An Amish Wedding Feast on Ice Mountain Read online

  Beth was unsure how to respond. She wished for a quiet moment alone with Lucy, not being surrounded by the milling community waiting until it was time to geh inside. But, as usual, Lucy could read her face.

  “Ach, Beth—you’ve got to tell me everything! It was so wonderfully strange not to be there because I’m not in the youth anymore . . .”

  “Jah, you’re an auld married woman,” Beth teased.

  “Did you see Ransom yesterday?” Lucy demanded in a hiss as people began to shuffle inside. Beth only had time to give her best friend a smile of acknowledgment before Lucy had to move off to sit with the married women, while Beth found a place on the backless bench with the unmarried ones.

  It was odd not to have Lucy beside her, and Beth had a sudden and strange longing to be married herself. I’d love to have a husband to kiss and babies to love . . . and why, exactly, are you thinking this way, my fine miss! Who will marry me as plump as I am? It’s funny, but I don’t remember worrying about my weight when I was younger—at least not until my fater . . . She thrust the sudden, disturbing thought from her and instead tried to concentrate on the mental image of Ransom’s dark eyes when he’d complimented her blue dress. The diversion worked all too well and she had to steal herself to listen to Bishop Umble, who was bringing the message. The bishop was a wise and kind man who brought thoughtful messages before the community as Derr Herr directed. Beth normally loved to listen to his genial, elderly voice, but today, she struggled to concentrate until she heard the text.

  “Today, we hear from 1 Peter 3:3-4.” Bishop Umble cleared his throat. “Your adornment must not be merely external—braiding the hair . . . or putting on dresses; but let it be the hidden person of the heart, with the imperishable quality of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is precious in the sight of Gott.”

  Beth sat up straighter. It was rare that a message seemed to fit so closely with what she was struggling with in her own life—but here were the exact words that confronted her own self-doubt about her weight.

  She watched Bishop Umble begin to pace back and forth before the community, as he normally did.

  “Now, men, don’t start to doze on me because you feel that this message is for the women gathered only. For surely, we all can seek to develop a quiet spirit. But let’s consider Peter’s Gott-inspired words. We are a community blessed with beauty—from the mountains to the green of the fields to the faces of our loved ones—all things that we can look upon. But who is this ‘hidden person of the heart’ in our own lives? Surely we all have hidden things about ourselves that we’d prefer others not to know.”

  Beth watched as the bishop’s eyes swept over the people gathered and felt her heart begin to beat faster.

  Bishop Umble continued. “But I believe that Peter is speaking here about who we are deep inside our hearts, in the place that only Gott sees. We do not, as humans, have the ability to see much past the outside of our friends, or our enemies, for that matter. Ach, but Gott sees the internal, the core, and He understands our motivations and desires, no matter how deeply hidden they may be. Derr Herr sees us at our least lovable but loves us anyway, despite our mistakes and failings. . . .”

  Beth glanced up to see a thin beam of sunlight coming through a subtle crack in the barn rafters and felt a momentary revelation, as if Derr Herr spoke to her directly: You have a gentle and quiet spirit, Beth Mast, and you are of great worth to Gott. . . .

  * * *

  Ransom stood at the back of the barn with the other young, unmarried men. He could see Beth from behind, recognizing her from the back amid all the other maedels. The soft curves of her shoulders and the careful stillness of her posture made her stand out to him. He had the unholy thought of her waiting before him, clad only in a simple shift, but then he ruthlessly clamped down on his desire and exhaled in the coolness of the barn. The smell of hay filled the space, and a feeling of peace moved over Ransom in slow degrees, putting to rest, for the moment, the fitful unease that had bothered him in the preceding hours. Bishop Umble’s even, sonorous phrases echoed within the sturdy barn enclosure and seemed to find foothold and purpose in Ransom’s mind. He was surprised that the Scriptures should matter to him that day—usually he came to church meeting but felt as though he had no right to be there. He dreaded to think of Gott looking at him, so he normally kept his mind closed when the bishop spoke . . . but today—today he heard the Word of Gott on a different level, and it made him swallow hard with feeling....

