Covered Bridge Charm

by Christner, Dianne;

  At one point, his grandfather made the decision to keep growing the trees because they provided for the livelihood of several church families. Nobody confronted the Lapps at the time, and now it was accepted. They’d always taken care not to make a profit off the ornaments or promote the glitz of Christmas.

  Adam leaned into a fir, tying a yellow plastic ribbon. His light jacket was saturated with the distinctive piney scent. He propped a measuring stick against the evergreen and brushed off his sleeve before going to the truck for more colored ribbons. Saturday was Tag Your Own Tree Day at the farm, and although his sisters would take care of the customers, Dad expected him to help. He hated to spoil the prevailing peace—since he hadn’t contested Dad’s stipulations. Yet. But he needed to fulfill his promise to Carly.

  With that in mind, he fixed a cup of water and went to his dad. “Need more ribbon?”

  Dad gulped down the water. “Not yet.” He toed the rich soil. “Last night’s frost was just in time.”

  Adam nodded. Some farmers believed that frost before harvest made the trees dormant and improved needle retention. “Right on schedule. With Mother Nature cooperating, now would be a good time for me to take some time off. The girls love Tag Your Own Tree Saturdays. In fact, they’re making their farm-famous Amish sugar cookies today. And you’ve already got extra help.”

  “How much time?”

  “Half a day or so. It’ll only get busier.”

  Dad eyed him speculatively. “Simon need you at Sweet Life? Now that you’re a partner, you need to establish priorities.”

  Adam shook his head. “It’s not Sweet Life. But as a partner, I shouldn’t have to ask. You know I always make up for any time I take.”

  “Humph. Forgive me if I still think like a dad. If it isn’t Simon, then you must have a date?”

  “Just helping a friend.”

  “Jah? Who?”

  Although Dad wasn’t one to talk much, he stayed up with the latest gossip between Mom and the sisters. And Adam knew he wouldn’t let it go until he had all the facts, especially if it involved family. “Helping Jimmy. He took a long haul to the Dakotas, and he asked me to watch over Carly. So I need to help her with some things. Don’t know how long it’ll take.” He hated resorting to a half truth.

  Dad gripped the empty cup. “I thought we came to an agreement about her.”

  A sudden breeze whipped through the trees, and some straggling reddish cones littered the ground at their feet. Adam kicked one across the lane.

  “You’re stirring up trouble,” Dad warned.

  “Why does my friendship with Carly have to come between us?”

  “You’re fooling yourself to keep referring to her as a friend.”

  “Jah. My feelings are mixed.”

  “She’s causing a rebellious spirit in you.” Dad shook his head. “Can’t you see I’m meeting you more than halfway? I know I should’ve loosened the reins earlier, but why do you keep pushing for more? You still have Nappanee in your blood?”

  Adam sighed. “I know you’re trying, Dad. We make a good team on the farm. But I believe my love life should be private.”

  “In this small town? Nothing’s private.”

  Adam hardened his voice. “Well, I’m helping Carly on Saturday. And honestly, I don’t know what else to say because she’s got me confused.”

  “And that’s just the beginning of what a woman does to a man. I’m telling you she’s just like her aunt.”

  Startled, Adam asked, “What do you mean?”

  “They aren’t wife material. Fannie told me so herself.”

  Confusion slowly turned to understanding. “You dated her?”

  “Jah. About a year after Bob was killed. She led me on, then all of a sudden she decided she didn’t want the accountability that went with marriage. Told me point blank she wasn’t the meek type and that she still loved Bob. I think she figured out I wouldn’t let her boss me around like she had Bob. Do you see the similarities?”

  He couldn’t deny it. Carly had led Dale on and then pushed him away because she couldn’t fit in with his plans. Dad pointed his finger. “You think good and hard about it. You have until after Christmas to make up your mind between her or the farm. Do the smart thing.”

  “Dad—”

  A rickety green truck rumbled down the lane and pulled to a stop in front of them. One of their hired hands rolled down the window. “We’re done in the southeast field. What next?”

