An Amish Match on Ice Mountain Page 6

  “Well, it’ll just be between us, then, because I know a lady when I see one—though how ya came to be here, I’ll never understand, and I won’t pry none neither about the babe.”

  “Thank you,” Ella murmured.

  “Oh and my two eldest girls will be around later as well, though I wouldn’t want them to get any ideas once they’ve seen the inside of this place—Miss Millie sure turns a good hand at business—beggin’ yer pardon, Miss Ella.”

  “No.” Ella smiled faintly. “She does run the club well.”

  Ella watched the older woman’s hands move with wonderful dexterity as she crimped a piecrust, then quickly moved on to another. “I’ll freeze these crusts once they’ve baked and cooled and then all we’ll have to do is fill them the day of . . .”

  Ella put down her tea glass and reached for a bowl of bright green peas that needed shelling. She still had to clean the two front bedrooms as well as the water closet near the second-floor landing. And then I’ll have to talk to Miss Millie about getting off work at five p.m. on Wednesday . . . She was filled with secret delight at the chance to see Stephen again and snapped the peas through her fingers without truly seeing them as she recalled his early-morning kisses . . .

  “Ella?”

  She realized that Mrs. Rob must have repeated her name several times, and she looked up, feeling herself flush. “Yes—I’m sorry.”

  “No need to be sorry, child. Not when you’re lovestruck. I wanted to know if you needed help finishing those peas.”

  “Lovestruck?” Ella queried. Is that what I am about Stephen? Lovestruck and moony-eyed?

  “See what I mean?” Mrs. Rob asked with a dimpled smile.

  Ella nodded, but couldn’t bring herself to answer. Am I falling in love again when only five months ago I thought I loved Jeremy? I’ve got to get a rein on my emotions . . . Against her will, she recalled meeting Jeremy for the first time. She’d been strolling along the promenade of small shops in Cape May, looking for a birthday gift for her father, and her handbag had caught on the arm of a male passerby. It was then that she’d looked into Jeremy’s eyes and felt her world go off-kilter. He seemed to devour her with his gaze, and she’d felt both fear and excitement, though she’d thought that the initial fear was merely the thrill of falling in love at first sight. But now I know better . . . as I should have known then. And maybe I should be more careful with Stephen now . . .

  She returned to shelling peas with sober vigor.

  Chapter Nine

  The Toole family home was bursting at the seams with boisterous children—Jackie being the youngest of ten sons. Stephen found the plethora of boyish clutter to be cheerful—baseball gloves, pet frogs, gumdrops, and cap guns—all seemed to litter every possible flat surface except the long wooden slab of a dining table, carefully set with tin plates and cups. It was by no means a grand home, but it exuded happiness, and Stephen felt a pull in his heart’s memory when he compared his own cold upbringing to the lively bustle of the Tooles’ house. In his Amish home, he could remember no laughter, few toys, and the meagerness of meals . . . It had been a place that had brought ingrained desolation to his soul . . .

  He pushed his dark thoughts away as he glanced across the madcap kitchen to see Ella watching the antics of the children with a soft smile on her mouth. He let his gaze drop to her belly and knew instinctively that she would be a good mother—especially if she enjoyed the ordered chaos of the Toole family as much as she seemed to be doing.

  He was about to cross the room to her when Mrs. Toole let out an effective bellow. “Supper’s on!”

  Stephen was almost run over by the herd of boys, but finally managed to secure seats for Ella and himself at the end of one long bench, to the right of Mr. Toole.

  The family bowed their heads with one accord while Mr. Toole thanked God for the food, his wife, his children, and their guests. Stephen wondered when it was that he’d last heard someone pray for him out loud, then pushed the thought aside as a bowl of mountainous mashed potatoes was passed his way. Roast chicken, stuffing, and green beans soon followed in quick succession, as well as whole-berry cranberry sauce, a broccoli cheese casserole, and warm angel biscuits.

  One of the older scamps peered down the table and was studying Ella with something akin to awe, and Stephen remarked on it with a smile. “What are you thinking, son?”