  Chapter Eleven

  The following morning, Viola announced that she and Rose were going to spend the day exchanging quilt squares on the far side of Ice Mountain with an ailing neighbor. “And, of course, Beth, you shall stay here and put up the blueberries. Mind that you make plenty of blueberry sauce and also pie filling. You’re so much better at it than Rose or me. And we do both appreciate your serving our home in this manner.”

  “Jah, danki,” Beth murmured, feeling pleased that she would have a lot to focus on, and for a gut purpose. Indeed, she didn’t mind working on the blueberries, but the kitchen would be lonely and it would have been nice to have someone to talk with. Ach, well, she thought stoutly. I’ve got Thumbelina.

  She saw Viola and Rose off after she’d done the breakfast dishes, then went to the cool back porch to bring in the baskets and pails of blueberries that had been their share from the frolic—everyone picked, but then the bounty was divided among the community.

  She gently washed and strained the berries, using careful hands to make sure that none of the fruit was bruised while she also removed any stems or leaves. Then, while the berries dried on the tea towels she had spread on the wide table, she got out the necessary ingredients for blueberry sauce. The sauce was a treat to have atop pancakes or fresh biscuits and was fairly easy to make.

  She had assembled the sugar, vanilla, and cornstarch when she happened to glance out the screened kitchen window and heard the brisk sound of a man’s whistling. She wondered if it was Ransom and felt her heart begin to pound. She quickly dried her hands and went out onto the front porch.

  “Hello, Blueberry Princess,” Ransom said lightly from where he stood at the bottom of the porch stairs. He was swinging a full bucket of blueberries back and forth, and Beth felt her cheeks redden with his casual banter.

  “I’ve got some extra berries—Mamm and Esther have put up all that the pantry would hold, and besides, Aenti Ruth is driving them crazy in the kitchen.”

  “Ach, more berries . . . do you have any idea what I’ve got to do now as it is?” She bit her lip at the honest exclamation.

  “Well, now—that’s interesting. I bet the brat and your stepmother found something to do elsewhere rather than putting up the berries.” He moved up two steps, and Beth swallowed as she briefly thought how long his legs were.

  She dragged her gaze back up to meet his dark eyes and felt her blush increase. “Viola—they went to exchange quilt squares with Frau Stolfus. . . . The steam from canning always makes Rose feel like fainting.”

  “Uh-huh, well, I’m here and I’ll be glad to give you a hand. Thumbelina can chaperone.”

  “Ach . . . I don’t know—maybe we . . .”

  Ransom had gained the top of the steps and now stood mere inches away from her. He bent to whisper softly in her ear. “You need help. You don’t have to do everything alone.”

  “I don’t mind the work,” she claimed after a moment. “And without it . . . well, I would feel out of control, and that’s not good.”

  Ransom straightened his back to stare down at her with his dark, dark eyes. “Why?” he asked. “Why is it bad to be out of control?” She had difficulty fathoming the incredible sensation when he brushed his mouth against her cheek and down the curve of her chin. “Why?” he whispered again, but then he seemed to snap back to attention, and she glanced up to see his frown.

  “We’d best get at those berries,” he muttered gruffly.

  She nodded, completely flustered, and nearly stumbled as she
made her way back to the kitchen door.

  * * *

  He caught her easily, one arm sliding around the gentle curve of her waist. He pulled her soft body against his chest and hips. He cursed silently, even as he lowered his head and breathed in the delicate scent of her hair at the base of her kapp; the scent of a woman . . . It’s been so long . . . so very long . . . Awareness of the summer day faded to the back of his mind, only to be replaced with a burning need, but then reason took hold of his mind and he released her abruptly. The whole encounter had taken less than a few seconds, but it had rocked him to the core, and he tried to clear his throat when she caught hold of the doorjamb and turned to stare up at him.

  “Beth, I’m sorry . . . for—well, the last few moments.” He watched her give a quick nod of understanding.

  “Jah . . . likely you were thinking of some other maedel.” Her tone was matter-of-fact.

