An Amish Wedding Feast on Ice Mountain Page 3

  She felt him give her a measuring glance; then, finally, he nodded. “All right. If you’re sure.”

  She watched them enter the haus in single file through the narrow door, and then Rose gently closed it with an innocent look, leaving Beth standing, feeling appropriately shut out of any such intimacies as morning conversation and flowing hair. She turned with a resolute face back to the washer and tried to ignore Thumbelina’s plaintive meow.

  “Well,” she said, finally looking at the cat. “That was that.”

  * * *

  Ransom knew he had a reputation since his return to Ice Mountain—that of being an available bachelor—but the overt manner in which Rose Mast paraded about the kitchen in her dressing gown made him long to run back outside. He wondered rather uneasily where Frau Mast was as Rose reached over his damp shoulder to gain the salt shaker for the scrambled eggs she was making.

  “I can cook, Rose, if you’d like to—get dressed,” he said finally.

  But Rose appeared oblivious to her immodest hair and attire and waved airily at him. “Ach, I’m quite comfortable, Ransom. But you must be feeling damp in that shirt. Why don’t you—”

  Ransom was spared any suggestion on the girl’s part when Viola Mast entered the room from the staircase, apparently without noticing him seated at the table.

  “Rose, whatever are you doing? You know it’s Beth’s job to cook. Where is that laz—” With a start, she caught sight of him. “I mean . . . girl?”

  Ransom watched Viola change facial expressions as fast as a shadow slips out of the sunlight. And he felt troubled. There was something going on in this haus of women that made him worry for Beth. Not that it’s any of my business . . .

  Viola continued. “Why, Ransom King—I didn’t see you there. Rose, dear, run along and dress and I’ll check whether Beth needs any help and take over here.”

  “Ach, Mamm, I’m fine. Don’t be so stuffy. Ransom’s seen a woman’s hair before, I’m sure.”

  He didn’t respond to the loaded comment but rubbed absently at his wet sleeve.

  Viola took the moment into her own hands with a none-too-subtle pinch to Rose’s arm. “I must insist, Rose. Now, sei se gut.”

  Rose flounced to the door of her room with a smiling backward glance in his direction; then he rose from the table bench. “I’ll geh help Beth finish the washing while you cook, Viola.”

  He didn’t know how Viola might have responded because Beth emerged from the washroom just then.

  “Ach, there you are, child,” Viola practically cooed. “Kumme sit down with our guest and have something to eat. You must have been up quite early.”

  Ransom didn’t miss the surprise on Beth’s face and then the flush of happiness. “Danki, Viola.... Danki for getting breakfast, and I’d love to sit down, but I’d better geh and change.”

  Ransom cleared his throat. “You wouldn’t be the only wet one at the table.”

  She looked at him with her wide blue eyes, and he was reminded of a baby owl peeking out from its nest.

  “The eggs are ready now, child. I’m sorry, Ransom—forgive my negligence. Beth must indeed change, as is only proper.”

  He sighed to himself, then pulled his pocket watch out. “Well, now that I look at the time, I’d best be getting back to the woodshop. I left the lamb’s ears plantings you wanted in a box on the front porch. I’d love breakfast another time. Danki, ladies.” He turned and made for the front door, but not before he’d taken a last long look at Beth.

  * * *

  “You simply must finish up the breakfast, Beth—I’m having those pesky chest pains again,” Viola said. “You may change later. I’ll geh and sit in Rose’s room and you may serve us there.”

  Beth murmured a reply, still thinking about the fact that Ransom King had helped her do the wash, when Viola paused, then raised her voice slightly. “Ach, and Beth . . . perhaps you don’t understand what’s proper with young men—you’ve had so little experience.... But a maedel does not let a man help her with such menial chores as the laundry. It is not fitting.”

  Beth bit her lip, thinking of Rose in her dressing gown, then nodded. “Jah, Viola. It won’t happen again.”

  “Gut. I’m glad to hear it.” Viola disappeared into her room, and Beth bowed her head. It was a shame that it would never happen again—she’d rather enjoyed working side by side with Ransom King, even if he seemed difficult to understand at times. Then she hurried to salvage the burning toast.

  Twenty minutes later, she hefted a loaded tray of crisp bacon, scrambled eggs, grilled tomatoes, toast, and homemade marmalade and managed a soft knock on Rose’s door.

