An Amish Match on Ice Mountain

by Kelly Long

  Collier laughed. “Do you really think I’m that stupid? If I show up without your pretty red head on a plate, I lose out on the stuff of life—money, my dear. Now shut up—your talking always did bore me.”

  “Look, why don’t we settle this like men?” Stephen asked low, hoping to stall for time or at least get Jeremy away from one of the most-trafficked paths on the mountain, one that was very near the schoolhaus.

  “Like men?” Jeremy got up from the rocker and walked down the steps. “Well, why not?”

  He pulled the trigger without any further warning, and Stephen felt a blinding surge of pain in his right upper arm. He wavered on his feet and heard Ella’s scream from far away. But then, he was able to refocus in time to see Mitch Wagner come into view behind Collier with a shotgun in his hands.

  “Drop the gun, buddy.” Mitch’s voice was clear and steady, and Jeremy froze for a moment, but then he reached out and snatched Ella to him. He put the gun to her temple, and Stephen waved Mitch off.

  “Now,” Jeremy said with a devilish laugh. “Everybody just back off. This little piece of fluff is going with me, and the first man to interfere signs her death certif icate.”

  He had started to drag Ella off the path when Stephen saw her suddenly turn and ball up a small fist. She hit Collier’s wrist, and the revolver went flying. Mitch moved forward and snatched it up, but Jeremy suddenly pushed Ella to her knees, then rushed at Mitch Wagner. The air was rent by his strange, garbled cry. Mitch fired the revolver and Collier stopped cold, then fell to his back on the sun-dappled ground.

  For a long moment, everyone was still as a bubble of spittle and blood appeared at the corner of Collier’s mouth. Stephen wanted to know whether Ella needed any last words with the man, but he’d passed away too quickly for such an opportunity.

  Instead, he cuddled her close as Joel and some of the elders came to hear the tale. Stephen had even forgotten his gunshot wound until Nick pulled at the frayed edges of his shirt. “You need some attention, Steve, even though it looks like the bullet passed clean through.”

  Stephen nodded, prepared to geh to May Miller’s, but then Joel called for everyone’s attention.

  “Friends—today has been a difficult day for many of us, but I want to suggest something. Of course, I’ll leave it up to you all, but Gott tells my heart that this is right. Today, we’ll bury an attempted murderer—one whom Ella tells me had no family that she knows of—well, I’d like to make the suggestion that the man we bury is not Jeremy Collier but rather Mitch Wagner.”

  Stephen heard murmurs of confusion and Joel held up a weary hand. “Mitch Wagner started a new life in the jail at Coudersport. I’d like to let him continue it. Ice Mountain offers many things, but over in the little cabins on the side hill, we offer the chance for redemption for a man who’s determined to change his life with Gott’s help.”

  Stephen lifted his voice in support of Joel’s suggestion; he had great respect for his friend. Soon, others joined in with their points of view and in the end, Mitch Wagner was given free rein to stay in a little cabin of his choosing, where he would take a new name and make a new life, and Jeremy Collier was buried with quiet dignity near the Amish cemetery. Stephen noted that even Nick kept his mouth shut during the whole process and no doubt would go back to Coudersport with some new views of the Mountain Amish.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It was nearly a month since little John Umble had been buried by a reverent community, and Ella had found an ever-deepening friendship with Martha. This day in early July, they sat on the wide, welcoming porch of the Umble home and drank limeade while talking and watching Joel and Stephen in the field with Joel’s sheep.

  “Have you heard back from your uncle regarding the will and his, um . . . plot to kill you over it?” Martha asked.

  Ella had to smile. The whole situation seemed so strange and remote now. “I heard from his lawyer and I waived any and all rights to the Sea Glass Castle—not that I could have proven right of ownership anyway.”

  She felt Martha’s thoughtful gaze and turned to look at her friend. There were gentle lines that only conquered pain can bring about Martha’s beautiful eyes and a soft seriousness to her mouth, but otherwise the joy of God had made the death of John pass by on angelic wings, and Ella once more felt a deep gratitude for the opportunity of knowing the Umbles.