  “Wait—what?” Her calm words penetrated his mind and he reached out to lightly grab her wrist. He couldn’t resist running his thumb over her fluttering pulse point and half-shook his head as he felt his body ache with arousal for the third time in as many minutes. “I wasn’t thinking of anyone else, little hare.” Only you . . . only you. . . .

  “Well,” she said stiffly, as he released her wrist. “There are the berries to do, and I can do them alone, danki.”

  He nodded. “Sei se gut, let me help, Beth.... I promise I’ll focus on the . . . work at hand. Please . . .”

  “All right,” she whispered, then widened the door and let him pass.

  She let me in . . . she trusts me . . . like Barbara once did....

  He was suddenly transported in his mind to another kitchen, an Englisch kitchen—and Barbara urging him to get in as much kissing as possible before her father came home. He remembered the twinned pleasure of excitement and danger as he eagerly sought her mouth....

  Ransom came to himself in faint bewilderment—I shouldn’t be here alone with Beth . . . What am I doing? He turned, intent on fleeing the bright and airy space, but then he saw Beth’s face and the faint blush on the apples of her cheeks. He knew instinctively somehow that to leave her now would hurt her, and he didn’t want that . . . no matter the cost to himself.

  * * *

  Beth followed his tall form into the cool kitchen and found, to her surprise, that her hands were shaking. She clasped them behind her back for a moment, then resolutely stepped to the table. Her normally work-driven mind was shaken by mental images of Ransom touching her and then. lastly, the abject fear of what would happen if Viola found out....

  * * *

  Ransom clung to the present by concentrating on the particulars of the Mast kitchen. He noticed that everything in the tidy place was laid out neatly, as suited Beth, and he leaned against the table and asked what he might do to help.

  “Well, I—” She hesitated, and he watched her thoughts play across her honest face.

  “Are you making blueberry sauce first?” he asked in a gentle tone, and she nodded.

  “Then I’ll get the saucepan going and you throw in the ingredients?”

  She nodded, clearly glad to be able to do something besides talking with him.

  He discovered that he wanted to soothe Beth even as he himself found peace in her presence, despite the painful memories that had assaulted him.

  He watched her small, slender hands add blueberries, water, sugar, and vanilla to the saucepan on the cookstove and for a dizzying moment saw her tending to heating baby bottles with the same competent care.

  He dragged himself to attention when he heard her ask, for what must have been the second time, for the cornstarch. “Uh, sorry.” He passed her the box. “Just thinking to myself.”

  She nodded. “So Aenti Ruth has her own recipes for things?”

  “Jah.” He smiled, glad for the turn in conversation. “And the recipe cards are in her dear auld head, so she shouts ingredients over the howling of the hounds—which she insists must be present—and my poor mamm can’t take it.”

  “I like Aenti Ruth,” Beth said with some asperity.

  Ransom nodded. “I guess I do too—in a way.” He watched Beth add another big handful of fresh berries and then helped her with the boiling jars. The heat flushed her cheeks becomingly and caused little wisps of hair to appear outside her kapp. He looked away from her, though, then helped to can the blueberry sauce with ease.

  The morning flew past as jar after jar was filled. Finally, Beth spoke happily. “There! We’ve done them all. Danki, Ransom.” Her voice was shy.

  Ransom smiled at her, then looked at the debacle of the kitchen.

  “I imagine you need to be getting back to the woodshop,” Beth said, beginning to wipe down one of the counters.

  “And leave you with all this mess?” he demanded. “No way. We’ll clean, and then you can come home with me for a cup of tea.” He went on when he saw that she hesitated. “You want to have the place looking top-notch for Viola and Rose, don’t you? And I know they would want you to thank Mamm for the extra berries.”

  He was relieved when she nodded her agreement, and then he grabbed a dish towel and went to attack the cookstove with a vengeance.

  * * *

  Beth walked beside him as they passed the Kauffman store, which was the heart of the Ice Mountain Amish community. She glanced briefly at the white store steps, glad that no one was outside, for surely gossip would get back to Viola that she was with Ransom. She held ajar of blueberry sauce to give as a thank-you to Frau King, because she knew that no two blueberry cannings were the same—everyone had their own secrets for flavoring the blueberries.