  Rose bade her enter, and Beth got the door open, balancing the tray on her hip. Neither Viola nor Rose looked up when she got the tray into the room and started to set it up on the small wooden table by the window, reserved for such occasions.

  Rose popped off the bed, now suitably dressed, with her hair kapped, and snatched a piece of bacon from a plate. Beth watched her in some dismay, knowing that no grace had been given for the food. But Viola seemed willing to overlook the infraction as she calmly took a place at the table.

  “That will be all, Beth. Danki.”

  Beth nodded, preparing to leave the room, when her stepmother’s voice gave her pause. “Ach, and Beth, I know you planned on attending the blueberry frolic tomorrow, but I’m afraid that I must geh to chaperone, of course, and that black-faced sheep of yours is about due to drop her lamb. Someone should watch her.”

  Beth felt her heart sink. The blueberry frolic was one of the social highlights of the summer, but she couldn’t deny that Cleo had been showing signs of being near to giving birth and she might need help.

  “Viola, perhaps Jimmy Stolfus could stay with her.” Jimmy was the twelve-year-old buwe who’d been hired to help Beth about the farm.

  She watched Viola smile. “Now, dear, you couldn’t possibly know that I gave Jimmy the day off tomorrow, and besides, Rose will bring you back some berries for jam. Won’t you, Rose?”

  “Mmm-hmmm,” Rose mumbled, her pretty mouth full.

  Beth nodded her thanks and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. It’s of no matter, she told herself stoutly. I probably wouldn’t have had too gut a time anyway. But then, Ransom King’s smiling face danced before her eyes, and she had to push the thought away with deliberation before heading back downstairs to clean the kitchen. Once there, she took a brief moment to snatch up the last of the crisp bacon and sank to the floor, her back to the cupboard as she ate the salty meat. Thumbelina came purring and she split the last bit with the cat, then slowly got to her feet once more.

  Chapter Four

  Saturday morning dawned bright and clear. Ransom worked the hook and eye closures on his dark green shirt and thought about the annual youth berrying frolic that was planned for the day down in Stout’s Hollow. Picking the ripe berries was a fun chore, made even lighter by the laughter and good-natured teasing that usually echoed through the trees. Of course, he was long past youthful activities, but he had it in mind to geh along, chaperone the buwes, and get some fishing done.

  Ransom’s mind slipped back to the last berrying he’d been to on Ice Mountain. He’d been sixteen, nearly seventeen, and preparing to leave home to apprentice at his grandfather’s woodworking shop. He remembered, with sudden clarity, that Beth had not been among the gaggle of girls who attended the frolic. Then he admitted to himself that he’d enjoyed baiting her at the wedding, just to see the life spark in her eyes.

  He slid his suspenders up and headed out of his room. His mamm met him in the kitchen.

  “You can’t geh,” she said.

  “What? Where?”

  “To the berrying. I’m sorry, Ransom, but I just got word that your Great-Aenti Ruth is being trundled up the mountain this morning from over Coudersport way. She couldn’t make it to the wedding because of a migraine, so she’s coming now.”

  Ransom longed to groan aloud. “Aenti Ruth?
Mamm, she’s all of about a hundred and is meaner than a cold snake on a hot Sunday. Can’t Esther stay here with her?”

  His mamm turned and started to pile things into a wicker picnic basket. “Esther can’t deal with Aenti Ruth as well as you can, and you know she gives your fater stress—which he should not have after his heart attack. Besides, he got a rush order at the woodshop this morning for some cabinetry from a gut Englisch customer.”

  “Then I should help him, not stay in here and babysit the family pit viper.”

  “Ransom!”

  “All right, I’m sorry.”

  “Look, kumme late to the berrying. Aenti Ruth usually takes a long nap in the afternoon. Get her settled and—and that’ll be that.”

  “Jah.” He sighed. “Mamm, do you remember the last time Great-Aenti Ruth visited? You have to admit she’s a bit, well—odd.”

  “Eccentric,” his mamm corrected and swatted his arm with a roll of tinfoil. “And when you get auld—you’ll be . . . odd too. Now I have to get a move on. I promised to help chaperone the berrying with Viola Mast.”

  “Jah . . . and I told Abel I’d chaperone the buwes.”

