A Long Bridge Home

by Kelly Irvin

  Christine’s stare didn’t waver. What was she thinking? Jasper was only inches away. He turned to talk to Henry, who slid into the pew just as the pastor moved to the pulpit.

  “Don’t give up on us.” Andy made the words the barest whisper.

  Christine turned so Jasper couldn’t see her face if he glanced their way. Regret chased sadness in her face. “I haven’t. Have you?”

  “I’m not throwing away what we have for a person who has no faith. You’ll leave me, your family, and your faith for him?”

  “It’s not about Raymond. It’s about having time to see a little bit of what’s out there. And to figure out some things. Like whether I want to be with someone who wasn’t truthful with me and live in a place where he can’t be happy because of his past.”

  “I could be happy anywhere if we were together.” The truth of those words struck him hard. “That’s why it’s so hurtful to think of you spending time with another man. Especially one who could lead you away from your faith.”

  “Are you worried about my salvation or your heart?”

  “Both. I can’t go through this again.”

  “I’m not to blame for what your bruder and that other woman did to you.”

  True, but she was finding a new way to destroy his hope for happiness. He’d worked hard to move past his anger and start fresh, only to have a new obstacle careen toward him out of the blue. “I can’t do this again. I won’t—”

  The pastor began to speak. The soft murmur of conversations died away. Pastor Dave knew John well. He spoke of the man’s love of nature, country music, hunting, fishing, and most of all, family. The congregation laughed at stories told by John’s brother in the eulogy and cried while his niece sang “I Can Only Imagine.”

  Andy couldn’t imagine. Only by God’s sovereign grace would he stand before the throne. He was too humble to assume his salvation was secure.

  With John’s blood still fresh and bright red in his mind’s eye, Andy could be sure of a few things. One, he loved Christine. Nothing she had done thus far could change that. Two, he needed forgiveness for his own stubborn inability to forgive. Three, life was too short to dally. A person had to come to grips with mortality and stop acting like he had all the time in the world.

  He would set aside his own discomfort and offer to spend time with John’s boys. He owed his friend that and more. He needed to go back to Lewistown and set his world right. From there he’d find a way to cross that bridge with the woman he loved.

  * * *

  Andy looked so angry. And forlorn. So abandoned. Christine didn’t intend to abandon him. Her heart wouldn’t allow it. Despite everything that had happened, despite the secret he kept, her heart refused to relinquish its love for him. Why hadn’t he told her the truth? Was it wrong for her to hold him to his promise to live in Kootenai?

  Far from the mess he’d left in Lewistown. She’d left her own mess in St. Ignatius. Now who had unfinished business? She’d left town without saying goodbye to Raymond. He still had lessons to teach her. And it seemed she might have something to teach him as well.

  Confusion weighed her down as she settled into the buggy Jasper had borrowed from his uncle. To her surprise he’d offered her a hand up before going around to the other side.

  “What were you and Andy talking about?” He pulled into the line of buggies and cars that snaked from the parking lot and along the street toward Highway 2. “You did an awful lot of whispering before the service started.”

  “He’s still sore and stiff after the accident.” Christine chose her words with care. Jasper’s effort to unbend toward her boded well for the long drive back to St. Ignatius tomorrow. “Losing his friend like that was traumatic.”

  “Gott’s ways aren’t our ways.”

  If only Nora or Juliette or Mercy were here. Christine could share an eye roll with them over Jasper’s attempt to sound old and wise. “I know I’m not smart enough to figure out why these things happen.”

  “You’re not even smart enough to know you shouldn’t mix with the Indians.”

  His acidic tone burned. Christine counted the cars in front of them. Eight before the intersection. It would be a long, slow ride to his uncle’s house. “I like learning new things. I don’t think Gott minds.”

  “I don’t think we know what Gott minds beyond what the Word tells us. We don’t need more than that. To be safe you should probably stick to learning new dishes to make for supper or new quilt patterns. Being the woman your family expects you to be.” He snapped the reins and the buggy jolted forward a few yards. “A Plain woman shouldn’t be flitting about in public with a heathen. Native American Indians don’t believe in Gott.”