  She eyed Ransom covertly as he walked and wondered for the fourth time why he was taking an interest in her.

  “I’m not, you know,” he said, smiling faintly.

  “Wh–what? Not what?”

  “Just being nice to you for some reason or another.”

  “How did you—I . . .”

  “Beth, you have an honest face, and that’s a gut thing. I want to spend this time with you.”

  “Why?”

  She watched him tilt his head, as if listening to some faerie song only he could hear, but then he turned and smiled at her once more, and she felt her heart begin to throb in her throat.

  “You want the truth?” He leaned down close beside her and the sun caught on the dark sheen of his hair.

  “J–jah,” Beth whispered.

  He blinked dark lashes and she tried to breathe. “I don’t know why.”

  “What?” Whatever she’d expected him to say, those words were certainly not it.

  “Well, I know why,” she said on an exhalation. “You–you must feel sorry for me an–and are simply being kind.”

  He laughed out loud, and she frowned at him. “What did I say?”

  He shook his head and straightened, exposing more of his handsome profile. “Nothing. Forgive me. I have an odd sense of humor.”

  “Oh . . .” She nearly jumped when his large hand covered hers.

  “Beth, whatever you said, I wasn’t laughing at you. And as for kindness, well, that’s not me. Not by a long shot.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Ransom was glad that the turmoil of the morning in his mamm’s kitchen had settled down to a mild roar. He didn’t blink as he led Beth into the living room from the back door and Old Jack landed on his shoulder.

  “Liiike her! Like her!”

  “Yes, yes . . .” Ransom muttered and indicated that Beth should sit down on the couch, forgetting that Petunia had claimed that seat as her own. But apparently, the pink pig was willing to share and jumped from the floor to Beth’s side to snuggle with contentment.

  Ransom started to move Petunia, but Beth shook her head, her blue eyes smiling up at him. “It’s fine, Ransom, really.”

  He backed off and was headed for the kitchen when Matthew, Mark, and Luke passed him in a galloping blur and threw themselves as close to Beth as the couch and Petunia would allow. Aen
ti Ruth laughed as she came into the room with her cane in one hand and Pig’s birdcage in the other.

  “My animals are smart, Ransom. Let them be where they are comfortable.”

  Ransom sighed, then nodded with a sympathetic look toward Beth, who was still serene and poised as she sought to pet everyone.

  Esther met him on his way to the sink. “So, you’re finally caught bringing a maedel home?” His sister’s voice was teasing.

  “I am not bringing Beth home,” Ransom said softly.

  “Then why exactly is she sitting under that pile of pig and dog? And Aenti Ruth sure seems to like her, which is remarkable, because Aenti Ruth only likes you. . . .” Esther laughed, and Ransom clenched his jaw.

  “Now, now,” their mother said. “No arguing. We are glad to have Beth Mast as a guest in our home. I know it’s the truth that she rarely has an opportunity to get out.”

  Ransom raised a dark eyebrow at Esther, who flounced away into the living room. “What are you doing with Beth Mast here?” his mamm asked in a whisper. “I’ve never known you to bring someone home—I mean a girl—even if you aren’t bringing her home really.”

  “I wanted you to give her a cup of tea and take her blueberry sauce and just treat her kindly as a friend of mine,” Ransom explained. “Viola and Rose were out—as could be expected on canning day. Still,” he mused, “we had fun putting up the blueberries.” His mamm nodded, apparently satisfied and helped as he unself-consciously set a tea tray. They put together egg salad and cucumber sandwiches on nutty brown bread and Ransom made some licorice tea—one of his favorites. Now and then he paused to listen to Beth’s gentle laugh as she talked with Aenti Ruth, and he found the sound to be pleasant to his ears. Then he carried in the tray.

  * * *

  Beth accepted a plate and a cup from the tea tray with true pleasure. It was not often that someone waited on her and she found the moment to be delightful, even though she had to push back the urge to ask if she could help in any way.