The Amish Heart of Ice Mountain Read Free

could marry at fifteen, then surely I can at nineteen.... She squared her shoulders and pushed aside the long curtain that separated the bedroom from the kitchen, prepared to face her future with as much confidence as her shaking hands would allow.
    The three men stood in silence when she reentered the room. Edward had loosely pinned his soaking shirt on, but the strong cords of his throat were still visible and his suspenders still hung down about his lean waist. He was visibly shivering and she bit back a protest at making him put on his wet clothes again, knowing that would only condemn him further in her fater ’s eyes . I might as well do what I can to see that they get along, considering this marriage is supposed to last forever. . . . She blinked. Forever . . .
    Edward sneezed, and it seemed to galvanize Bishop Umble into action. “It is unusual, I admit to you all, for me to both perform the marriage and stand as a witness at the same time. . . .”
    Her fater gave a low growl of acknowledgment and the bishop stroked his gray beard. “Still,” he cleared his throat, “I suppose we must proceed . . . though I’m beginning to think that this is the only way couples seem to get married anymore on Ice Mountain—irate faters and all.”
    Sarah knew that the bishop was referring to Edward’s own sister, Mary, who had been forced to wed after being caught in a passionate embrace with an Englischer . Yet Mary and Jude certainly seemed now to be deeply in love and made one of the most striking couples on the mountain.
    She sighed, then came back to the moment with a heart thump as she heard Bishop Umble speak the High German words of the wedding ceremony. She was aware of Edward’s tall presence beside her and the faint smell of moonshine mixed with his own scent of pine and woods and sultry sun. She longed to close her eyes against memories of stolen kisses and fervent embraces and tried to remember that he wanted her like this no more than she wanted him.
    Somehow, then, the ceremony was over. She saw her fater visibly relax, a bit of the angry redness leaving his face, and the bishop put his hands behind his back. Sarah knew Bishop Umble’s posture; it was a stance of exhortation or encouragement, as he often stood during church service. Here comes the lecture . . . I’m so tired all of a sudden. I don’t think I can stand it.... But she assumed a properly interested expression, ignoring for the moment the fact that Edward had begun to cough. She simply wanted everyone to be gone.
    But Bishop Umble pursed his lips and spoke. “I have one suggestion for your marriage. It’s an abbreviated statement from Sir Winston Churchill. . . .”
    Ach, buwe. Sarah flicked back one of her kapp strings and sensed Edward shift his weight on the auld floorboards.
    â€œâ€˜Never give up,’” the bishop pronounced with singular solemnity, then clapped his hat back on his head. “ Kumme , Mahlon, we’ll leave this husband and wife in peace.”
    Sarah watched her fater bluster, then grab Edward by his loose shirt collar. “If you ever hurt her, I’ll . . .”
    â€œMahlon!” Bishop Umble snapped. “Remember yourself.”
    Her fater grunted and released Edward, and Sarah let out the breath she realized she’d been holding. Then both older men went out into the rain and the door closed with a definitive thump, her fater not even bidding her farewell.
    She closed her eyes on tears at the abrupt dismissal, not that she’d come to expect anything more from her daed —he was far from affectionate and remote as the moon at times. She swallowed, longing for comfort of some kind, and looked askance at her new husband.
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    Mahlon Mast fisted his hands deep into his pockets as he parted from the bishop and began on the path toward home. Anne would be waiting supper and wondering what kept him. He scowled as he kicked a stray