A Long Bridge Home

by Kelly Irvin

  Mother’s hand dropped, but she smiled. “You like it. Admit it. Your fraa takes care of your every need.”

  “I’m not a doddering old man yet.”

  “I know that. I’m just going in to make a cobbler with these cherries.”

  Still bickering, they slipped into the house, leaving Andy to ponder a tightly knit union that had become more so with each passing year.

  He would beg for Christine’s forgiveness. He wanted what his parents had, and he wanted it with her. It remained to be seen if she wanted it too.

  13

  St. Ignatius, Montana

  The key made a satisfying clicking sound when Christine unlocked the Valley Grocery Store doors. Only three days on the job and her aunt already trusted her to get the store ready to open. With a smile that no one but the tabby cat curled atop a display bench could see this cool September morning, she slipped the key into her canvas bag and went inside. There she turned on the propane-powered lights and began checking the shelves to see what needed to be restocked. They’d swept and mopped the night before. She’d cleaned the restrooms—twice. The store smelled like fresh-baked bread, pickles, and potpourri. Homey.

  The quiet pleased her. Living with big families meant quiet could be rare. It turned out she liked working in a store. She liked talking to customers. Her new job might even be called fun. Cleaning house was fun, but here she met new people. To her surprise, she liked it.

  The ding-a-ling-ling of the bell that hung over the front door broke the silence. She hadn’t locked the door behind her. Maybe Aunt Lucy had been wrong to trust her. “We’re not open yet,” she called out. “Sorry. Please come back at eight.”

  “I’m looking for Christine. Is she here?”

  It took only a second for the slightly familiar voice to register. The man with the unusual name Raymond Old Fox had returned. Christine’s hands fluttered in time with her heart. What was he doing here before the store even opened? And why was he looking for her?

  It didn’t matter. She was in charge of the store at the moment, and Raymond was a customer. She happened to be the only employee in the store. She sucked in a long breath and marched to the front. “Good morning, Mr. Old Fox.” Christine arranged her face in a welcoming smile. “We’re not open yet. Could you come back at eight, by any chance?”

  “Just Raymond, please.” Hands stuffed in khaki pants, he stood on the welcome mat next to the front doors. “I’m sorry. I took a chance that you would be here. I’m on my way to work, and I can’t be late.”

  His blue polo shirt pocket bore the embroidered words S&K Technology. A computer techie, he’d said. Christine managed what she hoped would be an understanding nod. Why did he take a chance that she would be here? “It’s okay. Are you picking up refreshments for a meeting?” Sometimes folks did that. Baked goods. Cinnamon rolls. Cookies. Coffee cake. “I can get it for you. I’m still learning how to use the cash register, but you can leave the money and get your receipt on your way home, if that’s okay.”

  “That wasn’t it, but thanks.” He ran his hands through his dark, silky hair. “I wondered if you might want to learn more about the Natives who first lived on this land.”

  He spoke with no hesitancy, but his uncertain smile suggested he wasn’t as confident as he sounded. Why seek her out? Did he see something in her even she didn’t see?

  A shiver ran through her—the kind she felt as a kid when they climbed the huge tree that had branches that spilled out over the pond. The branches swayed in the breeze and threatened to dump them in the water. They screamed with laughter. The slight hint of danger delighted her. “You want to teach me Native Indian history?”

  “History, culture, customs.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you seemed interested the other day.” He gestured toward the back as if recalling their encounter. “I don’t know. Did you not feel it?”

  The feeling had been real, then, and not just hers. How could an Amish woman admit to such a strange feeling as if she suddenly stood on a precipice looking down at an adventure? She moved to the closest end cap and began to straighten a display of cookbooks. “Feel what?”

  His smile melted into a disappointed frown. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”

  He turned to go.

  “Wait.”

  He turned back. Hope once again peeked through his dark-rimmed glasses.

  “How would you do this teaching?” She picked up a cookbook and held it against her chest like a shield. “Where would I go? To a class?”

