An Amish Wedding Feast on Ice Mountain Page 5

  She had picked about half a gallon when she heard the genial call that it was time for picnic lunches, and she moved farther from the others, following the trail of ripe berries. She told herself that she was definitely not feeling as hungry as her rumbling stomach suggested and tried not to think about her picnic basket. She was resigned to doing her work as her stepmother bade her. She entered a small clearing near the creek that bubbled lazily through the hollow and saw some ripe blueberries hanging just out of reach. She stepped carefully out onto a semiflat, wet rock and reached for the fruit . . .

  Chapter Eight

  Ransom blinked at the verbal assault both Rose and her mother were conducting. Clearly, they wanted the pleasure of his company and were willing to say anything to get him and the suddenly present Petunia to take a seat on their picnic blanket. But Ransom was adept at dealing with women, and he put those skills to use now.

  “Ransom.” Viola gestured with an elegant sweep of her hand. “We have plenty of space, and your dear mother and I have much to attend to in chaperoning this boisterous group. Why not kumme sit with Rose while I check with your mamm about how things are going?”

  Ransom raised an eyebrow and watched while Rose smoothed down the skirt of her green dress. She’d arranged herself in a pleasing pose on the edge of the blanket, right next to what he recognized as Beth’s picnic basket.

  “I’m sorry,” he began in smooth tones. “I’m sure my mother is occupied at the moment with my Aenti Ruth, but I wonder if I might do you both a service and fetch Beth back for the picnic—so we can all enjoy the day together?”

  Rose burst out. “Nee, but you can kumme and sit—”

  “Rose, dear,” Viola interrupted hurriedly. “Of course the picnic would not be complete without sweet Beth. We do appreciate your efforts, Ransom.”

  “Great. Danki to you both.” He rounded the blanket with casual steps. “I’ll take her basket—in case she’s wandered far and wants a snack.” He lifted the basket with two fingers and gave them both a wide smile.

  Viola nodded. “Jah, by all means, take her basket. The child tends to get overly hungry—her size, you know . . .”

  Ransom stifled the urge to dropkick the basket at Viola’s head, told himself that no gut Amish man would ever think such things, and was off with a simple wave over his shoulder. He quickly left the other youths behind and wove in and out of the bushes and ground cover. He hiked for a gut quarter mile, far from the crowd and Viola’s prying eyes.

  He was surprised when Bishop Umble came whistling toward him out of the woods. The auld spiritual leader had a handful of blueberries and paused in his whistling to chew.

  “Ach, Ransom! How are you?”

  “Fine, sir.”

  “Yet you’re far from the gathering—though perhaps there’s other fruit you’d rather pick, hmmm, buwe?”

  Ransom felt cornered somehow. Bishop Umble’s bright blue eyes gleamed with strange secrets, and for a brief moment, Ransom wanted to back away.

  The aulder man laughed softly. “You’re gun-shy, Ransom, and I wonder why—though I suppose everyone fears something from their past.... Well, happy picking!”

  Ransom eased a breath from his throat. He recalled now that even as a young child, Ransom had felt that Bishop Umble was . . . odd in his perceptions.

  Then a suddenly present Petunia snorted from up ahead and gave a faint squeal as Ransom heard a subdued female cry and the distinct splash of water.

  He broke away from his thoughts and hurried through the blueberry and laurel bushes. When he came to the edge of the water, he saw Beth teetering on a slippery rock with one foot in the water and one out.

  He dropped the picnic basket on dry ground and caught her by the waist, preventing her from getting completely wet. She shook out her blue dress and mumbled a shamefaced “Danki.”

  “You always seem to catch me at a falling-down moment,” she muttered.

  He laughed gently, turning her against his body, then risked lifting her chin so that her wide blue eyes stared up at him with visible confusion. “I prefer to think I catch you falling up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He looked at her thoughtfully. “I seem to have the privilege of helping you when you’re doing something to lift up the world—like being a friend’s wedding attendant, or helping Cleo, or picking blueberries out here alone while everyone else is eating.”

  She nodded, blushing. “Danki, but you should be eating too.”

