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Authors: Kelly Long

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BOOK: The Amish Heart of Ice Mountain
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Samuel pushed his hat back on his head. “Sheesh
, Bruder
Edward, you talk a lot. All right, I'll take 'em back, but I don't want to be no
gentlemon
.” The little
buwe
slammed the door on his way out and Sarah was relieved when everyone, including Edward, laughed out loud when he'd gone.
Chapter Fourteen
Edward had no idea what had possessed him to suggest a game of broom ball instead of enjoying a deep drink alone. And further, he soon realized that Ernest was more than eager to talk to him as a
bruder
-in-law and potential friend.
“Joseph says I'm a dab hand at carving wood. He's letting me work on some cabinet legs this week,” Ernest announced proudly as he and Edward walked to one of the outdoor sheds in search of a soccer ball.
Edward nodded at Ernest's comment, musing to himself that he knew very little about his
bruder
Joseph's work with some of the young men on the mountain, starting a wood workshop adjacent to the family home.
Not that it's my home anymore . . . I haven't been there in weeks. Not since Joe threw me out.
“I don't think
Grossmuder
May had much call for a soccer ball.” Ernest's strident voice broke into Edward's thoughts and he looked up to see the
buwe
poking about in the shed and looking discouraged.
“Well, then, we'll go and buy one down at Kauffman's. Go run in and tell Sarah we'll be back shortly.”
Ernest's thin chest puffed out with obvious pride in being invited to walk alone with his new brother and he took off like a shot back to the
haus
, leaving Edward frowning after him.
I've got no reason to be anything that Ernest could or should admire. . . .
But he had no time to consider further as Ernest huffed back to him.
“Sarah said to get two other brooms as well.”
“All right.”
Edward turned and they headed down the path that wound around to Ben's store. Edward had the distinctly uncomfortable feeling that he was being not so discreetly scrutinized by his new
bruder
-in-law, and it made him frown and seek desperately for some topic of conversation.
“You sweet on a girl, Ernest?”
To Edward's amazement, the
buwe
solemnly shook his head. “
Nee
, your
bruder
Joseph teaches us at our Wednesday
nacht
group that women should be respected and that being sweet on someone could get you into trouble with having sex before marriage. So, I'll wait until I'm truly in love, not just the feeling of it.”
Edward nearly stopped still at Ernest's frank talk. “Leave it to old Joe,” he muttered under his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing. Uh, tell me, Ernest, did Joe ever happen to elaborate on how to tell the difference between lust and true love?”
Now, why did I ask that?
“True love means hope and sacrifice and life and death—the other is a gift from
Gott
,
jah
, but it only lasts for the moment.”
“Right,” Edward agreed sourly, not knowing whether he was mad at Joe, the
buwe
, or himself, but he was grateful when the big white store came into view.
He mounted the wooden steps with Ernest on his heels and paused outside the big door to listen to the unfamiliar sound of men's voices raised in anger. He looked askance at Ernest, then was almost bowled off his feet when the door was flung open from the inside. Ernest caught his arm as Edward gazed into the reddening face of his own
fater
.
“
Daed
, what is it? What's going on?” Edward asked, regaining his footing.
Abner King threw a harassed glance over his shoulder. “
Kumme
home with me,
buwe
. They're arguing about the Marcellus Shale—that
Englischer
, Jim Hanson, stopped in and the bishop's not around. You'd better not go in right now.”
Edward felt himself bristle at the idea of backing down from any fight and moved to ignore his father's words when his
daed
laid a hand on his shoulder. “Edward
, sei se gut
. . . listen for once.”
The gentle rebuke stilled him and he looked down at the whitewashed plank floor of the old porch, then shook his head. “I'm sorry,
Daed
. . . I'm not Joe.”
He nodded briefly to Ernest, then left them standing on the porch as he squared his shoulders and opened the door to the store.
 
 
“Is he a nice man for a husband, Sarah?” Clara asked.
