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Authors: Kelly Long
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she’d often show me, and I guess I was hooked.” He trailed off, thinking hard. There was so much resonance in her question, so many layers. He knew he was giving the best answer he could, but it was simplistic. How could he truly explain the deep internal call he felt to the place—it had something to do with his spirit, and he was not yet ready to explore that ground.
But Mary nodded, a half smile on her pink lips as she pulled on the gray board. The wood gave when she slid a hammer from a crevice of rock—proof that this had been done before. He stood back, knowing that she needed no help. He allowed his gaze to travel to the bottom of her skirts and realized that she was barefoot, despite his reminder earlier that day to bring her shoes. The barefoot thing was something he’d read about her people but had found a bit hard to believe at the time. Now he knew. Carol was right about one thing in her derogatory remarks, but I bet every woman in Atlanta would prize ankles so delicate and exposed . . . But Ice Mountain, in Amisch terms of community, was Mountain Amish and probably about a hundred years behind the times. In fact, when he’d asked around Lancaster on a previous trip, the Paradise Amish community had referred vaguely to those of Ice Mountain as being a bit “odd.” He could testify now to that oddness, but even after his shotgun marriage, he had to call the values system more old-fashioned and honor-driven than odd.
“Where are your shoes?” he asked, sliding off his gear and putting down her satchel.
She shrugged. “You’re carrying them. They rather hurt my toes.” She piled the boards neatly and Jude moved to stand on the precipice of the entrance to the cave, feeling the refreshing icy blast of cold air. Mary drew a lantern from inside the darkness, where he knew it hung on a convenient peg. She lit it while Bear whined a bit, then went into the cave. The animal returned a few seconds later, as if satisfied that it was safe to enter.
“ Sei se gut —please, Professor. After you.”
He took the lantern from her and stepped inside, feeling the ground both slick and rough at the same time. He looked up as the lantern light cast eerie shadows about the icy, jewel-like walls of the cave and down into the deep mine shaft, an ice-lined hole in the floor, more than eighty feet deep. He absorbed it all in a flash—the Native Americans using it as a cache to keep meat cool; the miners abandoning the site when they could not find the silver they sought; the hundred or so years of tours of people standing out on the remains of the wooden platform over the shaft, marveling at the natural wonder. And now him . . .
But it was a far different cave than when they’d visited at the beginning of the summer. Then ice had still clung thick to the walls in a dazzling display, with some icicles thicker than a man’s thigh. Now the ice was nearly gone, except for what coated the shaft and a thin sheeting on the walls.
“It’s still hard to believe,” he said, swinging the light in Mary’s direction. “I mean, the whole ice in the summer, no ice in the winter thing.”
“As you gaze upon this mysterious ice, your life appears to unfold before you. Dreams seem more enduring and so does your faith. You feel the surge within you and the unknown becomes palpable, even unto the mystery of self . . .” Mary’s soft voice echoed with times past.
“Isn’t that a reflection from one of the earliest visitors to the mine?” He turned to gaze down at her with wonder.
She nodded. “I—I read everything you loaned me.”
This last bit seemed like a confession and he knew it was because advanced reading was not especially approved by the elders of her community. But he smiled in pleasure at her recitation and he thought of something as he gazed back at the wet walls of the cave in the mellow light.
“You feel that kind of faith when you’re here, don’t you, Mary?”
“Jah.” She paused. “But you
But Mary nodded, a half smile on her pink lips as she pulled on the gray board. The wood gave when she slid a hammer from a crevice of rock—proof that this had been done before. He stood back, knowing that she needed no help. He allowed his gaze to travel to the bottom of her skirts and realized that she was barefoot, despite his reminder earlier that day to bring her shoes. The barefoot thing was something he’d read about her people but had found a bit hard to believe at the time. Now he knew. Carol was right about one thing in her derogatory remarks, but I bet every woman in Atlanta would prize ankles so delicate and exposed . . . But Ice Mountain, in Amisch terms of community, was Mountain Amish and probably about a hundred years behind the times. In fact, when he’d asked around Lancaster on a previous trip, the Paradise Amish community had referred vaguely to those of Ice Mountain as being a bit “odd.” He could testify now to that oddness, but even after his shotgun marriage, he had to call the values system more old-fashioned and honor-driven than odd.
“Where are your shoes?” he asked, sliding off his gear and putting down her satchel.
She shrugged. “You’re carrying them. They rather hurt my toes.” She piled the boards neatly and Jude moved to stand on the precipice of the entrance to the cave, feeling the refreshing icy blast of cold air. Mary drew a lantern from inside the darkness, where he knew it hung on a convenient peg. She lit it while Bear whined a bit, then went into the cave. The animal returned a few seconds later, as if satisfied that it was safe to enter.
“ Sei se gut —please, Professor. After you.”
He took the lantern from her and stepped inside, feeling the ground both slick and rough at the same time. He looked up as the lantern light cast eerie shadows about the icy, jewel-like walls of the cave and down into the deep mine shaft, an ice-lined hole in the floor, more than eighty feet deep. He absorbed it all in a flash—the Native Americans using it as a cache to keep meat cool; the miners abandoning the site when they could not find the silver they sought; the hundred or so years of tours of people standing out on the remains of the wooden platform over the shaft, marveling at the natural wonder. And now him . . .
But it was a far different cave than when they’d visited at the beginning of the summer. Then ice had still clung thick to the walls in a dazzling display, with some icicles thicker than a man’s thigh. Now the ice was nearly gone, except for what coated the shaft and a thin sheeting on the walls.
“It’s still hard to believe,” he said, swinging the light in Mary’s direction. “I mean, the whole ice in the summer, no ice in the winter thing.”
“As you gaze upon this mysterious ice, your life appears to unfold before you. Dreams seem more enduring and so does your faith. You feel the surge within you and the unknown becomes palpable, even unto the mystery of self . . .” Mary’s soft voice echoed with times past.
“Isn’t that a reflection from one of the earliest visitors to the mine?” He turned to gaze down at her with wonder.
She nodded. “I—I read everything you loaned me.”
This last bit seemed like a confession and he knew it was because advanced reading was not especially approved by the elders of her community. But he smiled in pleasure at her recitation and he thought of something as he gazed back at the wet walls of the cave in the mellow light.
“You feel that kind of faith when you’re here, don’t you, Mary?”
“Jah.” She paused. “But you
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