran in the pounding rain. The roar of the thunder rivaled the noise of his heart pounding, but he kept on, determined to finally have things out with Judah.
He’d reached the high timber and was tracking mostly on instinct, because the rain had pounded away any footprints. He rounded a wide-girthed maple and nearly ran full tilt into his bruder as he knelt on the ground with his head bent upward as if in appeal to the heavens.
Without preamble, Joel tackled Judah, feeling a satisfying grunt of pain come from his older brother. It didn’t matter at that moment that an Amish man was not supposed to engage in violence toward another—let alone his brother. Joel was past caring. He landed another blow on Judah’s face.
“As if I’d let you strike my wife!” Joel roared over the rain, getting to his feet.
Judah laughed, and something cold grew in Joel’s heart, fast sprouting to maturity.
“You’re a fool, little bruder !” Judah taunted, despite the punching he was taking.
“And you, Judah, are evil . . . but why? Why?” Joel stopped and staggered backward, trying to catch his breath. The rain slowed, but the thunder and lightning continued, adding a sinister fogginess to the scene.
Blood and rain ran down Judah’s face, and Joel looked away for a second, only to turn back in time to see Judah rear upward over him with the glint of a large hunting knife in his hand. Joel had braced for the blow when lightning struck the knife and then Judah, running to ground in the small puddle of water he stood in. Judah gave an agonized cry, then fell down upon the wet earth, his hand still clutching the knife.
Joel lost all his anger at the thought of Judah being badly hurt or worse . . . He waited until he judged it to be safe to get close to his brother, then looked into Judah’s eyes. Somehow, the brown depths had lost their coldness, their deathlike focus, and Joel could only wonder at the change he saw. Judah slowly dropped the knife and, with his other hand, reached out to Joel.
Joel took Judah’s hand and started to speak softly as the thunder finally rolled away. “I’ll get you home, Judah.”
“Na—na—no, just listen ta me.”
“I’m listening.” Joel bent near.
“I—thought—ta save—Martha. Wr—wrong.”
Joel nodded, struggling to understand his brother’s nerve-damaged speech.
“Ya—you think to safe—save her too.” Judah smiled gently. “You wrong too.”
Joel shook his head in mute denial, thinking about the vision of the tombstones.
“Cannot change—future—Jo-Joel. Not yours ta—change.”
“Okay—okay, Judah. Save your strength. I’ll carry you home.”
“Will—di—die here. Read—jour-journal and beware of—bish—bishop . . .” Judah’s head tilted to one side, and Joel watched the life seep out of his brother’s eyes as if it were draining into the ground. Joel bowed his head and prayed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
That nacht, Martha sat up in bed, waiting to turn down the lantern, until Joel came to bed. She tried to shut her ears to the sobbing she could hear—Sarah Umble crying for her eldest sohn. Martha felt tears tremble on her own lashes. She knew that the time appointed for Judah to die had kumme from Gott, but she couldn’t help but feel that she held some guilt in the whole thing. She tried to pray and was glad when Joel finally came to geh to sleep.
“Still up?” he asked softly, coming to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. “Did the ice help your eye any?”
Martha shrugged, then impulsively caught his hand in hers. “Joel—I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry? Whatever for?” He leaned close to gather her in his arms with great tenderness. “You were victimized by Judah—hurt by him over and over—but you did nothing to cause that.”
She nodded in agreement, though she felt like it was to soothe Joel more than herself. Then she looked into his dark blue eyes and saw the great burden of pain he carried.
“Ach, Joel—you did nothing either.”
“I want to believe that as truth.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek with slow warmth. “I’m tired, sweetheart. Do you mind if we turn down the lamp?”
He rose from the bed, and she had a brief image of him lowering his suspenders before the room was engulfed in darkness.
* * *
/> Judah’s death garnered much sympathy from the community, as any death would. As he prepared for the funeral, Joel found himself missing his shunned best friend, Stephen. Joel decided that he’d make a trip up to Stephen’s cabin as soon as he was able.
Joel had told Martha that she needed to stay home from the funeral and rest. He wasn’t sure what Bishop Loftus might say at the graveside, and he didn’t want to expose Martha to any further pain.
The graveside ceremony would be a traditional Amish funeral. The body had been dressed and prepared by friends of the family, and Joel led the men bearing the wooden coffin on their shoulders. It struck his spirit hard that he bore his bruder’s corpse on his back. The finality of Judah’s death seemed to bear down upon him. He’d never truly understood why there was such discord between them during life, and now there would be no opportunity to mend it.
They soon arrived at the cemetery, and Joel looked away for a moment from the even rows of tombstones—they reminded him too much of his vision. And then his thoughts nettled him—What had Judah said? That I can’t save Martha either . . .
He helped lower the casket to the portable stand that had been erected beside the open grave. Then the top half of the coffin was opened on hinges so that those who wished might file past and see Judah’s face one last time.
Joel offered his mamm his arm, meaning to give her something to lean on as she walked, but she stiffened and refused, walking instead alone and on shaky feet.
When the last of the community had looked upon Judah, the casket was closed and Bishop Loftus began to speak.
“It is not often that I have had to bury so young a man, so gentle in spirit, so full of Gott’s possibilities . . .”
Joel struggled to control a sudden cough. In what way had Judah been full of Gott ? Joel’s anger simmered at the back of his mind. He realized that he’d been enraged with his bruder for years because of Judah’s cruelty and carelessness. And the very one Joel had wanted to protect— Martha—had suffered the most because of Judah. I am not sorry he’s dead . . . He can do no more harm to Martha . . .