Mountains of Grace

by Kelly Irvin

  Job loved animals and tended to bring home every garter snake, mouse, and turtle he found.

  “Hurry home.” Hope put her arm around Job and together the two curly-haired towheads raced out the door. “Mudder will come looking for you.”

  The last words of warning were thrown over her shoulder. They called her Mother Bear. She treated all eight children with equal loving ferocity. Smiling despite everything, Mercy hurried to her desk and stuck her textbooks, the copy of Little Women she was reading for the fifth time, and her Bible in her backpack.

  “What are you doing?” Caleb strode after her. He thrust his hand out as if to take her arm. His tanned whiskerless face turned ruddier. His hand dropped, but his pale-blue eyes darkened with fierce emotion. “You need to go too.”

  “I just want to grab a few things. I can’t leave my books.” She loved her books. They were her prized possessions—not that she should hold possessions in such high esteem. Truth be told, they were her best friends. What would she do without them?

  Caleb knew about her secret passion. He was one of the few people in her life who understood her penchant for reading. He had it himself. Those long evenings spent talking about books had been highlights of their eight-month courtship that ended abruptly with an unexpected proposal. “These books are expensive to replace—”

  “People are more important than textbooks. Like you told the kinner, leave everything.” He jerked open the door. “I’ll give you a ride.”

  “Nee. I mean danki, but I have my bike. I won’t leave it.” Bicycles cost a lot, and hers, a mountain bike with extra-wide tires, had been a gift from her parents when she started teaching. “Besides, I can cut across the fields. It’ll be faster.”

  “Don’t be silly. We’ll put it in the buggy.” He followed her out the door onto the low porch where he stepped in front of her as if to impede her progress. His hands fisted and unfisted. “It won’t hurt you to give in just this once. It’s only a ride. It doesn’t obligate you to anything.”

  Didn’t obligate her to wed a man who didn’t seem to be able to express his feelings in ways a woman could understand. “I know that, but you need to go get your things. It’s the opposite direction.”

  Her throat was tight with unshed tears. Not just because of the fire. The look on his face begged her to change her mind. To let him take care of her. Some days, like today, she wanted that. But it was too late now.

  She pulled the door shut as she had hundreds of times at the end of a long day. Instead of feeling replete with a sense of important work done well, she felt anxiety creep up her spine and curl itself around her throat, a serpent whispering words of fear for a future made murky by smoke and flame.

  “You are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met.” Rare emotion ran rampant through Caleb’s words. “I have half a mind to throw you in the buggy.”

  If he’d shown this much fire during their courtship, her answer might’ve been different. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  His jaw jutted out and a pulse throbbed in his temple. “It wouldn’t be seemly, I suppose.”

  Back to feelings bridled. One step forward, two steps back. “Please go. Hurry. Save what you can. You’ll need your tools to rebuild.”

  She grabbed her bike, propped against the log cabin–style school. Her father and the other men had built it log by log years ago. Mercy and her brothers and sisters all had attended this school.

  Please, Gott, please.

  She slipped onto the bike’s seat. The normal, everyday act steadied her.

  “Fine. At least promise me you’ll be careful.” Caleb hoisted himself into his buggy. “Hurry but be careful.”

  The picture in her mind of Caleb throwing her into his buggy still loomed in her mind. What would she do if he dared to do such a thing? Unfettered, undeniable feelings rocked her. At least it would show the depth of his feelings. Feelings that hadn’t been expressed through a single hug or kiss. “You too. Are you going to Rexford?”

  “Eureka. Arthur has friends there who have offered his family a place to stay. He says there’s room for Ian and me.”

  Arthur Duncan was his boss at Montana Furniture. And a good friend. “Gut. Our paths will cross there.”

  Now why had she said that? Heat that had nothing to do with fire burned her cheeks and neck. She forced herself to break away from his stare and took one last look over her shoulder.

  A curtain of red-orange flames spewing black smoke fluttered in the wind on the mountain behind her. Six, maybe seven, miles away.

  She pressed her sneakers into the bike’s pedals, hunkered down, and fled.