  “You sound comfortable with the idea of giving up your home by the sea?” Martha’s tone was questioning, and Ella turned so that she might better see Stephen in the field.

  “I suppose there are many seas in life,” Ella murmured, thinking of Stephen’s eyes and then blinking in surprise at her words. “I mean, uh—”

  Martha laughed softly. “I think often lately of the Bible verse ‘The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away—blessed be the name of the Lord.’ It comforts me and I think it might comfort you too.”

  “Oh, yes.” Ella turned and smiled. “I remember my father quoting that line, but I haven’t thought of it in a long time. It is comforting. In truth, I suppose that I always thought the sea would be my home, but here . . . Well, Ice Mountain has a beauty and a people all its own, and the Lord has provided that for me through Stephen.”

  “Well, I’ve learned since John’s death that life is too short not to ask questions, important questions of those we care about. So I’ll ask you, Ella, why do you still wear Amish dress? It isn’t that anyone minds or that I take offense in any way . . . I’m just curious.”

  Ella felt herself flush, despite the kindness of Martha’s tone, but then Martha reached a hand out to her and Ella squeezed the slender fingers with gratitude.

  “I wear the clothing because I guess it gives me the feeling of belonging. Maybe in my heart—I’m afraid that I don’t.”

  “And you want to?” Martha asked softly.

  Ella nodded, blinking back sudden tears. “Yes . . . and these past weeks, Stephen and I have been courting, but he’s—well—he’s pulled back some, physically I mean, and I suppose that is one of the major ways that we communicated before. Now . . . everything seems emotionally quiet and still. I don’t know . . . Perhaps he’s sorry that he’s saddled with me and I should go.”

  “Ach, no, Ella. From what I know of Stephen, I’d say he’s thinking everything through very carefully. You know, one of the best ways to belong to Ice Mountain is to marry into the community. Maybe he’s thinking of that.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “Would you wish it if he were?”

  “I’m not even sure whether or not he wishes to belong for himself. You know he has barely spoken to his mother or aunt for a long while.”

  Martha nodded. “Joel has said this. But—I guess—in the end, it is Gott Who will arrange what happens, and for the best. You can be sure of this, Ella.”

  Ella bit her lip and Martha squeezed her hand. “What is it?”

  “Martha, ever since John’s death—even the day you—he—you’ve been so calm in your spirit, so certain that God has the best plan for you and Joel. How can you believe that when, to the world, everything looks so difficult?”

  Martha smiled gently. “I’m no saint in my thinking, believe me . . . but I know that Gott loves us, that He’s for us, and that I will see little John one day again. That makes it all enough. Joel is coming in from the field now . . . why not geh out and walk with Stephen? There are some beautiful trails in the woods near the pasture.”

  Ella caught her friend close in a tight hug and nodded. “I will do as you say. Thank you, Martha.”

  * * *

  Stephen playfully rubbed the side of Joel’s favorite sheep, Lost Lenore, while Sophy, the Umbles’ frisky white dog, pranced in and around the sheep’s spindle legs. Stephen looked up as Ella approached and held her gently with his eyes. Her body was beginning to show the definitive shape of her advancing pregnancy, and she looked incredibly beautiful to him. Still, he knew his behavior of late during their evening courting was probably puzzling to her—it
was confusing enough for him!

  Ella drew up on the opposite side of Lenore, and a slight breeze pressed the fabric of her yellow dress against her abdomen. Stephen wanted very much to lead her into the cool darkness of the copse of trees that bordered the field. He longed to run his hands over the pronounced fullness of her breasts and find the secret curves that her pregnancy had advanced and kiss her throat and . . .

  “Stephen?”

  He blinked and looked rather dazedly down into her dark eyes.

  “Jah?”

  “I was just talking with Martha—she asked me something. But that’s not what matters now. I want to ask you—oh, a lot of things . . .” He watched her delightful nose wrinkle in confusion and knew that he was going to have to face up to some things he wasn’t even sure of himself.

