The Amish Heart of Ice Mountain (23 page)

Chapter Thirty-Six

Sarah was hot and tired when she heard Clara's squeal of dismay. Sarah ran outside to the porch and promptly slipped into the huge pile of pumpkin guts and felt the distinct urge to gag.
I'm pregnant . . . I know it.
Clara tried to help her up but ended up falling herself. Sarah looked up and saw Ernest gazing down at them with disgust.

“Clara, whatever is the problem?” Sarah asked, flinging stringy strands of pumpkin off her hands.

“It's Blackie. He's hiding—under there.”

Clara pointed a sticky finger to the highest mound of pumpkin innards. Sure enough, Sarah could see the little whiskery face peeking out with seeds plastered all over the dog's ears and nose. Sarah started to laugh and then Clara laughed, and finally Ernest gave in as he reached to dig the dog out.

“You want me to give him a bath, Sarah?” Ernest asked.

“
Nee
, not until we're done. I have the feeling he'll only get in it again.”

“That is one
narrisch
dog,” Ernest said, shaking his head.

“
Ach
, but so cute,” Clara pronounced.

“All right, back to work.” Sarah sighed. “Ernest, how many more pumpkins do we have in the barn? We should be getting to the end, right?”

Her
bruder
gave her a glum look. “I think we may have about sixty, Sarah. You'll be eating pumpkin from now until eternity.”

Sarah drew a deep breath. It was not the
Amisch
way to waste anything, so she knew what she had to do; she just wished Edward would hurry home to make the work go a bit faster....

 

 

Joseph tilted his dark head to one side and seemed to be thinking carefully. “How do you forgive yourself? Answer the question and then you'll be free . . . All right, it's a mystery. Let's tear it apart.”

“You mean you're going to take it seriously?” Edward asked, half in disbelief, half glad.

“Sure . . . why not?
Gott
speaks to us in many ways. This may be how he's speaking to you. Sooo . . . How do you forgive yourself? You've got to ask yourself what you need to forgive yourself for, I guess. And then you get some kind of freedom for the answer.... Well, what kind of freedom do you need?”

Edward shrugged. “I'd like to be free of these feelings of panic I have every time talk of
Grossdaudi kummes
up. It's a miserable way to feel, and then I start anticipating the next attack, so it all becomes a vicious cycle.”

“All right,” Joe said. “Ask
Gott
to show you how to be free of those feelings. Maybe even free of
Grossdaudi
himself. I could pray with you right now, if you'd like.”

Edward stared at the floor with its faint clutter of wood shavings and was immediately humbled by his
bruder
's offer. “You know, Joe,” he said throatily, “there was a time not too long ago when I might have laughed had you suggested praying together, but I—I've changed, and I'd appreciate it very much.”

“
Gut
enough.” Joe nodded. Then he began to pray. “Dear Heavenly
Fater
, You who made us all. We ask that You would bring comfort and wisdom to Edward, that he would have the discernment necessary to understand what true freedom is, and that it comes from You. In the name of
Derr Herr
. . .”

Edward stepped forward and gave his
bruder
a hug. It felt
gut
and true, and he felt cleaner inside than he had in a long while. “Thanks, Joe.”

“No worries. Now let's take a look at Sarah's spice box.”

Edward watched as Joe uncovered a round object on one of the workbenches. The circular cherry box shone with many coatings of lacquer, and Edward smiled in pleased surprise at the workmanship and fine grain of the wood.

“It's beautiful, Joe.”

“Wait till you see inside.” He carefully removed the lid, and inside were fourteen boxes, all fitted together and each carved from a different wood type.

“The
buwes
and I wanted to get creative, so you've got everything from oak to chestnut to pine in there and a lot of other woods in between. Each box is finished so that she can safely store whatever spice she likes without worrying about the smell of the wood bleeding over into the scent of the spice. I'm rather proud of the workmanship, and I think you gave us an idea for doing a few more of these for folks hereabouts.”

