The Amish Bride of Ice Mountain (21 page)

“Nothing . . . maybe everything.” He turned the letter over to look at the postmark and groaned aloud. “My mother will be at the bottom of the mountain—tomorrow. She’s decided to come for Thanksgiving.”

“
Ach
, that’s
wunderbaar
,” Mary exclaimed, genuine enthusiasm in her voice.

Jude turned to look at her. “Can you picture my mother hiking up this mountain? And where will she stay?”

“Joseph can sleep on the couch—she can have his room.”

“How nice for Joseph.”

“It’ll be an experience.” Mary patted his hand reassuringly.

Jude nodded in grim agreement. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

“Everything is simply charming, Mary. And I do appreciate your brother giving up his room—Joseph, is it? Yes, well, and your father is wonderfully amusing with his harrumphing around, rather like one of those old elephants in
The Jungle Book
, don’t you think?”

Mary smiled, enjoying her mother-in-law’s chatter as she changed the bedding in Joseph’s room with a light heart. The
gut
weather had held and Jude and her
bruders
had set out earlier that morning to fetch Mrs. Lyons. Mary had hoped that the older woman would be able to make it up the mountain, having forgotten that Jude’s mother played tennis and jogged in Georgia, so the
buwes
had actually tired out more quickly.

Now Mary spread a blue hued Nine Patch quilt on the bed and Mrs. Lyons exclaimed in pleasure. “I suppose you made this, darling?”

Mary gave a shy nod as something tender crossed the other woman’s face.

“Look at how close together these stitches are— you have so much patience. I suppose you’ll make a wonderful mother.”

“I—uh . . .”

“Oh, forgive me, honey. I know you Amish are shy, right? And I do understand that you’re doing this strange month-long abstinence thing to practice courting or something that Jude was explaining to me on the way up here. Whatever—as long as you’re both happy. You are happy with my son, aren’t you, Mary?”

“
Ach, jah
. . . I cannot begin to explain how much I . . .”

Lydia waved her hand, visible tears in her eyes, and Mary stumbled to a stop.

“I want Jude to have a marriage—a life—like I didn’t have with Ted. Do you know he’s actually come round several times to the house I inherited from my father? He says he’s changed—that he loves me, but I know him—he wants what he cannot have. But for Jude, I want so much more, and you, with all of your Amish culture and fascination and heart, are exactly what I want for my son—I can feel it.”

“Thank you,” Mary said gravely. She wished she might ask more about Jude’s father but it didn’t seem an appropriate time so she stood, fingering the quilt and waiting for Mrs. Lyons to compose herself.

Instead, Mrs. Lyons gave a huge sneeze and then sought her pocket for a tissue. “Oh, my sinuses . . . I could feel them getting worse the whole trip up here. I do hope I’m well for Thanksgiving.”

Mary gave her a sympathetic look. “If you’d like, we could go see
Grossmuder
May . . . she’ll help you, I’m sure.”

“Ah—ahchoo! Well, is that the local doctor?” Lydia sniffed.

“Sort of . . . she’s more of a healer. We have to leave the mountain for really serious things.”

“Oh, a naturalist! I’d love to go, if we can get an appointment.”

Mary smiled with confidence. “I’m sure we can.”

 

 

Jude invited Joseph and Edward to the bishop’s house for coffee after seeing his mother safely ensconced with Mary. But Edward made an excuse and slipped away, leaving Jude and Joseph alone while Bishop Umble and his wife were out on a call.

Jude brought the coffeepot to the table and offered Joseph a mug. It was the first time he’d really talked alone with his
bruder
-in-law and he felt a bit awkward. Joseph, like many
Amisch
men, appeared to be a very private person. Jude wanted to thank him for the secret work he knew was being done on his cabin, but he’d given his word to keep Mary’s surprise intact.

“What’s it like out there?” Joseph asked, so abruptly that Jude nearly burned his mouth on his sip of coffee.

“Out there?”

Joseph shrugged his broad shoulders. “You know, out in the real world.”

“I guess I think this world is real enough,” Jude said, his mind on the fulfilling lives the Mountain
Amisch
led, but then he saw the bleakness in Joseph’s eyes. “What do you want to know?”