  From the fire and from the man.

  3

  A raging forest fire could help a man get his priorities in order like nothing else. Coughing, Caleb wiped sweat from his face with his sleeve and barged into the rustic, two-bedroom log cabin he shared with Ian Byler.

  Ian looked up from the tools he was stuffing into a canvas bag. “Where have you been? You left the shop at the same time I did.”

  “I stopped at the school to tell Mercy.”

  “You are a glutton for punishment.” Ian snorted and went back to packing. “Or did she swoon at your act of kindness and change her mind?”

  “We’re supposed to be a forgiving people.” With a fire bearing down on this tiny community of four-hundred-plus English and Plain people, this was a good time to try to forgive Mercy and move on. Even if the blow she’d dealt him still kept him awake every night. “At least that’s what I learned growing up in Indiana. I’m sure it’s the same here.”

  “It’s one thing to forgive her; it’s another to expect her to change her mind.” Ian thrust the bag over his shoulder, picked up a battered leather suitcase, and headed for the door. “She told you she didn’t want to get married to you or anyone else. You’re better off to move on.”

  Mercy had professed to love teaching and her scholars as much as a mother loved her own children. She said she wasn’t ready to get married. Not that she would never marry. It had to be something about Caleb that kept her from saying yes.

  Her answer had knocked him for a loop. It was made worse by how apologetic and tearful she’d been. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings. She felt sorry for him.

  No need. He would survive.

  He simply had to figure out how to stop caring about this beautiful, long-legged woman with enormous hazel eyes, chestnut hair, and an inquisitive mind that ran rings around most people.

  Still waters ran deep was what Arthur had said about her when Caleb first asked what he thought about Mercy. “Very deep” had been the exact quote.

  All thoughts Caleb kept to himself now. Ian was courting Mercy’s older sister Leesa. He knew all about Mercy and he preferred the more traditional sister. Caleb rushed into his bedroom where he scooped up the bags he’d prepared the night before. Clothes, the biography of Abraham Lincoln, his latest Louis L’Amour Western, his tools, the letters from his family, his wood carvings—mostly animals and toys meant to be Christmas gifts for nieces and nephews back home—and his Bible.

  His hand hovered over the tan Stetson cowboy hat. Mercy had given it to him for his birthday in May. He touched the soft felt. An expensive gift that made him laugh. She called him Cowboy Caleb because of his love of L’Amour’s books.

  Not that he was allowed to wear a cowboy hat. Plain folks didn’t dress differently. But the hat hung on a nail next to his bed. It reminded him of Mercy’s smile and her giggle when he tried it on. The way she stroked it with thin fingers and stared at his face as if waiting for him to do something.

  Like kiss her.

  Only he’d let the moment pass in an agony of embarrassment. He was no good at these things. Leyla, his first and only special friend in Indiana, had made that apparent when she chose another.

  Dumped by one woman, turned down by another. Plain women were generally eager to marry. Just not him.

  He laid the Stetson on top of the bag. He couldn’t let it get squishe
d. These were the sum total possessions of a twenty-four-year-old wayfaring stranger from Indiana who’d lived in Kootenai for two years.

  He took one last look around. The sparse room held a neatly made bed, a table and mismatched chair, and hooks for his clothes. Once he walked out, there would be no sign Caleb Hostetler had ever lived here. The folks here welcomed him with the same hospitality they did all the visitors who came to hunt, fish, and hike in the mountains. If he left as all the others did, would they notice?

  An engine rumbled outside the open window. Shaking his head at his own thoughts, Caleb strode from the cabin that represented his fresh start. His high-on-the-mountain hope. His last resort.

  Now fire threatened it all.

  Gott, I don’t think I have the fortitude to start over yet again. These are gut people. They welcomed a stranger without question. Spare this community, I humbly beg. Put a bubble of protection around them if it is Thy will.

  Those last words were added because ultimately God’s will was the only thing that mattered. His plan. They might not understand it, but they would submit to it.

  Over and over again. Whether they liked it or not.

  He gritted his teeth and forced an attitude of gratitude. Fire was good for the forest. Just not for people who infringed on its beauty with their homes and their livelihoods.