  Shaking his head, Raymond grinned. “No way. There are places you need to see to understand why we feel so strongly about our land and what happened to it. We know what some people say. They forget we were here first. We are not Native American Indians. We were here before this was America. We have a long history forever changed by white men who came to convert us so they could take our land and make it theirs.”

  Breathless, he stopped.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?” His smile grew. “When?”

  Good question. How would she explain it to Aunt Lucy and Uncle Fergie? She couldn’t any more than she could explain her rumspringa forays to see a movie in Kalispell or making up her face and trying on necklaces in front of a mirror in a department store in Missoula with Juliette Knowles as her guide.

  She didn’t understand herself. She had no intention of abandoning her faith any more than she had then. Her baptism had been a sincere commitment to their beliefs. But this was a chance to stretch her life experiences to the very edges of the boundaries set by her faith. With the fire and all that had happened after it, the rules had changed. Her family left her. She had to find her own way. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. I have the day off because my cousins are out of school and will work my shift. I’ll meet you outside The Malt Shop at nine o’clock.”

  “Just like that?”

  Lucy and Fergie would be at the store. She had been looking forward to a day on her own. For the first time in her life, no one would shake a finger at her. No one would look over her shoulder. Adventure beckoned. “Just like that.”

  His grin widened. “Nine o’clock at The Malt Shop.”

  Then he was gone.

  The rest of the day passed in a blur of steady customers, mostly from the area. The flow of tourists had decreased with the end of summer and the beginning of the school year. The fires didn’t help either. The smoke from half a dozen fires floated even as far as the Mission Valley. The inhabitants would never again take fresh air for granted.

  Christine floated from one task to the next. Slicing meat, making milkshakes, bagging rolls, stocking fabrics, inventorying canned goods, even running the register while Lucy took her lunch break—whatever her aunt needed. The job itself stretched Christine so much more than cleaning houses. Her brain received a workout, and she could talk to people.

  She missed Nora, Mercy, and Juliette. She missed her family, but they weren’t in West Kootenai. It wouldn’t be the same without them. St. Ignatius held family and a job she liked. Christine stopped counting bolts of fabric in midcount. Enough to stay here?

  When she agreed to meet Raymond, she hadn’t given a single moment’s thought to Andy. Andy, who hadn’t said goodbye when he left Eureka. Andy, who hadn’t called or written. Christine’s heart jolted like someone had poked it with a sharp stick. Andy had suggested she stay here so they would be closer. This was his solution.

  Would he even regret it if she met another man? Not that Raymond fell in that category. He wasn’t Plain. She wasn’t even sure if Native Indians worshiped the same God.

  Or any God at all.

  “What have I gotten myself into?” She spoke the words aloud. The teddy bears on the bolt of pajama flannel didn’t answer. “I know, I know. I have no one to blame but myself.”

  “Who are you t-t-t-alking to?”

  Christine whirled. Esther Marie stood at the end of the aisle, a perplexed look on her face. She had a banana box of slightly dented cans i
n her arms. Christine rolled her eyes. “Sometimes I talk to myself. I used to do that when I was cleaning house because no one else was around to talk to.”

  “That’s pret-t-t-t-ty gegisch.” Esther Marie giggled. “And it makes you sound n-n-n-narrisch.”

  “Silly and crazy, that’s me.”

  “Be sure to tell your friend Andy that.”

  “What? How do you know I have a friend named Andy?”

  “He’s on the phone.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?” Christine dropped the bolt of flannel and shot past the other woman. “You’re the one who’s narrisch.”

  Esther Marie’s giggle followed Christine down the aisle, past the deli, and into the office at the back of the store. To her relief, no one sat behind Fergie’s desk. The receiver lay on its side next to a stack of spreadsheets. Christine snatched it up and plopped into Fergie’s chair. “Andy?”

  “Christine? Why do you sound breathless?”

  “Never mind that. Why haven’t you called? Where are you? I’ve been on pins and needles, wondering how things are going for you and when you’ll be back—go back to West Kootenai. Have you heard anything? Or are they letting—?”

