An Amish Match on Ice Mountain Page 13

  “Dead man.”

  Mitch heard the doctor’s laconic explanation and prayed that he wouldn’t be found out. “Cover me, Dear God,” he whispered against the wool of the blanket.

  His prayer was answered as the doctor was given leave to drive on. After a few minutes, Mitch sat up halfway. “Can you tell me where we’re going to, Doc?”

  “A place called Ice Mountain, and I suggest you take a quick nap, because the car will only get us so far.”

  “All right.” Mitch lay back down and closed his eyes, praying even as he rested . . .

  * * *

  Ella finally left the window once Stephen had gone and crawled back into bed. She shivered with chilled delight beneath the quilt and felt her mouth and cheeks with her fingers, loving the sting that Stephen’s faint beard had left on her skin. As she drifted off to sleep, she found herself asking God, with a stumbling petition, if He would bless Stephen and keep him safe. It felt awkward but right and she slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  Stephen sought the path to Dan’s cabin with familiar ease in the deep dark of the woods and was glad to strip off his shirt and pants and fall into bed. But the pillow held Ella’s scent from the nacht before and he tossed restlessly before slipping into a vivid dream . . .

  The young widow, Laura, stood before him, beckoning him near. He found her mouth, his hands skimming the curve of her waist before he lifted her. He closed his eyes and saw a blur of color and then it was over, and he felt strangely alone . . .

  He sat up in bed, his body soaked with sweat. He realized by slow degrees that his mind had supplied Laura in his dreams because it was safer than letting himself be with Ella . . . Ella, whom I’ve dreamed of before, but now she seems closer to my heart . . . What did Nick say? That I have a problem getting truly close to a woman, probably because my mamm made me feel like a wretch . . . I can do the lovemaking—the work of the body and mind—but my heart has been closed somehow, until Ella . . .

  He looked up from the tangled sheets when a heavy knock sounded at the cabin door.

  “Steve? It’s Nick . . . and, uh . . . Mitch.”

  Stephen grabbed his pants and hastily made himself decent, even while he questioned frantically was en der weldt his friend was doing on Ice Mountain with the arsonist. He flung open the door and stared out at the two men in the moonlight.

  “What’s the matter? Is it Ella? I should have stayed with her—I knew it—”

  “Steve, calm down. Ella should be fine.” Nick made to shoulder past him, but Stephen caught his arm.

  “What do you mean should be fine? Is she—is it the baby?”

  “Steve, look, let us in. Don’t you have a light in this place?”

  “What? Yeah . . . let me get it . . .” Stephen turned up the lantern, then faced his friend. “Now, what is going on?”

  * * *

  Ella was pleased when Christy asked the next morning if she’d like to go to school and help her for a bit. Frau King sent them off with cloth-covered lunch pails and molasses cookies bigger than Ella’s hand. They rounded the general store, and Ella chewed her treat with delight and still had more to go when they climbed the neat steps of the schoolhaus.

  The students came in shyly as they noticed Ella sitting by the teacher’s desk. She smiled with gentleness at the group, sensing their suppressed excitement. Miss Christy rose to speak to the assembled children and introduced Ella with warmth.

  “And, Ella, you’ll be able to understand most of what we say, because the Bishop wants us to practice our Englisch for the end of school program this coming Friday. Pretty much all of Ice Mountain assembles for a morning of student performances and good things to eat.”

  Ella saw a dark-haired boy with big blue eyes raise his hand. He spoke in clear tones as Christy acknowledged him.

  “Teacher, will we get to ate—I mean, eat, too?”

  “After your recitations, jah.” Christy smiled. “Yes! Now let’s show Miss Ella the class quilt we’ve been working on.” She pointed to a half-assembled paper square quilt on the large blackboard. “You see, I asked each student to paint a square that shows what the word ‘home’ means to them. We’d be honored if you’d like to add one yourself, Ella.”

  Ella nodded and forced a smile. She was suddenly overcome with the urge to cry, though she couldn’t quite explain the reason. Perhaps it’s because the first thing I think of when I think of home is no longer the sea but rather the blue-green of Stephen’s eyes . . .