  “Well, I’ll keep an extra eye out,” his mother promised.

  Ransom saw his day’s plans melt away, but he couldn’t very well leave his mamm in the lurch. His great-aenti was a handful, but he’d always been able to roll with her . . . oddness and somehow escape the lashing of her sharp tongue.

  He exhaled and took a poppy seed roll from the plate on the table after his mamm and Esther had gone. Then he wandered outside to the woodshop while he waited for the impending storm that was Great-Aenti Ruth.

  Ransom walked into the woodshop and saw his daed working on a piece of cherrywood, carefully sliding a lathe down its edge.

  “Ach, so it’s Aenti Ruth coming, sohn?”

  “Ya, Daed, I heard . . . your favorite relative.” Ransom smiled.

  His fater’s brown eyes twinkled as he turned the wood. “You know, Aenti Ruth seemed auld even when I was a buwe. As a matter of fact, I recall getting the idea that she might be auld enough to enjoy a gut joke.” His fater smiled in remembrance.

  “What happened?”

  “Typical boyish prank. I caught the biggest bullfrog I could find down at the pond, lugged him home in a bucket and put him in Aenti Ruth’s bed—down where her feet would touch. I waited for the scream I knew was coming—but none came. Then I got nervous. As the nacht wore on, I couldn’t sleep because I was so nervous. My mind went in all sorts of directions ’til I thought maybe that frog had killed Aenti Ruth somehow and I’d be responsible. I finally fell asleep, and then it was morning and Mamm called breakfast. I stretched, and then my feet hit something cold and slimy and I nearly raised the roof with my scream. Here, Aenti Ruth made friends with that frog and put him right back with me—odd bedfellows we were that morning!”

  “Did you get in trouble?” Ransom asked, laughing at the story.

  “Jah—had to make beds for a month. And Aenti Ruth left me all kinds of surprises in the quilts.”

  “Surprises?”

  “A bat, a giant spider, and ten salamanders, to name a few. I tell you, that woman isn’t gut for a body’s peace of mind.”

  Ransom was still chuckling when a wagon drew to a stop outside the shop. The driver set the brake with a wrenching sound, and Ransom nodded to his fater. “You keep working, Daed, and I’ll geh and greet her.”

  “I think I’ll take you up on that. Danki, sohn.”

  Ransom went outside and reached for his wallet for money to pay the driver, but the man waved him off with a fast hand.

  “Shhh,” the man hissed. “She’s fallen asleep in the back on the hay—either that or she’s dead . . .” the Englisch man muttered in hopeful tones.

  “Okay, well, why don’t we—” Ransom choked on his words as dogs began howling and a pink pig leaped from the side of the wagon, hitting him square in the chest with a gut hundred pounds, squealing like there was no tomorrow.

  Ransom staggered back and tried to arch his neck away from the animal, which seemed bent on kissing his face.

  “Now you’ve done it!” the driver hollered, adding to the sudden fray.

  Ransom tried to put the pig down, but it clung to him like a limpet. Then he looked up as Great-Aenti Ruth stood up in the back of the wagon. Ransom could see that she held the leashes of three assorted hounds in one hand and a large guinea pig in a birdcage in another. Her wrinkled face was cracked in a smile, and Ransom watched as a green parrot flew off her shoulder to kumme and land on his head.

  “Well, well,” Aenti Ruth screeched. “Ransom King. You’ve grown up some and Petunia likes you—that’s something.”

  “You mean your parrot?” Ransom gasped as the pig began snorting and pawing in an effort to dislodge the bird.

  “Nee, buwe, that’s Jack. Petunia’s my pig. Now carry her in the haus.”

  Ransom couldn’t figure anything else to do but obey and walked slowly away, but not before he caught a distinct gleam of pleasure in Aenti Ruth’s bright, hawkish blue eyes.

  * * *

  Beth pushed down a new wave of disappointment as Rose airily waved goodbye from the buggy Viola was driving. Perhaps it was fitting that she stay home.... Perhaps Gott has something different in store for me today . . . It was a thought she often used to comfort herself, and it helped as she looked for opportunities to do a kindness or speak a word of cheer to others. It was hard, though, to put Ransom King and his dimpled smile out of her mind, so she headed off the porch for the smaller barn, intent on checking the pregnant sheep, Cleo.

