The Amish Heart of Ice Mountain (9 page)

She watched, lips parted, mesmerized, as if she was outside herself, while he continued to kiss her where she'd never dreamed of being kissed.

Chapter Thirteen

Edward put his mouth against the fine bones of her pale ankle and felt himself shudder with passion. Although Mountain
Amisch
women usually went barefoot, he'd never seen Sarah do so, and he had the thought that he was revealing a secret part of her, exposing more of the woman she really was, instead of the removed girl she pretended to be. He ran his tongue upward, along her calf, and she squeaked and tried to squirm away.

He couldn't help but laugh and looked up to see her gray eyes wide with shock, but he also recognized a shimmer of pleasure. It was enough to move him up the grass, next to her, on his belly. He flung an arm over her hips to keep her still and balanced on his elbow, leaning over to gently kiss a freckle on her pert nose.

“Edward, let me up. Anyone could
kumme
along.” She tried to move, and he caught a handful of her nightgown.

“Be still or I pull, sweet,” he said, smiling and giving a slight tug to the cotton fabric. She stopped moving instantly, allowing him to study her face at his leisure. She really was beautiful.... The thought shook him. . . .

“Don't stare at me so,” she complained.

“Why? You must know you're lovely,” he said almost stiffly.

She closed her eyes, her dark lashes resting on the cream of her skin, and shook her head.
“Nee,”
she whispered.

He frowned. “Look at me, Sarah King.”

She did so hesitantly, staring up at him, biting her lips with white teeth.

“You, my sweet, are beautiful, like the rush of spring water and the play of sunshine, and I don't want you to ever forget it.”

He watched her struggle with his pronouncement, disbelief and joy mingling in the twin gray pools of her eyes, but then a shadow seemed to fall over her face and she met his eye steadily. “Am I—as beautiful as the girls from the rigs?”

“What?”

He felt as if he'd been sucker punched in the gut and it hurt, deep and hard.
Damn her intuition—somehow she knows. . . .

“Sarah, I—”

“Hey, whatcha doin'?” The child's voice was shrill and resonant.

Edward quickly moved to cover Sarah with his body, ignoring her attempts to push him off. He turned and looked over his left shoulder to see Samuel Mast watching them with dancing eyes and his gap-toothed grin.

Edward bent his head into Sarah's gown and muttered a curse, then resumed looking at his small brother-in-law. “Samuel, your sister and I are talking; that's all.”

“But Sarah's in her nightgown. . . .”

“I know,” Edward said, resisting the urge to grit his teeth for patience; then Sarah's struggles brought her knee into abrupt contact with his groin and he saw stars. He rolled off her, moaning faintly.

“Edward. . . .
Ach
, Edward . . . are you all right? What happened?” She fluttered over him, all virgin white and big gray eyes, and he wanted to throw up with the pain.

“Hey,” Samuel said. “
Daed
and Clara and Ernest are
kumming
up the hill.”

“Get in the
haus
,” Edward managed, not caring who saw him curled up in a fetal position, but Sarah could not be seen outside in her nightclothes by her dolt of a
fater. . . .

“But . . .” she began.

“Geh
,” he ground out.

He felt the brush of her gown over his hip as she fled, and then he concentrated on straightening his body.

“Are you all right,
Bruder
Edward?” Samuel asked solicitously.

“Fine,” Edward coughed, suppressing a gag reflex as he dragged himself into a sitting position exactly in time to see his
fater
-in-law top the breast of the hill. Edward tried to appear nonchalant, but his world was still faintly swimming. He squinted up at Mahlon Mast and saw the derision in the older man's eyes at finding him sitting aimlessly on a bright day with potential for work.

“Be you drunk?” his
fater
-in-law questioned suspiciously.

I wish I was.... “Nee.”
Edward forced a tight smile. “Just sitting a bit—talking to my new—
bruder
—Clara, Ernest, I must get to know you two better as well.”