  Then Christy handed her a crisp white square of paper and indicated the paint table and some paint smocks. “We don’t usually paint, but this is a very special quilt.”

  A quick knock on the back door of the schoolhaus made everyone look up in expectation as Christy went to answer it.

  She was back in moments, and Ella held tightly to the fabric of a smock as Christy smiled at her in a distracted fashion. “Miss Ella . . . it’s Bishop Umble. He asks to see you for a moment outside.”

  Ella nodded and put the smock down, then slipped along the side aisle. She had the vague feeling, from the silence in the room, that she was being called to the principal’s office or worse as she tried not to worry that something might be wrong with Stephen. She got to the door and allowed Joel to take her arm and help her down the steps.

  “What is it?” she whispered. Then she blinked in the glare of the morning sunlight and saw Stephen standing a few feet away with his arms crossed. Mercy King, Christy’s mamm, was there—as well as the doctor from the Coudersport Hospital and the strange man who’d been sent to do away with her. Ella didn’t ask any more questions but broke free from Joel and ran to Stephen with a dry sob. He caught her close and held her tightly, despite the onlookers.

  “Stephen, oh Stephen . . . I’ve missed you so much since last night.” She realized then as he released her gently how her words must have sounded to the bishop and the others. She turned and lifted the hem of her apron to dab at her eyes. “Courting, I mean. We were courting.”

  Joel smiled. “It’s all right, Ella. Don’t worry. Look, I thought we all might take a little walk together and talk.”

  She stared up into the sea of Stephen’s eyes and watched him nod. “Kumme, sweetheart. All will be well. You’ll see.” She felt his long fingers twine around her hand and she knew she had to be content to wait to see what was going to happen.

  * * *

  Stephen clasped Ella’s delicate hand and wished there was some way to spare her the information that was to come. He himself could scarcely believe the message of the would-be assassin. Furthermore, he had no idea why Joel wanted them to walk to the creek, but he knew enough about his gifted friend to understand that there must be a point to it all.

  They all walked together until they came to a path that led to the meandering creek. Joel invited each of them to take a seat on the large stones that marked the boundaries of the water.

  Stephen sat down and unceremoniously pulled Ella into his lap, looping his arms around her. He watched her freckled profile turn to where Joel stood and then he resigned himself to listen as well.

  Joel balanced on a rock and spoke out with an obvious plan in mind. “What a strange lot we appear to be—gathered here together. But we all have things in common . . .”

  Great, Stephen thought. He’s going to preach—but . . . maybe I need the lesson.

  “We have in common our basic humanity, our need for love, and our need for Gott—whether we’re aware of it or not. And each of you have come to Ice Mountain in one way or another to protect Ella, here, and her baby.”

  Stephen couldn’t resist tightening his arms around Ella, and he felt a tenderness in his heart when she leaned back against him, relaxing somewhat.

  “But,” Joel continued, “I want you to know—especially you, Frau King—that we don’t expect you to put your own lives in danger, no matter your first feelings on the subject.”

  Mercy King’s kind, older eyes met Stephen’s and she nod
ded. “Christy and I will be fine, Bishop Umble. It is our pleasure for Ella to remain with us. We do not fear, for Gott watches over us.”

  “We appreciate that, Frau King,” Stephen said formally. “But the bishop knows that I have more than a vested interest in Miss Ella, and I think she’d be safer with me.”

  Nick snorted and Stephen shot him a scowl. “What?”

  “You’re not thinking clearly. He wouldn’t go to a schoolteacher’s house first.”

  Stephen was about to respond to his friend when Ella spoke up. “‘He’? Who are you talking about?” she asked, and Stephen hated to see the pulse throbbing in her pale throat as she got worked up. He reached out, beneath her kapp, to rub soothingly at the base of her neck.

  “Don’t fret so, Ella,” he whispered.

  “He’s talkin’ about the fella that shot me last night,” Mitch Wagner said softly, and Stephen wished him gone when Ella’s heart began galloping.

  “It’s all right, Stephen,” Joel said clearly. “Why don’t we let Mitch tell what he knows?”