  “I’m not planning on becoming an Indian.” Not that such a transformation was possible. Explaining the thirst to see more and know more before she settled down in a tiny nook in the mountains was impossible. Especially to a man with a closed mind and flapping gums. “Or giving up my faith. Kootenai Indians believe in Gott. He’s manifested differently—as spirits in everything we see.”

  “No wonder Mudder and Daed are worried. You’re spewing sacrilegious rigmarole.” He shot a scowl in her direction. In that second he looked like Fergie’s twin, but with hair on his head instead of his chin. “Daed should send you home to Kansas.”

  “Kansas isn’t my home. Kootenai is.”

  “You can’t have it both ways. Is it the Indian or the Plain man?”

  Christine clamped her mouth shut before furious words escaped. Heat burned her cheeks. She wrapped her fingers together in her lap, squeezing them until it hurt. Jasper had no right to question her, give her advice, or tell her what to do. Jasper wasn’t much older than she or Andy. “Haven’t you ever been in love?”

  The scowl faded. Red suffused his fair skin. His gaze returned to the road. “That’s a private matter.”

  “If you had, you’d know that all these wonderful, scary, strange, new feelings get all tangled up inside you until you don’t know what’s up and what’s down.”

  “I’d know.”

  “It’s not something you can study and decipher like arithmetic problems in school.”

  “I was gut at school.” Jasper’s voice dropped to a low growl. “Not so gut with people.”

  Jasper wasn’t a jolly man like his father, who gave lollipops to the children who visited the store with tourist parents whom he gave detailed directions for finding Glacier National Park and the Road to the Sun. Christine corralled her ire. “Is that why you don’t work in the store?”

  “I like farming.” He snapped the reins. “Giddyup. I’ll be glad to get back to work.”

  Subject closed. Still, she’d learned something about her cousin. His distaste for her adventures might well be envy because he wouldn’t dare leave his own well-worn place hidden behind Plain walls. He was afraid.

  With all the upheaval of the past few weeks, the pain and heartache, one thing remained certain. To feel—truly feel—made life worthwhile. Living in a tiny, protective bubble was nice but not always possible. A person had to get used to that idea.

  The rest of the ride passed in silence. Christine hopped from the buggy, scurried up the steps, and went to the room she shared with Jasper’s uncle’s two youngest daughters. She packed her bag and set it by the door.

  Tomorrow they would return to St. Ignatius. She would get her answers. Then Aunt Lucy and Uncle Fergie could stop worrying.

  And so could she.

  24

  St. Ignatius / Elmer, Montana

  Fog mingled with smoke made the predawn hour seem much more like dusk. Adrenaline left a metallic taste in the back of Christine’s throat. Despite her woolen sweater, she shivered in the September early morning air. Her empty stomach pitched. Escaping from Uncle Fergie’s house for the day might be the transgression that broke his hospitality’s back.

  She gripped Raymond’s note in one sweaty palm and jogged in black sneakers down the dirt road toward the school. The note, delive
red by Esther Marie who wore a worried face, read: You were right. Taking Gramma to medicine tree. Come with us. Be at school by five a.m.

  Any later and Lucy and Fergie would be up, getting ready for their day.

  The old green Volvo idled on the road in front of the school. Black smoke puffed from the tailpipe. The brake lights flickered. Raymond jumped from the car and approached before she could get any closer. “I’m so glad you could come.” He looked as if he might hug her. Instead, he stuck his hands in the pockets of his Lees. “Gramma had a bad day yesterday, so don’t expect her to be chatty. She didn’t sleep much last night, and she’ll probably doze most of the way.”

  “She isn’t mad that I’m coming along?”

  “Here’s the thing.” He slowed his step. “She agreed to let you come on one condition.”

  “And what was that?”

