A Long Bridge Home

by Kelly Irvin

  That squeeze of her hand before Andy went back to his tent the first night at the campground had been goodbye.

  Not enough. Not nearly enough.

  “He didn’t say goodbye.” Nora’s eyebrows rose. So did her voice. “That’s just—”

  “It’s okay. We knew he was going.” Christine lifted her chin. Her situation with Andy was private. He wouldn’t be happy to have it hashed out in front of Henry or anyone else. “He’ll be in touch soon.”

  The question was when?

  8

  Lewistown, Montana

  The squeal of brakes and sudden quiet that followed rousted Andy from a dream-ridden sleep that featured him dousing flames around his cabin with a water hose. The flames had flared and chased him into the woods where deer, rabbit, elk, mountain lions, and even grizzlies joined him in a downhill race. He leaped with the grace of an antelope, but the deer and the elk were faster. They kept glancing back at him in dismay as they left him behind.

  He rubbed his eyes and sat up. His seat belt tightened against his chest. The scent of coffee, artificial pine, Donut’s scruffy fur, and John’s spicy aftershave mingled in the lukewarm air generated by the old Suburban’s failing air conditioner. Donut slumped over the middle seats as if he owned the SUV. As usual John hummed along with the country music singer on the radio. The big man had a deep bass, and he’d been known to burst out in song on occasion when the highway attempted to lull him into sleep while at the wheel.

  Andy stretched and cleared his throat. “Where are we?”

  “You’re home.”

  Andy peered through his window. Sure enough. The two-story wood-and-stucco house where his family had lived outside Lewistown for the past twelve years still stood. Frederick and his brothers-in-law, along with some neighbors, had expanded the right side to include three new rooms—a bedroom, a galley-style kitchen/breakfast nook, and a bathroom for Mom and Dad. Their own adjoining dawdy haus. The men did a nice job. It didn’t look like an add-on but a natural extension of a gracefully aging home built in the nineties.

  The willows, cottonwoods, and single aspen in the front yard were a little taller. The chokecherry bushes were heavy with fruit. Someone—probably Mother or his brother Frederick’s wife, Cherise—had planted a flower garden now fading away in the shorter fall days. “Sorry I fell asleep. I hope I didn’t snore.”

  “I don’t mind. Sometimes a man likes to be alone with his machine and the road.” John patted the wheel. “Besides, you seemed pretty tuckered out. A nap was in order.”

  Could a person classify three hours of deep slumber as a nap? “Thanks. Like I said before, I’m not sure how long I’ll be here.” Andy fingered the handle, but he didn’t open the door. “I’ll be in touch when it’s time for me to go home—back to Kootenai.”

  “I’ll be here a few days visiting with family. Call my cell phone if you need anything.” John unscrewed the cap of his thermos and poured a few ounces of steaming coffee as if he planned to kick back and stay for a while. “I’m headed to my sister’s off Highway 89, right there by Eddie’s Corner.”

  Andy knew the spot. The Sky Country Grocery Store, owned by a local Plain family, the Grubers, sat at Eddie’s Corner, the junction of Highways 89 and 191. “If you decide to do some hunting, let me know.”

  John’s free thumb beat a soft rhythm on the wheel. “For a guy hell-bent on getting home, you don’t seem too anxious to get out of the truck. You know you have to open the door.”

  “I know.” Andy studied the wind-worn building where he’d lived from the age of eleven to the age of twenty. Many good memories elbowed a few bad ones in his head. “To be truthful I wasn’t all that excited to come home. It was more a necessity than a blessing.”

  “You won’t know that until you actually dive in. Blessings come from the strangest circumstances. Good or bad, family is family. Gotta love ’em.” Enthusiasm buoyed John’s words. He sipped the coffee and m-m-m-ed his approval. “Madison makes a fine cup of coffee. Among other things. I don’t know what I’d do without my wife and sons. They’re my life.”

  Love them or leave them. The image of Winona’s face as she turned and placed her hand in Stephen’s on their wedding day assailed Andy. Her face glowed. Her smile engulfed the room. She’d never looked happier. Certainly not when Andy had kissed her or hugged her or held her hand.

