The Amish Heart of Ice Mountain (21 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Edward saw the lantern light in the Smucker cabin and then noticed Red himself, sitting at the kitchen table through the front window. Edward went up the steps and gave a light knock at the door. He didn't want to rouse Jay or his mother, and sure enough, Red came to answer.

“What?” The tall man belched in greeting.

“I'd like to talk with you. Outside.” Edward turned, not waiting for a response, and stepped off the porch into the moonlit yard, a couple of yards from the
haus
.

Red came out after a few moments, clearly intoxicated and irritated, but Edward didn't care.

“So is your
buwe
asleep, Red?”

“What's it to you?”

“Well, my
bruder
had to take him to the hospital today for broken ribs. Thought you might like to know.”

Red clenched his fists. “That whelp. I'll give him something to go whining about—”

“No, you won't,” Edward said calmly.

“Huh?”

“I said you won't, because if you so much as lay a finger on that
buwe
or your wife again, because I assume you beat her as well, I'm going to do something about it.”

Red threw back his head and laughed from his vantage point of being a foot taller than Edward. “You are, huh? Well, what would that be, King? Match me in a drinking contest? See which one of us can run our wife down faster with a horse? Tell me.”

Edward had learned to avoid getting angry over digs when he'd worked on the rigs, and that forbearance stood him in good stead now. He merely shrugged. “I'm telling you the way it is, Red. Take it for what you want.”

Fast as a serpent, Red reached out a brawny arm and grabbed Edward's throat. He began to squeeze, and Edward couldn't help but cough as he struggled for air. He clawed at Red's hand and was finally released with a shove that sent him gasping and reeling. “Now, git going, King. And don't tell me how to manage my family again.”

“I'm—not—leaving,” Edward managed. “You'll have—to—kill me.”

“What?” Red asked, clearly perplexed.

Edward knew that Red was rotten, but he was no murderer, so he said it again. “You'll have to kill me.”

 

 

Sarah rolled over to feel for her husband's hand and found Blackie instead. She came awake with sudden intuition and slapped the pillow. “Blast him, Blackie! He tricked me!”

She got out of bed, deciding not to waste time putting on her dress but drawing on a pair of Edward's pants and a shirt instead, cinching one of his belts around her tiny waist. She ran out into the kitchen, pulled on a big overcoat and boots, then picked up a lantern. “I'm sorry, Blackie. You'll have to stay here.” And then she was clomping through the woods in the direction of Red Smucker's
haus
.

 

 

Edward decided that Red might not be a murderer, but he might well
kumme
pretty close without much conscience. This was after Edward was fairly sure that his own ribs had been cracked, he'd been sent spinning against the trunk of a tree, and held upside-down by his still tender ankle.

“Why won't ya fight?” Red asked finally.

“Because—I' m—
Amisch
.”

“
Ach, kumme
on. So am I, but the bishop's nowhere around, is he? I can't take to beating a helpless man.”

“But that's what you do to Jay and your wife,” Edward pointed out breathlessly, preparing for another blow. But, to his surprise, none was forthcoming. Instead, Red dropped him and sat down on a nearby stump.

Edward made an effort to get to his feet, then opted for crawling nearer the other man instead.

“Look, Red. This is what I'm going to do. If I hear that you beat your family again, I'm coming over and you're going to have to take it out on me. And I won't fight you.”

Red looked down at him with bleak eyes in the moonlight. “When I drink, I forget myself.”

“Well, try to stop the drinking.”

“Ha! I can't. And you can't none either. You're foolin' yerself for that pretty wife of yours.”

Edward shook his head. “
Nee
. I thought so maybe at first, too, but it's for me, Red. It's truly for me.”

The other man dropped his head in his hands. “Well,” he choked, “I ain't worth it.”

Edward suppressed a groan and tapped him on the knee. “
Jah
, you are. You've got to believe that, Red. And if you believe it, your
sohn
will believe it, and your
grandsohn
, and you'll be the one, with
Gott
, who stops a whole generation of drinking maybe.”

“Mebbe. I don't know. I gotta go in now and think on it. You sure you mean what you say about comin' around here if I . . .”

“Absolutely.”
If I can survive . . .

“All right.” Red stepped over him and walked to the
haus
, lifting a hand in farewell while Edward tried to roll over to get to his feet again.

By the time he managed, he was looking up into the brightness of a single lantern, and he thought maybe Red had had the insight to
kumme
back; then he saw Sarah's long, unbound hair.

“Sarah—I . . .”

“I am so angry with you, Edward King, I cannot even speak.”

It seemed the wrong time to point out to her that she was speaking as he lay helpless while she examined him by lantern light.

“Swollen eye, bruised jaw, sprained neck, dislocated shoulder, cracked ribs, bruised pelvis, sprained ankle; shall I go on?” Sarah asked, her anger not diminished by morning's light.

“
Nee
,” he said miserably.