  Stephen nodded with a jerk of his head and waited until Mitch seemed to find his words.

  “Ya see, miss.” He looked at Ella. “Your friend, Lester Pike . . . well, he and Pastor Rook have been comin’ ta the jail regular-like. Anyways, they’ve shown me who the Lord is and I’m a changed man. I wanted to try and talk ta that fella last night, but he shot me right quick and wouldn’t tell me his name. I couldn’t let him hurt you or the baby—I jest couldn’t . . .”

  “What did the stranger look like, Mitch?” Joel asked softly, and Stephen gave his old friend a keen glance.

  Joel knows already—it’s his second sight or whatever. He knows by sight the man who wants to take Ella’s life . . . Stephen almost said something, but Joel gave him a brief, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

  Mitch went on. “He was a city slicker type, real thin, and had on a suit and tie, and blond hair that it seemed like he fussed over . . .”

  Stephen felt the words as clearly as he heard them when Ella cried out. “It’s Jeremy . . . I know it is!”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Ella struggled to her feet from Stephen’s arms. She felt a cold, nervous chill despite the summer sunshine and wrapped her arms about herself as she paced the ground. In as few words as possible, she explained who Jeremy was, too upset to even mind what these people might think of her. She wanted to hide against Stephen’s lean chest but refused to go near enough to be held.

  Then she turned resolutely and looked up into Stephen’s eyes as he rose to stand near the rock. “I need to leave—now. I cannot lay my troubles at your doorstep—any of you. It’s my fault and my poor judgment that have brought me to this and I—”

  “Ella?” Mercy King had risen to her feet and took a few steps closer to her. “Ella, perhaps you’ve never paused to wonder why there is no Mr. King in our haus or where Christy’s fater might be?”

  Ella focused on the smaller woman’s form and shook her head slightly.

  “Well,” Mercy said gently but firmly, “I was a nineteen-year-old girl. A gut solid Amish girl, as I thought—one who was determined to marry a gut solid Amish man—until that summer when a roving Englisch man came to Ice Mountain. Ach, how I thought I was in love with him. And—as Gott would have it, following what you might call my poor judgment, I found myself mitt kindt—pregnant.” Mercy drew an audible breath, and Ella had a strange foreboding in her stomach as the other woman continued her story.

  “I was sure that I would follow the fater of my boppli around the weldt or welcome him here into our Amish world if he would have it. But . . . to my surprise and horror . . . the man was a monster in disguise. Wanted for the murder of two other young girls, he’d stumbled upon Ice Mountain as a hiding place, but my bruder heard news of him down Williamsport way and brought back a sketch of the man—it was him—the fater of my boppli.”

  Ella felt her eyes fill with tears as she stood riveted to the pine needle floor of the forest. “How did you get away from him? What did you do?”

  “My bruder brought the Englisch police here but there was a shootout and my—the man—he was shot and taken from here to Rockview prison in Bellefonte. He screamed at me as they left that he’d be back one day to kill me and the baby . . . For a long while, I believed it and lived in fear, thinking that every day would be my last. But then, Gott spoke to my heart and told me that fear was no way to live. So I choose to live another way—one of faith and trust—and I’ve brought Christy up with both the truth about her earthly fater and the Trueness of Gott. Her true Fater.”

  Ella couldn’t speak for a moment and was surprised when Mitch Wagner rose to his feet and put an awkward hand out to touch Mercy’s sleeve. “She’s done right, living knowin’ God that way. And—and I’ve come to know God meself as Father . . . both a Baby and a Father.” He nodded at Ella and Mercy, then dropped back to his stone seat after a moment.

  Ella weighed the words of the man who had tried to take her life and felt a deep sense of connection with the Amish woman who’d shared such a dark yet victorious story of faith. She was about to speak when Stephen’s friend Nick threw a stone into the creek with an abrupt movement.

  “This is all fine and good, and I’m genuinely sorry for your past, ma’am”—the doctor nodded at Mercy—“and your triumphant living today . . . But I’m here to make sure that my friend Steve is going to be all right in this whole mess.”

