A Long Bridge Home

by Kelly Irvin

  Over the years they’d had their share of spats, like all brothers only two years apart did. Baseball games won and lost. Who got the last piece of fried chicken. Whose turn it was to clean the chicken coop. Or slaughter the old hens. But they always came back together. They worked at the sawmill, farmed, fished, hunted, and played as brothers. Until the night Andy had come upon Stephen inexplicably driving away from Winona’s parents’ home late one spring night three years ago.

  “You’ve no answer then.” Stephen shifted Will to his hip. His son laid his head on his father’s chest and stared at Andy with big owlish eyes. Stephen’s eyes. His brother, on the other hand, had trouble meeting his gaze. “You said you were fine. We thought you were gut with . . . everything.”

  For the first time Stephen faltered. His gruff voice deepened. “We know it’s not an easy situation—”

  “I did my best to be fine.” Andy tore his gaze from the window and studied the canned goods instead. Cherries, peaches, beets, green beans, pickles, tomatoes, to name a few. His mother and sister-in-law had outdone themselves this past summer. “That doesn’t mean I wanted to stay around and watch. I told Daed and Mudder I needed a fresh start. They didn’t like it, but they understood.”

  They didn’t like it, but they at least attempted to see it through Andy’s eyes. Father’s words had rung in Andy’s ears as he packed, said his goodbyes, and jumped into the van that would take him to his new life. “Forgiving small acts of transgression is easy. The true testing of faith is when the transgressions are enormous and painful. That’s when a person must set aside his smallness, his humanness.”

  And then Mother’s contribution. “It’s better to know now than to be yoked for life to someone who realizes you’re not the one for her. That you’re not right for each other. It’s a blessing, really.”

  Not right for each other. Winona had him fooled. Her ardent kisses. Her sweet hugs. The way she laughed at his jokes. At what point had she stopped feeling those sparks that threatened to burst into flames? Why had he not noticed? Why didn’t she say something sooner?

  So many whys. Not a single one answered.

  Andy had tried, but the words I forgive you stuck in his craw. They choked him. They tasted more sour than grapefruit peel on his tongue. They weighed heavier on his shoulders than the logs they turned into planks at the sawmill. He’d carried this load for so long he couldn’t remember how it felt to be free of it.

  “They need their suhs and dochders all together now.” Stephen’s tone was half challenge, half plea. “What they don’t need is the digging up of old hurts and dissension among their kinner.”

  “There will be none of that on my part.” Finally, Andy found neutral words, if not those of reconciliation so needed. “I came to see my daed, and then I’ll be on my way.”

  He forced himself to stand. Donut did the same. Taking his time, his dog at his side, Andy stalked from the kitchen, through the living room, and down the hallway. His lungs sucked air greedily. His hands shook. He managed to unclench his aching jaw.

  Humming greeted him at the first door. His mother’s soft, sweet tones beckoned memories of her cool hand on his feverish forehead when he had the flu. She always hummed while she took his temperature and fed him her homemade chicken noodle soup. Tension dissipated around him as if the sun had cleared away an ugly fog.

  “Mudder?”

  She glanced up from darning a sock and smiled. With her finger to her lips, she laid the sock aside and rose from the rocking chair that sat next to a huge oak bed. Father slept on his back, mouth open, arms flung out. A gentle snore ruffled his gray beard. Even asleep, he looked the same as always. Sturdy, indestructible. At peace.

  Mother scampered from the room and tugged the door closed behind her. “Suh, you’re here.” Her delight burst forth in the form of a squeal and a hug that squeezed the air from his lungs. “I can’t believe it. You’re here.”

  “Believe it. How is he?”

  “The same. Who knows what ails him? The doctors surely don’t.” She held Andy at arm’s length and scrutinized him from head to toe. “You are skinny as a rail. That’s what happens when a man lives on his own.”