  “Go up to the house and help Ann set up tables. Do whatever the women want, and then start in the back ten acres.”

  “Sure, Boss.”

  When they’d driven down the lane, Dad pushed his cup at Adam. “Been standing here long enough. You still have some paperwork on that Portland account?”

  Adam nodded. “I’ve got scheduling to do.”

  “Well, go on.”

  “Fine. I’ll see you in a couple hours. I’ll bring some cookies back.” Adam put his tools away and jumped in his truck, grateful for the separation.

  At the house, he passed the kitchen and snitched a cookie on his way to the office. “Smells great.” He groaned with pleasure as the sugar melted on his tongue. “This is how we sell Christmas trees in October.”

  “Flatterer.” Ann winked at her sister Eve and brushed crumbs into the sink.

  He playfully tugged the hair of his youngest sister, Faith. “Where’s everyone else?”

  “Mom and Beth are out telling the men where to put tables. Charity’s nursing, and Dee went into town for supplies.”

  “What are you doing here in the middle of the day?” Eve asked.

  “Dad got mad and sent me to the office.”

  Ann rolled her blue gaze toward the ceiling. “Honestly. What now?”

  “Carly.”

  “Oh.” Ann grinned. “I like her. She’d add some spice to our family.”

  “I’m already outnumbered in sugar and spice.”

  “We’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Eve shook her head and moved toward the ovens. While Faith wiped down the counters, Adam lowered his voice and continued his conversation with Ann. “I’m helping Carly with a project.”

  “Oh?” she arched a brow. “At her place?”

  “No. Right now she’s into covered bridges.”

  “Sounds romantic.”

  “I hope.” But should he?

  Trees swayed in the howling wind, and dark clouds dimmed the midmorning sky. A dead bush tumbled across the country road and bounced into a deep ditch. Carly wiggled stocking-clad toes inside her black oxfords as Adam’s heater finally warmed the truck’s cabin.

  “This is not looking good for Tag Your Own Tree Day,” he mumbled.

  “A drop in the temperature might put people in the mood,” she encouraged. His brow wasn’t creased in worry, but their conversation served as a reminder that the holidays would soon make him unavailable to her. “How’d you get away?”

  He grinned mischievously. “Used my charm.”

  “You may need some of that for today’s venture.”

  “Don’t worry. There’s plenty to go around.”

  Good looks, too. Best not to dwell on those in such close quarters. After flashing him a smile, she noticed they were nearing Martha’s childhood homestead on the Halsey—Sweet Home Road. Supposedly, a cousin lived there.

  “Dad kicked up a bit. But I’m used to it.”

  “Is he like my aunt? She’s kindhearted but puts on a brusque front. She won’t even call Cocoa by name. Always says ‘that rabbit.’ But when she thinks I’m not watching, she plays with him. I think Auntie’s afraid to love again since she lost Bobby. I can’t imagine losing a child. Can you?”

  “No. It would be hard.”

  “Auntie loves us. She’s just afraid to show it.”

  Adam laughed sarcastically. “If Dad has a gooey side, I’ve never seen it.”

  Curious about his family, she asked, “Is he different toward your sisters?”

  �
��More like indifferent.”

  “The grandkids?”

  Adam wrinkled his dark brow in thought. “Gentler. But between Mom and my sisters, he doesn’t need to spend much time with them. When the family gets together, it’s one big noisy mob with the kids running in and out. Faith often entertains them.”

  Carly tried to imagine family gatherings so different from her own. They pulled into a long gravel drive and parked beside an old two-story farmhouse. There was no activity outside that she could see. She didn’t know the occupant, so with heads bent against the wind, they trudged to the front door.

  Adam shouted over the wind. “You ask the questions. I’ll pour on the charm.”

  She rang the bell, and a middle-aged Englísh woman opened a door that would have banged against the exterior siding if Adam hadn’t caught it with a gloved hand.

  As strangers, it was encouraging to be invited inside. Whether their hostess trusted them because of their plain clothing or pitied them for the cold, Carly wasn’t sure. But she made quick introductions while a small yapping dog bounced up and down around her skirt. From the entryway, she glimpsed modern renovations and heard the hum of a television.

