A Long Bridge Home

by Kelly Irvin

  He couldn’t tell her that his hesitancy had nothing to do with her and everything to do with his fear that she would be another woman who took his heart and then left him standing at the back of the room while she married another man.

  Why would Ben give up and go back to Kansas before the fire touched the home he’d built for his wife and seven children?

  Now would not be the time to ask.

  “Is everyone packed up and out by your place?” Ben manhandled a wheelbarrow filled with tools toward the wagon already overflowing with boxes, suitcases, two dogs, a cat, and the four girls. Sweat rolled down the older man’s face and soaked the collar of his shirt. Christine’s father had the build of a giant sequoia tree and a black beard threaded with shiny silver. “If you’re not needed there, I can use your help setting up sprinklers around the barn.”

  “We’ve done all we can at the cabins. Ian is gone. Henry went to help the Borntragers at the store.” Andy turned off the water and unscrewed the hose so he could move to the barn. “I think Caleb is at the Yoders, helping Jonah.”

  “Gut.” Ben swiped at his forehead with his sleeve. “I’ll get my fraa and kinner moving. Then I’ll be back.”

  Andy connected the hose a second time and grabbed a sprinkler from the pile next to the massive wooden building’s double doors. He scooped up a respirator and stuck it over his head. Immediate relief seeped into his burning throat as he watched the tableau of husband and wife saying goodbye. Melba Mast didn’t want to leave her husband and sons—that was obvious. Her round face turned red. She gesticulated with both hands. Ben’s vigorous shake of his head indicated his reaction to her argument.

  The big man stepped into his wife’s space and leaned so close it appeared he might hug her or even kiss her. Melba’s hands stopped moving. The two seemed to communicate without words. Twenty-five years of marriage shimmered in the space between two human beings more connected than branches of the same cottonwood.

  To have that would be the ultimate gift from God. A person had to be worthy of such largess.

  Andy averted his eyes. The moment demanded privacy. He concentrated on the spray of warm water that soaked the faded gray barn walls. Drops of water sparkled in the rays of sun that managed to squeeze through thick clouds of smoke like hope in the face of a future that might be consumed by fire.

  “Sechndich schpeeder.”

  Christine’s voice held a plaintive, questioning note. God willing, they would see each other later. Maybe not today. But later. Andy swiveled and let the hose water grass turned brittle and brown by a long, hot summer with no rain. “Mach’s gut.”

  She smiled and waved. Andy’s muscles quivered and begged for the chance to stride over to the wagon and kiss her thoroughly in front of her parents, sisters, brothers, and God. He waved back.

  The wagon carrying his hope for a full future jolted down the dirt road and disappeared ahead of a flurry of dust.

  Gott, keep them safe, I humbly beg.

  He should add, Thy will be done.

  But God would do what He would do. He didn’t need Andy’s permission. That was obvious.

  Trying not to look toward the mountains, Andy spent the next hour helping Ben move the sprinklers and soak the buildings. Wearing respirators meant little was said, but the set of the man’s broad shoulders reflected his desperate need to believe their paltry efforts would make a difference when the fire drove them away from his property.

  A siren whooped, a harsh, discordant sound not often heard in these parts. Andy dropped the hose and whirled. A dirt-covered Lincoln County sheriff’s SUV swung around the bend in the dirt road leading to the Mast home, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. Brakes screeched and the SUV halted at a crazy angle a few yards from the shop Ben used for his own creations—benches, tables, and other primitive pieces—from wood he scavenged from the forest floor. Deputy Sheriff Tim Trudeau, a tall, muscular, red-haired man who normally wore a good-natured smile, emerged.

  “It’s time to go.” Scowling, he waved his paw the size of a catcher’s mitt in the general direction of the mountains. “It’s coming.”

  “You said we had four to five hours.” Ben coughed as he glanced up at the sunlight leaking through dense smoke. He wiped at his face with a dirty sleeve. “It’s not even been two hours since Deputy Quiñones came by.”

  “We miscalculated.” Tim grabbed a can of spray paint from the SUV’s front seat. “It didn’t slow down when it hit the meadow. The winds picked up. It’s moving faster than we figured it would. You gotta go. I’m sorry, Ben. You’ve done all you can do.”