Edward noted that sixteen-year-old Ernest nodded eagerly with a bob of his Adam's apple, while the slightly younger Clara hung back in obvious shyness, her eyes the same pretty gray as Sarah's.

“Well,” Mahlon said, a trace of doubt still making his voice ragged, “Anne and I need some things from Coudersport and Mr. Ellis, down at the bottom of the mountain, offered to drive us. We usually have Sarah about to watch the
kinner
, but—” He half-scowled. “Anyway, we wuz wonderin' if the young'uns could spend the afternoon here.”

So sorry I took away your built-in babysitter . . . like two teenagers really need watching; they should be minding Samuel themselves....
Edward hauled himself to his feet, suppressing his thoughts. “Let's go up to the cabin and check with Sarah,” he said.

“You would ask your wife's permission?” Mahlon asked in obvious disbelief, not moving.

Edward wanted to hit him—
one solid blow to knock that royal chip off his shoulder and bring him into the current century. . . .

“I respect my wife, your
dochder
. . . Of course I ask her permission.” Edward started up the rocky path, ignoring Mahlon's grunt of disapproval
. I respect my wife.... Is it true? I'd like it to be, but . . .

“Hey,
Bruder
Edward, can I go look in the stream for crayfish?” Samuel asked, breaking into his thoughts.

“
Jah
, sure,” Edward agreed, then concentrated on climbing the steps to the cabin door, his new relatives on his heels. Edward cautiously opened it, hoping that Sarah had had enough time to change, and then allowed everyone to enter the empty kitchen. Seconds later, the curtain leading to the bedroom slid open and Sarah breathlessly emerged with a slight bounce in her step.

Edward noticed that she'd changed into one of her infernal gray dresses and covered it with a clean white apron. Somehow, she'd also found the time to bundle her hair up and pin on her
kapp
. He glanced into her eyes, though, and saw that her question still hung like frost in the air between them....
Am I as beautiful as the other girls . . . the other girls
...

He swung away, concentrating on staring out at the pasture beyond the kitchen window, remembering the fleeting joy he'd felt on Sunny's back. Right now he'd give about anything for a drink.
I'll have to visit the still later. . . .

“Who's horse be that?” Mahlon asked from close beside his right side, and Edward half-jumped, still unused to having no peripheral vision.

“Ben Kauffman's,” he answered sourly. “I'm training the horse to a buggy.”

“Huh? You got time for that,
buwe?
What about doin' some work 'round this place?”

Edward turned to face his
fater
-in-law, his lips forming a sharp retort, when he felt a slender arm slide about his waist. He forgot what he was going to say at his wife's gentle touch and instead felt his mind sliding to much pleasanter thoughts. It was the first time she'd touched him willingly since the wedding, it seemed, and the muscles in his belly tensed at the nearness of her hand.

“
Fater
, you forget that Edward was able to lay aside plenty of money from his work on the rigs. We will be fine with my work and Edward's gardening.”

Suddenly, his world crashed into angry reality and Edward looked down into Sarah's serene face.
Her work . . . my gardening . . . She makes it sound as though she's the provider and I'm the half-blind idiot who . . .

“Isn't that right, Edward?” She smiled up at him and he looked at her blankly.

“What?”

Her hand convulsed around his side. “You'd be glad to show
Fater
how to use cold frames, wouldn't you?”

No . . . not on your sweet life . . .
“Sure . . . anytime.”

Mahlon grunted suspiciously. “Seems wrong somehow—taking from the land out of season. Might not be lucky.”

“You don't believe in luck,” Edward intoned dryly. “Only
Gott
.” He felt Sarah's grip again on his side and ignored it. “Your
fater
would like us to . . . watch . . . the
kinner
for the day, sweet. Do you mind?”

“Nee,”
she said with a smile. “I think . . .”