  “I work at Sweet Life Assisted Living, and one of our residents is Martha Struder. I understand this is her childhood home.”

  The woman looked skittish. “The house belongs to my husband’s family. What’s her maiden name?”

  “Stutzman.”

  “Yep. Follow me. You’ll want to talk to him.” A hall led into a cozy sitting room where her husband was watching some brightly clad men huddling around a ball. When he saw them, he muted the game. His wife offered them seats and filled him in about the situation.

  He tapped his chin, considering their question. “I believe Martha would be a great-great-aunt or something, but we fell out of touch with the Mennonite side of the family.” He looked curious. “Why do you ask?”

  “She’ll soon turn eighty-five.” Carly tucked her feet under her skirt, trying to keep Cocoa’s scent away from the sniffing dog. “The center is helping her family plan a surprise birthday party. I’m trying to locate some old friends and neighbors. She mentioned a Ruth Stucky?”

  He knew a Stucky about Martha’s age and gave them directions. Thanking them, Carly and Adam returned to the truck. The address they were given belonged to Ruth’s brother, but he gave them Ruth’s Halsey address about twenty miles away.

  On the way into Halsey, Adam asked, “Hungry?”

  “Jah.”

  “We’re going right by the bakery.”

  Adam stopped at the familiar shop run by a conservative woman, bought two cinnamon rolls, and hurried back to the truck. Thanking him, Carly placed a napkin on her lap and pulled her pastry out of a small paper bag. “When Martha told me she’d lost track of Ruth, I wasn’t sure we’d be able to track her down. We’re lucky she still lives in the area.”

  Adam slowly licked his fingers. Carly looked away and stuffed a bite into her own mouth.

  “M-mm,” he groaned with pleasure. “Even if we hit a dead end, this makes the excursion worthwhile.”

  Men and their food. Jimmy was the same way. She cast him a glance, assuming he referred to his pastry. And he did. But for her, the day was worthwhile just because they sat together snug and protected from the weather and world. She’d love to prolong the intimacy, but she was also anxious to proceed with the hunt.

  “Delicious. I have high hopes Ruth will remember the boy.”

  Finishing his pastry and stuffing everything back into a paper bag, Adam replied, “You romanticize, thinking of him as a boy.”

  “I suppose. Martha was sixteen at the time. But he was old enough to go into the military.”

  “Good grief. If he’s living, he could be close to ninety. Most men don’t live that long.”

  “I realize we probably won’t find him. But wouldn’t it be great if I could find one of his relatives and get his life’s story? I’d write it in one of those nice journals and give it to Martha for her birthday.”

  “What will you do if—never mind.”

  “I’ll satisfy my curiosity and think of another way to cheer up Martha.”

  He flashed a warm gaze. “You’re one of Sweet Life’s best assets.” Then he put the truck in gear and pulled back onto the road. “I told Uncle Si that last Sunday. He told me what a great job you did on your volunteer presentation.”

  “He did?”

  Adam nodded. “Just so you know, I confronted him about the way he treated you.”

  Melting with gratitude, Carly felt her cheeks heat. “Thanks. You’re a good friend.”

  After that, Adam quietly brooded until they reached Ruth’s home. The elderly woman was quick-witted and in good health for her age. She lived with her daughter in a small steepled house in the heart of town. Neither of them dressed plainly, which was probably why Martha had lost track of her.

  They assembled in a room with a crackling fire in a corner fireplace. Ruth sat in a rocking chair with a blanket draped across her lap. But the warmth of the room caused Carly to unbutton her coat.

  “I’m happy to hear Martha’s still alive. I’ve thought of her over the years. Wondered if her asthma ever got the best of her.”

  “She continues to struggle with it.”

  After offering one of her pressed-flower invitations to the party, they got down to business. “Did you know that she had a secret boyfriend when she was sixteen?”

  Ruth’s eyes lit with merriment. “I remember. Actually, it was the summer we both turned seventeen. We’d talk about it at church. I was kinda jealous. I never met him, but according to Martha, he was a handsome, charismatic young man.”