Sarah ran a finger around the edge of the large chipped yellow mixing bowl and smiled faintly at her younger sister. “Nice? Uh . . . sometimes.”
Clara visibly shivered. “He looks so—big and scary . . . and that eye patch.”
Sarah patted her sensitive sister's hand. “He'd always be kind to you. And he's not scary to me at all.”
At least not often . . .
She sighed to herself as she poured the cake batter into a greased and floured heart-shaped baking tin.
Samuel had begged for a mayonnaise cake before tearing back out to the creek and Sarah hadn't the heart to refuse him the creamy chocolate dessert with its frothy white icing.
“We need to have a wedding quilting for you, Sarah.
Mamm
and I have been talking about it.” Clara's eyes shone. “I know the marriage was hasty, and then the—accident, but please say you'll accept a quilting.”
Sarah smiled. “Of course, Clara
.
”
Even though I'm not really a wife and am married in name only . . . unless I ask for something different.
Clara gave a happy clap, then tucked her hands behind her back. “
Ach, gut
, Sarah.
Danki.
Maybe early next month, when the chill really sets in. . . .”
A quick tap on the door interrupted her sister and Sarah turned to open it, wondering if Samuel had brought back something bigger than a crayfish. But, to her surprise, Martha Umble stood there, her left hand swathed in bandages while she held an open bean tin can in her right.
“Hiya, Sarah! Bright morning it was until I cut the tip of my finger off with the ax.”
Sarah was aware that Clara had gagged faintly and made for the bedroom.
“Well,
kumme
in, Martha, hurry! Where's the bishop?”
“Home. Mad as heck because I won't go down to the hospital. But what's the sense? I'm sure you can give it a fix as quick as any other doctor or nurse.”
Sarah pulled out a kitchen chair and gingerly took the tin can. “Kerosene?” she asked, getting a whiff of the pungent stuff. It was an
auld
custom on the mountain that kerosene could cure or preserve just about anything.
“Yep.” Martha grinned, revealing a few missing teeth. “Always works.”
Sarah nodded, then went to her cupboard and turned up the lamp even though the cabin was flooded with sunshine. She peered down into the murky fluid and saw the fingertip floating casually. It truly was just a sliver of flesh. Sarah chewed her lip.
“All right, Martha. I can stitch it on or disinfect it and duct tape it back into place. I actually suggest the tape.”
“Duck 'er up then, luv.”
Sarah smiled at her friend's mispronunciation and fetched the big roll of silver tape that Edward had brought home from the rigs. Then she proceeded to gently undo the makeshift bandage Martha had wrapped around her hand.
“Hmmm,” Sarah mused aloud. “It's still bleeding, but it is a clean cut. What were you doing with the ax?”
“I had that scrawny rooster, Charlie, on the block, and darned if he didn't fly up in my face and get away. I'm lucky the hens didn't get the fingertip—they wuz scrabblin' after it, but I got there first,” Martha said triumphantly.
Sarah was cleaning the wound. “Mmm-hmm.”
Martha leaned closer. “Where's that man of yours?”
“
Ach
, he went with Ernest to set up for broom ball. We're watching the
kinner
today.” Sarah carefully lifted the bit of flesh from the kerosene with tongs.
“Well, if you ask me,” Martha whispered, “it won't be long 'til yer watchin'
kinner
of yer own. A big man like that will be
gut
with the children and you.”
Sarah frowned as she carefully fit the pieces of flesh together
. I don't want to think about
kinner
with Edward and I don't have to, anyway, not until I say . . . until I ask . . . Never, never, never . . .
“Nuthin to say, hmmm?” Martha asked knowingly. “Wal, I don't blame you none.”
Sarah concentrated on winding the duct tape around the wound, then straightened after a few moments. “There.
Gut
as new.” She cleaned up the bits and pieces, then disinfected her hands.
“All right, Clara, you can
kumme
out now.”
Martha laughed as Clara slowly emerged from the bedroom, looking even paler than usual. “As different as chalk and cheese, you sisters are—but that's how
Gott
's made you, so praise be!”