  “Slow down, slow down.” Andy didn’t sound like himself. Christine couldn’t put her finger on it. He sounded . . . deflated. “I’m at John Clemons’s sister’s house in Lewistown. He let me borrow his phone.”

  “Why do you sound so serious? Is something wrong? How’s your father? What do the doctors say?”

  “He’s weak and tired. He sleeps a lot.” Andy’s voice deepened and grew hoarse. “The doctors are still trying to figure out the problem. He’s at the doctor today getting some test results.”

  “I’m sorry. I hope they figure it out soon. It’s gut that you’ve been there to help out.” She hesitated. Being so far apart was hard, but she didn’t want him to feel guilty or think she was mad at him. She wasn’t. Only at the situation. “I was hoping you would call sooner.”

  “It’s only been a few days.”

  “It seems like a lifetime. Everything’s changed. I love my job at the grocery store. Onkel Fergie and Aenti Lucy treat me like an adult in a way Mudder and Daed never did. I feel so independent. Is that bad? To like that feeling?” It felt so good to talk to him. He would understand her mixed-up emotions. Maybe not like Mercy or Nora, but he had known her for three years. They’d talked about all sorts of things. Feelings, even. Like a husband and a wife must talk, surely.

  Silence filled the line. One beat, two beats, three beats. No response. “Andy?”

  “Tread carefully, Christine. It’s your first time away from home. Freedom and independence can be costly for a Plain person. We are part of a community. Family and community come first. Don’t get too connected to the world. Don’t forget where you come from.”

  “Now you sound like Daed.” Disappointment blew through her. Andy had moved from Lewistown to West Kootenai to gain that freedom. Plain women rarely had that opportunity—nor did they seek it. They were taught to be content in their small, safe world. Christine didn’t relish being alone, but she could enjoy a tiny taste of the world, couldn’t she? Was it really wrong? “I’m living with a Plain family and working in a Plain-owned store and going to our church every two weeks, just like at home. Besides, my coming to St. Ignatius was your idea.”

  “I know.”

  More silence.

  “Andy, what’s wrong?”

  “It’s hard being here and not seeing you all the time.”

  “I miss you too.” The silence lingered. “Andy, are you there?”

  “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “You can tell me anything. We’re friends.” More than friends. “You’re worrying me.”

  “I never told you why I really left home.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You said you needed a fresh start. A lot of people move west for that reason. I think Daed—”

  “I needed a fresh start because my brother Stephen stole the woman I loved. My special friend Winona. We planned to be married. Before I could ask her, she broke up with me to marry Stephen. The day after they married, I moved away from home.”

  Christina took her turn at being silent. Hurt squeezed the air from her lungs. She couldn’t decipher his words. They were a foreign language. Andy once had another special friend. He’d planned to marry her.

  He loved another before he met Christine.

  In three years of courting, he kept his past a secret from her.

  “Christine, are you there?” His voice held panic. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

  “Me too.” The words escaped in a mere whisper. She cleared her throat. “Not that it matters.”

  “It doesn’t?”

  Of course it did. If he’d courted another woman, he’d hugged her. And worse, kissed her. His first kiss had not been reserved for Christine. He dreamed of having children with a woman named Winona and growing old with her. “Nee.”

  “Your words say one thing, but your voice says another.”

  “I’m trying to understand, to imagine. You loved a woman named Winona, and now she’s married to your bruder. That must be very hard. No wonder you didn’t want to go home.”

  “I’m glad you can put yourself in my shoes.”

  “I hope you can put yourself in my shoes.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “It does hurt.” She swallowed hard and pressed her free hand against her closed eyes. Gott, don’t let me cry, please. “To know you . . . cared for another. And that you didn’t tell me. It’s gut that we have this time to think it over.”

  “I don’t want to think it over. I don’t want anything to change.”

  “When are you returning to Kootenai?”

