The Amish Heart of Ice Mountain (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Edward glanced down at Sarah standing straight beside him before he lifted a hand to knock at the door of his
auld
home. It was a funny thing, he reflected, that Joseph had thrown him out for drinking not all that long ago, and here he was, coming back, with an enchanting frau, an almost turned-around life, and a domestic dog that still resembled a whiskery rat, even though he was now perfectly dry.

Joseph opened the door and gave him a bone-crunching hug, then pulled them inside. After the quiet of only the two of them, his
fater
's
haus
seemed to pulse with activity.

Six-year-
auld
Hollie ran past with Bear, the big black wolf dog, chasing her merrily. Bear only paused a moment to stretch up to Sarah's arms, his discerning snout seeking and then giving Blackie a yip of approval, which the little dog seemed to understand. When Sarah put him carefully down, he joined in the rough-and-tumble play, barking in shrill tones and running with all his might.

Edward gave his
daed
a long embrace, somehow feeling that Abner had grown older even in the short time since the last church service.
I'm growing up
, Edward thought in confusion, unsure whether he were comfortable with the feeling or not.
What is it to be accountable for your own life, to take care of yourself and others?
. . . His gaze strayed to Sarah.
And to let
Gott
take care of all . . .
He shook the serious thoughts out of his head as Priscilla, Joseph's frau, came to greet him, her stomach nicely rounded in pregnancy.

She patted her belly and smiled. “Soon this will be your Sarah, Edward, with God's blessing.”

He felt himself flush as he recalled his lovemaking with Sarah that morning on the bridal fabric. “We'll see, but I hope you're well.”

Priscilla's eyes moved to Joseph. “Very well,” she murmured.

Edward knew that she and Hollie had lived a terrible existence in the
Englisch
world before Joseph came into their lives. Priscilla had been in an abusive relationship with her ex-husband, but Edward also knew that his
bruder
was more than making up for the unhappy times she'd had.

He joined everyone at the well-laden table, his eyes roving with pleasure over the multitude of dishes—stuffed meatloaf, mashed potatoes mounded and dripping with butter, sweet macaroni salad, candied carrots, and fresh salad.

The silent grace over, he lifted his fork to eat, then looked up with everyone else at the sudden pounding on the front door.

Edward put down his fork. “I'll get it,” he offered, getting up quickly. He had to hold Bear back with his leg as he opened the door, only to find Ernest, Sarah's young
bruder
, standing there, breathing heavily.

“Ernest,
kumme
in. What is it?”

The
buwe
shook his head. “I can't . . . Samuel's missing and there's a storm due to
kumme
up tonight.
Fater
's out already, trying to search. He didn't want to ring the school bell and cause a big alarm.”

Edward put his arm around Sarah as she came to the door. “Where would Samuel go and why wouldn't he be home for supper?” she asked, her body tense with concern.

Ernest drew a deep breath. “He may be lying hurt somewhere, Sarah. Maybe you'd better come.”

“
Nee
,” Edward said. “Let the men search.” But Sarah pulled on his shirtsleeve and he turned to look down into her big gray eyes, reluctant to see the protest he knew he'd find there.

“Please, Edward,” she whispered. “It's my little
bruder
.”

He nodded, much against his will; then Joseph was there with heavy coats and several lanterns.

“Best take a blanket or two,” Abner said, offering them the warm folded wool. “The
buwe
might be cold. And take Bear with you; I'll watch yer little dog.”

“We'd better ring the school bell, too,” Edward said.

“But
Fater
said . . .” Ernest began.

“I'll take the consequences,” Edward promised, clapping the scared
buwe
on the shoulder. “Don't worry. We'll find him.”

“The Bear's Cave,” Sarah said suddenly.

Edward turned to stare down at her, a sudden sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't explain. “What did you say?”

Sarah laid an urgent hand on his arm. “
Sei se gut
, Edward. I know it somehow. I know he's there.”

Edward paused for only a second. “Let's go there. If Sarah feels it, it's probably true.” He pushed aside the eerie chord that resonated through his mind at the thought of going to the place, then set out with his family, grimly determined to hike the mile to the Bear's Cave and find his young
bruder
-in-law well.

