An Amish Man of Ice Mountain (The Amish of Ice Mountain Series Book 2) (23 page)

Chapter Forty

Joseph knocked on the door of Grossmudder May’s cabin, taking a deep breath of the delicious, herb-scented air. He was surprised when Sarah came to greet him; even after what she’d done for his
fater
, he still couldn’t picture her in the
auld
healer’s place. And he had no idea what to say to her on the subject of Edward.

“Joseph, Grossmudder’s been expecting you. I’m sorry you’re hurt.
Sei se gut, kumme
in.”

Joseph had the strange, turned-upside-down feeling he normally had at the May cabin, but now it was Sarah Mast who was generating the odd energy that made his scalp tingle.

“Sarah,” he began finally. “Look, Edward is—”

She waved him silent, then stirred a fragrant pot over the small fire. Then she straightened and rubbed her hands on her apron. “Joseph, your
bruder
must choose his own path, his own wife—there is nothing I can do. The demon that holds him now must be dealt with, but only he can do the dealing.”

Joseph found himself agreeing.
Demon . . . It was a
gut
word for the drink, though he understood that drinking could be a disease; but maybe it was easier for Sarah to think of things in more straightforward terms . . .

He blinked thoughtfully, then noticed Sarah was leaving. She looked at him once over her shoulder. “Grossmudder May is in bed. She’ll tell you what to do. Have a
gut
day, Joseph.”

He waved her off and turned in the sudden silence of the strange cabin, wondering what was next.

“Joseph King, would you have an
auld
woman ease your pain?”

He jumped in spite of himself, then went to the archway that separated the kitchen from the bedroom. He saw Grossmudder May without her
kapp
, her hair twined in a massive gray braid about her small head. She was tucked up comfortably in the feather bed, the quilts drawn up in cozy folds to her gnarled hands.

“Took a fair beating, hmm?”

He nodded, feeling uncomfortable standing in her bedroom.

“Well then, go on out to my cabinets and I’ll holler and tell you what you need to do to fix yourself up so Abner doesn’t need healing again.”

But Joseph hesitated. “Are you—unwell, Grossmudder?”

“Me? Naww . . . nothing wrong with me but dying, plain and simple.”

Joseph stared at her. “What? What did you say?”

“You heard me fine,
buwe
,” she sniffed. “Now go on to the herbs.”

“I should get Bishop Umble and Sarah back here . . . Maybe she can—”

Grossmudder May held up a hand to silence him. “Joseph, Derr Herr has revealed to me that it is my time today. He said he’d send someone to be with me, and you’re obviously the one. Now let’s move along.”

Joseph felt as if he’d entered some strange nightmare and blindly turned to the vast cupboard of jars and bottles and vials.

“Bilweed for the bruises and some arnica, mix them together.”

Joseph braced his hands on the cupboard and shook his head in disbelief. He wanted Priscilla there with him . . .

“You’re not moving, Joseph.”

He looked up at the containers. “Where’s the bilweed?”

“Under ‘B,’
buwe
. . . What’s wrong with you?”

He found the jar of the dried herb and opened it, promptly bringing on a sneeze.

“Bless you,” she called.

He couldn’t reply, but he was glad to have something to do with his hands. He dumped some of the bilweed into a stone mixing bowl and found the arnica cream. He mixed the two together with a small pestle. “Now what?” he asked, though his voice shook.

“Pour a little aloe in from the stone jug on the floor, then bring it all in here with a cloth.”

He obeyed slowly, not wanting to go back into the bedroom.
But maybe she’s simply
auld
and worried and is making up all this dying stuff in her head . . .

“I can hear you thinkin’ from here, young fella.
Kumme
in and let me help you.”

He reentered the bedroom, carrying the bowl and a soft cloth.

“Sit down here in the chair beside me
, sei se gut
.”

He sat and she took the items from his hands.

“Turn up the light a bit more, Joseph, and stop being afraid. I promise my eyeballs won’t pop out nor anything too unusual.”

“It’s not that . . .”

“Lean over here,” she commanded.

He leaned and she began to gently stroke his face with the cloth and the mixture.

He closed his eyes.

“Hurts, hmm?”

“
Nee
. . . but you . . . that hurts.”

She dabbed at his mouth. “Well, that’s right nice to hear, Joseph King. That I’ll be missed when I’m gone from here . . . right nice indeed.”

He didn’t speak; he couldn’t. His throat worked and he sat still, letting her heal his wounds.

 

 

“Her skin feels like petals, Mommy,” Hollie marveled as Priscilla dried Rose with a soft towel.

“And you have a beautiful imagination, my sweet girl,” Priscilla said, smiling down at her daughter.

Mary sat in a rocking chair nearby, her eyes full of admiration and wonder for her small baby.

“You’re a good mother, Mary,” Priscilla complimented her as she sat about dressing the doll-like, wriggling baby.

“Why do you say that? Sometimes I feel totally helpless and wonder how I will really help her grow.”

“Well, for one thing, you let other people love and care for her. The more love she has, the better. I couldn’t . . . well, never mind. But you’ll see, God gives you wisdom with your children.” She reached down to tug Hollie’s braid. “Or else I’d never know what to do either.”

Hollie giggled and stepped away to rub Bear, who sat like a giant, silent sentinel at the bath.

Rose cooed and Priscilla had to laugh. “She sounds like a dove.”

“I know,” Mary agreed. “She wakes Jude and me each morning with her gentle sounds. It is truly a blessed way to begin the day.”