  Thy will be done.

  He slammed the door behind him. There was no key. People around here didn’t lock their doors.

  Deputy Tim Trudeau stood next to his Lincoln County Sheriff’s Office pickup. “Are you out of here?” He shook a can of spray paint with one big paw. “I saw your roomie hoofing it in his wagon on the road. He had the right idea. It’s time to get the heck out of Dodge.”

  “We got the word over at the shop. I’m headed out as well.” Caleb slid his bags into the back of his buggy. His mare, Snowy—so named for her gleaming white coat—pranced and snorted with impatience. “Easy, I’m coming, girl, I’m coming.”

  “Anybody else in the house?”

  “No.”

  Tim lumbered up the skinny strip of cement that served as a sidewalk leading to the cabin. Sweat darkened the back of his tan uniform shirt stretched tight across enormous shoulders. He spray-painted a thick 0 on the sidewalk.

  “What’s that about?”

  “Number of people still here.” Tim stuck the lid back on the can. “We have people who don’t want to go. We put the number who stay. We’re keeping it simple.”

  “Staying is an option?”

  “Not a smart one. The evacuation is mandatory, but we’ve got some stubborn folks holding out. They have to sign a piece of paper that says they know we’re not coming in to rescue them if the fire sweeps this area.” His scoffing tone told Caleb what Tim thought of these folks. He tossed the can onto the seat through his open door and slid in next to it. “They can’t move to other folks’ property either. And if they’ve got kids, the kids gotta go or we’ll arrest the parents for putting minors in danger.”

  “Makes sense.” Caleb gripped the door before Tim could close it. “Before you go, have you been by the Yoders’?”

  “Which ones?”

  Mercy’s place. “Jonah’s?”

  “I was just there. The women are loading up the buggies and leaving.” Tim tugged the door shut and leaned his bare head through the open window. Sweat beaded on his tanned forehead. It stretched back to a hairline receding before its time. “Jonah and the older boys are staying behind a little longer. They swear they’ll leave as soon as they have the livestock and the equipment loaded. I hope they don’t wait too long.”

  “Did you tell them that?”

  “Of course I did. Jonah’s a smart man. He won’t risk those boys’ lives.”

  “Wouldn’t it be faster to give Mercy—the women—a ride out in your truck?”

  “There’s still time, but folks on bicycles are getting a ride, if they’ll take it, don’t you worry.” Tim hesitated. “Have you talked to any of your English neighbors?”

  That he adopted the Plain word for non-Amish folks spoke of the fact that Tim had grown up in these parts. Caleb shook his head. “I waved at the Drakes when I passed them on the road. They had their trailer loaded down and the back of their SUV. Their son was driving an ATV and DeeDee had the truck with a horse trailer.”

  “You haven’t seen the Knowleses then?”

  Translation: Had Caleb seen Juliette Knowles? Everyone knew Tim was sweet on Juliette. His personal vehicle, a dark-blue Dodge Ram, sat in the Knowleses’ driveway too many evenings this summer for people not to notice. “No. Sorry. But they were notified by phone, weren’t they?”

  “Yeah, Code Red, Reverse 911.” The furl on Tim’s forehead said the deputy wasn’t comforted by the thought. “Still, people are taking their sweet time getting out of here.”

  “On that note, I had better get moving.” Caleb climbed into his buggy. “Stay safe.”

  “Same to you. Pray as you go. Don’t make any stops. Get off this mountain now.”

  Good advice.

  Tim roared away, the truck bucking on the well-worn ruts of the gravel road. Eating its dust, Caleb followed. At the end of the long driveway, he glanced back. A second later he regretted it. The menacing, fiery glow advanced relentlessly down the mountain toward Kootenai.

  “Come on, Snowy, let’s make sure everyone gets out safe.” He snapped the reins. “Starting with the Yoders.”