  She stopped. Her lined face turned tomato red. She sighed. “Will this falling out with your bruder always be the wild boar in the room?” She stomped her sneaker-clad foot. “It will not. Time to let bygones be bygones. You’re here. You came. That’s your version of a peace offering.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “I know you are. Stephen will, too, if you give him a chance. I know he feels horrible about what happened, even if he doesn’t say the words. He’s like your daed. He doesn’t talk much, but he feels it.”

  The same thing she’d said three years ago. Shouldn’t Stephen have to say the words? “So as the oldest son, he’s the head of the family now?”

  “Your daed is retired. Frederick is running the farm, but Stephen handles the sawmill.” She bustled past Andy. He followed her into the living room where she settled onto the couch and patted the seat next to her. “Sit, sit. Tell me everything. The fire? Is it past? How did Kootenai fare?”

  “My cabin burned. So did the other cabins. About thirty buildings altogether but only one Plain house.” He eased onto the couch next to her and leaned back. His body ached with exhaustion. “It’s not done yet. No one is allowed to return. About twenty thousand acres have burned. It’s a sight I won’t soon forget.”

  He poured out the story, leaving out no small detail. Tut-tutting now and then, his mother soaked it up. She was like that, full of concern for others. What could she do? How soon could they go to help rebuild? The women would feed the workers. The men would provide the elbow grease. The three-hundred-plus miles meant nothing to her when other Plain families were hurting.

  “Everyone from districts across the state will help, Mudder.” He smiled at her expression. “I’m sure a load of men will go from here, but I reckon you have your hands full with Daed.”

  “I go with him to his appointments. I cook for him. He eats. He sleeps.” She smoothed her wrinkled apron. “But truth be told, there’s little more I can do for him except watch and wait.”

  “He hasn’t had any more fainting spells?”

  “Nee, just the two on back-to-back days. He was on a ladder, replacing siding, the first time. He hit his head, knocked himself out, and got a concussion. The second time he was helping Frederick with a break in the fence.” Mother recounted these events even though she knew Andy had been told about them. She seemed to need to talk about them, to relive them until she could understand them. “Your bruder was right there, thanks be to Gott. Mostly, he’s tired and weak. They’ve tested him for every disease known to man, it seems.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Not all the test results have come back yet. His white blood cell count is low and his platelets too.” That she knew about such things spoke to how much time she now spent with doctors. “We’ll know more when the remaining results come in.”

  “Could it be old age?”

  “Your daed is fifty-five. Not so old.” She shoved her bronze-rimmed glasses up her nose and frowned, but her green eyes were suddenly bright with laughter. “I worry that it’s my cooking. I’ve never been a good cook. Maybe it’s too much fried food clogging his arteries. Or maybe he has the diabetes from too many of my pies and cakes.”

  “The doctors would test for that right away.” She never cooked anything fancy, but what Plain wife did? Her cooking satisfied her husband and her eight children. Andy had no complaints in that department. “He always worked hard. He’s never been fat.”

  “I think what he really wants is for his kinner to be close to home. He wants you all to work together. With him.”

  There it was. The true reason for Frederick’s call. The message behind the message. “Come home where you belong.”

  “I’m here now, but I can’t stay.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” Mother’s thin eyebrows rose and leaned
toward each other in distaste for what her ears had heard. “Maybe you should speak with the bishop. Gideon might be able to help you work through your refusal to not only forgive but forget.”

  The words were made so much harsher by Andy’s surprise at her attitude. “And Stephen? Has he spoken with Gideon about his sin of coveting what belonged to his bruder?”

  “Has he not asked for forgiveness?”

  “Nee, he hasn’t, actually.”

  “Maybe you didn’t give him a chance. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Your job is to forgive.”

  “All of this is my fault, then.” Andy heaved himself to his feet. “I shouldn’t have come.”

  “But you did. That is gut.”

  His father shuffled into the room and dropped into the closest rocking chair. “My family is back together. The way it should be.”

  The jut of his jaw suggested that now wasn’t the time to argue. Upsetting him would be wrong. Despite the nap, his father had dark circles under his eyes. His frame was gaunt, and knobby wrists stuck out from the rolled-up sleeves of his faded cotton shirt. He looked like an old man. But he was still the head of the house and Andy’s father.