Priscilla listened to the baby and wondered what it would be like to raise a child with someone by your side—like Jude was with Mary. She hugged Rose tight and mentally calculated days in her head for the tenth time that morning
. I’m late . . . Dear Lord, I’m late . . . but maybe it’s nothing . . .
Yet when she considered Joseph’s passionate, virile lovemaking, she had to smile to herself, like hugging a precious secret close, even though she felt herself flush at the idea of carrying his child.

“Are you hot in here, Priscilla?” Mary asked, rising to open a window. “Your face is a bit red.”

Priscilla smiled brightly. “I’m fine. Truly fine.”

Joseph took the bowl back when she’d finished.

“Now go on and get a
gut
chunk of ice from the box and wrap it in a linen towel. Top drawer on the right of the cupboard. And no considering some excuse to go for more ice and runnin’ off down the mountain for help. I told ya, I’m fine . . . and you’ll be fine too.” Grossmudder May gave him a direct look from faded gray eyes and he got the wrapped ice as she’d told him and settled back in the chair beside her.

He struggled for something to say as he listened to her breathing, glad that it seemed soft and regular.

“Not yet, Joseph . . . let’s talk. You tell me a secret and I’ll tell you one.”

He shifted the ice higher on his cheekbone. “I let Edward have at me.”

“Ha! No secret there, nor that still of his. I’ve seen him pass by a-stumblin’ on more than one evening.”

“I destroyed the still.”

“Well, he’ll only build another,
buwe.
Do you really think you can save him?”

“I don’t know. I can try.” Joseph leaned his chin glumly in his hand, his elbow bent on the chair arm.

“Bah! Try to be Gott more likely . . .”

“All right. What’s your secret? And it better not be some—”

“Your wife’s pregnant.”

Joseph nearly fell out of the chair. “What did you say? How do you know? Has she been to see you? Dear Gott, and I’ve been making lo—” He broke off, confused and excited.

Grossmudder May laughed. “What you know about women, Joseph, could fill a pea hull. You can make love as much as you want throughout the pregnancy,
buwe
, so long as there’s no pain or bleeding.”

“Right. Right . . . no pain or . . . right.”

“And now you’re a-longin’ to go to her. Well, you ain’t got but a few more minutes to wait. Tell me another secret.”

Joseph noticed that she appeared restless and he quickly rose, then brought back the hand towels Priscilla had made. Grossmudder May fingered the embroidery with pleasure. “Lilacs . . . they say heaven smells of lilacs. Just like my grove every May . . .”

“I kissed Priscilla there,” he whispered, telling the secret. “Showed her how I’d do it too, using a lilac blossom.”

Grossmudder May laughed and Joseph noticed the strange beauty of sudden paleness that appeared to rest on her countenance. It was almost as though she grew younger and he could see the change before his very eyes.

“I can hear the angels,
buwe
, like roses and lightning all mixed together.”

He reached out and held her hand, watching helplessly and with the grave knowledge that there was something truly greater than he in the cabin at the moment she passed on into the life to come.

He knew when it was over and sat, holding her hand, until it grew cold. Then he gently moved away, leaving the hand towels beside her on the bed and feeling as if he’d suddenly grown up a bit more in the wise woman’s passing.

He banked the fire and closed the door behind him, then set off for the bishop’s
haus.

 

 

Joseph reached the stair steps of the bishop’s home and was met with an unearthly wailing from inside; it took him a few moments to register that the bishop and his wife were in the middle of some kind of argument.

At any other time he might have felt amused by the reality that Bishop Umble did not always have all the answers—at least where Martha was concerned—but now Joseph decided he’d have to knock and interrupt.

He put his booted foot on the first step.

“Dear, this has nothing to do with me not loving you!” the
gut
bishop hollered, and Joseph winced.

Another step.

“I’m telling you, if my
mamm
was alive, I’d go back to her,” Martha cried.

Joseph was within knocking distance of the porch door but held his hand when the bishop roared out his next words.

“Ya would not, Martha Umble! Your mother drove you crazy!”

Joseph shook his head and had just decided to knock when he saw Martha Umble
kumme
barreling toward the door like a freight train with no brake. He jumped off the steps in the nick of time and still almost caught the porch door in the face.

“Hello, Joseph,” Martha murmured as sweetly as if they were in a church meeting.

“Hello . . . is . . . can I . . .” He watched her stalk off toward the barn, then peered cautiously back at the door.

Bishop Umble stood there, snapping his suspenders with a frown. “Suppose you heard all that,
buwe
. Well, she’s got it in her head that we should go for a month, a month mind you, to visit Mary Malizza. A bishop’s job is for life and she wants me to take off and go gallivanting like I’m some—”

Joseph nodded. “
Jah
, sir. But I must tell you—”

“
Ach
, women. They drive you mad, then make you think they’re right. Well, I haven’t had a vacation in some time and I—”

“Sir, Grossmudder May is dead.”

“Hmm? What’s that?”

Joseph shook his head, hating to be so blunt but seeing no other way around it. “I said that . . .”

The bishop came out and dropped down to sit on the top step, visibly stunned. “
Auld
May . . . who’d have thought. I just saw her last week for my knees and she fixed me up
gut
. . .” He cleared his throat, then took out his massive red hankie and blew his nose. “You were with her,
sohn
?”

“
Jah
. . . she spoke of hearing the angels singing. I didn’t—she didn’t want me to fetch you. I’m sorry.”

“
Nee
, it should’ve been the way she wanted. Well, I’ll notify the deacons. We’ll have the funeral tomorrow, I expect.”

“All right.” Joseph struggled for something else to say, but the bishop seemed to want to be alone with his grief. “I’ll go on home then.”

Joseph walked away, feeling that he wanted nothing more than to be in Priscilla’s comforting arms.