by Kelly Irvin
“What does Andy say?”
Everyone knew Andy and Christine were courting. Even if it was supposed to be a big secret. “He’s going to Lewistown to stay with his family. We’re still trying to figure things out. I’m hoping to see him here today.”
More victims of the fire. Friendships. Courtship. Everything upended. Mercy clamped her mouth shut. Nora’s and Christine’s homes had survived. Still, their lives were changed.
A loud hissing sound followed by a whistle forced Mercy to tear her gaze from Nora and Christine and focus on the row in front of them.
Waving, Juliette made an exaggerated face and whispered loudly enough for a dozen people to hear, “Look who’s here.”
She swiveled and pointed to a group of people clustered in the open area behind the auditorium seating. Mercy twisted her body and peeked. Spencer McDonald leaned on his crutches and tickled the little boy in Angie Rockford’s arms. The little boy pulled on his ear. They both laughed. He seemed more relaxed than he had last week. Mercy tore her gaze from the scene and shrugged. “So?” Aware of her mother’s penetrating gaze, she mouthed the single syllable and faced the stage where Sheriff Brody and other officials congregated near a U.S. flag on a stand by thick dark-blue curtains.
“What’s that all about?” Nora asked as both she and Christine craned their necks to stare. “Who was she pointing at?”
“Nobody.” Nobody her friends needed to know about. They would agree that Spencer was a cute English man. Their rumspringa technically didn’t end until they married, baptism or not. They would also be horrified to think she might gaze his way more than once. Which she wouldn’t. Of course not. Would she? “Hush up, you two.”
Something about his dark eyes ran circles in the back of her mind, chanting, Look at me, look at me, you know you want to look at me. Mercy sighed. You hush up too.
“Sorry, excuse me, sorry.” Juliette squeezed past Abraham, Moses, and Seth in her red strapless sundress and leather sandals that allowed her to display matching red toenails. “I need to talk to the girls.”
She paused long enough for Nora to sigh and move down one seat so Juliette could sit next to Mercy. She slid down into the seat and leaned close enough for her breath to tickle Mercy’s ear. “Spencer was staring at you.”
“Hush. They’re starting.”
“Be careful with him, my child. He has a bad boy history.”
Juliette liked to act as if she were so much older and wiser because she’d been outside of their little hamlets in northwest Montana. All the way to Missoula.
“He’s Englisch.” Mercy pointed out the most salient detail about the man. She’d only met him once, yet every detail of that brief conversation stood out in her mind. Be good. Be good. The voice in her ear that always spoke when she knew she was tiptoeing over an invisible line blared. She shivered. “I’m sorry about your house.”
Juliette’s smile turned brittle. “It’s just a bunch of stuff.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself.”
The table and chairs made by Grandpa Yoder. The Prairie Star Patchwork quilt in navy, burgundy, and purple quilted by Grandma Yoder. It had adorned Mother and Father’s bed as long as Mercy could remember. Mercy’s books bought with her hard-earned teacher’s salary. Job’s rabbits. The cedar chests that contained Leesa and Mercy’s quilts and hand-me-down treasures to be used one day in their own homes. The snippet of hair and single nightgown kept when baby Esther died a few days after birth.
Material things weren’t important. Yet Mercy’s heart ached for the familiar that represented so many good memories.
Why did God let small, tight-knit communities burn? It couldn’t be punishment. They’d done nothing but work hard, mind their own business, and follow the pillars of faith. Obedience, humility, Gelassenheit.
Juliette squeezed Mercy’s hand. “So I think Caleb was looking for you the other day when—”
“Hush, they’re starting.”
Every bone in her body wanted to turn around and stare at Spencer. She chewed on her fingernail. Nora swatted at her fingers. Mercy rolled her eyes and gathered her hands in her lap. No peeking. The important information would come from the stage. The hair on her arms stood up. Goose bumps rippled across them as if someone had run his fingers across her skin.
Stop it. Pay attention. Gott, forgive me.
The briefing served as folks’ first opportunity to get their questions answered and vent their frustrations. The important question—in Mercy’s mind—was when could they go home? The men from Kootenai seemed more concerned with quibbling over how the fire was being contained.
