A Long Bridge Home

by Kelly Irvin

  Danki, Gott. I am a sore loser. An ungrateful wretch. I have found love with another, yet I still begrudge Stephen his happiness. Gott, forgive me. Show me the way You would have me go. Give Daed peace, whatever that path is. And me also.

  “Ach.”

  Hand on her belly, Winona hunched her shoulders and bent over. Pain furrowed her forehead. She rubbed her stomach with both hands. “Just indigestion,” she murmured as she turned to go back to the kitchen.

  “Ach.”

  Andy swiveled as did Stephen and the others. His brother scooted back his chair. “Are you okay, Fraa?”

  “Nee.” Winona straightened. She stared at a small puddle on the floor. “The bopli is coming.”

  “I’ll go for the midwife.” Stephen shoveled another bite of corn into his mouth. He grabbed a pork chop and stood. “I’ll be back. Try not to have the bopli before I get here.”

  He started toward the door, did an about-face, and strode to his wife. With his back to the others at the table, he leaned down and whispered in her ear. Despite the pain etched on her face, Winona smiled. “Me too.”

  Grinning, pork chop still in hand, Stephen whirled and sped out the door.

  He had the look of a happy man. It matched the look on his wife’s face.

  A look every married person should have.

  Mother hopped up from her seat. The other women followed suit. “Let’s get you settled.” She patted Winona’s back. “I reckon you’re just getting started.”

  Winona chuckled. “If he’s anything like Will, he’ll refuse to come out for days.”

  The other women laughed. “Do you think it’s a boy?” Wallace’s wife, Nan, asked as she bent to clean up the floor. “You keep saying ‘he.’”

  “We’ll know soon enough.”

  Their voices faded as they moved into the hallway toward the bedrooms. Even the little girls traipsed after them like children to the pied piper.

  The men kept eating. Except Andy’s father. He dropped a napkin over a plate Mother had loaded with food. “I’m tired. I think I’ll take a nap. Josie will call me when the bopli comes.”

  “You didn’t eat.” Andy held out the potatoes. “At least finish your food.”

  “The medicine takes away my appetite.”

  “What did you find out at your appointment?” In the aftermath of the car accident and his trip to the funeral, Andy had missed the news. Little had been said on his return. Everyone went about life as usual, it seemed. “Did the doctor tell you anything?”

  Father sipped his iced tea. The boys’ laughter filled the space. Wallace shot them a glare. “Time to finish the chores, boys.” He tossed his napkin on the table and strode from the room. Frederick did the same. The boys followed, pushing and shoving.

  That left Andy at the table, alone with his father. “Well?”

  “I have leukemia.”

  Foreboding wrapped its tentacles around Andy’s heart. He knew enough of this disease to know it wasn’t good. “But it can be treated?”

  “Jah. I have to go to Billings. Chemotherapy.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t look so sad. It’s in Gott’s hands. I’m gut with that.”

  “I know.” Andy did know, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Their faith dictated that they were simply passing through this broken world. They would be better off with God. His head understood all that. But his heart secretly struggled. A tiny voice grew louder at night, keeping him awake. Malarkey, it yelled in his ear. No wonder he had trouble sleeping. “Your faith is strong.”

  “Yours is not?” The lines around Father’s mouth deepened as he frowned. His age-spotted hand raked his beard. “Have you changed so much since you moved to Kootenai?”

  “Nee, it is. I try. It’s been a hard season, that’s all. The wildfires burning our homes. John’s sudden death. Christine . . .” He stopped. “Life lessons.”

  “The Holy Bible says in this life there will be trouble, but not to worry. He has overcome the world.”

  “I know.”

  “Then you should act like it.” Father picked at a roll and tossed the crumbs on his plate. “Go to Kootenai. Rebuild. Make your life.”

  “You wanted me to stay.” Surprise ran through him like a flash fire. “You told me to stay here and run the sawmill.”

  “This life will have trouble, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t seek joy in it as well.” Father smiled for the first time. “This sickness has taken much from me. I won’t let it take life from you as well. If Kootenai makes you happy, it makes me happy. You’re no longer running from your home. You’re returning to a place you love.”