  “As should you,” he said roughly and regretted his tone when she brushed past him to reach for more berries.

  “My stepmother—Viola—she wanted me to get enough berries picked for jam, and because I came late, I—”

  “I have your picnic lunch,” he interrupted, swinging the wicker basket up from the ground.

  “Ach, you shouldn’t have, Ransom. Viola asked me for it and . . .”

  “She gave it to me quite willingly and we—are going to eat, right now. Besides, it will give the hem of your dress time to dry in the sunlight. And—I’ll help you pick berries to make up for the time you spend eating with me.”

  She was still hesitating when Petunia came grubbing back through the low blueberry bushes. “See, we have the pi—Petunia to chaperone. I promise I’m not as bad as my reputation suggests. Kumme, I’ll geh and find us a spot to enjoy our picnic.”

  * * *

  Beth sat down carefully on the gray rock Ransom indicated as he passed her the picnic basket. She had, in truth, never shared such intimacy with a man—even when Ransom had helped with the washing, she’d been aware of her family in the haus. Yet she also felt comfortable with Ransom—a feeling she could not quite explain. Though he was mocking at times, he was also truly a gentleman, which helped her confidence a great deal. She found that he filled in the gaps of conversation and covered for her shyness, slowly drawing her out like a budding rose to the summer sunshine.... I feel different with him . . . but it can’t last....

  “So, Beth, what do you like to do with your days?” he asked as she passed him a linen napkin.

  She shrugged. “I suppose what any Amish woman does—housekeeping, farm chores, and ach . . . baking.” She said the last with fondness and caught Ransom’s dimple as he smiled.

  “Baking was something I did for my grandfather. I actually enjoyed it a great deal,” he explained.

  They were both silent for a moment then, giving thanks for the food.

  “What do you mean?” Beth asked after she lifted her head. “You enjoyed it? Surely it’s a woman’s chore and must have seemed tedious to you.”

  He waved a hand at her and gave a low laugh. “Ever practical, little hare, aren’t you? Why should it have been tedious when it played on my senses so very well? Touching . . . tasting . . .” He cleared his throat abruptly.

  She wondered at his sudden halt, but then went on with the thread of the conversation. “There are the gut smells . . .”

  “True,” he muttered.

  She watched his eyes darken as she spoke. “And hearing the oven heating or the timer ringing.”

  Ransom nodded but seemed suddenly tense, and she stopped speaking and bit her bottom lip.

  “Did I say something out of turn?” she asked.

  He shook his head, but she still felt his distance for some reason.

  “My, but you’re moody at times,” she said plainly.

  “What?” His voice was low.

  “Nothing. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Nee.” She watched him arch a dark eyebrow at her. “Say whatever you please.”

  “Look, should I just geh back to picking berries?” Beth asked, lifting her chin.

  * * *

  He was silent for a long moment as he looked at her. “No, please don’t go. I am moody. You can hurl all the abuse you want at me and half of it would probably be true.”

  “Ach, I doubt that. I spoke out of turn.”

  “All right, let’s call truce and geh back to baking . . . W
hat’s your favorite thing to bake?”

  He felt on safer ground when she smiled widely. His own talk had heated his awareness of her and he shifted uncomfortably on the rock when she spoke.

  “Ach, that’s easy . . . pie.”

  “My favorite too.” He laughed, telling the truth. “Mark Twain said that ‘Pie needs no advertisement’ and he’s quite right.”

  “What pie do you like best?”

  He smiled and reached beside him to pull a handful of ripe blueberries down from a bush. He opened his hand and held it out to her. She chose two berries with her slender fingers and popped them into her mouth. He did the same and felt himself shiver suddenly. If I were a superstitious man, I’d say I just made some sort of heart pact with Beth Mast over a handful of blueberries. But that’s just wishful thinking . . . I can never . . . never . . .

  “I love blueberry the best too,” Beth confided, breaking into his thoughts. She poured some still-cool lemonade for him as she spoke, then looked him square in the eye. “Lattice crust or whole?”

  “Lattice,” he pronounced solemnly.

  “You’re so right!”