Edward picked up each tiny box and felt its smoothness and the superb fit of the lid. Then he hugged his
bruder
again. “I love it, Joe, and I know Sarah will, too.”

 

 

Edward hurried home, realizing how much time had passed while he'd gone seeking advice. He hadn't wanted to leave Sarah with all the work of canning and was glad when his own front porch came into sight. He carefully stepped around the laden tarp, only to jump out of his skin when the orangey mass started to move. Edward froze, staring down at the top of the pile, thinking he'd truly lost his mind.

Then Blackie poked his seed-covered head out and Edward laughed in relief. Sarah must have heard him because she came out of the door, none too clean herself. “Edward, did you bring the cinnamon?”

“Cinnamon . . .
ach
, Sarah. I'm sorry. I forgot. Do you want me to go back, sweet?”

“
Nee
,” she sighed tiredly.

“Well, then, let me help. Where are Ernest and Clara?”

“I sent them home. They were pretty much exhausted.”

“As are you, my love. I can see it in your face. Why not leave the rest of the pumpkins to feed the stock this winter?”

“Stock?” she asked.

“We need a milch cow or two, especially if—when the
kinner kumme
. So I thought I'd go to an auction sometime soon and bring us home a few gentle cows.”

“Ach.”
She looked incredibly relieved. “I would so love if the pumpkins remaining could feed the stock.”

He laughed and pulled her close, pumpkin seeds and all. “And I would so love to help you clean up the kitchen and give you a bath. What do you say?”

She kissed him lingeringly in response.

 

 

That evening, Sarah took a lantern and made Edward tramp down to the pantry with her to look at the rows upon rows of quart jars of freshly canned pumpkin. “It's the first of our fruits,” she explained when he didn't quite understand her fascination.

“
Ach
. . . you mean the first thing we put up that will last?”

“Jah.”
Her voice lowered. “That and the
boppli
I'm carrying.” She arched a brow at him, and he laughed.

“You're so sure?”

“I got sick to my stomach today when I slipped in the pumpkin guts, and I never get queasy over anything.”

He pulled her close and ran a hand over her soft belly. “Hmm . . . then maybe we're in for a long nine months, sweet.”

She shrugged, leaning into his hand. “Maybe. You'd better be prepared.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The autumn days shortened and the leaves began to fall from the trees, creating a rich tapestry on the paths and hillsides, along with the bumpy fall of horse chestnuts and black walnuts. Sarah grew restless as her morning sickness increased, and though there was more than enough to do between her healing duties and preparing the cabin for winter, she always wanted to go for an afternoon walk, and Edward and Blackie were more than happy to oblige her.

This day, she set out determinedly, her small footsteps trailing through the leaves, until Edward asked idly where they were going.

“I'd like to walk back behind Jude and Mary's cabin, far back in those woods, and drink from the cold creek water.”

Edward couldn't bring himself to say anything.
She wants to walk right past where my
Grossdaudi
's cabin was or is—whatever is left of it.... And she knows about the so-called message.... Could she know something more?
The thought left him cold and his hands began to sweat. Still, there was something to be said about facing your fears with the one you loved, so he let himself follow her through the woods.

They paused at Jude and Mary's cabin but no one was home, and Edward felt his anxiety ratchet up a notch when he didn't get the anticipated reprieve from heading straight into the forest. But he walked grimly on, and even Blackie grew silent the deeper they went into the woods.

Suddenly, Sarah caught his hand. “
Ach
, Edward. I don't know why I felt the urge to
kumme
here today, but there is something restless in my spirit that longs for you to have this freedom my
fater
spoke of.... But I brought you here without asking and now it's too late. . . .”

He was about to ask why it was too late when they came upon the site of the abandoned cabin. Edward stopped still as the floodgates of his memories opened and he saw himself with his grandfather inside the dilapidated place. The once well-blocked chimney had lost many of its stones, and creeping moss and vines plunged through the hole in the roof where the beams had caved in. Surprising bits of color stood out, though: his grandfather's bowl and pitcher, unbroken, bone white with a blue pattern of flowers around the top, and the bright red of the bed quilt, clearly the home to mice and squirrels yet still whole in memory. Edward stepped closer, remembering the bed the last time he had seen it.