Joseph sighed. “Truth to tell, I get restless lately. I—I see you and Mary together, how happy she is, and I feel lonely. I’ve tried to pray on it, but nothing new ever seems to happen here.”

“Have you ever been off the mountain?”

“Twice . . . once when I broke my arm and had to go to the hospital, and another time when we took a family trip to Cape May, New Jersey. I was about six . . .
Mamm
hadn’t had Mary yet.”

Jude was surprised at how sheltered a life the other man had led
. But what is he really missing? Traffic and stress and bad television . . .

“I should be married already, as the eldest, but all the girls here . . . well, I either grew up with them or they’ve, well, turned to someone else.” His tone lowered as if in despair.

“Joseph, was there a girl here that you . . .”

Jude watched him run a hand across the back of his neck as if it pained him. “It don’t matter now.”

“Sure it does—if you got hurt, no wonder you want to get away.” Jude tried to put heart into his voice, wanting badly to cheer up this new member of his family.

Joseph took a long drink of his coffee, then set the mug back on the table and got up to reach for his coat. “
Danki
for listening, Professor.”

Jude wanted to say more but was hesitant to break the new confidence that Joseph had shared.
Maybe he’ll talk again sometime . . .
“Hey, Joe—anytime. All right? Anytime at all.”

Joseph nodded and slipped out the front door, leaving Jude alone to consider the conversation.

 

 

The path curved up a small hill laden with wintergreen berries and holly. Somehow,
Grossmuder
May’s cabin always seemed inviting, no matter the season. An old hound dog, Rusty Joe, bayed out a welcome from the front porch and the door opened as Mary put her foot on the first of the steps.

“Well, child, have you brought another
Englischer
to your heart this season?”

Mary couldn’t contain the blush that stained her cheeks as she remembered the seemingly long-ago blessing of her marriage bed. She hastened to offer Mrs. Lyons a hand up the steps when she sneezed again and Mary avoided
Grossmuder
May’s direct gaze.

“
Nee
. . . er . . . I mean . . . This is Jude’s
mamm
,
Frau
Lyons. She’s come for the Thanksgiving holiday but is having a bit of trouble with her nose.”

Lydia smiled, then blew her nose. “Oh, Miss May, I’d shake your hand but I think it would be rude to possibly infect you with my germs.”

Grossmuder
May gave a grave nod, then held the wooden door wide. “
Kumme. Kumme
in, mother of Jude, and we’ll see what ails you.”

Mary followed, ducking under the dried herbs and flowers that hung from the cabin’s interior rafters, and took a deep breath in appreciation. The delicious smell of cinnamon and other spices came from a black cast-iron pot boiling cheerfully over an open fire in the stone fireplace. And two chairs were drawn up in a cozy fashion near the warm flames.

Mary could remember feeling enveloped in all her senses when she’d come here for healing as a child. It was no less welcoming a home now, and she was glad when Mrs. Lyons took one of the seats near the fire and
Grossmuder
May bent close to examine the woman. Mary sat down at the simply carved wooden table and let her eyes wander over the many shelves filled with boxes and bottles and the occasional seashell—all tokens of a long life well lived by the old
Amisch
woman.

“Yer sinus cavities are draining like a swollen creek,”
Grossmuder
May pronounced after a few moments.

“And I never thought to get my prescription allergy meds filled,” Mrs. Lyons groaned.

“Ha! You need a poultice and some herbals and you’ll be right as rain, or at least your nose will be. Now, let me see . . .”

Mary caught the look her mother-in-law threw her after
Grossmuder
May spoke, and Mary shrugged.

“Uh, Miss May . . . excuse me, but what do you mean, at least my nose will be? What else do you think is wrong with me?” Lydia asked.

Grossmuder
May snorted. “Hmmm . . . well, yer heart’s broke.” The old woman drew a bundle of herbs down.

Mary watched Mrs. Lyons put a hand to her chest in alarm and felt a vague shadow of fear herself.

Grossmuder
May waved her hand. “Not yer real ticker, yer heart in your mind, in your soul.”