 

 

Sarah was dimly aware of the ringing echo of the school bell over the mountain and knew that soon the woods would be filled with searchers. Her mother and Clara would no doubt be at the school, helping to provide coffee and sandwiches to all who came to look for Samuel. But Sarah knew in her heart and spirit that her
bruder
was at the Bear's Cave, as sure as she had read the name of the place in
Grossmuder
May's journal. She, Edward, Joseph, and Ernest had set out for the cave immediately.

She wondered as she walked whether or not Edward remembered being found at the cave. The place had been, according to local legend, truly a bear's den at one time, and there were even more recent stories that the cave was home to a mountain lion or two. Mostly, the legends were only that, but Sarah knew the rocks leading up to the cave were still treacherous, and it would be very easy for a small
buwe
's foot to slip or become lodged in a crevice.

They were beginning the climb over the first of the large exposed roots and rocks when lightning struck a tall pine tree nearby, momentarily lighting up their footsteps and searing off a tall upper branch. Sarah watched as the charred embers floated to the ground, causing no damage because it had begun to pour—large fat droplets that caught in the wind and made visibility poor. She was glad of Joseph's big coat, happy that her cast wasn't being soaked, when she heard the first fretful cry over the roar of the storm.

“Listen,” she called, catching Edward's arm.

She watched him cock his ear, and then he shook his head, pulling her over some slippery mud, and she tried in vain to hear her
bruder
's voice again. But when they neared the entrance of the cave, slipping inside the dark cavern, their lanterns giving off a welcome glow, Sarah was thrilled to hear Samuel's call.

She rushed headlong into the darkness, careless of her steps, and only heard the rattle when she felt something move beneath her feet. She stopped dead, feeling queasy, and the lantern fell from her hand, illuminating a huge half-curled timber rattler.

She tried not to scream, then felt a sudden push from behind. She staggered forward, looking back in the haloed light of the lantern to see Edward lose his footing, but not before he'd broken the menacing snake's neck in one quick move.

“
Ach
, Edward,” she gasped. “Did it strike you?”

“
Nee
, but I've twisted my ankle on this uneven cave floor.... Go to Samuel.”

Then Sarah was back in the moment and heard her
bruder
's cries. She clambered behind a large boulder, glad for the light of Ernest's lantern, and found Samuel huddled and cold against the dripping cave wall.

“
Ach
, Samuel,” she cried. “Are you hurt?” She felt anxiously down his chilled arms.

“
Nee
, but I was afraid to move because of that snake, and then it started to get dark and I knew the snake was over there somewhere. Did Edward get it?”

“
Jah
,” Sarah said, pulling him close for a hug. He allowed it for a moment, then squirmed out of her grasp.

“
Ach
, Sarah, I'm too big for loves.”

“A real man is never too big for loves,” Edward said from where he leaned on the boulder.

Sarah smiled and went to him while Joseph moved outside the cave and fired off two gunshots: notice to the searchers that the lost had been found.

 

 

Edward knew it was a bad sprain, but his ankle bothered him far less than the chills he had inside and the strange feeling that he was having difficulty swallowing. His heart raced and he felt himself break out in a cold sweat though his black wool coat was plenty warm.
Maybe it's just a delayed reaction to Sarah stepping on that snake....

Sarah came up beside him, and he felt her study him intently in the light of the lantern he held. “Edward, are you all right? You look flushed and you're sweating.”

“I—I don't know,” he managed to say, having the strange sensation in his chest that he was dying
. Maybe I'm having a heart attack . . . gonna die, right here.... Help me,
Gott. . . .

“You must be coming down with something,” Sarah said, sliding her arm around his waist. “Are you sure you can walk?”

“Jah.”
He gritted his teeth to keep them from chattering and tried to focus on slowing his breathing. He was glad for the pain in his ankle because it distracted him from all the other worrisome feelings he was having.