  “What are you doing with that?” Careful to keep the hose turned toward the building, Andy moved closer to Christine’s father. “Spray painting in the middle of an evacuation?”

  “That’s how we know who’s gone and who’s staying.”

  “We can stay? Isn’t the evacuation mandatory—”

  “It is mandatory,” Tim broke in. “Especially for kids. We have a few thickheaded folks who refuse to leave, but they had to sign a form saying they stay at their own risk. No one will rescue them.” His voice grew hoarse. “You don’t want to do that, Ben. Get your boys out of here. Please.”

  “I will. Just give me a little longer . . . I want to set sprinklers around the shop.” Ben shook his massive head and turned toward the mountains. Andy did the same. A curtain of hot orange and red flames careened toward them, consuming everything with a voracious appetite that never seemed to be satiated.

  “Gott have mercy.” Ben whipped toward the house. “Suhs, in the buggy, now.”

  Gott, help us. Andy turned off the water with hands suddenly all thumbs. He bolted across the yard to his own buggy. Wild-eyed, Cocoa whinnied and shied away from him. “It’s okay, boy. You’re right. It’s time to go.”

  “No one’s in the house?” Tim hollered.

  “No one.” Ben shooed his youngest boy, Martin, into the buggy. “The women and children went on ahead.”

  “Thank God for that.” Tim shook the can and sprayed a big black zero on the sidewalk leading up to the house. “Now go.”

  They went. Andy wanted to look back. Surely God wouldn’t turn him into a pillar of salt like Lot’s wife. The people of West Kootenai had done nothing but live by God’s commandments. No iniquity or darkness lived here. Only salt and light.

  His new beginning in the heart of God’s beautiful mountain oasis far to the west of Eden disappeared behind him, hidden by a dark curtain of black smoke from a fire started by lightning. Not man’s doing, but God’s.

  3

  Rexford, Montana

  A few Englishers not put off by fire bans and possible evacuations ate Popsicles, slurped sodas, and took selfies in Rexford’s General Store in a last stop before rolling their boats, canoes, kayaks, Jet Skis, and RVs to the shores of Lake Koocanusa.

  Christine stuck close to her mother’s side as she wove her way between two couples perusing US Forest Service motor-vehicle use maps and discussing how many bags of ice they needed. At the counter Mother found the person she sought. Owner and general manager Terry Dublin.

  Terry scratched his shaggy head of silver curls, smiled, and sighed in that order. Which was nothing new. He did that every time the Masts stopped by for a visit to one of their favorite camping spots.

  “Sorry you had to evacuate. This fire is a monster.” Terry removed his wire-rimmed glasses and replaced them in the exact same spot. “What can I do for you?”

  He did not ask the question idly.

  “How crowded is it on Rexford Bench?” Mother leaned closer to be heard over the buzz of customers. “We need to set up camp for a day or two.”

  A day or two. From her lips to God’s ears. Christine selected a handful of Bazooka bubble gums and laid a dollar on the counter. The girls would be thrilled with her small gift.

  “Everyone here is concerned for your welfare.” Terry’s kind smile encompassed Christine as he nudged the dollar bill back in her direction. “On the hous
e. Take some Tootsie Pops, too, for the little ones. Don’t you worry. With the fire bans and the smoke, people are choosing to camp in other areas. You won’t have trouble finding a spot. Did you bring plenty of blankets? When the sun goes down, it’ll cool off. You can’t make a campfire, of course, but set up your Coleman and the mosquitoes should leave you alone. Also, you’ll be close to the facilities. When Ben comes in, I’ll tell him where you are.”

  “That’s kind of you.”

  “What are neighbors for?”

  The drive from West Kootenai encompassed the longest bridge in Montana and another seventeen miles north on Highway 37 to get to Rexford, but in Montana they were close neighbors.

  Christine thanked him for the candy, and Mother gathered up a few supplies, including more kerosene, hot dogs, buns, pickle relish, extra matches, flashlight batteries, and the ingredients for s’mores.