  “Danki, Daed.” Staying held no angst. “I’m not sure if Christine will still have me, but I plan to try.”

  “Gut. Have you settled things with Stephen regarding the sawmill?”

  “He knows what I want to do.” Suddenly hungry, Andy helped himself to creamed corn and potatoes and gravy. He nodded and dug into his food. A man had to keep his strength up in the midst of so much upheaval. “But we haven’t talked about it again. I thought you wanted me to stay, so I didn’t pursue it. With John’s death and the funeral and your doctoring, there’s been a lot going on.”

  “Don’t blame others for your failure to act.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Frederick is a farmer. Wallace makes log cabin kits with his father-in-law. Stephen works on his father-in-law’s dairy farm. Not one of them is interested in the sawmill. If you want it, take it. Ask that girl to marry you.”

  “Are you sure you want to let it go? Your disease will be treated. Gott willing, you’ll go back to work.”

  “I’m retired. I’ll let you young whippersnappers do the heavy lifting now.”

  He even sounded like an old codger now. “If you want me to stay while you’re doctoring, I will.”

  “I’m a grown man. Your bruders and schweschders are here. Your mudder is here.”

  “You’re my family.”

  “It’s time you start your own family.”

  An angry wail cut the air. It emanated from the playpen in the corner of the room.

  “Ach, Will is awake.” Father stood, swayed, and sat back down. “Bring him to me. I’ll hold him for a minute. He’ll want his mudder. He’s in for a big surprise. A new bruder or schweschder isn’t so welcome at his age.”

  The toddler, with his curly dark hair gone wild and cheeks rosy with sleep, popped up. He wailed again and then stuck his thumb in his mouth. His eyes searched the room. His face scrunched up. The thumb came out. More wailing.

  “I’ve got him.” Andy headed to the playpen. He raised his voice over the mournful cry. “You take your nap. Don’t worry about the sawmill. I’ll take it. I’ll work hard. I’ll build a new life in Kootenai. But I’ll come back more often now.”

  “See to it that you do.” Shuffling steps told Andy his father had taken his advice.

  Andy lifted Will from the playpen. The boy’s sobs abated, but his frown said he wasn’t sure about this new development. Andy settled the child’s warm body against his chest. “It’s okay, kind. I’m your onkel Andy. Remember me? Your mudder is busy having a bopli. A bruder or schweschder. You’ll like that, won’t you? Someone to play with.”

  He kept up the steady patter as he moved to the rocking chair near the tall windows that looked out over the backyard toward the fall garden, the apple trees, cottonwoods, and spruces. Will’s tiny nose wrinkled and his lower lip bulged, but he didn’t cry. “How about I rock you? I’m not much of a singer. Not like your mudder. She has a beautiful singing voice. That’s where I met her—at a singing. But that’s another story.” Not one that he would ever tell Will. Andy began to rock and sing “Jesus Loves the Little Children,” the only song that came to mind at that moment.

  Will clapped in approval—at least it seemed like approval. He wiggled. “Millich.”

  Andy stopped rocking. “So you talk. What else do you say?”

  “Millich.” />
  Milk. Naturally. Andy stood and hoisted Will onto his hip.

  “Mama.”

  “She’s busy right now.” That was an understatement. “Millich.”

  “Eepies.”

  Milk and cookies. Not a bad combination. “Don’t get greedy, kind.”

  He went back to singing as he hustled to the kitchen. Maybe that would take the child’s mind off Winona’s absence. He found a sippy cup on the counter, settled Will on the floor, and rustled up some milk from the propane-powered refrigerator. All the while singing.

  “You have a terrible voice.”

  “You were never much of a singer yourself.” Andy handed the sippy cup to Will and held out a cookie to Stephen. “You didn’t get to finish eating.”

  “I’m gut.” He waved away Andy’s offering. “The midwife is with Winona. How did you end up with Will?”

  “Everyone was so surprised about Winona, I guess they forgot about him.”

  “Mudder will send one of the other fraas out for him in a minute.”