He didn't want to tell Sarah, but he was immensely relieved to leave the Bear's Cave behind, though it meant leaning hard on Joseph to make it back over the rocks at the entrance. The rain had slowed to a cold mist, and soon there were other hands of help from the community to take Samuel safely home. Sarah gave him a stern admonishment to stay in bed the next day, and Edward felt some lessening of his unease when Mahlon, back at the school
haus
, hugged both him and Sarah in gratitude.

After everyone in the community dispersed to seek their beds, Sarah and Edward walked slowly home. Joseph had given him a stick to limp along with and now he was truly aware of the throbbing in his ankle, though the odd feelings from before had seemingly abated.

But once back at the cabin, his ankle expertly strapped, he found it hard to close his eye to sleep. He told himself that he was probably too keyed up from the
nacht
's happenings, but then he felt his heart begin to race again and raw panic kept him frozen and stiff in the bed next to his wife.

 

 

Sarah could sense that Edward wasn't asleep, though she was tired herself. She leaned over in the dark to quietly turn up the kerosene lamp, then turned back to him to lay a gentle hand on his chest.

“Are you sick, Edward?”

“
Nee
; at least . . . I don't think so.”

She reached and felt his forehead, only to find it damp with sweat. “Edward, I'm worried about you. I'm going to brew you some tea.”

She paused when he reached out and caught her arm. “
Nee
, Sarah. Please . . . please don't go. There's something wrong with me.”

She listened as he began to tell her of his strange feelings. “And all of this started at the Bear's Cave?” she asked.

He nodded, clearly miserable.

“Things happen for a reason,” she said finally. “Maybe Samuel getting lost had nothing to do with him, in one sense, and had everything to do with
Gott
wanting to reveal things to your own heart.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, his brow wrinkling in confusion.

She drew a deep breath. “Edward, when you were young, do you remember being lost at the Bear's Cave?”

“I remember
Daed
telling me a story about it, but I don't really remember being there. Why?”

“Because I think your body remembers, or some part of your mind. I believe when you were there tonight you had a panic attack, and I think you're having another one now.”

“Panic attack? I remember there was a guy on the rigs who had what he called panic attacks. He eventually had to go home.... Suppose you're right, Sarah. . . . I—I'm afraid of this, that there's something wrong with me.”

“‘For
Gott
has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and love and a sound mind,'” she quoted quietly from the Bible. “You'll be all right, Edward. I'll take care of you, but I think the best thing you can do is actually try to remember what you can from when you were young . . . like what happened at the Bear's Cave. Now I'll brew you that tea and it will help relax you.”

She bent forward and kissed him with tenderness, then slid out of the bed to go to the kitchen.

He realized that he'd forgotten to ask her how she'd suspected about him and the Bear's Cave, then drifted into a fitful sleep instead.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The next morning dawned clear and bright, and Edward woke feeling better. He found Sarah had been up for some time, making pancakes and bacon, and he dressed with ease, despite his ankle, after she'd brought him a large mug of tea.

“I can't leave the stove,” she teased. “Or I might hide your clothes and keep you in bed all day.”

“To rest or to work?” he quipped, and she giggled as she went back into the kitchen.

They'd nearly finished the delicious food when there was a knock on the door. One of their more distant neighbors, John Beider, had
kumme
, and Sarah kindly invited him in for breakfast.

“Well, I'd like to,” the older man said, “but the missus is down with bad sinuses. Felt too sick to
kumme
to see you here, Sarah. I'm sorry.”

Edward watched Sarah begin to assemble things in her bag. “I'll go to her of course, John.”

“Well, then, maybe I'll keep your husband company. Heard about your ankle last
nacht
, Edward, and I know just the cure.”

Edward had to smile. John Beider was known as the best storyteller on the mountain, and his kind face held suppressed excitement at his obvious suggestion of a cure.

“You got a new story, John?” Edward asked, handing the other man a cup of tea.

“I might . . .”

Sarah bent and kissed him good-bye, then set out for the Beiders' while Edward turned to his friend. It was nice to listen to the melodic voice of the storyteller, clearly gifted with the craft of weaving a tale to stop time for a bit, and Edward was grateful.