  Beth slipped off her normal shoes outside the barn and stepped into the too-large mucking boots that always stood ready for her small feet. She entered the barn quietly, leaving the door ajar, not wanting to disturb the sheep, especially Cleo, who had a tendency to bolt at the slightest odd noise—especially when she was expecting.

  Beth grabbed a handful of sweet hay and approached Cleo’s pen. The black-faced sheep stared up at her balefully, her stomach visibly distended. Beth clucked with sympathy and unhooked the pen, only to jump in alarm when a strange squawking echoed through the barn. A green parrot flew in and landed with apparent purpose on Beth’s shoulder, causing Cleo to take off at top speed.

  “What? Ach, nee. . . . Cleo!”

  Beth tried to shoo the strange bird away, but it clung resolutely, its small claws clutching at her kapp strings. It held on as she staggered out of the barn in her big boots, intent on catching Cleo, who tended to have difficult deliveries. But the sheep was determined to bound through the field, despite her pregnancy. Her wooly hind legs kicked up clods of mud and growing plants with splattering abandon.

  “Cleo!” Beth called, finding herself losing ground. But she kept on, and eventually reached the edge of what she knew to be the Kings’ property. The faint and awful thought of possibly meeting Ransom in her mud-soaked dress was quickly dismissed as the small parrot let geh and flew off in the direction of the Kings’ big log cabin. Beth stopped to catch her breath, and Cleo chose that moment to begin circling the mud in a strange dance that Beth knew was natural for the sheep just before birthing.

  Beth closed her eyes briefly, muttering a small prayer that all would geh well with the sheep, then sank to her knees to await what she hoped would be a straightforward delivery.

  Chapter Five

  “Ach, there’s Old Jack now on the screen door,” Aenti Ruth commented from where she’d ensconced herself in the kitchen. “Fetch him in, Ransom.”

  Ransom stifled the urge to send the parrot packing; he’d been delighted when the bird dislodged itself from his shoulder a gut half hour ago. And judging from the warbles, whistles, and shrieks the creature made through the screen door, Ransom could only suppose that Jack had spent the last thirty minutes gathering the local gossip from the resident birds of the area. When he opened the door, expecting the parrot to kumme back inside, Old Jack did no such thing, but instead shrilled all
the more fiercely and flew off toward the fields.

  “Don’t just stand there, buwe,” Ransom heard Aenti Ruth snort. “Fetch him back, I say.”

  “Jah,” Ransom muttered, feeling that his world had turned upside down and his feet were in the sky. He headed out at a jog, seeing the parrot as a distant green speck, dipping and circling amid the fresh green of the field. “Stupid bird,” Ransom muttered, knowing he was too auld for such a chase. But then Old Jack seemed to lose speed and gently flew toward the ground ahead. Ransom was about to give vent to more emotion when he heard the distinct baaing of a sheep.

  He slowed his gait and broke through the thigh-high corn only to stop and stare at the strange scene before him. Beth Mast knelt on the muddy ground while Old Jack perched casually on her shoulder. A lambing ewe added her noise to the parrot’s squawks and Ransom raised his eyebrows.

  “Beth? What en der weldt is going on?”

  She turned to look up at him and her fair skin flushed pink, but she answered all the same. “This is Cleo—she’s having a rough delivery as usual. I think it’s twins, and the legs are in quite a tangle. I don’t know about the parrot. . . .” She made an ineffectual attempt to tip the bird off her shoulder and Ransom frowned, snapping his fingers.

  “Jack! Here!” He realized he sounded like he was calling a dog, but to his surprise, the parrot responded and left Beth to perch on Ransom’s shoulder.

  “Ach . . .” Beth muttered, clearly focused on Cleo. “He’s yours.”

  “Nee, but he’ll not bother you now.” Ransom dropped to his knees in the mud beside her, and Beth shook her head in distress.

  “Ach, you needn’t get all dirty. I can manage, I think.”

  “All right, have you had a go yet?” he asked, and she nodded.

  “I can’t quite sort out the legs.”

  “Do you mind if I try?” Ransom swept his gaze over her. She was dressed in an odd shade of pumpkin and still managed to look pretty, even with a splotch of mud on her cheek. He cleared his throat and saw that she nearly jumped.