  “S’mores, Mudder?” Christine’s mouth watered. Between the Tootsie Pops and the chocolate, the kids would be hopping around like jack-in-the-boxes. “It really does feel like we’re camping. Can we go fishing too?”

  “I don’t know why not. I have a hankering for kokanee, or Kamloops trout would be nice. It’s called making lemons from lemonade.” Mother tucked wisps of iron-gray hair under her kapp as she smiled. In her younger days she and Christine had been as close in looks to twins as mother and daughter could come. Only Mother was taller—like most other adults in the world. “The kinner see this as an adventure. No reason to let them think otherwise. They’re getting a vacation from school. They’ll work off all that excess energy playing in the water and running around.”

  “Even if in the meantime our house burns down with everything in it?” The question bullied its way out. Shame immediately raced to catch up. “I keep thinking of Mammi’s rocking chair that Groossdaadi made for her. And my cedar chest with all those quilts she helped me make.”

  “It’s not like we can take our material possessions with us anyway. You know better than that.”

  Mother’s good-natured expression took the sting from her words.

  Truth be told, Christine didn’t have many possessions. Her hope chest held quilts Grandma Tabitha helped her make before she passed four years ago. Christine’s canvas bag on the wagon held all her clothes, her Bible, a sewing kit, a dozen paperbacks, ranging from a biography of Abraham Lincoln to the story of Corrie ten Boom’s time in a Nazi prison camp. Her father found her taste in reading materials odd, but nothing in the Ordnung prohibited her from learning more about historical figures.

  “What about the other horses?” Pinta, Nina, and Maria were good packhorses for their camping trips into the mountains.

  “Daed took them to the Littles’ pasture this morning. They’ll be safe there.”

  Aside from the house itself and a few pieces of furniture made by her father and grandfather, the animals were the only possessions that held any importance. The fire could take their home but not their memories, not the lives they’d lived there. “A house is just a house. It’s the family that makes it a home,” Grandma Tabitha’s voice reminded her.

  Memories couldn’t burn up in a fire. It couldn’t take the time spent in front of the fire sewing with Grandma after she came for a visit and decided to stay.

  Christine followed Mother out the door and into the parking lot. Maisie and Abigail perched on top of the boxes with Socks and Shoes, their two mismatched mutts, between them. “I’m hungry,” Maisie called. “So is Socks.”

  “You can wait until we get to the campground.” At nine Abigail was five years older than her sister, so she liked to think of herself as a little mother to Maisie. “Have some raisins.”

  She handed Maisie a handful of raisins in a ragged bandanna that had seen better days.

  Mother’s expression turned suspicious. “Where did those come from?”

  “I saved them from church.”

  “Last week?”

  “Hmmm, maybe last month.”

  Mother chuckled and held out her hand. “Let’s wait until we can roast hot dogs, why don’t we?”

  If it weren’t for the pillars of funeral-black smoke cloaking the Purcell Mountains in the distance, Christine could have pretended they were on one of their vacations on the shores of Lake Koocanusa. She climbed into the wagon and grabbed the reins while Mother settled next to her. “So what were you and Mercy hollering about earlier before we crossed the bridge? Something about ASAP? What’s that?”

  ASAP. Awful Situation Approaching. Usually it involved the men in their lives, but Mother couldn’t know that.

  “I was hoping I would see her and Nora here.” Mercy and Nora had been Christine’s best friends since they were all in diapers. There had been no time to compare notes in the race from Kootenai. Mother didn’t need to know the details—wouldn’t want to know her daughter had accidently eavesdropped on her conversation with Father. “She’s been in a funk for a while.”

  “Because of Caleb.”

  That her mother knew about Mercy’s courting troubles didn’t surprise Christine. Her mother had eyes in the back of her head and ears like an elephant. Or so she liked to tell her children. “I suppose. She said it didn’t feel right. There aren’t a lot of bachelors of marrying age in Kootenai right now, but that doesn’t mean she should marry a man just because he asks. Nora, Mercy, and I are all trying to make gut choices.”

  “Hey, I’m right behind you.” Delilah handed Sable, a black tomcat, to Abigail and leaned between her younger sisters. “Leave a man for me.”