“Well, you know the craft of being a potter, I suppose?” John asked, squinting a bit at Edward.

“
Jah
, though I don't know of anyone who does it around here still.”

“Nee.”
John shook his head. “It's a fast-disappearing art, but I hear tell of two
bruders
over in Elk County living way back in a hollow who still practice spinning their wheels and making all sorts of pottery. I got this story about them when we was down Renovo way, and the missus found an apple pie plate, glazed and wonderful in design.”

Edward offered him a short stack of pancakes, fresh butter, and syrup, and John continued to talk while chewing with decorum.

“
Jah
, so I hear they fire their kiln with a mixture of poplar, oak, cherry, and chestnut wood to produce a steady white flame, and then they go to work, shaping and spinning the clay they haul out of the creek bed. But the funny thing about these two
auld
men is the sayings they like to carve on their works.”

Edward smiled. “Hmm . . . I would have thought their bishop might see that as some kind of vanity, unless he's a
gut
man like Bishop Umble.”

“Well, apparently he is. The missus's pie plate, when you turn it over, says
WER NICHT LIEBT SEIN GOTT AND WEIB, DER HAT KEIN RUH IN EWIGKEIT
.”

Edward laughed. “‘Who doesn't love his God and wife won't have any rest for eternity'?”

“
Jah
,” John returned dryly. “I can't seem to get away from that thought now at my
haus
.”

“Well, maybe there's some truth in it,” Edward teased.

“Bah!” John flung out a hand. “You're still newly married. What do you know? But I will say that by engraving their pots and things, those two are leaving a speaking legacy that could last as long as the glazed clay does.”

“Maybe you should do the same, John,” Edward encouraged him after a moment. “Why not write down some of your stories?”

“
Ach
, I tell 'em . . . that's my legacy, and someday somebody else can tell 'em when I'm gone.”

“True enough,” Edward admitted. Then he enjoyed the rest of John's tales of the two potters until the pancakes were gone and the tea had long grown cold.

“Well,” John said reluctantly, “I'd best head back. I imagine Sarah will return soon.
Danki
for breakfast.”

“Thank you for the story,” Edward said, struggling a bit to get to his feet.

John kindly pressed him back in his chair. “Take it easy, Edward. I'll see myself out.”

Edward bid him good-bye, then sat, grateful for Blackie's company when the little dog jumped up on his lap. He was grateful to
Gott
that the panic attack, if that was what it was, had left him for the moment, and in a few minutes he'd stretched out, falling asleep in the uncomfortable kitchen chair.

 

 

Sarah kissed his handsome mouth upside down, gently stroking her tongue across his lips until he returned her kisses, still obviously half-asleep.

“Mmm,” he muttered. “Am I dreaming?”

“Yes, you are,” Sarah answered, continuing to kiss him until he was fully awake and Blackie hopped down, obviously disgusted with this display of human affection.

“You need to be in bed today,” she told him in a honeyed whisper.

“Fine with me . . . but only if I have some company.”

“And what if someone should
kumme
needing healing?” she asked, shivering a bit as his big hands spanned her hips and then found the curves of her breasts.

“Latch the door. You're used to dressing in a hurry,” he said, leaning upward to trail damp kisses over the line of her throat.

“Mmm,” she agreed after a moment. “I'm used to undressing in a hurry, too.”

“Then do it.” He opened his blue eye and smiled at her encouragingly.

She exhaled softly and hurried to draw the latch on the door. Then she turned back to him and slowly began to remove the complicated pins that held her dress together. She sensed his eagerness as he sat, poised, like a big cat on a short chain.

When she'd removed everything but her stockings, his hoarse voice stopped her. “Leave the stockings, sweet. I like the dark wool against your white skin, and I think I can find a more creative way to get them off.”

And he did, leaving her in sweet abandon while he trailed kisses down the line of her thigh, deliberately avoiding that part of her that begged for his mouth. Then he caught the top of her stocking between his teeth and slowly pulled it down. By the time he'd done the second in a similar leisurely fashion, she was panting with want, and he knew it by the slow smile he gave her.