  She seemed about to continue when Matthew came bounding into the clearing. He began to bay nosily, and Ransom tossed him a crust of bread, which Petunia scrambled to steal.

  “Ach, Ransom—I’d better geh back. Viola will certainly be looking for me. Sei se gut enjoy the rest of the lunch.”

  He watched her get to her feet, then set off with quick steps to the trail between the bushes. She called an echoing gutbye, and Matthew howled in accompaniment.

  Ransom looked down at the lemonade in his cup, then shook his head at the two animals. “If she knew me for what I truly am, she’d never sit with me like this,” he muttered aloud, and Petunia grunted in placid agreement.

  Chapter Nine

  Beth sought the solace of Cleo’s small barn in the twilight of the evening. She had two buttered corn muffins in a napkin and ate them quickly, sharing the crumbs with Cleo. She drew in a deep breath and felt better as she rubbed her stomach.

  Against her will, the memory of her father at the reins of a buggy flashed behind her eyes, and she swallowed hard, pushing the image deep inside her mind, wishing she had brought another muffin to the barn.

  Then she carefully petted the now-soft heads of the cleaned twins and listened to the ewe’s gentle baaing. The noise soothed her rattled nerves after the lecture Viola had given her following the blueberry frolic. Beth shuddered as she remembered her stepmother’s chiding words with stark clarity.

  “I don’t know what everyone must have thought, Beth! Delaying Ransom from coming back to our blanket was both inconsiderate and tiresome.”

  Beth had nodded, making no excuse. She realized she probably had delayed Ransom by almost falling into the creek and knew that she had lost track of time in his company.

  “Jah, Viola,” she’d murmured.

  “Ransom King is kind and a gentleman, of course. He no doubt thought you needed to have something to eat before you returned. You must try to control your appetite, Beth—both for things of the world and more food. Do you understand?”

  Beth had murmured “Jah” and was glad she’d been bidden to geh see to the sheep without having dinner, though she’d managed to sneak the corn muffins from the hutch.

  Now she let Cleo nudge her away from her babies and Beth wondered again what Viola had meant about “things of the world.” She hadn’t dared to ask, but perhaps Lucy would know. She’d be glad to see her newly married friend at Sunday church meeting the following day. She left the small barn and crept back into the haus. She longed to cook something on the stove but knew the smell would drift to Viola, so she heavily sugared a heaping bowl of blueberries and climbed to her room to hurriedly eat the snack.

  She knew that gluttony was a sin and surely she was guilty of the act; she forced herself to slow down as she ate the food. She felt a sudden wave of distaste for herself but finished the berries. She ran a finger around the purplish sugar granules at the bottom of the pale blue bowl and thought about Ransom’s dark eyes. What would he think if he knew how much she ate in secret? She shuddered to herself at the idea but sucked the sugar off her fingertip just the same.

  * * *

  Ransom played with a loose harness while watching his older bruder, Jeb, bed down the horses. Ransom had dropped off the rest of the family, animals and fowl included, and had walked the mile to Jeb’s new haus.

  “So, how’s married life?” he asked without preamble as he walked into the big barn.

  His bruder raised a dark brow at him in the mellow light of the kerosene lantern. “That’s what you came to talk about?”

  Ransom shrugged. “Why not? I’ve never been married . . .” He broke off and caught up a curry brush to groom the nearest horse.

  “Ransom, I know you couldn’t kumme home because Grossdauddi became so ill, but what happened to you there?”

  Ransom felt a chill creep down his spine. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re different. I don’t know exactly how or why, but there’s something . . . dark in you. I’ve been meaning to talk with you, but the wedding came first and—”

  “I grew up,” Ransom said softly, terrified that Jeb would start asking more questions.

  Jeb shook his head. “Hey, when you want to talk about it, you know I’m always here.”

  “I’m not trying to put you off,” Ransom lied with the ease of long practice.

  “I believe you—I want to believe you.”

  “I’ll say gut nacht, then, big bruder.” He dropped the brush on top of a nearby barrel. “Give my well wishes to your wife.”

  “Gut nacht, Ransom.”