“How do you forgive yourself?” Sarah asked softly.

He spun around to face her, his face wet with the tears that welled, unbidden, from his eye. “Tell me how to do it then,” he cried. “Tell me how I'm supposed to forgive myself for what I did.”

“What have you done?” she asked, and he stared at her as if she was mad.

“You know . . .” He gasped, reaching down to catch her arms in his. “Dear
Gott,
somehow you know.”

She shook her head, her hair coming loose to fall from her
kapp
and cover his hands.
“Nee
, Edward, please . . . tell me. What have you done?”

And then she watched as he bent his head and sank to his knees in front of her, his sobs echoing against the stillness of the trees.

 

 

He was nine years old, visiting his
grossdaudi
in his small cabin deep in the woods. The familiar still stood outside, almost blending with the fall leaves on the dipping tree limbs. But the fire was out . . . strange. He scampered to the door of the cabin and it gave easily beneath his sturdy hand. He entered, peering into the gloom of the unlit room. He saw his grandfather lying half-dressed on the pine frame bed. Blood trickled from the side of his bearded mouth and he clearly worked for breath. Edward felt the
auld
dark eyes lock with his, and his grandfather made a weak motion with one gnarled hand.

“
Geh
. . . help.”

Go get help . . . Edward turned and ran, banging out of the cabin door and tearing outside. His foot caught on the still, and suddenly the whole mysterious contraption collapsed into a heap on the ground, burning his legs with the remaining hot and pungent alcohol. Edward thought of the beating he was sure to receive for destroying his grandfather's prize possession and forgot about his need to get help. Instead, he took off for the
auld
deserted Bear's Cave . . . to wait, to hide....

“Coward,” he choked out at her feet. “I was a coward and I let him die.”

Sarah dropped down in front of him and grasped his shoulders hard. “
Nee
, Edward, you were a child, a young child. And he was going to die anyway. There's nothing that could have been done for him.
Grossmuder
May's journal gives proof of that.”

He shook his head. “How could something so small—a still—be the cost of my grandfather's life? How could I do it?”

“Edward,” Sarah said firmly, “answer the question—the one he asked of you. How do you forgive yourself?”

Edward closed his eye and sank back on his legs. He felt himself shivering but knew it wasn't from the cold. He saw himself as a little
buwe
, almost ran past himself, governed by fear. Fear of a beating. Fear of losing his grandfather's still—not thinking that he might build another, and then the truth—the terrible fear of losing his grandfather like he'd lost his
mamm
. . . And the abject loneliness of knowing that there was no turning back from death and its brutal finality . . . no matter how much a young boy might beg of
Gott
.

Edward opened his eye and looked at his wife. He realized that she was crying, too, tears for him, for who he'd been. He drew a deep shuddering breath. “You forgive yourself by realizing that you're not the one in control;
Gott
is . . . And even if He seems harsh or strange sometimes, He acts with love in the end.”

Sarah sniffed and nodded, reaching out to take both of his hands in hers. “Edward, do you still feel panicked?”

He searched within himself and realized he didn't, that it seemed as if a large burden had been rolled away and he was left feeling clean and whole. He knew he wasn't likely to have a panic attack again, but even if he did, he'd work through it somehow with Sarah's help.

He got to his feet, then helped her up. They both stood looking at the old cabin. “Do you want Joseph to rebuild this place for you, Edward?” she asked gently after a moment.

He shook his head. “
Nee
, but I would like you to go with me to visit my grandfather's grave. I think I'd like to plant a tree there in his memory.”

She stroked his chest with soothing fingers. “That would be nice.”

He bent and kissed the top of her head. “
Danki
, Sarah, for loving me enough to help me answer all of life's difficult questions—even the ones from long ago.”

“I know you would do the same for me, my love.”

And they stood in mutual faith and accord, a new day beginning in their hearts.