  “I’ve made a life for myself in West Kootenai. They’re gut folks. I like being in the mountains.”

  “The mountains are close here as well.”

  “True. They are. But in Kootenai, they’re on my doorstep.”

  “Which is why the cabin burned to the ground.”

  Father didn’t mince words. Mother tugged at Andy’s arm, forcing him to sit. “Nothing has to be decided now. Let’s enjoy this time, all of us together.”

  “I’ve been courting.”

  Mother’s look of worry disappeared. She clapped as if applauding a great performance. “I’m so glad. Your heart has healed. You’ve no reason to hang on to the past.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “No one said it was easy.” Father still hadn’t smiled. “Only expected and what’s right. You’ve found your way to another. Let the past go.”

  “This special friend lives in Kootenai. That’s where I intend to make our home.”

  “She could live in Lewistown just as easily.” Father stroked his unruly beard. “Unless you haven’t told her of the troubles you’ve had here.”

  “She doesn’t need to know.”

  Mother and Father exchanged troubled glances.

  Father fixed Andy with that fiery stare that made him quake in his boots as a child. “To enter into a union with secrets doesn’t bode well for the future of that union.”

  “That’s between Christine and me.”

  “You need to talk to the deacon or the bishop. You need advice.”

  The rest of the thought hung in the air. And you won’t take it from me.

  How could he when his own parents had refused to counsel Stephen for his transgressions? They’d played favorites in the interest of keeping the peace. And let Stephen take over their business.

  They couldn’t turn around now and expect Andy to live here. He rose again, stretched, and edged toward the door. “It’s getting late. We’ll talk about this later. I’ll go help with the chores.”

  “Andy.”

  He stopped at the door and turned. His father held his gaze. “One way or the other, you do need to tell her. Our past affects who we are in the future. There’s no getting around that. Even if we want to. Even if we try our hardest. We are shaped by our past. Stop fighting it and come home.”

  The hard knot in his throat kept Andy from answering. He managed a curt nod and escaped before he did something unmanly like cry.

  Only one day here and he missed Christine.

  He missed her and he needed her.

  10

  St. Ignatius, Montana

  The pain of saying goodbye dwarfed even the beautiful Mission Mountains that climbed high in the sky beyond the tranquil Mission Valley. Christine swallowed against a lump the size of a bitter lemon. The weekend had been filled with making a few last-minute memories. Eating hamburgers dripping with melted cheese, mustard, and catsup around the picnic table. Visiting with friends. Singing together. Telling Maisie stories before she slipped off to sleep. Eating Mudder’s fry pies. Memorizing the lines on Father’s face. Now the time had come to let them go. Like it or not.

  Mother shooed Maisie and Abigail into the van. She instructed Zeke to make sure their seat belts were tight. Then she turned to Christine. Her eyes reddened, but her smile stayed firmly in place. She brushed imaginary crumbs from Christine’s apron. Her gaze bounced to the Valley Grocery Store’s porch where a hodgepodge of outdoor furniture, firewood, and plants beckoned to shoppers. She scooped up a huge canvas bag of gifts for family back home in Kansas and snacks that she’d purchased at the store and held it against her chest like she would a baby.

  “You don’t have to stay. Lucy and Fergie will understand if you change your mind.” A rare look of hesitancy on her face, Mother shifted her sneaker-clad feet. “How is it possible that you’re old enough to be out in the world on your own?”

  “You’re not leaving her in the middle of New York City, Schweschder.” Aunt Lucy chuckled and gave Mother a gentle nudge toward the van. “She’ll be snug as a bug with her cousins here. I’ll keep her busy and I’ll make sure she behaves herself with that young man you mentioned.”

  “Mudder!” Christine couldn’t contain the wail. Nothing was private in this family. “He’s not even in St. Ignatius.”

  “I might have spilled the beans about your . . . situation.” Mother’s sadness turned into an impish grin reminiscent of Maisie when she stole a cinnamon roll from Abigail’s plate. “I’m sorry if you think such conversations are untoward, but it is the reason you’re staying behind.”