  “No worries.”

  Stephen leaned against the counter and waved at his son. Will transferred the cup to his other hand and waved back. He giggled. So did Stephen. His smile disappeared. “I’m sorry. It must be hard for you to see all this.”

  “I’m happy for you.”

  “Are you?” The words held no animosity, only wonder. “How is that possible?”

  “I’m growing up, I guess.”

  “I hope you don’t blame her. It was my fault. I saw it coming, and I did nothing to stop it.” Will threw his cup. It landed at Stephen’s feet and splattered milk on his work boots. He scooped it up and laid it in the sink with a chuckle. “I guess he’s done with that. I wanted what I wanted. A better man would’ve left to be removed from temptation.”

  “It is better that she be with you than yoked to the wrong man for the rest of her life.”

  “If I could’ve spared you this, I would’ve.”

  “Danki.”

  The kitchen grew quiet except for Will’s tuneless humming as he crawled to his father’s feet. He tugged at Stephen’s bootlaces. Laughing, Stephen picked him up. “You are a busy bopli, aren’t you?”

  Will pulled Stephen’s beard and giggled. “Dadadada.”

  No pain ricocheted behind Andy’s ribs. No angry words threatened to burst from his lips. Peace captured his heart instead. “Daed is fine with me taking the sawmill to Kootenai. He’s decided I should go back and live my life there. In fact, he wants me to go.”

  Stephen’s eyebrows lifted, but his smile looked forced. “Gut.” The single syllable expressed more gusto than it warranted. “You can start your own family. It’s time.”

  “That’s what he said. You still find all this awkward, don’t you?”

  “I can’t help but think of those moments that must’ve occurred before she realized she had feelings for me.” Red crept across Stephen’s tanned face, darkening his skin. He ducked his head and landed a kiss on Will’s curly locks. “It must be the same for you.”

  The heated cool evenings spent under a full harvest moon. Stars cast light on their embraces under the vast Montana sky. Her laughter tinkled like the leaves on the breeze. Her warm breath tickled his cheek. “Let’s not go there.”

  Stephen shifted his weight and tucked Will on his hip. “Right.”

  “You’ll help Frederick care for Mudder and Daed.” It wasn’t a question. It was a given.

  “He told you of his diagnosis.”

  “Only because I asked.”

  “He is close-lipped about it.” Stephen patted Will’s back, but his expression left doubt he realized he was doing it. “Mudder is worried and trying not to show it. She doesn’t want to disappoint him.”

  “They want to set the example for us.”

  “They always have. When will you go then?”

  “Soon. I want to greet my new nephew or niece first. Then I have to go to St. Ignatius.”

  Time to fight for the woman he loved.

  Mother appeared in the doorway. She held a tiny, red-faced mite with wild shocks of black hair wrapped in a faded crib quilt. “Your dochder is here.” Mother offered her bundle to Stephen. “She was in a hurry to see what all the fuss was about around here. She’s perfectly formed. Winona is fine. She says she feels like making a batch of brownies. I told her to take a nap first.”

  She nattered to hide her emotion. That was Mother. Andy took Will so his brother could meet his new daughter. Stephen’s face filled with a tenderness so profound Andy had to look away. His murmured sweet nothings were a private conversation between a father and his child.

  Not wanting to intrude further, Andy handed Will to his mother. “I should go to the sawmill. I need to start making arrangements to move the equipment.”

  “Wait.” Stephen took a step toward him. “You wanted to meet your new niece. Don’t you want to hold her?”

  “I couldn’t. This is your time.”

  “I have the rest of my life—however long that is—to get to know her.” He held out the wiggling bundle of red, wrinkled skin and black hair. “She looks like her mother, don’t you think?”

  Only a curmudgeon could reject such a beautiful peace offering. Andy took her. She gurgled and sucked on her hand. “She’s smart. She already found her fingers.” He studied her tiny nose and rosebud lips. “She looks like you, Mudder.”

  “Awww.” Mother beamed. “Don’t say that, poor thing.”