  “I don’t know. My daed wants me to stay here.”

  “Permanently?”

  “Jah.”

  “And you’re considering it?”

  “I thought I would take his sawmill business to Kootenai, but Daed wants his kinner close. He says a fraa goes where her mann goes. I’m having a hard time figuring it all out. That’s why I came over to John’s sister’s house.”

  “Let me know when you figure it out.” With great care Christine laid the receiver on the base.

  The silence hummed around her. She put her hands to her ears and closed her eyes. On the other side of a much-desired phone call, her delight with her new life ebbed. Her body ached for the familiar. For DeeDee’s hardy laugh and the snickerdoodles she liked to feed Christine with iced tea after she finished cleaning. For Delilah’s endless questions about courting and rumspringa, for Abigail’s knock-knock jokes, for Nora and Mercy’s well-meaning advice. For Juliette’s sarcastic observations about life and love. For Socks and Shoes and their rough-tongued kisses on her fingers and the way they warmed her feet on cold winter nights. Even the way they stank of wet doggie fur. For the everyday, familiar life that had been hers for nineteen years.

  Adventure might not be so exciting after all.

  14

  Lewistown, Montana

  That went well. Silence hummed in Andy’s ears. He laid John’s cell phone on the coffee table in Lois’s living room in the ranch-style home where she lived with her husband and two kids. John and his sister had been kind enough to disappear into the kitchen for cherry pie and coffee while Andy made his call.

  He leaned back against the crocheted afghan that blanketed the back of the plaid couch, and closed his eyes. His head throbbed and his jaw ached. Did Christine have a right to be angry or hurt about something that was in his past? What happened had nothing to do with her. His time with Winona was long over when he began to court Christine. Her sweet company helped him recover from an awful period in his life that he simply wanted to forget. Did she really need to know about it?

  The questions ping-ponged in his head. No answers joined them. Or maybe the guilt that washed over him like a case of the flu provided an answer he didn’t want to accept.

&nb
sp; Something wet nudged his fingers. He jerked them back and opened his eyes. Lois’s shih tzu whined and nudged his thigh. Misty was one of those dogs who wanted attention from whomever might be willing to give it. Donut, who lay sprawled in front of the fireplace, raised his head, yawned, and went back to snoozing. “You aren’t exactly a faithful hund, are you?”

  Andy patted the little dog with ribbons in her hair and a flowered bandanna around her neck. She huffed in pleasure. Dogs offered a surprising friendship he rarely found with people. Ben and Henry were his only Plain male friends. He would miss working with Ben, despite the fact that he mixed belches with farts on alternate days. It wouldn’t be the same without him.

  “You look like you could use a piece of Lois’s cherry pie and a cup of hot coffee with an extra tablespoon of sugar.” John set both offerings on the table in front of Andy and settled in the brown leather La-Z-Boy recliner. “I’m thinking it didn’t go so well.”

  Andy postponed answering by taking a large bite of pie. The sweet-tartness of the cherry filling and the flaky crust melted in his mouth. Good. Not as good as Mother’s but still memorable. He concentrated on a second bite. Then a third. Pretty soon there would be no pie to take his mind from the pain in Christine’s voice when he dumped his past on her. He took a sip of sweet, hot coffee. Maybe it could burn away the bitter lump that clogged his throat. “Her feelings were hurt.”

  He’d explained his predicament to John on the ride from his parents’ home to Lois’s.

  “That comes as no surprise.”

  “It happened before I even knew her.”

  “No girl wants to be second choice.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “In my world it wouldn’t be a blip on the screen. English folks date around, sometimes having many partners before selecting one. Some even sleep around—if you’ll excuse the expression. It’s not right, but it happens all the time in this modern world we live in.” John took out his pipe, looked at it longingly, and then stuck it back in the pocket of the leather vest he wore over a blue plaid flannel shirt. “It surely is different for a Plain man and woman who pledge to one another for life. A Plain woman may kiss only one man in her entire life. Do you know how unusual that is these days?”