The Amish Bride of Ice Mountain (19 page)

Chapter Thirty-Five

Mary adjusted her apron and quietly began to assemble the light corn syrup, powdered sugar, marshmallows, and shortening. She was about to measure the popcorn kernels when she heard Jude’s knock at the front door.

She drew a deep breath, then eased the door open, surprised when he half jogged past her and continued moving around before stopping at the woodstove and holding out his hands. He took his hat off as an apparent afterthought and held it out to her.

“Are you cold?” she asked with concern.

He shook his head and blew out a frosty breath. Then she noticed his damp hair. “Jude Lyons! Did you come over here after a bath? You’re freezing.”

She lowered her voice and took a step nearer him, reaching up to touch his head. “Your hair’s still wet. You’ll catch your death.”

“Wives’ tale,” he muttered, rubbing his hands together.

She smiled. “What did Martha say about heating water for a bath at the start of the week?”

“She offered . . . I chose the creek instead.”

Mary stared at him, dismay filling her chest. “Ach, Jude . . . you are going to be sick. The creek is too cold.”

“Don’t fuss. I’m fine.”

She noticed him rub at his right hip beneath his long black coat.

“Fine, hmm? And what about your hip?”

“It’s nothing. One of the cattle bumped into me.”

“Lie down on the couch,” she ordered, hastening to the medicine closet.

“Not that I mind the suggestion, but why lie down?”

She was rummaging between bottles and found what she sought. “Lie down, take off your coat and shirt, and lower your suspender on that sore side. I’ve got some
gut
liniment.”

He grinned at her. “I’m game, but remember that it’s you who’s telling me to undress . . . I’m not the one who’s teasing.”

She flushed a bit and clutched the liniment bottle with determination. “Go on. Hurry up.”

She tried not to watch him as he slipped off the heavy coat and put it over a chair, but he was an enticing sight for any bride. He eased out of his suspenders and blue shirt and stood holding it, still shivering.

“Kumme
on,” she urged, fascinated by the play of lantern light and shadow across his bare skin.

He dropped the shirt on top of the coat, and then reached to rub at his hip again. “It is sore.”

“Go lie down.”

He obeyed, trying to fit most of his big body onto the couch as he got situated on his left side. He made an effort to reach for the waist of his pants and she shooed his hand away. He sighed and stretched out, so she couldn’t help but see the light brown thatch of hair under his arm.

She felt rather giddy and slid his pants down an inch from his lean waist, exposing the top of his hip. Then she gasped aloud. “Jude, you’re badly bruised.”

“It’s nothing.”

She bit her lip and eased his pants an inch farther, seeing that the bruising extended beyond where she could comfortably undress him. She murmured to herself and poured the tea tree liniment into her hand, the overwhelming scent filling the room. She put the bottle on the floor and knelt by the edge of the couch, then tipped her hand.

The liniment ran in seductive wet rivulets over the line of his hip, and she heard his breath catch. She slid her hand through the moisture and pressed hard against the bruising, angling her arm to get closer. She felt his body arch into her hand, then felt him relax as she began rhythmic circular motions.

“Oh, Mary,” he whispered. “That feels so good.”

She glanced up the line of his body and pressed harder. He shifted his lower legs and she continued until she was surprised by the sound of his heavy, slow breathing. He’d fallen asleep to her ministrations.
He must be exhausted.

She finished her rubbing, eased his waistband back up and drew a quilt from the back of the couch over his bare shoulders and chest. Then she recorked the liniment and went with stealthy movements back to the kitchen to wash her hands.

Bear had wandered from his place by the woodstove to jump up on top of Jude’s legs and she was surprised when he didn’t wake but slid over as if familiar with making room for the big animal. Mary added more wood to the stove and dropped into a chair opposite the couch. She wondered how long he’d sleep, then found herself lulled by the warmth of the woodstove and the tingling of her hand where she’d touched him. She felt her eyes drifting closed and decided a catnap would not hurt her either.

 

 

Jude glanced over his bare shoulder at Mary as she began to stir, and he shook the lid and kettle full of popping corn harder.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he whispered when she blinked at him and gave a gentle stretch.

He watched her rise from her chair and wander over to him, still looking sleepy. She put out a hand, almost as if she were in the middle of a dream, and brushed his ribs with the backs of her fingers.

“Mmm,” she said aloud as if she’d felt something pleasant.

He stopped shaking the pan and turned to her, catching her close in his arms. He bent his head and forgot everything for the moment as he kissed the honeyed slant of her mouth, gently edging the tip of his tongue against her closed lips.

Open
, he heard himself beg in his head.
Open for me, please . . .

