A Long Bridge Home

by Kelly Irvin

  How did that feel? How did she feel about it? Myriad emotions tumbled around in her head, like clothes in a wringer washing machine. Jesus said, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”

  Jesus Himself said it, so it had to be true. Every word of the Bible was God-inspired, God-breathed. That’s what the bishop said in his sermons. The apostle Peter said salvation was only possible through Jesus.

  So where did that leave people like Raymond whose people had been treated badly in the name of religion?

  Her heart ached for him and for his ancestors, even though he didn’t want or need her pity. He didn’t know what he was missing.

  Should she try to tell him? Her people didn’t evangelize like the Jesuits. They witnessed by the living of their lives.

  For some reason Raymond Old Fox found it important for her to understand that she now lived on a reservation that belonged to his people. Every non-Native person should know, understand, and appreciate the enforced sacrifices that had led to this arrangement. Even West Kootenai didn’t really belong to its residents, according to Raymond. It belonged to the mountains and the creatures who lived there.

  She stopped on the porch, just short of the door. The realization spun her around. She’d lived in the shadows of those mountains her whole life. She had no appreciation of them beyond an occasional glance their way as she made venison stew or sausage from elk meat or grilled salmon. She enjoyed the bounty they were able to eat because of these creatures, but she didn’t truly appreciate them the way Raymond did.

  Peering through the lenses of his people, she caught a glimpse of nature’s beauty and grace. Her infinite abundance when mankind didn’t abuse her or fritter away her bounty.

  Another thought sent her reeling a second time. This entire day had passed without any thought of Andy. Andy and his first special friend. A friend he kissed and hugged and hoped to marry. When she chose another, then he set his sights on Christine.

  Second choice. It didn’t hurt as much now that she’d spent an entire day talking to another man. She hadn’t paused to compare Andy’s tow hair and fair skin or his tall, lean build to Raymond’s black hair and dark eyes or his compact, burly build. Nor had she paused to consider what Andy would think of Raymond’s storytelling. The two men were from different worlds, and only in her did the far margins of those worlds touch.

  Andy’s voice from the first time they kissed sounded in her head. “Your lips are so sweet. I’d like to kiss them every day.”

  A delightful idea indeed. Had he said the same to his first love?

  A bitter taste burned the back of her throat.

  Conflicting feelings stumbled around in her head, bumping into each other. Drunk on emotion and uncertainty and strange new ideas.

  Too much to think about. Better to think about starting supper for Aunt Lucy. She would be tired after a long day at the store. Christine tugged open the door and slipped inside.

  “So there you are.”

  Aunt Lucy sat in the hickory rocker in front of a dark fireplace. She held a basket of sewing in her lap. Uncle Fergie sat at the old oak desk shoved against a wall next to an open window that overlooked their garden. He had a spreadsheet book open. Both of them had the same disappointed, disapproving expression on their plump faces.

  “You’re home early.” Without bending over, she used one black sneaker to nudge off the other and then her bare toes to remove the second one. “I was about to start supper. I thought pork chops and fried potatoes sounded good.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “I went to a museum in Pablo.”

  Uncle Fergie’s woolly silver eyebrows rose and fell. “Your cousin was at the ice cream shop this morning getting a gallon of vanilla for his fraa’s birthday supper. He saw you get into a car with the Indian man who comes into the store sometimes. Raymond.”

  “Jah. He took me to The People’s Center in Pablo. It was closed. We were the only ones there. No one saw us.”

  The significance of her words spoken in haste made even Christine wince. She’d been alone with this virtual stranger the entire day. And she knew she shouldn’t be or she wouldn’t be assuring her aunt and uncle that no one saw them.

  “What were you thinking—”

  “Let me.” Uncle Fergie cut into Aunt Lucy’s horrified shriek. “You are here because your daed and mudder trusted us to watch over you. You are a young woman now. Old enough to know what’s right and wrong. Old enough to know better. You’ve violated our trust in you.”