  4

  Kootenai tasted and smelled like a big fire pit. The smell of burnt wood clung to Mercy’s nose. The smoke gagged her. Breathless, her lungs aching, her nose burning, she pumped harder. The home she was born in came into sight. A rambling cabin-style home had been made larger over the years with two additions to make room for their growing family. Her dad and the other men in the community built the first piece before she was born. She’d never lived anywhere else.

  Her mom had the horse and wagon hitched up. Behind it, Dad stood by the buggy, talking to her older sister Leesa and her younger brother Abraham. Hope sat up front, waiting.

  Mercy pulled up next to the wagon and braked hard. Panting, she gasped for air.

  “You made it. Thanks be to Gott. The kinner said you stayed behind to close the school.” Mother picked up Levi, the youngest of her eight children. He wiggled and clamped his chubby arms around her neck. She shifted his three-year-old body so she could see Mercy. “I suppose it’s human nature to tidy a building that may burn to the ground in the next few hours. We were going to come to get you.”

  In other words, Mother was worried. “I’m fine. I’m here. Do you have everything?”

  “Your daed, Abraham, Moses, and Seth are staying behind. They’ll load the trailer with what we can’t get in the wagon and the buggy.” Mother’s hazel eyes were wet with unshed tears behind dark-rimmed glasses. “The most important thing is you kinner.”

  Mercy wasn’t a child anymore, but Mother sometimes forgot that. “Is everyone okay? Have you heard from the Beachys or the Masts? What about the Knowleses?”

  “Everyone is helping everyone. No need to worry, kind. Gott is faithful.”

  That was West Kootenai. Friends helping friends, regardless of what church they attended on Sunday morning.

  “Where do I put my bike?”

  “Daed will bring the bikes out in the trailer.”

  “I want my rabbits.” Job popped from the back of the wagon. “They’ll burn up in the fire.”

  At six, he was old enough to understand what was happening. Mother held Levi up and Job took his little brother into his arms with an exaggerated hummph. “I’m sorry, but they were gone this morning. We don’t have time to look for them. At least you have Doodles.”

  Doodles was a skinny stray dog who’d made himself at home in their barn the previous winter. Although he appeared to be the laziest dog God ever placed on the earth, Doodles, a nondescript brown-and-white mutt, stuck to Job’s side like a cocklebur when he wasn’t at school. The rest of the time he sle
pt on his back, feet in the air, tongue flopping out one side of his mouth. Job plopped Levi down on the seat next to the dog, who licked the new addition as if the child were his own.

  “Get that bike in the trailer.” His hand on one hip, a look of pain on his sun-reddened face, Father tramped over to the wagon. “Let’s go. I want you out of here now.”

  Mercy did as she was told. Minutes later she climbed into the wagon and sat next to Mother. This time she didn’t look back. They joined a steady stream of people on Spring Creek Road. The parade grew when they turned onto West Kootenai Road. The narrow two-lane road wound through the Kootenai National Forest, Purcell, Cabinet, Salish, and Bitterroot Mountains in the distance.

  A route too beautiful for words. No matter how many times a person traveled it.

  “I wonder how much will be left when we come back.” Mercy grabbed the seat railing as the wagon rocked on the cracked asphalt. “All these beautiful spruce, tamarack, aspen, and pine trees. They could all be gone.”

  “Say your prayers. Gott’s will be done.” Mudder clucked and snapped the reins. “It’s only a precaution anyway. The Forest Service’s crews are digging containment lines. They’ll stop it from reaching Kootenai.”

  From her mother’s lips to God’s ears. Are You listening, Gott?

  Thankful her mother couldn’t read her mind, Mercy waved to the Masts. They’d loaded five kids, two dogs, and a mound of bags into one wagon. Maisie, who was four or five, sprawled across two bags, sound asleep.

  Christine waved back. “See you in Rexford. We have to talk.” Her excited, high-pitched excitement carried across the chasm. “ASAP.”

  “We’re going to Eureka.” Already, they were being spread across the countryside. Mercy groaned and waved harder. “But ASAP.”

  It was their code for Awful Situation Approaching. It usually involved their parents and men. Christine and Nora, her best friends since they were five and started school, were the only single girls their age left in Kootenai. Still on their rumspringas until they found special friends and married.