“Great, then I'll see you out, Mahlon.” Edward disengaged himself from Sarah's grasp and opened the door in obvious invitation. His
fater
-in-law glared at him but nodded to his children and headed out the door. Edward followed him out onto the porch, closing the door behind him.

“Would you like to see the cold frames before you go?” Edward asked with false cheer.

Mahlon turned and looked at him, then shook his head. “There's a lot you don't know,
buwe
, about life. Maybe a shunning would have taught you. . . .”

“You mean like it taught you?” Edward cursed the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. His
fater
had told him once about Mahlon's shame, but to bring it up on a beautiful autumn morning seemed truly wrong in quick retrospect.

Edward sighed aloud and prepared for the verbal onslaught he knew was both coming and deserved.

 

 

Mahlon closed his eyes on Edward's arrogant, hurtful words. Of course the
buwe
would have heard of his shunning in one way or another—
auld
gossip passed down through the years. Yet to be so bold in manner for a
sohn
-in-law . . .
I never would have dreamed of talkin' to Anne's
daed
so....

“I'm sorry,” Edward muttered, and Mahlon opened his eyes.

“You think it's that easy?”

“Nee.”
The younger man shook his head.

“Well,” Mahlon snorted, “ya got one thing right today.” He turned his back on the
buwe
, staring out at the landscape. Then he began to speak, feeling almost compelled for some reason, as he remembered what it was to have been shunned.

“When I was in the
bann
, even my
mamm
stood against me—though she had no choice if she wanted to stay in the church, I s'ppose.” He sighed aloud. “'Twas she who convinced me to go and beg for forgiveness on my knees, to confess that I hadn't meant what I'd done . . . but I did mean it.” He turned to look at Edward, who was watching him steadily. “I meant it in the same way that you did,
buwe
—you and Marcellus Shale. Ya wanted to take a shot at the mountain, at what you come from, but it don't work—it won't work.”

“I didn't . . .” Edward began, and Mahlon lifted a weary hand to silence him.

“Don't bother none . . . I'd best be going back ta Anne. You keep that eye of yours close on the
kinner
, mind?”

Edward nodded, and Mahlon turned and walked down the wooden steps, concentrating then on the solid, rocky earth beneath his boots.

 

 

Sarah closed her mouth when her husband shut the door on her in midsentence. She glanced at her brother and sister, who both were concentrating on anything other than her face, and she forced a quick smile.

“Edward can be abrupt, but he's also really—affectionate,” she said. “I'm sure he only wanted to tell
Fater
good-bye in peace.”

Sarah felt the tension lift as Ernest and Clara visibly relaxed, but then the door swung open again and Edward reappeared.

“Your
daed
's just gone,” he said and Sarah nodded.

“I was trying to think of something we might do to entertain the
kinner
,” she said brightly, betting that Edward would like nothing more than to sneak off to his still and drink himself into . . .

“How about broom ball?” Edward asked.

“What?”

“Broom ball. You must have played sometime, Sarah. You hit the ball with a broom and . . .”

“I know what it is,” she cut him off. “I just thought that you, well . . .” She bit her lip when he edged near her.

“What, sweet? Didn't think I like
kinner?
Actually, you might be surprised,” he drawled as he ran a slow finger around the curve of her ear.

Does the man have no modesty to touch me so in front of my siblings?
Sarah couldn't control the flush that she knew stained her cheeks and was infinitely glad when Samuel burst open the door.

“Say,
Bruder
Edward, what a horse you've got! Can I have a ride? Sarah, I caught me three crayfish . . . here.” He dropped the squirming creatures, and she caught them by instinct, only to recoil a bit from their sliminess.

Edward's hand closed over hers quickly, and he'd taken the small creatures from her before she could make a sound.

“Samuel,” he said gravely, “never drop something into a lady's hand that she's not prepared to accept. You must learn to be a
gentlemon
and
nee
, you cannot ride Sunny quite yet—he's wild. And take these fellows back to the creek unless you're going to boil them—which I don't suggest.”