The Amish Heart of Ice Mountain (11 page)

Samuel clattered his plate and fork down onto the top of a small barrel and the sound broke into Sarah's wandering thoughts.

“Nee,”
she said, looking intently at her little
bruder
.

“What?” he asked with round, innocent eyes.

“I'm a mind reader,” Sarah said dryly. “No more cake. You've had three pieces.”

Samuel gave an audible sigh, then marched over to Edward and, much to Sarah's surprise, clambered without comment onto her husband's lap.

Sarah saw the initial tenseness in the lines of Edward's big body and would have said something to Samuel when Edward suddenly smiled—an almost wistful smile that made her heart turn over—as he visibly relaxed and gathered the child close.

Ach
, my, he'd make a
gut fater
. . . .
She stiffened in her chair at the naked thought, unprepared for its appearance in her mind. Then she quickly began to rationalize, even as she recalled Frau Umble's words from earlier.
He'll be
gut
with the children . . . the
kinner
. . . But do I want a child of his?
Her belly tightened with primitive pleasure, but her mind spoke with even reason.
He drinks; often and far too much . . . How can I risk having a
boppli
when he might be too drunk at times to even watch over or raise a child?

She lifted her eyes to the clumps of herbs dancing in the fading sunlight and a thought came to her: dark, easy—satisfying. . . .
If I ever ask him to—consummate the marriage, I could always keep from getting pregnant using
Grossmuder
May's potion, and then, if he changes . . . when he changes . . . I'd stop and he'd never need to know.
She pushed aside her conscience, ignoring the fact that she'd denied Deborah Zook the potion, and forgot for a chosen moment that her people believed
Gott
should be in charge of
kinner
coming. After all, it seemed much more sinful to continue to live as man and wife without true union....

She slanted him a discreet glance beneath lowered lids and absently pressed a hand against her abdomen.
It's a strange thing to realize how much I love him, with the taste of chocolate still in my mouth and the promise of autumn in the air. . . .
Then the moment was lost as Ernest announced that their parents were coming up the hill.

Chapter Fifteen

The following week, fall came early and in earnest to Ice Mountain, and Sarah was often kept busy with the normal seasonal round of allergies and colds. Edward had never realized how often his people must have sought out
Grossmuder
May for one thing or another, but he was glad in a way that Sarah was so occupied. It gave him time to both ride Sunny and to drink.

But if Sarah noticed that he was imbibing more than usual, she didn't mention it and went about her daily chores without speaking of his frequent visits to the still. Then, one bright morning, she cornered him after breakfast.

“Apple butter making today—my own recipe,” she announced, gesturing with her fine chin to the large crab apple tree in Sunny's pasture.

“Sarah, those apples aren't even half ready to be picked,” he prevaricated, fingering his hat and hoping for a quick exit.

“You're right.” She gave him a smug smile. “They're past ready, and Joseph and Ernest came over and helped me pick them yesterday—while you were—out. We got nearly a bushel.”

Edward suppressed a groan. Helping to make apple butter was an all-day job with little opportunity for taking a break, but she looked so excited at the prospect that he didn't have the heart to deny her.

“Is it important to you that it's your own recipe?” he asked finally and had to resist the urge to kiss her when she smiled.

“
Jah
. I've always done it
Mamm
's way, but I've got an idea for a secret ingredient.”

“Not just your usual allspice and cloves, hmm?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Now, you set up the copper pot outside and fetch the oak firewood and I'll start cutting the apples down into snits.”

Edward sighed. “All right. Fine.”

He found that it was a long day indeed and realized how much he'd come to rely on a drink to make him feel better.
But to feel better from what?
he asked the question, realizing he was deeply uncomfortable with being so introspective.
After all
, he slanted Sarah a sidelong glance as loose tendrils of hair escaped her
kapp
while she worked
, I have a beautiful wife, plenty of cash, a fast horse....

He shook his head, deciding he simply needed a diversion, and dipped a quick finger in a smaller kettle of cooled apple butter.

 

 

Sarah gasped as he took a fingerful of the fresh apple butter and smeared it down her cheek. Then he stepped so close that she had to rely on his strong arm about her waist to keep herself upright.