Mary struggled to grasp what the healer was getting at, then noticed that Lydia had bowed her head and her shoulders were shaking with sobs. Mary rose in confusion and dismay, wanting to go to the other woman.

“Sit, child,”
Grossmuder
May snapped.

Mary sat.

Grossmuder
May went to Jude’s mother and put an aged hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, Miss May . . . you are so astute. My heart is broken—I do so miss my father,” Lydia cried.

“Him too,”
Grossmuder
May agreed.

Lydia Lyons stopped crying and lifted her head. Mary saw her stare up at the other woman, a grim expression coming over her face.

“Yes,” she said quietly after a moment. “I miss Ted. I miss the man I married—everything I hoped for and dreamed of and believed in . . . but I lost him long ago.”

Grossmuder
May nodded. “And it might be that yer cryin’ now because you never mourned those losses. He hurt yer heart.”

“Yes.”

Mary watched the strange tableau being played out before the fire and thought how sad it was that Jude’s
fater
could not or would not change.
But some people, even with much prayer, never change.
She knew in her heart that Jude had not mourned for the father he’d never had and wondered at the pain he seemed to be able to carry so well. But perhaps it was all beneath the surface, like his mother’s . . .

She sighed to herself and was glad when
Grossmuder
May offered them both some spiced cider and the tension in the old cabin lifted.

Chapter Forty

The days before Thanksgiving flew by in a flurry of food preparation, and Mary was happy to see the holiday dawn bright and clear. It was unusual on the mountain to have such fine weather at this time of year, but she was grateful for it all the same. She knew her
bruders
and their friends were making fine progress on the cabin, and she hoped to somehow still keep it a secret from Jude until it was completed.

In her mind’s eye she already could see how she would simply decorate the cabin and hear Jude’s praise about how grateful he was after a hard day of teaching to enter their warm and cozy home. There’d be chicken ’n’ dumplings simmering on the stove and homemade apple crisp for dessert to add to the sweetness of their love. Then he’d sweep her into his strong arms, showering her with warm kisses, growing more demanding until she’d surrender, feigning helplessness while he taught her the ways of love. Her heart skittered with anticipation.
Ach
. . . daydreaming wouldn’t get the cake baked, and she did want it to be perfect for their first Thanksgiving together.

 

 

“So, who else is coming today?” Jude asked idly as he helped the bishop split firewood for the holiday.

Bishop Umble shot him a quick glance. “You all . . . and the Mast family.”

Jude raised the axe, then froze in mid-swing. He slowly lowered the tool and stared at the older man. “You mean Mahlon Mast’s family. Are you
narrisch
?”

The bishop gave him a dry smile. “
Amisch
rule 101,
buwe
, don’t ask your bishop if he’s crazy . . . And
nee
, I’m not. Martha and I always make it a point to invite those to Thanksgiving who have suffered particular loss over the year and also those who must come to some mutual accord. If you want to know the truth, it does bother me that Mahlon seems to hold a grudge against both you and Mary—I would like to see it resolved. And breaking bread with a man can lead to peace.”

Jude blew out a breath, realizing that there was truth in the wise man’s words. “All right. I don’t know how Mary will feel, but I need to get to know his children for school. Maybe this will be a
gut
opportunity.”

Bishop Umble clapped him on the shoulder. “A nice and very
Amisch
answer,
sohn
. I think your studies are coming along.”

Jude couldn’t help but smile at the praise.

Mary remembered her decision to choose to forgive when she walked into the Umbles’ and saw Mahlon Mast’s family assembled there. She smiled at them all and handed over the cake she carried to Jude, who came forward to meet her.

“What’s under the foil?” he wanted to know, trying to take a peek as he took it from her hands.

She slapped his arm playfully. “
Ach
, one of your favorites, I think . . . pineapple upside-down cake.”

She caught a quick glimpse of the flash in his blue eyes and had to look away. Her pulse quickened and her thoughts drifted again to her daydreaming earlier. Soon, very soon, her dreaming would be a reality, and she could hardly wait until they were truly man and wife.