  “Hello, little girl. I’m your onkel Andy.” He held her close so she could feel his heart beating in his chest. “You are blessed, bopli. You have a mudder and daed who love you.”

  So sweet. So tiny. So loved. The lump in Andy’s throat threatened to explode. He drew a deep breath and expelled it. “Have you decided on a name?”

  “She’ll be called Joy.”

  Nothing could give parents more joy than a new baby. Andy wanted that joy, and he wanted it with Christine. He would fight for her. “I have to go.”

  “You’ll be back?” The entreaty in Mother’s words made it more of a statement than a question. “Soon?”

  He kissed Joy’s forehead and handed her to her father. “Soon. But right now there’s someone I need to see.”

  26

  St. Ignatius, Montana

  The trip to the medicine tree seemed to have broken the stubborn mule’s back. Christine studied her hands in her lap. Aunt Lucy and Uncle Fergie had been waiting in the living room when she returned home after a long, dusty walk from the school to their house. She was so engrossed in trying to grasp all she’d learned about this new world from Raymond, Gramma, and even Tonya, that she didn’t see them at first. Until Aunt Lucy cleared her throat. Uncle Fergie started talking, and he hadn’t stopped yet. His voice rose and fell. His words pricked her skin like tiny knife wounds. Rebellious. Stubborn. Disrespectful. Consorting with pagans. With heathens. Ungodly.

  Ungodly? She looked up and opened her mouth.

  Aunt Lucy shook her head vigorously.

  Christine clamped her mouth shut.

  “I’m sending you to Haven. Jasper will take you.”

  Jasper, who sat at the desk by the front window, ostensibly studying a seed catalog, turned around. “But I—”

  “I can’t go to Haven. Please, Onkel Fergie, I want to go home. To my home. To Kootenai.”

  “They haven’t allowed anyone back into the town yet. And when they do it’ll be for your daed to decide. I’ll call and leave a message at the phone shack tonight.”

  Her father would be so disappointed in her. Mother might understand a little better—but only a little. Were Raymond, Tonya, and his grandma heathens? They believed in taking care of the earth, in treating it with respect. Plain folks believed that.

  They didn’t believe in Jesus. They didn’t pray to the same God she did. She should pray for them. She liked them. They were sweet, kind, good people.

  Being a good person was not enough. That’s what the bishop said during t
he baptism classes. “Remember, you can never be good enough to get into heaven. Entrance comes through salvation made possible by Gott’s sacrifice of His only begotten Son.”

  The memory battered her. More sharp words pricking her skin.

  I don’t understand, Gott.

  “Are you listening to me?” Fergie’s face turned red and his eyes bulged. He would either explode or have a stroke. Or both. “Do you understand how wrong it is for you to go traipsing around the countryside with an Indian—or any man not related to you? I know you do. Did you act like this before—with your parents?”

  “We weren’t alone. We were with his great-grandmother and his friend Tonya. There is nothing unseemly about this trip. I simply wanted to know more. I’ve read a lot of books, but it’s not the same as learning firsthand about people. I never had a chance before.”

  The truth of the matter. She’d lived in a tiny bubble called Kootenai. And she’d been happy there. Now she knew the world was bigger and more complicated. Threads of many colors made up the fabric of this world. Its brilliance drew her in. She wanted to touch this bright, worldly shawl and wear it around her shoulders. If only for a short while. Then she’d come back and settle down and be the woman she promised to be when she was baptized.

  “So you decided to turn your back on your baptismal vows while under my roof instead?”

  “Nee. I didn’t decide anything.”

  “I blame that boy Raymond.” Aunt Lucy fanned herself with a horse auction flier. Her face was as red as Uncle Fergie’s. “He’s a bad influence, and he’s pursued her even after both of us told him not to. That’s why you have to go to Kansas. It’s the only way to break the hold he has on you.”

  “He doesn’t have a hold on me. He’s not a boy. And he’s not a bad influence.” Could studying history and the culture of another people be wrong? It wasn’t the same as leaping into a fallen, modern world. It simply helped students understand how this world had been shaped by past events. “I’ve learned history from him. I’ve learned to think for myself.”