“Mmm,” he murmured. “So sweet.” He put his mouth against her cheek and she felt the dual sensations of heat and coolness as he let his tongue lap gently on her skin, drawing away with tight sips of the apple butter. When he was finished, he released her and took a step back, almost as if to gauge her reaction. For some reason, the move angered her . . .
I am not some mare to be tested and tried....

Impulsively, she reached down and ran her finger through the bucket, then flicked her hand at his clean white shirt, spattering it with apple butter. Suddenly his blue eye shone with a wicked glint, and she realized the implications of what she'd done.

She put her hands up in front of her and started to back away. “Edward, I didn't . . .” But he grinned and mimicked her actions, flinging some of the sweet brown goodness at her before she could speak another word. She felt a splat on her hair and on her dress front, and then he caught her wrists.

“Tit for tat, sweet.
Kumme
. . . taste how you've dampened my shirtfront.”

“I—don't know . . .” she began and he laughed, a low, rich sound that strummed along her spine and then lower.

“I'll show you,” he whispered. “Now, pay attention.” He spread her arms and bent his head to the spot on her breast. She couldn't help but look down, watching him, his long golden lashes flush against his cheek. The sunlight caught on the wet draw of his tongue as he arched his neck to lap at the apple butter. Then he closed his lips and sucked on the fabric of her apron and dress, directly on the center of her breast, deep pulling patterns of hard then soft that caused a whimpering cry to come from the back of her throat.

Then her mouth watered with want for him to kiss her, hard and deep, but he simply rose to his greater height and stared down at her. “Wait,” he murmured after a moment. “It's much better if you wait, sweet Sarah.”

She shook her head in mute disagreement and he laughed again. “Baby,” he said, then bent to touch her lips with his own. He tasted like sugar and sin and everything she shouldn't want but everything that made her body sing. She arched upward in frustrated appeal, her wrists still held in his iron velvet grasp; then some instinct made her change her tactics. She relaxed her arms and came off her tiptoes to glance upward at him from beneath lowered lashes. Then, not breaking his gaze, she boldly ran her tongue up and down the drip of apple butter on his shirt.

She thrilled to the low growl of approval that reverberated from deep within his chest and she continued her ministrations, moving her mouth in languid strokes, trying her best to mimic him.

 

 

Sarah adjusted her apron and clean dress, intent on making an evening visit to her friend Martha Umble with some of the fresh apple butter. Somehow, she and Edward had managed to finish canning the jars of delightful brown goodness without any more play, though the sudden appearance of Ben Kauffman, coming to check on Sunny, surely had something to do with that.

She snuggled into her cloak when she thought of Edward's kisses and knew it would only be a matter of time before she would bring herself to ask him to make love to her. But for now, she was more than content with the rich foreplay he seemed to come up with—licking apple butter from each other indeed!

She climbed the steps to Martha's
haus
with heated cheeks and opened the porch screen door only to stop still in amazement. Martha sat on an old rocker, her head encircled by a thick white cloud, as she puffed happily on a richly aromatic pipe.

“Martha!” Sarah exclaimed.

The older woman choked and hastily dumped the contents of the pipe into a bucket beside the chair. “Well now, ain't this a nice surprise? My new friend!”

“Martha,” Sarah said again weakly. “Does—the bishop know that you . . .”

“Smoke like a chimney? He sure does, though he don't say a word so long as I keep it outside. My granny got me smokin' a pipe when I was younger than you. How do you think I stand all those meetings and things I do as the ‘perfect' bishop's wife?”

“I don't know,” Sarah replied, dropping into a neighboring chair. “I expect I never thought of it.”

Martha laughed. “Sure an' we've all got secrets, Sarah. Remember that.”

Sarah nodded, thinking of
Grossmuder
May's journal. “I brought you some fresh apple butter. Edward and I made it today.”

“And where's that fine figure of a man now?” Martha asked as she accepted the jar Sarah passed her and unscrewed the lid.

Probably drinking . . .
“I'm not sure,” Sarah said brightly. “He said he had some things to—attend to.”