She peeked at Jude one more time, seeing his eyes smolder at her even as he greeted his mother, then forced herself to concentrate on setting the table with the bishop’s wife, Martha, and Mahlon Mast’s quiet wife, Anne. She wanted to say something about missing Isaac to his
mamm
, but Anne Mast, like her husband, seemed to offer little opening for conversation. And besides, the three younger Mast children literally clung to their mother’s skirt so that Mary had a hard time picking out who was who.

She placed the last fork, then went to where Sarah Mast, a girl her own age, and her
bruder
Edward were talking at the sink. Mary had never noticed before what a pretty girl Sarah was, and she had the distinct impression that she might be interrupting something romantic when Sarah stopped talking and Edward sent a faint frown in Mary’s direction when she approached. Quick to take the hint, Mary went back to the table as the bishop invited everyone to find a seat on the long benches there.

The Mast family inevitably huddled close together, except Sarah, who sat next to Edward, much to the open annoyance of both fathers present. Bishop Umble was seated at the head of the table with his wife to his right, while Abner and Joseph occupied the opposite end and Jude and Mary and Lydia Lyons were rather squeezed in the middle.

Mary couldn’t help but notice that even Lydia Lyons was awkwardly silent after the bishop asked everyone to bow for a minute of silent grace. The normal homey chatter of goodwill was certainly missing from this gathering, Mary observed sadly to herself. Then Jude spoke up in a clear voice.

“
Kumme
, let’s all go around the table and each person say what he or she is thankful for this day.”

Mary turned to smile at her husband. She knew he would never allow awkward silence in his classroom or at a holiday dinner.

 

 

“I’ll start,” Jude said in a serious tone. He was discreetly studying Mahlon Mast’s three youngest children, who appeared to be about five, seven, and ten. He decided that they could probably use a good laugh, so he paused dramatically in his words. “I am thankful for . . . the stripes on skunks.”

Jude had the satisfaction of gaining everyone’s attention and saw a surprised look in the youngest child’s eyes. “I’m also thankful for . . . grumpy old men, too-tight suspenders, my boots, my wife, my wife’s boots, ladder-back chairs, soap,
Grossmuder
May’s garlic poultices, our dog Bear—who eats bears—and the dust balls behind every couch.”

Mrs. Umble looked so affronted at this last outlandish comment that he almost laughed out loud, but he held his composure and was rewarded with faint smiles from all three Mast children. He turned to his wife.

“Mary,” he asked like a game show host. “What are you thankful for?” He delighted in the sparkle in her eyes and knew he wouldn’t play alone for long.

“Pink reindeer, Aunti Maude’s bunions, onions, bunions on onions, yellow paint, strange happenings, the rabbit’s cotton tail, and goat’s milk.” Mary concluded her thanks with a demure nod and Jude had to smile.

The bishop cleared his throat, eyeing his wife with a grin. “What did you put in this turkey? Ahem . . . let’s see, not to be outdone or underdone, as the case may be, I am thankful for . . . rats’ toes, my nose, the wild fern that grows, small
kinner
, big
kinner, Englischers
, and my long underwear.”

“Mercy!”
Frau
Umble exclaimed.

Jude looked down the table at Abner, who was laughing and who seemed about to speak when Mahlon Mast cut in angrily.

“Bishop,
Frau
Umble,
danki
for the
gut
meal. But this . . . foolishness is too close and ready to Isaac’s death to be decent. You’ll have to excuse us. We’re leaving.” He jerked his chin at his wife, who hurried to gather the children as Jude threw down his napkin.

“Mast, you’ve got four other
kinner
here that I see, people who might need a little joy. Can you spare any?”

Jude watched the older man spin back on his heel.
“Nee,”
he growled. “There is none to spare.” And the whole Mast clan shuffled out with their plates left full.

The door slammed and Lydia Lyons blew her nose delicately. “My, what a cheerless man . . . and those poor children, and his wife! Mercy, indeed.”

But Jude had his head down. “I’m sorry,” he muttered to the table at large. “I wanted to please the kids and I guess I . . .”

The bishop laid his hand down on the table with a firm slap. “Enough,
sohn
. You were earnest and true in spirit.” His voice softened. “Jude, we tried.”

Jude nodded and was truly thankful for Mary’s hand placed softly over his. He squeezed her fingers and attempted to smile. “Yeah, we tried.”