Miles Rutgers got the ball rolling. “Are we a test bed for not suppressing fires in their infancy?”
A man who was introduced by Sheriff Brody as Incident Commander Mark Stover rebuffed the idea with the shortest answer on record. “No.”
“Tell the truth, we’re the sacrificial lamb. This fire was at forty acres at one time. It seemed to me like it was 75 percent observed and only 25 percent put out. That was negligent.” Rutgers, who lived down the road from Mercy’s family, picked up steam. He leaned too close to the microphone on a stand near the center of the auditorium. It squealed. Mercy slapped her hands to her ears. Rutgers backed off. “That’s negligent. It should have been put out at forty acres. Every kid knows you put the campfire out. That’s the kind of leadership we’re getting?”
“With all due respect, Mr. Rutgers, this isn’t a campfire.” District Ranger Eugene Rader, from the Forest Service, took the question. “There was a delay in detecting this fire because conditions were so smoky. One of our observation planes just happened to fly by and spot it.”
The fire operations guy picked it up from there, giving the crowd a rundown on the crew fighting the fire. Bottom line, they were short staffed because of twelve outstanding orders for twenty-man crews. Only three crews were on the Caribou Fire.
“Crews are struggling to hold the dozer line that extends around West Kootenai and eastward to Lake Koocanusa,” Stover added. “We’re holding a ton of line right now with seventy people. They’re holding on by their fingernails. They’re bumping from one spot to another spot. We’re trying to patrol the lines. It’s not what you want to hear, but that’s what we’re dealing with.”
Mercy stifled the urge to catapult from her seat and race to the microphone. Her parents would be shamed. Her Gmay shamed. Still, the desire to shout it out raged. That place these men were talking about held the homes of her family and friends. Once it had. They had been trusted to hold the line. It was their job. Now, she and her family had nothing to return to.
“Daed—”
Her eyes daggers, Mother shook her head and put her index finger to her lips.
Mercy subsided in her seat. Her face a reflection of Mercy’s seething emotions, Juliette wiggled. “Easy for them to say, right?”
“I’m sure it’s not, but—”
More daggers from Mother.
Mercy chewed her bottom lip and stared straight ahead.
Juliette’s dad stood and stomped down the aisle to the microphone. “Oh boy.” Juliette sank into her seat and covered her eyes. “This should be good.”
“Lyle Knowles here.” Lyle sounded like the disc jockey on the country music station Juliette liked to play in her truck. Warm, deep, and smooth. “I think what these folks mean to say is thank you. Me and my wife and daughters got out safe. I’m thankful for that. We’re blessed. My thanks to Emmett for his efforts and the efforts of his deputies to get everyone out safe. That’s what is important. I’m speaking as a husband and father who lost his house but still has what’s most precious to him. Family.” He swiveled, taking his time, and peered around the darkened auditorium. “I suggest everyone go home and say their prayers and be thankful. Be a good neighbor. We’ve still got each other. That’s what’s important.”
He stalked back up the aisle. At the top he cocked his head. Juliette’s mom popped up from her seat. “Let’s go, g
irls.”
“That’s my cue.” Scowling, Juliette squeezed past Mercy and Christine. She scanned the crowd. “I was hoping . . .”
“Tim’s probably in Libby since the sheriff’s here.”
“He’s mad at me.”
“Why?”
Juliette leaned against the seats behind her and studied her manicured fingernails painted a shimmering red that matched her toenails. “I have a job offer in Billings. As a lowly assistant account exec with a marketing firm, but it’s an offer.” Her grin seemed forced. “A paying job in a big city with nightlife and culture and stuff for a single person to do. It’s all good. ’Course Tim doesn’t think so. He congratulated me and walked away.”
Good and bad. A double-edged sword of the worst kind. No doubt Tim wanted Juliette to stay, but he couldn’t ask her to marry him. Not with her views on religion. And if she left, he couldn’t continue to try to change those views. “So you’re accepting the offer?”
“That’s the thing. They gave me a week to decide. The horse’s behind didn’t give me a chance to say I haven’t decided yet.”