“Are you ready, sweet?”

“Please,” she gasped, unable to help herself.

“Anything you say,” he muttered, then obliged her desire with hard, deft strokes that made her cry out with passion and then collapse lazily into the shelter of his arms.

Sarah couldn't believe it when she heard the knock on the door. She glanced at Edward and saw that he was fast asleep. She hurriedly dressed, bundling up her hair and pinning her
kapp
, then scooping up Blackie before he could yip more than he was already doing. She undid the latch and opened the door but drew back in both surprise and alarm.

Edward came awake in slow degrees to realize that Blackie was licking his nose. He gently pushed the little dog away, then rose up on one elbow to call for Sarah. When he got no response, he dressed slowly, his ankle still quite painful, and went out into the kitchen. There was a curious stillness to the place that jangled his nerves, and then he saw the letter on the table.

It was obviously written in Sarah's neat hand, but he had to read it twice before he could fathom what it said.

Edward squeezed his eye shut and shook his head, only to look again and read the note for a third time.
Her still . . . her moonshine . . .

And then his eye burned with angry tears and he drew a deep breath.
Sarah went to jail to protect me. . . . What was she thinking to sacrifice herself to keep me safe?

He wanted to curse, but nothing except a choked sob would
kumme
as he hastily found his walking stick and set out for Bishop Umble's, amazed at the kind of wife he'd married . . .
the wife of my heart . . . and I could wring her neck. . . .

 

 

After the long trek down the mountain and then a car ride with the kind and reluctant sheriff, Sarah breathed a sigh of actual relief to be placed in a holding cell with two other women. Obviously, from some tip, the sheriff had believed it was Edward's still . . .
but I kept my husband safe....
It had been all she could think about, especially in light of his recent panic attacks.

Now she glanced with some hesitancy at her cellmates, unsure of what to expect. To her surprise, they both seemed disposed to talk.

“Say, ye're Aim-ish, right?”

Sarah looked at the woman, who must have been in her late forties. She had a black eye and strangely dyed brownish orange hair and she wore a pair of blue jeans and a flowered top with buttons shaped into tiny garden spades.

“
Jah
or yes . . . What happened to your eye?” Sarah asked kindly, wishing she had a poultice with her to give the woman some relief from the swelling.

The woman snorted. “My old man did it. Can't do anything to please him when he drinks.”

Sarah felt a jolt in her chest
. Here, too, is someone else whose husband struggles with drinking . . . but to hit her . . . I cannot believe it, though I know it happens all the time.

“My name's Carla,” the woman went on. “And I'm in here 'cause this time I hit him back, and then I got all riled when he called the cops. Domestic dispute, they say, but he's free and I'm not . . . What'd you do?”

“Well,” Sarah swallowed, “I'm Sarah and I was making moonshine and . . .”

Carla started to laugh, revealing surprisingly white teeth. “You? Makin' 'shine? You look like some ad for
Little House on the Prairie....
How'd you even know how to do it?”

The other woman spoke up, then. Sarah looked at her and saw someone who might be called pretty in the
Englisch
world, except for her hair, which seemed too.... big—and the short cut of her skirt. “Ain't nuthin' to makin' 'shine. My granpappy taught me.”

To Sarah's surprise, Carla extended a hand in introduction. “This is Shelley.”

“Hello, Shelley,” Sarah responded with gentleness
. Both women seem so hurt and tired in a way....

Shelley chewed a piece of gum loudly, then moved to touch the edge of Sarah's clean apron. “My ma had an apron like this.... She died when I wuz fifteen. Don't know what happened to her apron.”

“
Ach
, I'm so sorry about your mother,” Sarah said, genuineness in her voice as she reached out a hand to touch Shelley's.

The other woman allowed Sarah's touch for a moment but then jerked away. “It don't matter now, though I've had a harder life than some—I get by.”

“I'm sure you do,” Sarah replied warmly. “Can I ask what you—um—did to be here?”

“Sure, honey.” Shelley laughed and Carla joined in. “I'm a prostitute.”