And she did, with a tiny breathy sound, so that he could taste the sweetness of her mouth like sugared candy to a boy longing for a treat. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, aware that her hands roved in fluttery, anxious movements across his chest.

He tore his mouth away once to gasp for breath and caught the smell of burning popcorn. He grabbed a pot holder and the pan and moved to dump the whole lot outdoors into the snow, then returned to where she stood, as if dazed.

“Mary, sweetheart?”

She lifted a hand to her lips as if trying to recapture the sensations of the kiss and he inched close to her, anxious to repeat the experience. But she looked up at him, owl-eyed. “I’m sorry, Jude. I think I was half-asleep.”

“I like you half-asleep,” he confided, bending to nuzzle the juncture of her dress and neck.

“
Nee
, I mean, I had plans for tonight.”

“Okay, let’s keep planning.” He smiled, his mouth on her skin.

But she took a step back, out of his arms, and he stared at her in consternation. “Mary, what . . .”

“We’re going to make popcorn balls,” she announced, straightening her apron and moving away from him to take another pan off a nail on the wall.

He struggled to keep up with the situation. “Popcorn balls, right . . . I was making the popcorn. But then I thought we could . . . we were . . .”

She shook her head in determination. “Popcorn balls. A great treat.” She landed a lump of butter in the kettle and added a measure of kernels.

“Mary, wait. I don’t get it. We were kissing.”

She arched a delicate brow at him. “
Ach
, that was more than kissing. Even when we . . . made out, you didn’t kiss like that.”

He had to chuckle. “Oh, you mean my tongue.”

She blushed to the top of her
kapp
and he hooked his fingers in the waistband of his pants and took a step closer to her. “Or I guess I should say
our
tongues—touching, exploring, wet, wanting . . .”

He leveled each word at her with a deliberate seductiveness and she increased her shaking of the kettle to a furious speed. He reached out a hand to brush down the length of her moving sleeve and was pleased to feel her tremble.

“Mary, that’s a perfectly normal way to kiss. It simulates what the man wants to do with his body, with the woman’s body, together.”

She stopped shaking the kettle and stared at him. “
Ach
. . . I never thought . . . so you want to . . .”

“Very much,” he spoke softly. “I want very much to make love to you, to use my body to please you, but I can’t bring myself to do it here, with your
dat
snoring in the next room. So we’ll have to wait until this month’s over and I can take you home to our cabin.”

“Ach . . .”
she said again.

He laughed gently. “Yes,
ach
. . . but that doesn’t mean that we can’t kiss and talk and kiss and make popcorn balls . . . what do you think?”

He watched her search visibly for a reply; then she lowered her lashes. “I think a month will never seem so long.”

“Gut.”
He caught her against his chest, stretching to put his hands over hers to start the kettle moving again. “That’s very
gut
.” And he bit lightly at the back of her neck, finding a sensitive spot and making her jump until he’d soothed her with his mouth once more.

Chapter Thirty-Six

“When do you think you can start?” Mary asked, excitement in her voice as she watched her older
bruder
look over the sketches she’d drawn.

“If the weather still holds, I can start tomorrow,” Joseph answered, making notes on her drawings with a pencil nub.

Mary knew that Joseph was skilled at carpentry, and he was willing to help her surprise Jude. She’d stayed up half the night after Jude had gone back to the Umbles’, working on sketches of how she would love their cabin to be—or Jude’s old research cabin from the summer.

She’d drawn two extra rooms on the back, a place for indoor plumbing instead of the outhouse, and had reshaped the roof, which badly needed to be patched.

“And
Dat
owns that land, so we can always keep adding on once the
kinner
. . .”

She trailed off at Joseph’s appraising look.

“Nee,”
she snapped. “There are no babies on the way yet.”

He laughed. “To think, a few months back, I would have broken your husband’s perfect nose over such a remark.”

She shoved at him, then put her hands on her hips. “And I might well ask you, Joseph King, when your own
kinner
will start arriving. You’re older than I am.”

She’d only been kidding, but her
bruder
’s bleak look reminded her of his talk before about not finding a girl on the mountain. “I’m sorry, Joseph,” she said contritely. “I was only teasing.”

He waved away her words. “It’s of no matter . . . I will be the
oncle
who spoils.”

She smiled but knew Joseph was unhappy at heart. She realized that being with Jude made her want others around her to have joy as well, and she gave Joseph a quick hug.

“You’re a gut big
bruder. Danki
for your help with this.”

He nodded and she knew she had temporarily cleared his heart with her words.

