CHAPTER 1
Ice Mountain, February 14, 1958
Martha Yoder wanted a bath in the creek. She was tired of cramming herself into the tiny hip tub her family used all winter, and she gathered towels and a clean nacht gown and slipped out of the cabin before anyone noticed she was gone. The moon cast a haloed light on the surface of the deep snow as she plowed her way to the small shed where tools were kept. She wanted an ax, in case the deeper part of the creek was still frozen over.
She whistled as she made her way along the moonlit path, the sound comforting in the still of the night—not that she needed any solace to be alone. Caring for her aged grossmuder made the winter days long in the cabin, and though there was her mamm and daed also, Martha was the most able-bodied and handy. And then there was Judah. . . .
Tall, pompous Judah Umble had been pursuing her since she’d turned sixteen, but there was something about him that made her cold at times.... Not the clean cold of a winter’s nacht, like now, she thought . . . but rather a cold of the soul that she could not quite explain. She pushed away ideas of Judah, not wanting to interrupt her mental peace, and finally reached the creek. Casting a quick, perceptive glance around, she dropped the ax and her armload of things, and began to strip down to her bare skin.
The cold was exhilarating, and she gave a little squeal of delight as she ran and plunged, toes first, into the swirling water. She stood for a moment, her unbound hair caught in the current, and gloried in simply being alive....
* * *
Joel Umble couldn’t sleep. It was nigh on ten o’clock, he knew, but the moonlight that slid through the single window of his and Judah’s room beckoned him somehow. He knew his bruder would scorn him for such ideas as the call of the moon, but for once, he didn’t seem to care. He slid naked from his narrow bed and went to the window, the sill just bumping the height of his lean hip. He pressed his forehead against the cold glass and felt his restlessness grow, especially when Judah began to snore.
A brisk walk in the snow, he thought, turning to quickly get into his clothes with as little noise as possible. He’d become adept over the years at slipping out of the haus, seeking peace and time alone, away from Judah’s cruelty and his mamm’s anxious thoughts. And tonight was no exception. He crossed the kitchen, stopped to stroke his mother’s cat, Puddles, and then went out into the nacht.
It was times like this when he missed his fater most of all—the great, tall man who’d slung him over a broad shoulder and galloped along like the fastest horse—they’d often shared a walk in the woods together. His daed had taught him the ways of nature and the wild, letting Joel see the living Gott in every tree, leaf, and creature. It had been a blessing to have such a man in his life, even if it had only been for a short time.
He walked easily now through the deep snow, hands fisted and stuffed in the pockets of his heavy black coat. He pulled his dark hat down closer as the wind picked up, then nearly stopped still when the sound of a woman’s voice came to him, high, melodic, carried by the nacht air from the nearby creek like a siren’s song.
He followed the sound, finding himself strangely drawn, then came to an abrupt stop at the edge of the creek bank when he saw the naked back of the girl. He retreated behind a nearby pine tree automatically but she soon stopped singing, as if aware somehow of his presence.
She turned in the water and he stared, transfixed from his half-hidden position—at twenty years old, he’d never seen a woman’s bare breasts before. He didn’t count the hired girl’s dusky nipples, which pressed through her thin summer dress; no, this was different—painfully different.
“Who’s there?”
He caught his breath when he recognized Martha Yoder . . . he realized that he’d been too busy looking at her body to notice her face, but now he turned and pressed his back hard against the tree.
“No one,” he muttered, answering her before he could help himself.
“I’m getting out. Don’t tell me it’s not you, Judah Umble! How dare you spy on me like this . . .”
Judah? Ach, praise Gott she thinks it’s my bruder . . . though the image of her white breasts with nipples as red as strawberries was burned into his retinas. He felt hesitantly for the ground beneath his boots and started to move away, when he tripped and sprawled face-forward in the snow....
* * *
Martha was furious. Not only did the man have the nerve to seek her out in broad daylight, now he was stalking her by the light of the moon. She grabbed up her pile of clothing, careless of the pins that pricked her skin here and there and marched over to where he was scrambling to get to his feet.
“Gut for you—falling on your face, Judah,” she scolded. His hat had fallen off, and his black hair seemed more tousled than usual in the half light. She hugged her belongings to her and waited for him to rise. He seemed to be taking a long time at it....
“Are you hurt?” she snapped finally in exasperation.
“Nee,” he whispered. “Just geh.”
She tossed her head. “Judah Umble, I can’t leave you lying here in the snow. You’ll freeze to death.”
“And you won’t?”
“Nee, I won’t. I’ve got the blood for it. Now, get up.”
She sighed and reached a single arm down to tug fretfully at his coat sleeve and then lost her balance, her toes colder than she cared to admit. She gave a small cry as she pitched forward on her knees in the snow, and she saw his head turn out of the corner of her eye.
Then she gasped, amazed and shamed. Her lip began to quiver. “Joel?”