  Ella saw a small smile appear on Joel Umble’s face as he glanced at the doctor. “Perhaps it’s not as much of a mess as you might think.”

  * * *

  Stephen shifted restlessly on the steps of Dan’s old cabin as he struggled to wait until it was truly dark. Joel or no Joel . . . bishop or nee . . . I’m going courting with Ella tonight . . . Not that Joel had forbidden any such thing, but he had insisted that Ella stay with the King women. Stephen had gritted his teeth and agreed, knowing that Joel wanted him to trust Gott with Ella’s safety . . . but the truth was that he wasn’t very gut at trusting. He was used to being the rescuer . . .

  He looked over his shoulder as the cabin door opened behind him and Nick stepped outside. Stephen moved over on the steps to make room for the doctor.

  “Your bishop is an interesting fellow,” Nick said without preamble.

  “And a good friend,” Stephen agreed softly.

  “He wants me to stay on Ice Mountain until tomorrow afternoon instead of going to Coudersport in the morning . . . seemed very specific about it.”

  “Well—” Stephen shrugged absently. “Joel usually has a good reason for asking what he does.”

  “Like letting Ella stay at the schoolteacher’s house?”

  Stephen exhaled slowly. “Yeah . . . probably that too. But . . .” He rose to his feet. “That isn’t going to stop me from checking on her. So . . . don’t wait up.”

  Nick laughed shortly. “Do you think I’m going to sleep on the floor in there with the first guy who wanted to kill Ella?”

  “Use the bed,” Stephen offered, his mind already leading him into the intimate shadows of the nacht and his time with Ella . . .

  * * *

  Ella waited, fully dressed and kapped, for the signal of a pebble against the cabin’s bedroom window. She felt jittery with nervous excitement at Stephen’s promised coming and she had very nearly turned up the kerosene lantern further when the noise against the windowpane came with a discreet sound.

  She hurried to the window, having a last-second doubt that perhaps it could be Jeremy out there, when Stephen’s dear face appeared outside the glass within the halo from the lantern.

  Ella gave a soft cry and put the lantern down, then carefully lifted the window open. Stephen smiled at her, then slung a long leg over the low window sash and climbed inside. He closed the window and turned back to gather her into his arms.

  “Oh, Stephen. For a moment, I feared that it might be—”

  He swooped down and covered her lips with
his in a brief, hard kiss. “Don’t say it. Sei se gut, Ella, let’s not worry tonight. Tomorrow, you know that Joel and Nick and I will find that scoundrel before he does any more damage.”

  “Well, I’m afraid for you,” she whispered, rubbing her fingers down his shirtfront.

  “Then let me distract you,” he said with a husky laugh. “Kumme . . . I see in the rafters that Mercy King has a board we might use for bundling—if you’ll allow it.”

  Ella felt a delicious shiver run down her back, and she felt a tightening in her belly that caused the babe to kick. “Yes,” she replied simply, in contrast to the myriad of warmly entangled emotions that pulsed through her.

  “Gut. Danki, Ella.” He kissed her tenderly, then moved to stretch up and slide the fairly long, thin board from the rafters.

  He placed it on its side, using the top quilt to hold it in place. She felt the hot weight of his sea green gaze as he turned and held out a hand to her. “Let me help you lie down.”

  She took his fingers and then followed him to the bed. He helped her lie down on her back, and she tucked her arm awkwardly along the quilted board. She watched Stephen come round the other side of the bed, then settle himself against the opposite side of the board. He leaned up on one elbow and smiled down at her.

  “You know, Ella, that bundling is actually puritanical in nature—meant to cool the lust of the body with conversation instead. In fact, I know a bundling poem, if you’d like to hear it.”

  She raised herself up on her side of the bed and smiled at him, glad he was obviously trying to make her feel comfortable. “Please let me hear.”

  Stephen gave her a faintly wicked grin, then glanced upward as he recalled the words.

  “ ‘Some maidens say, if through the nation,

  Bundling should quite go out of fashion,

  Courtship would lose its sweets; and they

  Could have no fun till wedding day.

  It shan’t be so, they rage and storm,

  And country girls in clusters swarm,

  And fly and buzz, like angry bees,