Juliette was always careful not to curse in front of them, but her substitutions always made the girls grin at each other. Nora’s smile faded. “But you want to.”
“Yeah, I do. But I thought maybe Tim could come with me.”
Big assumption. Tim seemed to love his job as a sheriff’s deputy. How easy was it to get these law enforcement jobs in other places? The English world of jobs was hazy at best, but especially when it came to a workplace that the Plain community took great pains to avoid in its official capacity.
Tim and Emmett and the others were good friends, but no one wanted to talk to them about crimes.
“All things considered, I don’t think he can.” Mercy dug for the words she should say. They seemed hypocritical at best. “You should pray about it. You know he will, when he’s over being mad. He’s only mad because he cares.”
“Do it for me. Ple-eeezz.” Juliette’s gaze took in all three women. She drew the word out like a little girl begging for a cookie. “You’re the supreme prayer warriors.”
Whatever that meant. They prayed as Jesus taught all Christians to pray. The Lord’s Prayer was at the top of their list. “I’ll do my best.” Even if she had her own bones to pick with the Great I Am. “But you have to promise you’ll try too. For Tim’s sake.”
“I second that.” Nora nodded in vigorous agreement. “Gott’s will is Gott’s will. If His plan involves Tim going with you, then He’ll make it known.”
The scowl flew away. Juliette passed out hugs like jelly beans, small and sweet. “You’re the best. If God hears anyone’s prayers, it’s yours.”
Ignoring the admonition to pray herself, as usual.
Still, a point for Tim. Juliette had acknowledged God’s existence and that He answered prayers. On the other hand, Tim couldn’t ask her to stay if he didn’t intend to propose. He couldn’t propose unless she was a believer. The Amish understood that, even though they saw it in a different light. Mercy couldn’t marry someone who hadn’t been baptized and joined her faith.
They also didn’t evangelize. At least her Old Order Gmay didn’t. That didn’t mean Mercy didn’t worry for her friend’s happiness. “Do one other thing for me?”
“I wish you had a phone. You could text me.” Juliette edged closer to the aisle. “Tell me quick. I gotta go.”
“Come over Monday. Spend some time with me in the classroom.”
“Why?”
Because Juliette had talents she’d yet to explore. Because teachers were always in need. And a person didn’t have to travel to the largest city in Montana to fill the need. “Just come help me out for a while.”
“Whatever you need, sweetie.”
“Go—your dad will be cranky if you keep him waiting.”
Juliette slipped into the crowd, which parted for the pretty former cheerleader known and loved by everyone.
Mercy turned to her other friends. “You didn’t tell her you’re leaving.”
“She would’ve thrown a fit.” Nora giggled. “You know Juliette. She’s used to getting her way. We’ll let you tell her.”
“We’re going,” Abraham called from the end of the aisle. Mother and Father were already on their way to the door. “Hurry up.”
Mercy stood and moved toward the aisle. Her friends did the same. “I can’t believe you’re leaving me.”
“Only for a while. I’ll be back.” Nora hugged her first and then Christine. “There’s a certain person who’ll be waiting for me.”
“Me too.” Christine put her arms around both Nora and Mercy. “I’ll stay as long as Aunt Lucy needs me at the store, but I have unfinished business here too.”
What if God had other plans? If God’s will was for them to be separated? What they wanted seemed to have nothing to do with anything. Mercy swallowed the negative thoughts that bombarded her like stinging hornets riled up in a strong wind. “See you soon, then.”
“See you soon.”
God’s will be done.
Even if she didn’t like it.
18
Eureka, Montana
She looked really good.
Spencer kissed Mikey’s sweet cheek, adjusted his crutches, and began the slow trek through the auditorium crowd toward Mercy Yoder. The tight knots of English and Amish folks from West Kootenai, Libby, and Eureka parted for the gimp on crutches. What did an English guy say to an Amish girl?
A woman in a red sundress fitted to show off her body sauntered directly into his path. She didn’t seem to realize it until she bumped his crutch and he stumbled back a step.