  His somber pronouncement cut far deeper than Aunt Lucy’s emotional outburst.

  Christine fought to keep from hanging her head like a repentant child. “Nothing untoward happened. He simply wanted to teach me about his people so I would understand why this land we live on is so important to them.”

  “Did you stop to wonder why he picked you out to tell this story to?”

  She couldn’t explain the connection. Raymond had been right when he asked her if she felt it that day in the deli. “He’s kind and welcoming to a stranger who is away from her family for the first time because of a fire burning around the only home she’s ever known.”

  Aunt Lucy’s harrumph lingered in the air along with Uncle Fergie’s stare that could slice meat from bone without moving.

  “You are with family. Me and your aenti.” Uncle Fergie’s words followed a low growl in the back of his throat. “You’re not to see him again.”

  Ach, Raymond. He had so much to share and she had so much to learn. Christine edged toward the kitchen door.

  “Did you hear me?”

  She managed a jerky nod.

  She almost made it to the kitchen door when he spoke again. “We came home from the store because we thought you should know your friend Andy was in a car accident yesterday. His driver, John Clemons, died.”

  Guilt and shame buffeted Christine from all sides. She hadn’t given Andy a thought until she arrived here, when a tragedy had changed his life forever. “Is he all right?” She whirled and stumbled back into the living room. “How badly was he hurt?”

  “His mudder called the store and left a message with Esther Marie.” Aunt Lucy stood and picked up her coffee mug. “She said he’s bruised and banged up, but he’s at home resting. She thought you would want to know. Like me, she thought there was something between you and Andy.”

  Something real and tangible did exist between her and Andy, but she didn’t dare speak of it to her aunt and uncle. That something kept her awake at night, thinking of his lips on hers and the sound of his voice as he carved toys from chunks of wood he brought home from the store. The way his eyes lit up when he saw her. The way his hand gripped hers when he helped her into the buggy. A day with a dark-haired stranger didn’t change any of that.

  “I feel terrible about Mr. Clemons. He was a nice man.”

  Lucy’s shoulders slumped and her eyes filled with tears. “She sounded pretty shaken up herself. I don’t know your friend Andy or even the English man who died, but it sounds so very sad.”

  “Gott’s ways are a mystery to us, but He can use even this for our gut.” Uncle Fergie’s stern gaze bounced from Aunt Lucy to Christine. “Never lose sight of that.”

  “May I call him?”

  Aunt Lucy seemed on the verge of nodding, but Uncle Fergie’s “nee” sealed her lips. “You can’t be trusted to go to the store by yourself. It’s almost suppertime. Help your aenti in the kitchen.”

  She deserved his distrust. Andy wouldn’t know of her sorrow because of it.

  Adventures took their toll on everyone, it seemed.

  Were they worth it?

  18

  St. Ignatius, Montana

  Lack of planning never paid off. Raymond threw back his shoulders and marched through Valley Grocery Store to the deli. Lucy Cotter’s perturbed stare from her perch on a stool behind the cash register did nothing to improve his mood. She didn’t offer her usual cheery salutation. In
fact, she frowned and looked as if she might say something else. But she changed her mind.

  He should have asked Christine to go to Kootenai Falls with him when he dropped her off on Saturday. He’d been living in the moment. Given his background as a kid, that wasn’t surprising. A person never knew what might happen next, so he should simply enjoy the here and now.

  No Christine behind the counter in the deli.

  He sighed and turned back. Fergie Cotter stepped into his path. “Could I have a word?”

  Raymond knew Fergie by sight, but they’d never spoken beyond a simple “Morning.” Raymond nodded.

  “Not here. Outside.”

  Raymond followed the rotund man whose homemade dark-blue denim pants made a rubbing sound between his thighs when he lumbered through the aisle out to the store’s front porch. The man was built like Humpty Dumpty. Fergie pointed to the lawn chairs for sale next to a pile of fireplace wood. “Have a seat.”

  “I think I’ll stand.”