  “Ella . . . I know I’ve been different the nachts I’ve come calling, but I’ve wanted to try not to overwhelm you with—well, too much of the physical. I wanted to let you have room to think and for us to talk more and get to know each other.”

  “That’s all good—though I miss some of your—uh—physical ideas. Like blueberry kissing . . .” Her tone was wistful and he felt a sudden pounding of his blood at his pulse points. He was about to reach for her when Sophy’s shrill barking sounded from the woods and the sheep moved restlessly away.

  “Ella.” He said her name with quiet firmness. “I want you to turn and walk quickly back to the porch with Martha. Don’t run and don’t look back. No matter what you hear. Now, geh.”

  He saw the confusion on her face but something of the eerie urgency he felt must have translated itself to her, and she turned and began to walk as he’d told her to do.

  Sophy was silent now and Stephen sensed that something had happened to the little dog. Was it even worth taking a quick look round the woods? But he decided to try. Joel and Martha needed no more sadness in their lives.

  He crossed the remainder of the field and entered the woods, his nose already detecting a particularly musty odor that gave him the clue that he was no longer alone in the woods. He moved forward slowly over the spongy ground and saw Sophy lying, bloody and whimpering, directly ahead of him on the path. Her plumy tail lifted once in brave salute and he whispered softly to her. He risked a step further and saw the bear, a huge bruiser of an animal that held a dead sheep in its paws as though it were a toy.

  Stephen moved to scoop up Sophy and the bear growled low, clearly feeling threatened with its stolen food. Stephen held the little dog close and began to back away but the frustrated bear was faster. Stephen felt the slash of a fast paw graze his head and face, and then everything went dark . . .

  * * *

  Ella watched the closed bedroom door of the Umbles’ spare room and prayed over and over again in the silence. Please God, let him live, let him live, let him live . . . She felt Martha’s hand reach out and cover hers, and she knew that the other woman was praying too. Ella bowed her head and willed herself not to cry but the memory of Joel carrying Stephen from the woods was almost more than she could stand.

  Then the bedroom door opened and Joel appeared, looking so pale that the bones of his face stood out in stark relief. “Ella,” he said softly. “Will you come? He’s asking for you.”

  Ella squeezed Martha’s hand, then released it as she got to her feet. Her heart was pounding so hard in her ears that she couldn’t hear her own footsteps as she crossed the wood floor to what had hastily become the sick room.

  “He was fortunate,” May Miller said shortly as Ella moved close to the bed.

  Raw, even stiches stood out in what would eventually become a jagged scar along one side of Stephen’s face and head. The metallic smell of blood hung heavy in the room and Ella couldn’t help but notice that his chest also bore several oozing, stitched wounds.

  “Most of the slashes weren’t too deep, though he’ll have scars for sure.” May rinsed her hands in a basin. “He’s feverish already. The bear’s claws carry all sorts of bacteria, but we’ve cleaned the wounds thoroughly; now he just requires close nursing. I could get someone I know to do it,” the healer offered.

  “No,” Ella said stoutly. “I’ll nurse him. Joel can help me lift him to change bandages, but I want to be the one who takes care of him.”

  “Gut.” May gave her a brisk nod. “But do not overdo. You must take care because of your pregnancy.”

  “I won’t do too much,” Ella promised, suddenly realizing that she badly wanted everything to go well with the baby because it would make Stephen happy. It was almost as if the child were his. She marveled for a moment at the transformative thought, then longed to be alone with Stephen so that she might soothe him.

  He cried out for her, already beginning to move restlessly among the quilts on the bed, and Ella went to the bedside and began to gently dab at his forehead with the compress that May had abandoned. “Stephen,” Ella said clearly. “It’s all right. I’m here.”

  He opened his blue-green eyes briefly and she moved her face near his. “Are you all right?” he choked out, and she gave him a brilliant smile.

  “I’m fine, Stephen. The baby’s fine. And even Sophy will live. You just sleep and think about getting better now.”

  She watched a faint smile appear on his lips; then he obeyed her and closed his eyes.