“And the worst of it is that you used a bath and sex to get me to sleep so you could go out and so nobly get beaten up.”

He winced; even her voice seemed to hurt his head.

“Sarah, I . . .”

“
Ach, nee
. . . no pretty words. You are going to lie in this bed today and Martha Umble is going to be your nurse.”

“Martha Umble?” He groaned.

“Yes, she's just what you deserve. I've got other work to do. There's some sort of flu going around, and
Daed
's
kumme
down with it, so I promised
Mamm
I'd stop over.” She handed him a mug of tea none too gently and he took it with a bruised hand.

“Sarah, I'm sorry.”

“
Nee
. . . I will not listen. There's Martha at the door now.” Sarah left the room, telling herself that it was exactly what he deserved after she and Joseph had had to leave their beds last
nacht
to get him home.
And for what? Did he honestly think Red Smucker was going to . . .

She opened the door and stared at Red Smucker. “Uh . . . may I help you?”

“
Jah
. . . I didn't want you to be all upset with yer man because he took a beating last
nacht
. He did it for me and my family, and I've been up all
nacht
thinkin', and he made his point like.... I ain't gonna hit the
buwe
again, or my wife, just Edward, like he promised.”

Sarah slowly crossed her arms and began to tap her foot. A wiser man would have withdrawn, but wisdom was not one of Red's strong suits. “Like he promised?” she asked.

“
Jah
. A mighty fine thing, too. Just wanted to let ya know. Might I have a word with him and . . .”

“No, Mr. Smucker, you may not,” she said, slamming the door in the big man's chest. Then she marched back into the bedroom. “You promised to let Red Smucker beat you up whenever he's drunk?” she demanded.

Edward spewed a mouthful of tea back into the mug and coughed abruptly. “Where did you hear that?”

“Did you promise?”

“Sarah, sweet, it's not like it sounds. . . .”

“Bah!” There was another knock at the door. “I'm telling you, if that is Red, he's going to wish he wasn't.”

“Sarah?” Edward called in alarm. “Sarah?”

“Now what's all this hollerin' fer?” Martha Umble asked, coming into the bedroom with a grin. “I ain't yer pretty wife, but I knows how to keep a fella company. Ya want me ta tell you a story?”

Edward sighed and relaxed against the pillows. “
Nee
, Martha.
Danki
. I'm fine. Just fine.”

Sarah entered her
auld
home, surprised to be met nearly at the door by Clara. “What's wrong? Is
Daed
bad off?” Sarah asked, glancing toward the closed master bedroom door.

“I think so.
Mamm
won't say. She made Samuel go to school and Ernest go over to the workshop like nothing much is wrong, but I've heard some dreadful bad coughing, Sarah.”

Sarah took off her coat and lifted her bag, which held all kinds of herbs and teas for the flu. “All right, Clara. I'll go check and
kumme
let you know.”

Sarah knocked lightly on her parents' door and then entered, closing it quickly behind her. The room smelled heavily of sickness, and she saw her
mamm
sitting in a chair next to the bed, seemingly half-asleep, while her
daed
lay on his right side, visibly working for breath. Then he gave a choked, raspy cough and Sarah froze, listening. She knew inside that this was a bad sickness and her heart began to pound as her
mamm
opened her eyes and silently mouthed her name.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Mahlon thought he could see his mother standing at the foot of his bed . . .
but she's been gone for nigh on twenty years now. . . . Am I dying, then?
He must have asked the question out loud because Sarah answered him—quietly and determined.

“No,
Daed
. Not today.”

But then what about his
mamm
, and there was Doc Shackelford, an
Englisch
doc who used to
kumme
around when he was a kid and give out vaccinations to all the
Amischers
. . . surely he must be dead now too....

“He's ghosting,” Anne said mournfully.

“Seeing people who've gone ahead of him?” Sarah asked. “
Nee
. He'll be fine.”

Then gentle hands insistently poured something awful-tasting down his throat and he was coughing and gagging, throwing up phlegm, until it seemed for a minute that things were easier, but then his lungs closed up again and he struggled for breath, turning his head from the inevitable spoon....

 

 

“And I'll tell ya that being a bishop's wife ain't all it's cracked up to be.... Why, if you knew the way Joel left his socks and underwear layin' about . . .” Her voice droned on.

Edward nodded off now and then, longing for another mug of Sarah's tea but having no idea how long she'd be away. He felt bad now for frightening her, making her mad, and for worrying her when her
daed
had
kumme
down sick. He prayed Mahlon just had a touch of the flu because he knew it could be hard on older folks.

“Are you listenin'?” Martha's voice jolted him back to the moment.

“
Jah
,” he said cautiously.

“Then what'd I say?” she demanded.

“Uh . . . underwear laying . . .”

“Humpf . . . well, and he also . . .”

Edward focused on her words, trying to ignore the pain in his body.