  Carly held her breath, almost afraid to ask. “Do you remember his name?”

  “Let me think.” She tapped the rocking chair’s wooden armrest. “Was it John?”

  “That was her husband’s name.”

  “Oh, yes. John Struder.”

  Carly urged, “Martha told me his first name was James but she couldn’t remember his last name. I was hoping you could.”

  “That’s odd. Does she have dementia?”

  “No,” Carly replied, wondering if Martha had really forgotten or continued to hide her secret.

  Ruth strained. “It was something foreign or fancy. I believe it was the name of a country. No, it’s not coming to me.” She stopped rocking. “Why do you ask? Is she still mooning over him?”

  Adam gave Carly a tread-with-caution look.

  She folded her hands. “No. She loved John. Just mentioned that she always wondered if James made it back from the war. I wish I could tell her he did.”

  “That’s kind of you. All this talk stirs up a lot of memories. It’ll be fun to see Martha again. But sometimes it’s best not to know some things. If she kept him hidden then, she might not want you to dig up the past now.”

  A niggle of doubt troubled Carly. Was she doing the right thing? But she’d felt God’s leading that day on the Crawfordsville Bridge. Not venturing a glance Adam’s way, she replied, “Perhaps.”

  When they returned to the truck, Adam remarked over the obvious. “You look discouraged.”

  “A little.”

  He studied her with his deep brown gaze. “So where next?”

  “I wish I knew.” Carly sighed. “Probably won’t help to stop at the bridge. Given the renovations, I’m sure their initials are gone. At least, I didn’t see them the other day.”

  “Let’s swing by there on our way home.” Adam’s smile reached his warm eyes.

  “Really?”

  Half an hour later on the bridge, with her covering strings securely tied and her coat gripped tight, they searched the carvings that were deep enough to have survived renovations. Shuddering, she said, “He probably wrote his name first so it would be J something plus M. S.

  Adam moved his brawny form to shield her from the wind. She felt his hand squeeze her shoulder and warmed from his touch and nearness.

&nb
sp; “Better?” he asked, his masculine breath close to her ear.

  She nodded, and he hugged her close as they moved along, exploring the walls. Highly aware of his protective chiseled body, she found it hard to concentrate on the initials until one jumped out at her. “Look!” She pointed. “It’s J. H. + M. S.”

  Adam ran a finger over the carving and hugged her. It was barely visible beneath the layers of paint, and with a good imagination, it could be a J. Or an I. Even an L. But she looked so hopeful. “This might be it.”

  Elated, she replied, “Now if only we could find an old phone book.”

  “Simon’s computer would be faster. Let’s go.” He took her hand and drew her toward the truck.

  But she dragged her feet regarding the use of Simon’s computer. “Oh, I don’t know. He probably wouldn’t approve. And just because we found a likely match doesn’t mean it’s their initials.”

  “I’ve been meaning to call Dale. He has a computer for his work. I’ll bet he’d search it out for us.”

  Unease rose up and stole her breath. She stared at the ground. “I didn’t know you stayed in touch.”

  “We were close as kids.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Carly?” He halted, tipped up her chin, and searched her gaze, and she felt as though this was about more than a computer search.

  Her mouth went dry. Let it be, she inwardly moaned.

  Adam squeezed her shoulder. “Let me handle it.”

  At the truck, she turned to face him. “Thanks for everything. This may turn out to be a wild-goose chase, but your help means a lot to me.”

  He chuckled. “Believe me, Carly. Today was way more fun than Tag Your Own Tree Day.”

  “It was,” she replied, only she was positive their time together meant more to her than it had to him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  As she stepped into Dot’s room to administer morning meds, Carly’s mind was occupied with Martha’s former sweetheart. She’d have to find a tactful way to jog Martha’s memory again. She automatically checked the thermostat as Dot couldn’t remember how to adjust the mechanism and often had the temperature set at some extreme. It was a cycle with Dot. She grew uncomfortable, then fiddled with the dial, again, having no idea whether she was setting the heater or the air conditioner.