  Ransom went out into the dark. He took a long time to walk home, even as he struggled to contain the tears that stung at the back of his eyes. I’m fine . . . fine . . . fine. The refrain echoed in his brain and matched the cadence of his lonely steps.

  * * *

  Beth paused with a foot on the last rung of her loft’s ladder, trying to get the empty bowl from the blueberries back to the kitchen. She swallowed a surprised gasp as Rose’s door was flung open. “Beth, where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you to brush out my hair. And why did you have that bowl up there? Didn’t you eat enough at the frolic?”

  Beth tried not to hear her stepsister’s question and set the bowl on Rose’s dresser. She bent with automatic fingers to pick up the array of dresses that had been left on the floor. Rose was not the neatest person in the world, Beth considered, but she more than made up for it with her beauty and poise.

  “Ach, leave those dresses, Beth. I’m tired after today, and I had to scrub for nearly ten minutes to get the berry stains off my fingers. It looks like you haven’t even begun to wash. What have you been doing, for mercy’s sake?”

  For a surprising flash of a second, Beth almost blurted out an angry reply, but then she remembered that her Rose was guileless as a child, and because of her weak health, no doubt had little idea of the chores Beth had to do each nacht.

  “Well, Rose, I tended to the sheep—Cleo had twins, you know . . . and I cleaned up the kitchen and set the oats on to get ready for breakfast, and I—”

  “Beth! Don’t tug so! And I wasn’t asking for a detailed list of how you spend your time!”

  “I’m sorry,” Beth said with contrition.

  “Huh! Anyway, Mamm says Ransom went to find you. Likely he has a penchant for strays . . .”

  Beth gritted her small white teeth in sudden response as Rose rambled on. “He is so good-looking. I may plan to have him if I choose.”

  “If you choose?” Beth murmured. “Doesn’t he have a choice?”

  “Beth, I told you not to tug! And nee, he doesn’t have a choice. I think I am beautiful enough to have any man I want, and why not the most handsome one in the community?”

  “I–I don’t know, maybe he—”

  “Just braid my hair, Beth, and nee—you don’t know anyt
hing about men, so hush!”

  It was with sadness that Beth drew the hairbrush through the long red tresses and carefully created two thick braids when she had finished. Then, as Rose murmured under the quilt, Beth finished picking up the floor, blew out the lamp, and left the room as silently as she could.

  She quickly snuck the bowl back to the kitchen for a quick wash and grabbed a teaberry cookie to take back up to her room. When she got there, she was happy to see Thumbelina curled up on her bed. She spoke softly to the cat before moving to open the window so the cool nacht air could enter. Animals don’t judge. They don’t lift up your rock in the stream and peer at your underbelly, poking and prodding and teasing. She closed her eyes as she ate the cookie in two bites, then hugged her arms around herself, but it made her feel uneasy to give herself affection, so she stopped.

  She thought about what Ransom’s Aenti Ruth had said about her animals being family and supposed the auld woman was lonely—as she herself grew lonely sometimes.

  Then her thoughts turned to Ransom, and she went to her bed and whispered secret, nameless prayers into Thumbelina’s ears and, more importantly, to the Heart of Gott.

  * * *

  Ransom prayed that nacht before he went to bed—he begged Gott to clear his mind of what his grandfather called hauntings. But he knew he didn’t deserve to have his mind cleansed, so he turned his prayers to reach to others. He prayed for what he knew the Bible said about “deep calling to deep . . .” and the intuitive feeling he had that Beth somehow had lost her spark for living. But then he told himself that he was crazy and was simply doomed to walk the earth a broken thing until the end of his days . . . and, in that vein, he hoped his days were short.... I don’t deserve to live, yet maybe that is the punishment of Gott—to have to live . . . Dark thoughts crept round his mind, thoughts he’d grown used to . . . a gun, a jump, deep water . . . But he was a coward and knew he would never have the guts to end his life—that act belonged to Gott. . . .

  Chapter Ten

  “How was the blueberry frolic?” Lucy asked the question with obvious eagerness as they stood outside the Loftus barn, where the church meeting was being held that week.