  Fergie shrugged. He removed a toothpick from his mouth and rolled it between chubby fingers. “Were you looking for my niece Christine?”

  No point in denying it. She was a grown woman. “Yes.”

  “You don’t know much about Amish folks, do you?”

  “Actually, I’ve done my research.” After their outing on Saturday, he’d powered up his Mac and learned everything he could. He wanted nothing of white man’s religion for himself, but he thrived on understanding what others believed. “You have concerns.”

  “Christine has lived a quiet life among her own people in West Kootenai.” Fergie drilled Raymond with a frown. “We choose that for our children.”

  “She’s a grown woman.”

  A grown white woman. To get to the why required more time. More conversation. Raymond studied people.

  “Who has chosen to live her faith. Which means keeping herself apart from the world and its worldly ways.”

  “Sometimes learning about the ways of other people reinforces your own beliefs.”

  “I understand why you might think that. I don’t expect you to understand why we choose to live apart from the world—”

  “No, I do understand. My people were not given that option.”

  “I know enough about your history to have great compassion for the Native American Indians—all the many tribes. The Anabaptists were also persecuted.”

  Raymond started to interrupt. Fergie held up his hand. “But that’s neither here nor there. Right now I’m only concerned for Christine’s well-being. I’m asking you to leave her be.”

  If Raymond could he would. He wanted to leave her alone. A Native man like himself—albeit one who had white man’s blood running through him—wanted nothing to do with a white woman in his head. Why this particular white woman demanded his attention, he simply couldn’t say yet. “That’s for her to decide.”

  “Do you feel an obligation to honor your elders’ wishes?”

  “I do.”

  “Then why would you make it hard for her to do the same?”

  A Native man didn’t put these feelings into words—especially not to the woman’s elder. “I understand your concerns, and I promise you I mean her no harm and have no disrespect for your beliefs or culture.”

  “I know you believe that.” His pudgy jowls turning a bright red, Fergie chewed on his toothpick for a few seconds. “If she continues to disrespect our wishes, she’ll be sent to her family in Kansas. Did she tell you she stayed with us in St. Ignatius because she has a special friend who intends to marry her?”

  She had not. In fact, she’d said little about herself. She had a way of being still and listening as if every pore of her being absorbed his words. As if she thirsted to know. Raymond didn’t find that quality often in his colleagues at work. His relationships with women had been sweet sometimes, but always short, because of him, not them. It had been a long dry spell since a falling out with the one woman who’d matched him stride for stride in thought and deed. Tonya’s face flitted across his mind’s eye and disappeared into a mist filled with what-ifs.

  “No, and I didn’t ask. We don’t know each other well enough to share that sort of thing.”

  “But you wish to.” Fergie punctuated every word with a huff. Lines deepened around his eyes and mouth. “You’ve thought of it.”

  As much as Raymond desired to relieve the man of his discomfort, he couldn’t lie. “I haven’t traveled that far yet. I’m trying to discover what it is that keeps bringing me back to this store.” He pointed to the sign. “It’s not the horseradish cheddar cheese.”

  “And I’m asking you not to go down that road. Honor my request.”

  Christine had what her people so quaintly referred to as a special friend. He should leave it alone. She’d separated from her family in order to keep that man in her life. The honorable thing to do would be to respect it. “I’ll do my best.”

  “That’s all I ask.” Fergie pushed the door open for a mother and the toddler who held her hand. He smiled and nodded at her. When he looked back at Raymond, the smile disappeared. “Take care.”

  “You too.”

  Fergie went inside. Raymond stood on the porch, staring at the Mission Mountains beyond the valley. They were purple and white today. Clothed in majesty, according to the white songwriter. He breathed the cool autumn air and let the fraught feelings of the previous moments leave his body on the stream. What happened next would not be up to him or to Fergie Cotter.

  Christine had a say in her life, however small it might be in the Plain world.

  He dug his car keys from his jean pocket and stomped down the stairs.

  “Psssst, pssst.”