  * * *

  Word of the bear attack spread over Ice Mountain and Joel himself, as bishop, called for a special time of prayer for Stephen to be held in the Umbles’ barn. Esther, Stephen’s aenti, said that it was foolishness to assemble to pray when each might pray at their own home, but Viola Lambert dressed soberly, covered her head in a dark bonnet because of the pouring rain, and slipped out of the haus to begin the walk to the Umbles’.

  As her sensible shoes sloshed through the mud puddles, she was surprised to be joined by an Englisch man walking down from the high timber.

  “Evenin’, ma’am,” he said politely, over the noise of the rain.

  Viola nodded, realizing that this must be the Englischer who’d once threatened Ella’s life but who had now made a major change in his way of living.

  “I used to be known as Mitch; it’s Mike now—the bishop asked me down to pray for Stephen Lambert. You goin’ there too?”

  “Jah . . . I—I’m his mamm.”

  “Oh—I didn’t know. I’m sorry about his run-in with the bear. It’s scary to think that those creatures are roaming these woods. You must have been scared to death.”

  Viola weighed the kindly spoken words in her mind. “Scared”? “Terrified” was more like it. She knew in her heart that she could no longer continue to hold Stephen at arm’s length when his very life might hang in the balance. She knew then that, while most everyone was at the prayer time in the barn, she would need to geh to the Umbles’ haus to see her sohn in person.

  “Danki,” she murmured to the man, then hurried ahead of him in the rain toward her sohn’s bedside. That was where she belonged.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The smell of summer rain drifted in through the screen window in the Umbles’ guest room. Stephen watched Ella through half-open, bruised eyelids and wished for the hundredth time that his pain might ease some so that he could kiss her. But May Miller’s pain-relieving herbal tea kept him somewhere between lassitude and the gnawing feeling that he’d been hit by a truck. He was grateful when Ella approached the bed with the small spoon and cup—evidence that it was time for another dose.

  He swallowed the noxious medicine, sip by sip, from the spoon, glad that Ella’s closeness afforded him the fresh scent of her as well as the vision of her rounded breasts, pressing through the light lavender of an Amish dress. He gazed up into her dark eyes and wondered if his scar would make any difference to her. As far as he knew, she had been intrigued by his appearance, but surely his face would cease to be at all attractive after the bear swipe.

  “Don’t, Stephen,” Ella whispered gently. She put the spoon and cup down, then bent to place her hands on either side
of his head. She smiled into his face, and he forced himself to open his eyes wider. “Don’t worry about how you think you might look. You will always be beautiful, and I’ll bet the girls will only like you more for the character your scar gives you.”

  He had no idea where they came from, but hot tears filled his eyes at her kind words—almost impersonal in nature. “Nee other maedels,” he managed to whisper hoarsely. “Only . . . you.”

  He saw her blush, and it satisfied him in place of what she did not say. She understood his concern, but did she return his feelings? He parted his lips, intent on telling her that he loved her, when there was a hesitant knocking at the door. He wanted to yell when Ella eased from the bed but closed his eyes instead, intent on ignoring whoever it was . . .

  * * *

  Ella opened the bedroom door, expecting it to be Joel or Martha, and found Stephen’s mamm instead. Viola Lambert looked up at her with shuttered eyes and a hesitant expression.

  “How—how is he?”

  Ella widened the door. “Please come in—please. I was about to go and get some more cool water. He’s been running a bit of a fever, but the wounds look pretty healthy according to May Miller.”

  “Danki. All right. I’ll come in . . .”

  And Ella closed the door behind her gently, giving mother and son some rare time alone.

  * * *

  Viola inched toward the bed, not wanting to wake him. She found she was infinitely glad that he was asleep. Perhaps I can say all that I want and he need never truly know . . .

  She sat down on the edge of the chair Ella had drawn close to the bed and let her gaze sweep over the bandages and bruises and the flush on his face surrounding the wicked-looking scar. She clutched her hands together in her lap and sought for a place to begin.

  Strangely, she recalled a time when Stephen had been little more than a year or two old and Ben had felt that their sohn was troubled by nightmares, unusual in one so young. Viola smiled tremulously at the memory, then wet her lips.