  The front passenger-side door popped open. A slim, beautiful woman with long hair caught back in a single braid exited the car. “Hi. I’m Tonya. Nice to meet you.”

  “Tonya is an old friend of mine—”

  Tonya snorted. Raymond glowered at her. “Gramma is teaching her beading, Kootenai, and some of our ancient ways. She asked her to come with us.”

  An old friend. The air fairly crackled with the sparks between them. Christine couldn’t help but smile at the look on Tonya’s face. She liked giving Raymond a hard time, that was obvious. And Raymond didn’t know how to handle it, also obvious.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Tonya.”

  “Jump in.” Tonya grinned. “Little Runner can’t wait to meet you.” She slid back in the front seat and closed the door with a definitive bang.

  “Sorry about this. When Gramma makes up her mind about something, there’s no changing it.” He spoke fast, as if trying to get it all in before he opened the car door for her. “Take anything Tonya says about me with a grain of salt. Gramma appears to be prepared to do battle with the White Woman, but she’ll warm up.”

  “Plain folks don’t believe in war or battles. We don’t fight.”

  “She knows that. She also knows you don’t believe that trees have spirits that can heal.”

  “That’s not going to change.”

  “I know.” Finally, he opened the door, waited for her to get in, then closed it for her—twice.

  Gramma sat on the other side of the seat. At least she appeared to be there somewhere under a pile of faded plaid flannel blankets wrapped around her in layer upon layer. Her sun-leathered skin was so wrinkled, her mouth and eyes could get lost in the crevices. Dirty dark-rimmed glasses sat on a wide nose. She wore a blue bandanna over her head, but long white braids, doubled up, hung past her shoulders. One skinny arm with a knobby wrist stuck out from the blankets, and her knotted fingers rested on the top blanket. Her head was back and her mouth opened. A snort might have been a snore.

  “It’s rude to stare.”

  Or not. Heat singeing her cheeks, Christine faced front and the back of Raymond’s head.

  “At least introduce yourself.”

  “You know who I am. Christine Mast.”

  “It is rude not to face a person when you talk to her.”

  Christine sucked in air and swiveled again.

  “That is better.” Gramma had faded eyes that might once have been brown. She squinted as if her head hurt. “I like to tease a girl to her face.”

  “Be nice, Gramma.” Raymond turned the key in the ignition. “You promised. You both did.”

  “I had my fingers crossed.”

  The two women spoke in unison and then chortled. They were like twins born seventy years apart.

  The engine coughed and sputtered. So did Gramma.

  Christine smiled. Though she returned the smile, the old woman wiped spittle from her chin with a ragged tissue and sniffed.

  It would be a long ride.

  Sadie and Tonya took turns peppering Christine with questions the entire hour and twenty minutes on Highway 93 to Hamilton. Where was she born? Her parents? How many brothers and sisters? Why didn’t she drive a car, and why was it okay for her to ride in someone else’s car, and what was the problem with electricity? And why did she wear a prayer covering all the time? Which brought Gramma around to the true topic of the day—Christine’s religious beliefs.

  “Why you want to see the medicine tree?”

  “I’m interested in what other people believe.”

  Tonya sniffed.

  “You promised.” Raymond growled deep in his throat. “I’ll slow down to fifty and drop you off in a ditch.”

  “Sorry.” Tonya pivoted in the seat so her sharp gaze drilled Christine. She didn’t look sorry. “Your people do not care what others believe. You cling to your beliefs like ants on a log in the middle of the raging rapids of a mighty, angry river.”

  “We keep ourselves apart from the world.” Which seemed like a good idea now that Christine was under fire from two women—one old in years and the other old in spirit—with fiery attitudes and tongues as sharp as Father’s ax. “The Bible says, ‘Be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.’ Romans 12:2.”

  “Yes. The Good Book.” Gramma’s disdain brought another warning growl from Raymond. “We know it by reputation.”

  “Your words say one thing but your tone another.”