  He turned at the persistent sound emanating from somewhere behind the piles of fireplace wood at the far corner of the store’s front porch. Esther Marie stuck out her head. “Excuse me, R-r-r-raymond Old F-f-fox.” She waved a white folded piece of paper in his direction. “Chris-t-t-ttine asked me to-to-to-to give this to-to you.”

  She disappeared around the corner. Raymond followed. Her bike was propped against the wall. The homely girl’s cheeks were pink. Her prayer covering lay askew on her head, and strands of her dishwater-blonde hair had escaped. He held out his hand, and she laid the note on his palm as if giving him a great gift. “Thank you.”

  She ducked her head. “I have to go t-t-t-to work. I’mmmm late.”

  “You are a kind person and a good friend, Esther Marie.”

  She didn’t answer, but her cheeks went scarlet. She rushed around the corner. A second later the door banged.

  Raymond waited until he sat behind the Volvo’s wheel before he unfolded the note. Christine’s handwriting proved to be neat and painstaking. Like that of a fourth grader taking a test.

  Raymond,

  I can only hope you come to the store to buy fresh cheese and bread for your gramma. If you do, Esther Marie can give you this note. Otherwise, I don’t know when I’ll see or talk to you again. My aunt and uncle have decided I should stay at home. I’m to clean their house, do laundry, cook, and tend the garden. It’s like being back in West Kootenai. They’re not wrong. I know that. But my heart hurts. I like working at the store. I like talking to customers. I like talking to you.

  You never said what came next. You said you would teach me. I still want to learn. I don’t think God finds learning bad. Do you?

  If you get this note, meet me at the Amish school at seven o’clock next Saturday morning. My aunt and uncle will go to Libby to visit his mother for the weekend. It’s our Sunday off from services. If you don’t come, I will understand.

  Sincerely,

  Christine

  No mention of the special friend. No mention of feeling guilty about going behind her family’s back to see him.

  How did he feel about that? He read the words again and then a third time. Running his fingers over the paper didn’t help to ferret out the feeling behind them. A hawk caught his gaze. It soared overhead, dipped a wing, then fl
ew from sight, seeking food in another place behind the horizon.

  Christine was a smaller version of that hawk. More of a sparrow longing to soar higher and faster than her flock permitted. To see more of the world before being confined to a cage gilded with beautiful mountains and towering conifer forests.

  He would give her that and then send her back to where she belonged. However hard it might be, it was the honorable thing to do.

  19

  Kootenai Falls, Montana

  The rushing water of the Kootenai River played musical notes that rose and rose in a crescendo that lifted Christine’s heart as she followed Raymond along the trail that led to their destination—Kootenai Falls. Much of the three-hour drive along Highway 2 from St. Ignatius to this beautiful spot downstream from Libby had been spent in comfortable silence. Raymond didn’t seem to mind it. He didn’t turn on the radio. Nor did he ask her about her decision to meet him today. He simply drove.

  The time to contemplate served Christine well. Without going to the store, she couldn’t call Andy. She had to take Aunt Lucy’s word for it that he had survived the accident with only bumps and bruises. That didn’t cover how he must have felt at the loss of his friend John. Genial, hearty, kind John.

  In some ways it was better that she couldn’t call. She still didn’t know what to say to him about his revelation that he’d loved another woman first. It would be nice to simply say it was okay, no harm done, and offer a fresh start. “Seventy times seven, child.” That’s what Mammi would say. “Seventy times seven. Are you perfect? Dare you cast the first stone?”

  Mammi Tabitha was full of one-liners.

  What would she say about Raymond?

  “Are you planning to go fishing, child? Because you just opened a can of worms.”

  One-sided letters were easier. She could offer her condolences without addressing the other issue. She asked Esther Marie to mail it for her. Esther Marie had turned into a good friend. She agreed to the favor, no questions asked, just as she had done with the note to Raymond. Christine’s words in the letter to Andy were engraved on her brain. They seemed puny in light of what he’d experienced.