“Oops, sorry, sorry.” She slung long, wavy blonde hair over her shoulder and fixed a dazzling smile on him. “So sorry. Oh hey, it’s you. Spencer McDonald.”
Juliette Knowles. A lovely vision from the past.
A past he tried to forget. “Hey, it’s you. Juliette.”
Her gaze swept Spencer head to toe and then did a slower sweep in reverse. She didn’t even try to hide her assessment. “You’ve aged well.”
“I could say the same for you.”
Even as a ninth grader, far too young for a senior who was much too old for his eighteen years, Juliette had exuded feminine wiles. Her sideways glances while practicing her cheerleader moves on the football field at Eureka High School left no doubt she knew exactly what she was doing in her tight white T-shirt and miniscule gym shorts. Flips, cartwheels, handstands, and dance moves normally reserved for nightclubs, all designed to show off her tanned, nubile body.
That was a long time ago. Not that a hot body didn’t still push his buttons. He managed to close his mouth after a full five seconds.
“Thank you.” She grinned the famous Juliette grin—half angel, half demon. “What are you doing back in town, and how long are you staying?”
“Do you work for the hometown newspaper, or are you just nosy?”
She smelled like coconut oil. A sudden flash of sandy beach, a lazy breeze, and seagulls cackling assailed him. Chuckling, she leaned closer and touched his bare arm. “Are you still the same brooding bad boy you were ten years ago? Why are you back?”
“Again with the questions.” The hair on his arm stood up. Goose bumps marched down his biceps and hid in the hair. “Visiting family.”
Mercy slipped from the last row of seats with a cluster of folks dressed in Amish garb. Must be her family. And they were leaving.
Juliette swiveled and glanced over her shoulder. “Interesting.” She stepped aside. “Just remember, Mercy is a sweet, innocent Amish woman. And she’s a friend of mine.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He swung past her. “See you around.”
“See you around, Spence.”
Her words held a faint inquiry. And a dash of laughter. A recipe for disaster.
His interest in women like Juliette had abated long ago. The first time he walked into the Missoula First Bank of Montana and gaz
ed into the soft, earthy-brown eyes of a teller dressed in a prim, white, long-sleeved blouse, wearing pearl earrings and a touch of pink lipstick. Her name tag read Patricia. There’d been a mix-up with his check deposit. It took long enough to figure it out for him to ask for and receive her number.
The rest, as they say, was history. Unfortunately.
The older couple, probably Mercy’s parents, stopped to talk to some other Amish folks. Three boys who had her same nose and chin went on ahead while Mercy lingered as if caught between being an adult and a teenager.
He sidled closer. No way to be graceful with clunky crutches under both arms. “I’m Spencer, from the other night at the church.”
“I remember you.” Her hazel eyes flashed and her peaches-and-cream complexion turned pink. “Angie’s brother.”
“They really had a big turnout for this meeting.” What a stupid thing to say. Of course they did. No turning back now. He made a show of surveying the crowd surging up the aisles. “It appears as if the entire towns of West Kootenai and Rexford showed up.”
Not that the combined population of those specks on the map could fill this auditorium. Plenty of the good citizens of Eureka had attended as well.
“Everyone’s concerned.” She ducked her head. Strands of her chestnut hair had escaped her prayer kapp and lay on her neck, shiny in the fluorescent lights. “Some have lost so much.”
Her hazel eyes were fierce. Something hummed inside Spencer, like the thrumming of guitar strings. “Are you one of the ones who lost your home?”
“The only Amish family. Some single men lost their cabins.” She glanced away. “And several of the Englisch—non-Amish—families lost their homes. We’re all family in Kootenai.”
“I’m sorry. I know it’s rough.”
Even after seven years as a firefighter, four of those as a smoke jumper, he never lost sight of the people who stood to lose everything if his team’s efforts to contain a fire failed. But the more people built their homes near the forests, on the mountains, instead of the open valleys, the less the Forest Service could do to protect them. Education campaigns helped some, but mostly people continued to build where nature had its own ways of pruning and weeding out the weak and the overgrown. Lightning had been used as nature’s fire starter since the beginning of time.