  “Forgive them.” Raymond shot Christine an apologetic smile in the rearview mirror. “Gramma’s experience with the Good Book wasn’t so good.”

  “Do not apologize for me, Son.” Sadie tossed off the blankets. She wore a blue plaid man’s shirt over a darker blue dress that hung over the emaciated body that could’ve belonged to a boy—if he were ancient and exceptionally wrinkled. “You believe God made His son come down in the form of a man. Why could He not have sent Him in the form of a bear or a hawk or in a tamarack?”

  “The apostles recorded Jesus’ history soon after His death. They don’t say anything about Him being a hawk or a bear.” Christine should have paid more attention during baptism classes instead of staring at Micah Borntrager. He ended up marrying Missy Hawkins anyway. “The Bible says we’re made in His image, so He must’ve been a man.”

  “And the Jesuits said it was wrong for us to wander our land, hunting and fishing and providing for our families. That we had to become farmers. Because that is what God intended. Where does it say that in your Good Book?”

  “I don’t know. They might have had good intentions but gotten it wrong.”

  “Very wrong.”

  “My mammi always said to forgive seventy times seven.” Christine leaned toward the old woman. “She always said what she thought even though Plain women are expected to keep their thoughts to themselves.”

  “Forgiveness is in your book.” Still, Gramma looked pleased at something. “Is your grandma still alive?”

  “Nee. She passed four years ago.”

  “So she skipped through the pearly gates and has been running around on streets of gold for the last four years.” Tonya didn’t laugh. She wasn’t making fun, but the words carried a certain bitterness. “Does she have angel wings?”

  “People don’t become angels. I hope she is in heaven, though.”

  “I do not believe what you believe.” Sadie’s voice had gone soft. “But I, too, hope to see loved ones on the other side of the great divide.”

  Who was she missing? Raymond’s mother?

  Before Christine could probe further, Gramma leaned forward and put both clawed hands on the front seat. “Are we there yet, Son?”

  “Does it look like it?”

  “Do not get smart with me.”

  “You know the way better than I do. You tell me.”

  One hand in the air, she listed toward the window to her right like a slowly deflating balloon. “Bitterroot Valley, the most beautiful place in the world.”

  “Says the woman who’s never been more than two hundred miles fro
m here in her entire ninety-plus years of life.”

  “I do not have to go anywhere if I am where I should be to start with.”

  “May I know about the medicine tree—what makes it special?” Christine interceded. They were more like squabbling brother and sister than two generations apart. “How did you find it?”

  “I did not find it. Our ancestors have always known it.” Gramma leaned back and gathered up her blankets around her once again. “A big mountain sheep was chasing Coyote. Coyote ran for his life. He came to the tree and hid behind it. The sheep charged the tree, rammed one of his horns into it, and got stuck. Coyote made it a medicine tree after that.”

  “With magical powers?” Christine studied the beautiful red-and-orange-leaved trees that dotted the fields as they passed through a seemingly endless valley. Houses were few and far apart. The sun warmed the car, undaunted by wispy clouds that floated by on their way to unknown destinations. The Bible called magic or sorcery sinful. “Or is it like the wishing wells where the Englischers throw in their coins, hoping the wish will come true?”

  “This is not Disneyland we are talking about.” Tonya rolled her eyes. “It’s not unlike lighting candles in a church.”

  “She’s trying to understand, Tonya. She has no context for this conversation.”

  Gramma joined Tonya in the eye rolling. “Again with the big college statements.”

  “She may live a few miles down the road from us in Kootenai, but she grew up in a different world.”

  “Same world.” Gramma raised her knotted index finger and shook it back and forth, slowly. “There are holes in the trunk and people used to leave their coins, but now people steal the coins because they are old.”

  “Nothing is sacred anymore.” Raymond slowed as they entered Hamilton city limits. The tiny town, population 4,738, was the county seat of Ravalli County according to the sign they passed. The town was clean, neat, and sparse. Like most towns in this part of Montana. “People don’t believe in anything, and they make fun of people who do.”