  “You’re only eighteen, kind. You have plenty of time for such things. Baptism first.” Mother guided the horse into the long cement pad that marked their spot next to the sparkling turquoise water lapping along Rexford Bench Campground. Two wooden picnic tables and a barbecue pit that couldn’t be used rounded out the amenities. “There’s no rush. A fraa and a mann are united for life. Picking the right person is far more important than getting there first.”

  The speech never varied—not in the five years since Christine started her rumspringa. Mother and Father never batted an eye, but a fly on the wall probably received an earful when the two talked about having Christine still at home, followed by Delilah and Zeke, seventeen, both in their rumspringas. If they worried about their teenagers’ extracurricular activities, they never let on.

  Mother never pried, but she surely knew about Andy as well. If only Christine dared to ask more questions. Not now. Not with so much upheaval in their lives. It would be selfish. “We’re spreading out from one end of the state to the other because of this fire.”

  “That’s a bit of an exaggeration.” Mother’s forehead wrinkled. She raised her hand and squinted at the sun sinking into the west. “Some of us will be here. Others will go to Eureka. That’s only seven miles from here. You’ll see Mercy soon enough.”

  “Not if we move back to Haven.”

  No! The words escaped as if they had a mind of their own. Christine gave herself a mental smack on the head.

  “We’re going back to Kansas?” Delilah hopped from the wagon. “We can’t. What about Evan? He likes me. I know he does.”

  “Will we see Groossmammi Ruth?” Abigail shrieked and clapped. “I love Mammi.”

  “Me too.” Maisie was too young to remember her last trip to Kansas, but she liked whatever her big sister liked. “I want to go to Kansas.”

  Mother’s glare singed Christine’s eyebrows. “It’s wrong to eavesdrop.”

  “I didn’t mean to. I went back upstairs as soon as I heard you arguing.”

  “Your daed and I do not argue.”

  “Discuss—”

  “So it’s true. We’re going back to Kansas.” Delilah slapped at a fly the size of Christine’s thumb. Its angry buzz zoomed up and away. “Why would we do that? Because of the fire? We don’t even know if our house will burn. It could still be there—”

  “Hush. Hush!” Mother blotted her damp face with her apron. “This is a conversation for later when
your daed is here. Right now we need to set up the tents and get situated before it gets dark.”

  “Are we living here?” Abigail hopped from the wagon and turned to help Maisie down. Socks and Shoes, one a brown boxer-pit mix and the other a terrier, followed on their own. They raced around in circles, yipping and howling their approval. “What happens if it rains?”

  “The tents are waterproof.” Mother rummaged through boxes until she found several nylon bags that held their tents. “Pray it does rain. Pray the rain douses the fire and we’ll be able to go home. We need to put these up. It’ll be fun, like a special camping trip.”

  Complete with smoke and all the mosquitoes a person could swat.

  “Mudder!” Delilah’s pout was better than any her four-year-old sister could produce. “Are we living here or are we going to Kansas?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that question.” Mother’s tone brooked no argument. “What I do know is that we’re having roasted hot dogs and s’mores for supper. We can make them on the Coleman stove. It’s not as much fun, but it’ll do. In the meantime, why don’t you girls play in the water for a little bit, while Christine and I put up the tents. Or take a hike over to the Hoodoos.”

  The beautiful sandstone formations protruded toward the sky across the inlet from their campsites. A trail made a ribbon along the sandy shores of the lake to their favorite spot. All the Masts liked to hike, some more than others. Christine managed a smile. “Go on, Delilah, I don’t mind putting up the tents.”

  “Fine.” A smile replaced Delilah’s pout. “Maybe I’ll try to catch us some fish for supper.”

  “Only if you plan to clean them.” Christine couldn’t hide her shudder. She liked fish fries, but fish guts stank. “I’ll be happy to cook them for you, and I’m better at putting up tents. They’re like jigsaw puzzles.”

  “Be very careful, girls.” Mother’s smile had ragged edges. “No one gets into the water alone.”

  When they were out of earshot, Mother dropped a stack of paper plates on the table and turned to Christine. “You understand your daed doesn’t make this decision lightly.”