“Sure he did,” Martha said dryly, and Sarah frowned.

“Well.” Martha sighed. “Lemme taste the apple butter and see what flavor your love's given to it. Apple butter's got to be made with love or it turns to bad, you know?”

“I've heard that.”

Sarah watched as Martha dipped a bony finger into the jar and then pulled it out to suck emphatically. The
auld
woman slapped her knee in appreciation.

“Orange zest! Fine and tasty. Did you think that up yourself, child?”

Sarah felt a surge of happiness. “
Jah
. Edward grated the orange peel.”

“Well, then, lemme see—your love is zesty like. Full bodied and jest waitin' fer good things. Your apple butter sez yer
kinner
will be full of the flavor of life. What more could ya want?”

Sarah ducked her head at the mention of children but nonetheless felt blessed by her friend's words. It was a fine beginning to the first of what she hoped would be many apple butter makings together between her and Edward.

 

 

For the first time in a long while, Edward turned Sunny from the familiar trek to the still and set out for his father and Joe's
haus
. He hadn't visited for any length of time since Joseph had thrown him out for drinking, but now it seemed that so much had changed. And he had an ulterior motive in mind.

He drew rein at the familiar cabin, the huckleberry bushes and sassafras branches near the front beginning to show the first tints of autumn red. He tied Sunny to the hitching post and glanced down the length of the home where he'd been raised. When Joseph had married Priscilla, the community had worked to expand the once small place. And now, Joseph even had a woodshop where the old work
haus
had been. Edward saw the lights from beneath the door of the woodshop and decided he'd try his luck there first. He eased open the wooden door and peered inside, surprised to see Ernest bent in complete concentration over the lacquering of a chest of drawers. Other
buwes
were working, too, while Joseph stood at the drawing desk, a pencil nub in hand.

“Hiya,” Edward called, not entirely sure how he'd be received. But Joe looked up with a smile on his face and moved to welcome Edward with a hearty embrace that made him feel both uncomfortable and grateful at the same time.

“Edward, I'm so glad to see you. And you know Ernest, of course, and Jay and Dan. We're a late crew tonight—I got a special order from down Williamsport way.”

Edward nodded, glancing around in appreciation at the orderly place. “I was wondering, Joe, if you had any time to make me something special for Sarah. It's her birthday next month and I was thinking about something small and unusual—a spice box, maybe.”

Joseph smiled, clearly pleased, and Edward gave him a wry look. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“I know you, big
bruder
. . . what?” Edward asked.

Joseph leaned close and whispered low. “You're in love.”

Edward felt himself flush and shook his head. “Are you
narrisch
, Joe? Of course I love my wife.”
I love my wife. I love her....
The thought shook him and he longed for a drink to steady himself.

Joe put an arm around his shoulders and turned him back toward the door. “Keep on working,
buwes.
I want to talk with my little
bruder
.”

Edward shrugged off Joseph's arm when they'd gotten outside and scowled at him in the light emanating from the shop. “Can you make the spice box or not?”

“Can—but I want to tell you that there's a difference between being in love and loving someone,” Joseph said, happiness in his tone.

“So?” Edward demanded.

“So, I was worried for a while about you and how you were forced into the marriage. I know it goes against your grain to be forced and I thought maybe—well—that it might not work out so well. But now, seeing that you're thinking ahead to her birthday, I think you're a little addled after all.”

“And is it good to be addled and ‘in love'?” Edward asked, trying to control the leap in his heart that his
bruder
's words produced.

Joseph laughed heartily. “You betcha. I'm a particularly addled man myself.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Is
Daed
still up? I'll go in and say hello.”

Joseph shook his head. “He goes to bed early, and so do Priscilla and Hollie—my little sweetheart,” he added, mentioning his wife's daughter from a previous marriage.

“All right.” Edward sighed. “I guess I'll head out. And no talking about the spice box, okay? I want it to be a surprise.”

“Sure.” Joe grinned. “A surprise.”

Edward rolled his eyes and walked over to Sunny, trying to thrust his brother's obvious joy out of his mind.