 

 

Sarah used the last of the ipecac and tried not to give in to despair. She saw the bluish color around her
fater
's lips and wet her own mouth. Then she looked at her mother. “
Mamm
,” she whispered finally, “I think you'd better send for Ernest and Samuel.”

Her mother choked on a sob and fled the room, and Sarah concentrated on spooning more tea down her
daed
's throat, her eyes blurring with tears.

 

 

Mahlon was surprised to see a big man who reminded him of Edward standing at the foot of the bed. He tried to peer closer, but the giant laughed and shook his mane of blond hair. “
Nee
, I ain't Edward. I'm his
grossdaudi
, Elijah King. I'm figuring you are too young to know me well.”

“I'm—sorry . . .” He broke off, coughing, and Sarah rubbed his head.

“
Nee, Daed
. Nothing to be sorry for.”

Mahlon nodded, trying to close his eyes when Elijah King boomed out again. “Listen. My time is short. When you
kumme
back, ask the
buwe
, Edward, this question.... How do you forgive yourself? If he can answer, he'll be free.”

When I
kumme
back? When I
kumme
back?

Suddenly, Mahlon saw Sarah lying on his chest as if he'd floated just above his own body. He heard her words clear as day as she reached in her bag and slipped some herb or another beneath his tongue; then she began to pray. He remembered the dove when she was little, flying free against the sky, and he suddenly knew that freedom, and he knew she was no hex but someone who loved deeply, divinely, and she was wonderful.

He sat up on the bed and held her to him, drawing in a clear breath of air. She fell back and stared at him in wonder. He smiled, then laughed.
When I
kumme
back . . .

“
Ach, Fater
,” she cried. “Praise
Gott!
”

“
Jah
, indeed. And remind me the next time I see your Edward that I have a question to ask him.”

 

 

Edward was half-asleep when he realized that Martha had gone and Sarah was back in her rightful place. She'd drawn up a chair close to the bed and he was troubled by the tiredness he saw in her eyes.

“Sarah, surely you haven't been so worried all day about a few bruises?”

She shook her head. “My
daed
almost died.”

“What?” Edward was truly shocked.

She nodded. “Pneumonia. Deep in his lungs. In fact, I thought we'd lost him, but then . . .” She paused thoughtfully, and he reached out and took her hand in his.

“You prayed for him, didn't you, Sarah? Like you did for my
fater?
”

He watched her gray eyes well with tears. “
Jah
, but I don't want you to find me strange or . . .”

He kissed her fingertips. “I find you wonderful and I know you're overwhelmed and tired.
Kumme
to bed, please, sweet, and I will hold your hand. No unruly sex tonight, I'm afraid.”

She smiled a bit and he had to smile in return. “No longer angry with me?”

She shook her head. “
Nee
, but if Red Smucker ever
kummes
within two feet of you again, I will give him an herb that will keep him in the
outhaus
for two weeks at least.”

Edward looked at her in awe. “You can do that?”

“You betcha.”

It took a full week of careful nursing to see Edward back on his feet, and even then, Sarah didn't want him to ride Sunny. But he cajoled her with a winning smile and murmured promises in her ear that made her shiver with desire, and then she gave in.

“But only,” he said, tapping her nose lightly, “if you go with me. And you can carry Blackie to boot.”

“
Ach
, Edward, I don't know. . . .”

“You told me you trust me.”

“And I do; it's the horse I don't trust.”

“I promise to keep you safe, sweet.
Kumme
. We can have a picnic high up in the fields.”

Sarah smiled then, secretly wondering what else they might do all alone in the tall dried grasses, and went to pack a picnic lunch.

She filled the satchels with hard-boiled eggs, pickled beets, and sweet pickles, each in small containers. Then she made the egg salad Edward favored that held a touch of celery and a dash of spicy mustard. She made ham spread sandwiches and took the time to double boil sweet chocolate and half-dipped a plate of peanut butter cookies until each dripped and cooled with dark decadence. She put in napkins, plates and silverware, and a flexible jug of apple cider, then took the lot out to the barn, where Edward was preparing Sunny.

“Got everything?” he asked with a smile, taking the saddlebags from her and slinging them over the saddle. “Now, I'm going to have you tuck your skirt into your—uh—bloomers—so that you don't startle Sunny with any flapping about.”

“Edward, I can't ride like that. Somebody will see me.”

“Nobody will see you.
Kumme
on, Sarah.” He bent and kissed her once and hard.

“
Ach
, all right. But don't look.”

“But I've seen . . . All right. I won't look.” He turned away until she called that she was ready, then turned back to mount up. Then he reached down and pulled her up in front of him, holding her securely and the reins at the same time.

“I decided to leave Blackie in the
haus
,” she explained. “I figured he might make Sunny nervous with his yipping.”

“Well, we'll bring him next time,” Edward promised, and they set out for the higher fields of the mountaintop.