  The boy withstood a general outburst of teasing laughter from his siblings, then spoke up boldly. “Jest thinkin’ that Jackie wouldna be here if it weren’t fer her, and I don’t care if she does work down at the Social Club neither.”

  Stephen knew Ella’s discomfiture even without looking at her. He reached beneath the table and gave her knee a reassuring squeeze. He was about to speak when Mrs. Toole banged her spoon upon the table. “Jimmy, watch yer mouth! Pa! Don’t you have somethin’ to say to the boy?”

  Mr. Toole, a genial, quiet fellow, opened his eyes wide and peered down the table. “Why yes, Ma. I’m askin’ these fine folks here to come to Bible study tonight with us at the church.”

  “Pa! You ain’t thinkin’ straight, but you are thinkin’ right. I should have said so myself! Would you like ta come? Mr. Stephen? Miss Ella?”

  Stephen was about to decline, thinking that Ella would probably prefer her privacy, but to his surprise, she looked at him with a smile on her lips. “Do you mind if we go, Stephen?”

  “Uh . . . sure! Thank you, Mrs. Toole. We’d love to . . .”

  “Aw, jest call me Ma! Everyone else round here does.”

  “All right—Ma—thank you.”

  Stephen continued with his meal thoughtfully. He hadn’t had much to do with the Bible since he’d left the mountain, and he had no idea what Ella believed. I wish she was Amish . . . He stared down at his potatoes, startled by the quiet whisper of a thought. Why care if she’s Amish or not . . . ? I haven’t had much to do with my faith or living by the Ordnung lately, so why should it matter . . . ? And then, like a groundswell, it hit him hard between a mouthful of cranberries and one of broccoli—I really care for her and the baby . . . He dropped his fork and glanced at Ella, half afraid that she might read his thoughts. Friends . . . We are just friends . . . And I am losing my mind to this girl . . . He came back to the moment abruptly, realizing that Ma was insisting he try her peach cobbler. He let Ella serve him, and he was warmly fascinated as he watched her slender hands move. Then he shook his head and let the smooth richness of the cobbler ease down his throat while his heart still beat out E-L-L-A like the tattoo of Ma Toole’s spoon.

  * * *

  Ella hadn’t been to a church since her father’s funeral. In truth, she’d been angry with God then, and the remnants of that anger still tore at her. But her father had taught her, from a young age, that running from God in anger or sorrow would do no good; God would pursue you because of His great love. She recalled now that these were the words that had been spoken over her father’s coffin, which had been set up in the front room of the Glass Castle. He had died so suddenly of pneumonia that Ella had had little to no time to grieve . . . It was little wonder that she had sought Jeremy and the baby as a refuge of sorts . . .

  All of these words of her father now came rushing back into her mind as she sat beside Stephen in the small church pew. The Tooles and other townsfolk were gathered, and the place was lit cozily by lantern light—the better to save on the electric bill, the young pastor had joked upon meeting her. The small, wood-floored church was the only place of worship in the poorer part of town, and Ella realized it might not be well supported, at that. The young pastor looked nervous to her, and she wondered if he was new at the job, but then Lester Pike came in slowly, and the man at the pulpit seemed to take on fresh courage as he began the study.

  “We want to welcome our guests this evening—I’m Pastor Rook, and I’m glad to see you all here. Tonight, we’re taking a look at a few verses about faith . . .”

  Ella watched Stephen take a Bible from the pew back, and his tanned
slender fingers found the passage with the ease of familiarity. She was grateful when he moved closer that they might share and she breathed in his scent—something like the mountains and wilderness. It made her feel comforted, almost the way she’d felt when he’d caught her from the flames; but there was also something primal about him that caused her belly to tighten and her mouth to sting.

  I must be crazy, and we’re in a church too . . . Ella dragged her attention back to the pastor and began to truly listen.