  “My dad’s been sick. He’s retiring.” Andy unbuckled his seat belt and swiveled so he could see John better. “If my brothers agree, I might move his portable sawmill operation to Kootenai. What do you think of that idea?”

  “Not a bad idea at all. It’s another source of income and jobs for the community. Having a source of lumber right there is convenient, too, especially when we start rebuilding the homes lost to the fire.” His forehead wrinkled under thinning dark-brown hair, and John scratched the salt-and-pepper five o’clock shadow that spread across his square jaw. “Are you looking for business partners? I’d be interested. I like taking you folks hither and yon because it takes up some of my spare time, but being a retired vet on a military pension can get boring. I can only hunt and fish with my boys when they’re not in school. Madison’s up to her eyeballs in papers to grade and parent-teacher conferences these days. I could use another job.”

  John had served in the US Marines for twenty-five years, doing more than his share in faraway places that Andy wouldn’t be able to find on a map. John didn’t talk about it much. A medical ailment forced his retirement. He puttered around the house while his wife taught school in Eureka.

  “I like the sound of that.” The elders liked John. He was a reliable taxi service. He didn’t smoke or swear. If he drank, he didn’t do it while driving his sturdy ten-year-old Suburban. He attended the Baptist church in Eureka regularly and could be seen shoveling the sidewalks at the church on icy winter days with subzero wind chills. “It’s still only a thought, but I’ll let you know if anything comes of it.”

  “I can rent a trailer for the equipment. If you decide to stay here a few weeks, don’t worry about it. I plan to go down to Missoula to look for a new SUV at some point. This baby’s odometer just rolled over a hundred thousand.” His chestnut eyes somber, John smoothed his rugged hand over the steering wheel with a loving glance. “Madison says it’s time. If I’m going to make a business of carting folks up and down the road, I’d better get something with all the latest safety bells and whistles, which means a trip to the big city. And then I want to take the boys hunting to get our elk during bow season. But I can always come back for you. You’ve got my cell phone number.”

  “Safety is good. Your wife is right.” Big John might seem like the head of his family, but his wife ran the show. Everyone knew that. John was crazy about her. “I’ll try to give you advance notice, and maybe you can swing by on one of those trips. I wouldn’t mind doing some hunting myself.”

  John was more family than Andy’s own flesh and blood. His sons were like Andy’s younger brothers but closer.

  John held out his hand. Andy shook it. John grinned and started the engine. “Get going. Your mother will be over the moon to see you. That alone will be a blessing. Go on!”

  Andy shoved from the Suburban, let Donut out, grabbed his duffel bag, and ran up the steps. The third one still creaked the way it did the day they moved in after that never-ending three-day drive from Berne, Indiana—a place his father could no longer stomach because of the influx of “Amish” tourism. This house had belonged to his father’s childhood best friend, Amos Hitly. Amos sold it for a song and moved to Libby to join their charismatic church.

  A person could count on change, if nothing else. Might as well expect that. With a deep breath Andy tugged open the screen door and entered. The spicy aroma of elk chili hit him first, and his mouth watered. He sniffed. Baking bread. And cinnamon rolls. The smells took him back years. He was no longer the wayfaring brother and son. Together, all ten of them would sit at the table, heads bowed. His father would say amen, and they’d di
g in. His mother always made enough for two or three helpings for her growing boys.

  The living room hadn’t changed much. Pine plank floors. Stone fireplace with a huge chunk of native wood for a mantel. Two hickory rocking chairs. An old, lumpy sofa with a knitted blanket thrown over the back. A table covered with mail, seed catalogs, greeting cards for card showers, and a gas lamp.

  On second thought it had changed in small ways. Gone were his father’s wire-rimmed reading glasses and the worn German Bible that always lay on a small wooden table next to his rocking chair closest to the fireplace. His feet were always cold.

  A bowl of assorted hard candies always sat next to them.

  Dad’s sweet tooth was legendary. He and Christine would have that in common if they ever met. Christine preferred chocolate, but she’d never met a piece of candy she didn’t like. Not true. She did reject licorice on no uncertain terms. She and his father had that in common too.