  Delilah chose that moment to hop from the van and administer a third medicinal hug to Christine. Which meant Abigail and Maisie had to do the same. Which caused the dogs to bark and the cat to meow.

  “Enough! Everyone in the van who’s going to Kansas or you’ll get left behind. We need to get moving or we’ll be driving half the night.” His voice gruff, Father tugged at Mother’s hand. He had yet to look Christine in the face or say goodbye. Even now. “We’ll call the store phone when we get to Haven to let you know we arrived safe.”

  “You do that. Now run along. Take care. Be safe.” Aunt Lucy waved at the children, who took time from arguing over which seat they’d occupy to whoop and holler. “Don’t be driving too fast either.”

  That was directed at the driver from St. Ignatius Uncle Fergie had recommended.

  Father climbed into the passenger seat next to the driver and leaned his elbow on the open window. “Be gut, Dochder.” He cleared his throat. “Do what your onkel and aenti ask of you.”

  Not trusting her voice to speak, Christine nodded.

  “You’ll come visit for Thanksgiving.” Mudder stuck her arm out the window and waved like a crazed person. “And for Christmas.”

  Holidays that seemed a hundred years away.

  Christine waved back.

  That was it. They drove away.

  She whirled, jerked open the door to the Valley Grocery Store, and went inside without looking back. As much as her heart begged for one last peek at the twelve-passenger van that would carry her family to Haven, it was better to let it go. No doubt Maisie would have her chubby face scrunched up against the window glass. Socks and Shoes would crowd her, licking her tear-streaked cheeks. Abigail would hug her. Delilah would start telling her a story, and Zeke would tell all three of them to imagine how wonderful life would be in Kansas with Grandma and Grandpa Mast and all their aunts and uncles and cousins.

  Don’t cry.

  “We’re so glad to have your help, my sweet girl.” Huffing and puffing, Aunt Lucy bustled past Christine and headed toward the twin checkout stands that stood at the front of the store she and Uncle Fergie had opened fifteen years earlier. “Since Darcie had her bopli in July, we’ve been shorthanded. Salome and Kimberly filled in,
but now they’re back in school.”

  Don’t you dare cry.

  “Danki for letting me stay with you. I’m happy to help.” Having never worked in a store before likely meant she would be more of a hindrance than a help. Talking to strangers. Making change. Knowing the price of hundreds of items available in the store with its bulk and discounted foods as well as fabrics, sewing supplies, quilting supplies, cookbooks, church hats, suspenders, furniture, and prepared foods from the deli. “I could clean for you—sweep, mop, wash the windows, whatever you need.”

  Aunt Lucy kept a somewhat clean house, but Christine could do better. She could scrub the stains from the bathroom sink and use bleach on the toilet. She knew several tricks for getting mud and grass stains from clothes. Chores would keep her mind from the homesickness that already permeated every bone in her body.

  Her expression thoughtful, Aunt Lucy waved at a couple pushing a cart down the cereal and bread aisle, dispensed hugs to two small English children begging their mother for candy, and stopped to straighten the jars of homemade jams and jellies by the registers.

  “Nee, nee. Kimberly and Salome will clean when they come in after school.” She slid her arm around Christine and squeezed. Together they traipsed to the back of the store where the full-service deli did a booming business in everything from sandwiches to ice cream to a wide array of cheeses. “Why don’t we start with the deli? I know you can make sandwiches and dish out macaroni salad. The prices are marked on the containers. The scales are easy to use. You punch in the number, and it’ll print out the weight and the price tag.”

  “Sounds easy enough.” Not as easy as scrubbing toilets, dusting curio cabinets, and washing dishes. However, there’d been a time when Christine didn’t know how to use a vacuum cleaner or start a dishwasher, either. “I’m sure I can learn.”

  “The important thing is to clean up as you go. Keep everything—from the slicing machines to the countertops—pristine. We want to make the health inspector proud.”