Sarah smiled. “Clara wants to plan a wedding quilting for me, Miss Martha. Perhaps you could help her and
mamm
organize things?”
Martha slapped her thigh with her
gut
hand. “Surely, Sarah. We've got more than enough space at our place and I love the food at a
gut
quiltin'. Clara, we'll talk on it, but now I've got to get back to making lunch.”
“Chicken?” Sarah asked.
Martha looked abashed as she held up her silver-tipped finger. “Naw, I suppose that
auld
rooster deserves to live out his time given that he wuz wily enough to escape me. I kinda respect him.”
Sarah watched her sister, an animal lover, break into a smile, then turned back to Martha. “All right, my friend.” Sarah laughed. “
Kumme
by again when you need that changed, but give it at least eight days to start.”
She saw Martha out, then turned back to her younger sister, who was eyeing the bean can with distaste. “
Ach
, Sarah, how can you do this work?”
Sarah shrugged as she emptied the kerosene into a basin. “People need me. How can I not?”
 
 
The sound of the men's voices came to a sudden stop when Edward entered Ben Kauffman's store. Edward nodded to those nearest him, perched on counters, their faces both somber and excited. It was a strange atmosphere . . .
and not one that I need two eyes to see
, he thought ruefully.
He proceeded to wade deeper into the gathering of black coats and finally saw Jim Hanson standing by the potbellied woodstove. The
Englischer
had a quick smile for Edward and held out his hand in greeting.
Edward shook hands, almost unwillingly, when he recalled his
fater
's face from the porch outside, but then shook off the feeling of disquiet and decided to take the proverbial bull by the horns.
“Jim, how are things?”
Another quick smile. “I think things are going fine, Edward. I was just explaining to the men here about the fact that they stand to make a nice tidy sum should R and D decide to drill here.”
“Money?” Ben Kauffman snorted. “
Jah
, but at what cost? Our homes? Our way of life? The Ice Mine?”
There was a rumble of accord from some of those gathered, but Edward quickly realized that not everyone was agreeing. He had a sudden sick feeling in his stomach; he hadn't thought truly of losing the mountain, and now guilt flowed over him in waves. Still, he straightened his shoulders, determined to see his actions through.
“There's other land . . .” he announced tightly.
“We live in the land of Endless Mountains, don't we? What harm is there in simply listening to Jim here? To give folks a chance to choose?”
“You forget community, Edward,” Deacon Keim spoke up from the background. He was usually quiet, so now everyone stilled to hear him speak. “We are not separate; we are one. One in nature, decision, choice.... If we separate into individual grains of wheat, we lose the joy of the whole loaf of bread. I don't feel we should be discussing this without Bishop Umble's presence.”
“I don't mean to cause trouble,” Jim Hanson said affably. “Just talking. That's all.”
“You wouldn't be talking at all without this firebrand here,”
auld
Solomon Kauffman suddenly spoke up, while pointing an aged finger at Edward.
Edward squared his jaw, ignoring the vague desire he had for the floor to open up and swallow him whole. “That's right,” he said. “It's my doing. I accept that.”
“And I accept the notion that my family could do with a bit more cash—some security for my grandchildren even.” Herr Zook spoke firmly.
Others murmured with him.
“
Gott
provides security,” Ben declared loudly from behind the counter.
“
Jah
, easy enough for you to say when you've got the only store on the mountain and a regular income all year round,” a slightly raised voice from the back put in.
And then there was chaos as Edward watched the idea of money infiltrate his people and set them against one another. He wished now that he had obeyed his
fater
and gone home with him instead.
 
 
Sarah watched her husband gently charm Clara out of her normal reticence as they all sat on the porch, eating forkfuls of the deliciously rich mayonnaise cake. Though Sarah sensed a restlessness in Edward and wondered if he longed for a chance to imbibe instead of drinking in the demure picture of domesticity they all presented, even after a rousing game of broom ball.
BOOK: The Amish Heart of Ice Mountain
10.4Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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