  When they met. They would get on famously. So would Christine and his mother. His mother loved cleaning as much as Christine did. She preferred knitting to hunting and baking to fishing—just like Christine. So why hadn’t he introduced them yet?

  Focus.

  No candy bowl in sight. Even if Mom and Dad had their own rooms, it seemed odd that their touches would disappear from this place—the center of family life for so many years.

  A sense of uneasiness pricked the skin on the back of his neck. Donut, ever attuned to his owner’s moods, whined softly. Andy scratched the mutt between his ears. “Mudder, are you here? It’s me, Andy.”

  Steps sounded in the hallway. A child wailed. “Hush, hush, little one,” a soft, soothing, familiar voice cooed. “You’re fine. You’re fine.”

  That voice still came to him in his dreams, whispering sweet nothings, giggling over yellow wildflower petals floating in the breeze. He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not.

  When it was all said and done, she loved him not.

  Or she loved another more.

  Winona slipped on bare feet into the room as quietly as she’d slipped from Andy’s life. Her peaches-and-cream complexion had turned rosy. Her enormous belly preceded her. Her gaze didn’t falter. She simply smiled as if no time had passed since their last conversation so long ago. “Guder daag, Andy.”

  The way she said his name sent a shiver down his spine, just as it had done the first time he met her at a Sunday service a few weeks after her family moved to a farm down the road. He’d been sixteen and just beginning his rumspringa. Same for her.

  A moment made in heaven. Or so he thought.

  He stared. How could he not? She balanced a dark-haired, wiggling toddler on one hip. Her own chestnut hair escaped her kapp in fine spiral curls on her forehead. Her dimples deepened round cheeks. Being in a family way only increased her God-given beauty.

  “Andy?”

  He started. “Guder daag.” He managed to tear his gaze from her face. It fell to the floor somewhere between her feet and his dirty boots. “The kind is unhappy?”

  “Teething. Little Will is not a happy camper. Isn’t that right, kind?” She patted his back. William responded with a loud burp. She chuckled. “Not exactly the answer I wanted, but it might make him feel better.”

  Of all the scenarios he’d imagined, seeing Winona first and being alone with her—the boy, who looked about two, didn’t count—had not been one of them. Andy dropped his duffel bag on the floor and crossed his arms. “Where are my mudder and daed?”

  “In the dawdy haus. Duane is taking a nap. Your mudder likes to do her sewing while he sleeps. It’s quiet there. This bopli makes a lot of racket.”

  Sudden vertigo caused the room to rock. His father never napped during the day. “Is he that ill?”

  “The doctors haven’t been able to figure out why he’s feelin’ so bad. They do tests and more tests. In the meantime he’s tired and weak. He goes back to Missoula tomorrow to see the doctor for some results.”

  Not knowing the cause of the problem would aggravate anybody. On the phone Frederick had been sure they would have an answer soon. Apparently he’d been wrong. Andy brushed aside his anxious fears. They wouldn’t help anyone, least of all his father. “Where’s everybody else?”

  “Stephen is helping Frederick cut the last of the hay. Cherise is teaching. Wallace and Nan will get here tomorrow.”

  “And everyone else?”

  “The kinner are outside playing. Or working. Your other schweschders are on their way. Wie bischt du?” Her words were soft, her expression questioning. “Well, I hope.”

  He let his arms drop. He straightened. “Gut. Ich bin gut.”

  He was good. Regardless of what she might think, the world did not revolve around her. He had moved on. He’d fallen in love with another.

  “Gut.” She turned away. “Let me get you a glass of tea. Or would you rather have a cup of kaffi? It’s chilly today.”

  He had no choice but to follow her into the kitchen. Donut trotted alongside him, his toenails going clickity-clack on the pine. She plopped Will in a playpen nestled between the table and shelves laden with home-canned fruits and vegetables and baking goods. The child had her hair and fair skin but Stephen’s features. Much like Andy’s. What would their children have looked like? Not much different. He brushed off the thoughts like annoying gnats. “Kaffi would be gut.”