 

 

Jude’s head throbbed as the bishop quizzed him on his Penn Dutch. Even though Jude knew both High and Low German, the dialect spoken by the Mountain
Amisch
was foreign at times to him and was one of the most difficult aspects of his becoming
Amisch
.

“Let’s see, how do you say ‘the mischievous child’?”

Jude frowned and rolled his eyes. “Nobody says that.”

“
Jah
, they do,” the bishop countered.

“
Der brat
—how about that?”

“Nope.”

“I give up,” Jude admitted, rubbing his temple.

“Well, you should get to know the words well. I’ve spoken to the deacons and we’ve decided that although it’s a bit unusual, you will be the next teacher—
Herr Dokator
—at our local school. Full pay rate . . . Term starts the Monday after Thanksgiving. Rachel Miller’s niece was to have come up the mountain to do it, but she decided not to since Rachel died . . . so it’s you. Now, what do you think of that?”

Jude found himself smiling in spite of himself. “But I thought the
Amisch
only approved of female teachers?”

“We’re Mountain
Amisch, buwe
! And why waste a man who’s
schmart
in the head, hmm? Now, the mischievous child . . .”

Jude’s head cleared and his concerns about farming for a living drifted away.
“Der schnickelfritz.”

 

 

Mary looked up from stuffing an orange with cloves when her
fater
came in the front door with a blast of cold air.

“
Ach
, Mary, I saw Jude at Ben Kauffman’s store a bit ago. He was there on an errand for the bishop. He asked if he might take you sledding this evening—says he’s got a surprise for ya. I told him he’s not supposed to ask me but you.”

“Dat . . .”
Mary began to protest.

Her
fater
raised his hand. “But I told him I’d deliver the message, seeing that you are married.”

She kissed his weathered cheek at his teasing.
“Danki, Dat.”

“
Ach
, and Jude also sent word that Martha and Bishop Umble have invited us to their home for Thanksgiving.”

Mary clapped her hands. “
Wunderbaar!
I was hoping we could get together, but I know the Umbles usually invite those families who have had a difficult year in some way.”

Her
fater
stroked his beard. “Well, we almost lost you, and Jude’s grandfather passed on, and his parents . . .”

Mary fingered a clove absently
. It’s true. It’s been a hard year for Jude—his job, his father, his book, and—marrying me.

She pushed away the doubts she had and went to serve lunch to her father and brothers. They took up a debate as to what kind of pie she should make to take to the Umbles’ for the upcoming holiday.

“Raisin,” her father prompted.

“Blueberry,” Joseph and Edward agreed.

And then Mary had an idea. “No pie,” she announced.

“What?” the men cried in unison.

She smiled a secret smile. “I’ll make pineapple upside-down cake instead.”

 

 

Jude put aside his fascinating and sad study of the
Amisch Book of Martyrs
and ambled down the steps to catch the bishop after supper.

The old man usually took up residence on the couch with a book,
The Budget
, or his Bible, and Jude wanted to get to him before he became engrossed in reading.

“So—” Jude settled into the chair opposite the couch where the bishop was already seated. Martha was drying dishes quietly in the kitchen and the soft, homey clinks were soothing to Jude’s ears.

“So? How did you find your study of the
Amisch Book of Martyrs
?”

“Painful to read. Some of the tortures and persecutions suffered by the followers of Jacob Amman are unbelievable—but I know they’re true.”

“Faith costs. Being different costs,” the bishop observed. “Now you too join to pay that price.”

Jude thought of the prejudices against the
Amisch
in the modern day and understood that Bishop Umble was calling him to a higher thinking, a feeling of being part of a legacy of endurance and hope. He was silent with his thoughts for a moment, then asked about his new position at the school.

“By my calculations from the summer, there are about nineteen children on the mountain of school age. Does that sound about right?”

“Yep.” The older man nodded. “And they might give you a fair run too, or they might be in awe of you as a male.”

“Do you think they’d respect a female more?”

The bishop stroked his beard. “Respect is returned in the way that it’s given.”

“I understand that. I’ve always been respectful with my students. I wondered about cultural differences, I guess.”

“You’ll do fine,
sohn
. And I’ll tell you what—you can take a break from the feed yard tomorrow to go over to the school and see the lay of the land. Get any supplies you want over at Kauffman’s. Ben donates whatever we need. And take Mary along with you to tidy up the place. It’ll give you a chance to be alone together too.”

Yeah . . . like I need that.
Jude cleared his throat. “You know, December fourteenth is a month.”

“Counting the days, are you?”

Jude shot a glance over his shoulder at Martha and leaned forward. “I think you’d be counting too, if you were my age.”

“Ha! I’d count them now,
buwe
. I’d count them now.”