  “You might vacation somewhere—say somewhere near the sea. And every morning you get up and find yourself studying the beautiful waves as they pound against the shore.” Pastor Rook’s voice was pleasant, but he captured the image of the roaring waves in Ella’s mind. “And then one morning you get up to find that a vast fog has rolled in and the sea is no longer visible. Now, you don’t say to yourself, ‘The sea is gone.’ You know it’s there with only a temporal blocking of its view . . . Well, so it is with faith in God. Sometimes when the fogs of life, of disappointment, of regret or fear cloud our vision, we might think that God—Who commands the sea—is no longer there. That He has left us. But God wants us to trust Him, even if we cannot see His power working in our lives. He longs for us to call out ‘I know you’re there, God—even though things seem dark right now and I cannot see you.’” Pastor Rook cleared his throat. “Please bow your heads with me for a few moments of silent reflection.”

  Ella closed her eyes, and for the first time in a very long time, she felt enveloped by God’s love and she knew a great thankfulness in her heart. She realized that she had lost faith in God for much too long—first with her father’s sudden death, then the cruelty of her uncle, and then Jeremy’s merciless attitude toward the baby she carried. Yet here, in this little church, she found that perhaps God had never left her after all. She felt Stephen slide his hand over hers, and she understood instinctively that he, too, was not unaffected by the pastor’s simple but profound story.

  The pastor then gave a final blessing, and Ella rose to make her way across and down the aisle, only to find Lester Pike at her elbow in the crowd. “Good evening, Mr. Pike,” she said gaily. “Did you enjoy the service?”

  “Aw, now, I imagine I did—I could understand about the fog with my blindness and all.”

  Ella was about to murmur something polite when Stephen caught the old man’s hand. “You see beyond physical sight, my friend. And I’ve only known one other in my life who could do such a thing. Thank you, Lester—for being you.”

  Ella wondered whom Stephen spoke of but then she was swept up in a throng of Toole boys and she forgot about her questioning thought, simply pleased to feel Stephen at her back and her heart lighter than it had been in weeks . . .

  * * *

  Mitch eased out of the shadows of the church, waiting until everyone was gone. He didn’t know what had brought him to the service—something about the lantern light and a long-forgotten memory of sitting on his mother’s lap—being held, being loved. Then the pastor’s carrying words about God . . . What has God ever done for me? He left me alone with my father. He saw how I was beaten and He didn’t care. He saw that I was naked and afraid and hungry and broken and He didn’t care . . . Mitch nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice behind him spoke softly.

  “That was quite a nice service tonight. I liked the lantern light.”

  Mitch turned and faced Lester Pike. “You’re blind. How could you see the light?” Mitch demanded, preparing to walk off.

  “I can,” Lester assured him. “But I know it’s hard when other things cloud my mind—bad memories, things that seem unfair, my mother dying in a car accident . . .”

  Mitch kicked hard at the ground. “So what? You had some trouble . . . you seem fine now. I bet nobody ever beat you when you was little.”

  “No,” Lester agreed sadly. “But God still loves you, and He—”

  “That don’t explain nuthin’,” Mitch choked. “Why would a good God let a little fella be treated so bad? Huh? Tell me!”

  Mitch watched the old man shake his head. “Man sins. But God is still good. He is love that is real to help us through the tough times and—”

  “Shut up! Jest shut up! All you’re saying is that you don’t really know, and that makes you a liar! Do you hear me? A liar, and your God is nuthin’ but a cheat . . .” Mitch backed away from Lester and started to move down the street. He told himself that the stupid old man could find his way home easy enough, but that he had a job to finish . . .

  * * *

  Stephen held her hand as he walked her back to Millie’s; it seemed easy, natural, and he was feeling relaxed after this night’s time in church.

  “I had fun at the Tooles’,” he confided as a silent symphony of lightning bugs cascaded around them.

  “Yes, it would be wonderful to have so many chil—” She broke off, as if she were embarrassed.

  And he finished gently. “Children?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can only agree.” He resisted the urge to pull her closer, because he wanted those children, wanted to be their father and Ella their mother . . . I’m narrish . . . but

  I want it with her so badly I can taste it . . . Sei se gut, Gott, make it real and bless Ella and the boppli she carries . . .

  He did hug her closer to his side then and felt, for once, that he might be happy . . .