  “It’s been a long time since we talked.” Winona poured the coffee and brought it to the table. Despite her size, she moved with light feet. “You look tired and thin.”

  She shouldn’t be commenting on his looks. Andy worked to control his unreasonable irritation. No matter what happened in the past, he should not only forgive but forget. He needed to sweep the memories from his brain. Permanently. “My cabin burned. My neighbors lost their homes or outbuildings. Those aren’t the sort of circumstances that bring sleep.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  These were familiar words she’d spoken to him before. They didn’t help the first time and they didn’t help now. “Gott has a plan.” A plan that hadn’t included her. Andy still had no idea why. He also had no room in his heart for small talk. The words threatened to choke him. “You’re happy then?”

  With Stephen. With his older brother who looked so similar and acted so differently.

  “I am.” Her cheeks bloomed red. She picked up a glass of water, sipped, and swallowed. “I know you can’t understand.”

  “Nee, but it doesn’t matter. You chose another. It doesn’t matter who.”

  “It does matter. You know that and I know that.” With a small groan she sank into the farthest chair and began to knead her hands. They were chapped and red. Donut plopped down next to her feet and laid his head on his paws. Traitor. “Who knows why two hearts call out to each other in such a way that can’t be ignored?”

  “No one does. That’s true.” The words stuck like sharp chunks of gravel in his throat. He sipped the coffee. The hot liquid burned all the way to his belly. Memories floated on the air like feathers drifting by, made insubstantial by the passage of time. And by the hard work of sweeping them from his heart and mind over and over again through the years. “That doesn’t release a person from doing what’s right or honest or kind or decent—”

  “I tried, please believe me, Andy, I tried to ignore the feelings. I never wanted to hurt you.” Fussing emanated from the playpen. William wailed. Winona picked him up and brought him back to the table. She sat him on her lap and handed him a wooden horse. His fussing subsided. “You and Stephen may look alike, but you are two very different men—”

  “I know. I grew up with him. But you found him . . . preferable.”

  “A spark ignited between us—”

  “I don’t want to know—”

  “What’s going on here?” Stephen tromped through the back door. His gaze bouncing from Winona to Andy and back, he halted and stuck his fists on his hips. “So you decided to show up after all this time, Bruder?”

&
nbsp; 9

  Lewistown, Montana

  Three years packed with missed picnics, Christmas programs, weddings, the births of nieces and nephews, and the simple moments spent drinking iced tea on the front porch—those were the missed memories that comprised the threads woven together to make family. A family to which Andy no longer felt close.

  He arose from the chair in his mother’s kitchen and faced Stephen. His brother was responsible for those precious lost days. While Winona offered apologies on more than one occasion, Stephen never had. Not that it would matter. “What do you mean? I came as soon as I could, given what’s going on in Kootenai.”

  Stephen removed his straw hat and hung it on a hook near the door. His movements were slow and deliberate, belying his cool expression. He swiveled and tromped to the table where he took his son from Winona’s lap. He planted a kiss on Will’s cheek. Crowing with delight, the boy patted his father’s beard with chubby fingers. “After three years away. That’s what I meant. You didn’t move to China. All you had to do was hire a driver and come for a visit. Do you know what that would’ve meant to Mudder? To Daed?”

  The highway traveled in both directions. Not long after his move, Mother and Father had visited—more to make sure Andy lacked for nothing than for their enjoyment. As had Frederick and Cherise, Wallace, and his sisters. The only one who hadn’t visited stood across the room from Andy. But the visits tapered off over time. They all worked hard and had little time or money to spare. While 385 miles—or six and a half hours—was nothing to Englishers, it could be an enormous chasm for Plain folks.

  Andy fixed his gaze on the window over the kitchen sink to his brother’s left and slowly, carefully, breathed in and out. Tree branches swayed and dipped in an autumn breeze that spoke of the changing seasons. Forgiveness served as a fundamental building block of their Christian faith. Everyone in the room—minus an innocent babe—knew that. Did Stephen count on forgiveness when he did the unforgivable and stole Andy’s beloved?