  * * *

  Mitch was dreaming. His father was screaming and chasing him with a wooden baseball bat. Mitch knew his child’s legs could not outrun his father, and his own screams soon echoed through the woods. Mitch felt the harsh grasp at his neck and kicked his legs, trying to break free when he looked down and saw a small baby in his arms. The baby cried out too, and Mitch longed to comfort it, but then he realized that his father had let him go. He cradled the baby in his chubby arms and turned to look behind him. His father was gone, and all that remained was a warm light—warm to help the baby . . . He walked toward the warmth and watched the baby stop crying. He heard his own breathing, still fast and hard, but he was free . . . the baby had saved him . . .

  Mitch woke and heard the cries coming from the back of his throat. He sat up fast and realized he was drenched with sweat. He put his head in his hands, and his dream replayed itself again behind his eyes. He started to cry and brushed angrily at the tears, but then he let them go and sobbed into the tangled sheet. The baby . . . The baby had saved him . . .

  Chapter Ten

  Ella adjusted the simple white collar on the pretty blue dress that Miss Millie had given her. She studied herself in the mirror and decided to pile her red hair into a neat chignon. Her new dress fitted tightly in the bodice, then flared outward with a flounce of petticoats. Silk stockings and uncomfortable high heels completed the look, and she felt a slight thrill of excitement as she considered what Stephen’s reaction might be when he saw her. She’d never dressed so provocatively before in her life, and she was glad that her stomach was feeling nicely settled after a quick meal of toast and applesauce. The petticoats hid her pregnancy, and she reminded herself that she was too quickly becoming involved with another good-looking man . . . And where did it get me the last time? But something seems different about Stephen . . .

  A quick knock on her door brought her musings to an end, and she left the room to help Mrs. Rob arrange the trays of canapés that were to be circulated among the guests before the buffet was revealed.

  * * *

  Stephen smiled faintly when the chief gave him a hearty slap on the back. The men were walking together with a dozen or so others and had left behind a disappointed skeleton crew at the station. The men had good-naturedly drawn straws to see who had to stay behind at the station while the rest laughed and talked as they made their way down the streets to Miss Millie’s. Stephen didn’t try to suppress the excitement he felt knowing that he might see Ella. He had every intention of seeking her out, no matter her duties of housekeeping. He gave half his attention to the talk surrounding him
while reflecting on the kiss in the garden with the wet sheets. The linen had clung to her gray dress like a second skin, lying sleekly across the rapid rise and fall of her high breasts. He half shook his head, realizing that he was becoming obsessed with the girl, but it felt so good and . . .

  “Hey, Steve!” Joe’s booming voice penetrated his reverie, and he gave his big friend a surprised look. “Where’s your head, Steve? We’re here already.”

  Stephen smiled and drew a deep breath as he mounted the outside stairs to the gracious porch. The big door was opened by a tall redhead who drew low whistles of appreciation from the men—all but Stephen himself. Where did she get that fancy dress . . . ? His adrenaline was running fast and he could feel the throb of his pulse as he shouldered past Mike and Joe to slide his arms around Ella.

  “What are you doing?” he whispered hoarsely in her shell-like ear, ignoring the catcalls at his back.

  “Opening the door to greet our guests.” She spoke through gritted teeth, though she smiled widely as he backed away a bit but still kept one arm proprietarily around her blue sateen waist.

  “Gentlemen,” he said with a laugh in his throat as he turned to face his friends. “Forgive me, but I think I’ve found my—uh—entertainment for the evening.”

  “Then let us pass,” Joe called good-naturedly. “So we can do the same.”

  Stephen pulled Ella gently out of the way, only to have her slip from his arms and whisper irritably up at him, “If anyone sees what you’re doing, I will lose my job. I’m the house—”

  He interrupted her torrent of words by swooping down and kissing her hard, using his tongue, then his teeth against her lips. Then he broke away and spun her around to face a well-dressed Miss Millie.

  “Well, my dear—I told you that a pretty dress would pay off, didn’t I? And you, sir—I’m afraid Ella needs to help attend to serving our guests tonight.”