A Long Bridge Home Read online

  “Jah, but I don’t understand why he’s decided to go now. The fire might not touch our home.”

  “The fire has nothing to do with his decision.”

  Christine stopped trying to make two tent poles fit together. She studied her mother’s face. Her eyes were red rimmed. From smoke, surely. Mother never cried—except when they buried her parents. Even then she said they were tears of happiness that Grandmother and Grandfather had gone on to be with God. “Why then?”

  “When we came here that first time to visit friends, they sang Montana’s praises. A beautiful place, close to Gott, and it is. We fell in love with it.” Mother’s struggle for words to explain etched lines on her face. “But your daed misses farming. The winters are so long and cold here. This is a lovely place to visit, but less so to live. Also, he wants to be close to his parents in their last years.”

  Every word made sense. To argue seemed selfish. Hers wasn’t the only person’s happiness at stake. “His home and yours is in Kansas. But we kinner have grown up here. This is our home. Does Zeke know?” She’d seen him slipping away from the singing with Jane Weaver. “He has a special friend . . . too.”

  “He’s young, barely getting started. So is Delilah. They’ll find new friends.” Mother threw a tablecloth over the second table and smoothed it with dishwater-rough hands. “Or their love will endure until the time is right. If distance doesn’t diminish their feelings, then they’ll find a way.” She straightened and smiled. “The same is true for you.”

  She did have eyes in the back of her head and elephant ears. “Andy says he’s going to his parents’ farm. It’s near Lewistown.”

  Which might as well be London.

  “True love will endure until the time is right.”

  Easy for Mother to say. She had her true love of twenty-five years and seven children. She could live anywhere and be happy as long as she had her family with her.

  Shouldn’t that be true of Christine?

  Gott, I’m sorry. Kootenai has been my home for my whole life. I don’t want that to change. I don’t like change. At least I don’t think I do. Everything has always been the same, which is fine with me.

  What if Andy decided to stay in Lewistown? Would their love not only survive but flourish? Would she be willing to live there to be with him? Until today the idea of being separated from her family would have been unthinkable.

  Not anymore. Her parents would have to let her stay if their engagement was announced—or better yet, they married.

  Was that a good reason to say yes? She cared for Andy. Did she love him? How did the thrill that tossed her heart around like a tidal wave when he kissed her translate when it came to love?

  Too many questions and not enough answers.

  4

  Rexford, Montana

  With early evening came cooler air, but it still held smoke that stank and irritated the throat. Andy coughed, but nothing could dislodge the taste from his mouth. The shadows from the ponderosa pines that lined Highway 37 grew, giving his buggy much-appreciated shade. He gulped lukewarm water from his canteen. The turnoff to Rexford loomed. Ben would turn there to reunite with his family at one of the campgrounds. Andy should keep going. His ultimate destination was Eureka, another thirteen miles west to Highway 93, where he could spend the night with his friends the Clemonses.

  John Clemons delivered furniture for the store and often served as a taxi service for the Kootenai Plain community. Knowing Andy had no family in Kootenai, he’d offered not only safe haven when needed, but his friendship. He’d already agreed to drive Andy to Lewistown when he was ready to return home.

  Two more hours on the road, most of it in darkness. Andy could pull in here and spend the night. That would give him time to talk to Christine. Where would he stay? It would be awkward. He couldn’t bed down at the Masts’ campground. “What do you think, hund?”

  Donut’s low growl deep in his throat did nothing to assuage Andy’s discomfort. “Danki for nothing.”

  The dog raised his head and barked once.

  “I don’t know about that.”

  The highway sign with the arrow pointing to a left turn into Rexford appeared, taunting him.

  “Fine.” He wasn’t a coward. Nor did he wish to hurt Christine. She was far too sweet for that. “But you’re serving as my pillow, buddy.”

  No response from Donut.

  Andy followed Ben’s buggy into Rexford where he pulled into the General Store. Pipe clenched between his lips, Terry sat on a bench out front, his skinny legs propped up on the split-log railing. He had so much fluffy silver beard, it was a wonder he didn’t catch it on fire smoking the pipe. He waved and let his boots clomp on the cement beneath him.

  “Howdy, neighbors.” He stood and stretched. “I figured we’d have some latecomers, so we stayed open past closing time.”

  Ben slipped from his buggy, as did his three sons, all of whom did their own series of stretches. With sooty faces and blackened clothes, they all looked like refugees from the coal mines. Andy made his way to the impromptu powwow between Ben and Terry, whose scent of cherry tobacco was a welcome respite from the burnt forest stench. The boys headed inside to use the facilities.

  “Did my wife stop by?” Fatigue darkened the bags under Ben’s eyes. His voice was hoarse and his lips chapped. “I need to find her.”

  Terry shared information on the women and children’s whereabouts. Ben’s expression relaxed. “Gut, that’s gut. We’ll get down there.” He turned to Andy. “You’ll stay with us, then?”

  An invitation made it easier and harder. He couldn’t turn it down without some explanation. Nor did he want to share the truth with the father of his special friend.

  “I’ll bet you all have a powerful thirst.” Terry hitched up his baggy jeans and cocked his head toward the door. “What do you say I bring everyone an icy cold root beer on me?”

  “That’s kind of you. It would be wunderbarr.” Andy responded before Ben had a chance. “My throat is burning.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Andy waited until Terry disappeared into the store. He turned to Ben. “I was thinking of traveling the rest of the way into Eureka.”

  “That’s another two hours. You have to be tired.” Ben shoved his straw hat back on his head. “It’ll be dark, and you know there’ll be a bunch of Englisch tourists on the road who don’t know where they’re going. They’re not used to slow-moving buggies, either.”

  “John Clemons has a couple of bunk beds in his spare bedroom in Eureka. He offered them to me and Henry.”

  “So go there tomorrow.”

  “It’s nice of you to offer, but—”

  “If you’re worried about it being untoward, don’t be.” A grim smile stole across the older man’s face. “I know you respect my dochder—and her parents—too much to take advantage of the situation.”

  “How do you know about—?”

  “I have eyes in my head, don’t I?”

  So much for their careful avoidance at Sunday services and Gmay picnics. “I’m not just headed to Eureka. John will take me to my daed and mudder’s place out by Lewistown in a day or two.”

  “But you’ll be back.” Ben’s bushy eyebrows rose and fell. “I thought you liked it here.”

  “I thought you did too.”

  Ben’s jaw jutted. A scowl spread across his face. “Who told you otherwise?” The scowl deepened. “Has Christine spoken out of turn?”

  “It’s true then? You’re moving back to Kansas?”

  “Jah.”

  No explanation. Not that he owed anyone—least of all Andy—any such words that would explain how a man could uproot a family after almost twenty years in one of the most beautiful places created by God in the universe. “When?”

  “Within the week.”

  “You won’t stay to see what happens to your house?”

  “It could be weeks before we get back in there. I want to get my fraa and kinner settled with my family
in Haven before winter comes.” His face was lined with exhaustion, Ben leaned against his buggy and fanned his face with his hat. “It’s better that way. I can return to move whatever’s left later.”

  “And the land?”

  “One way or another, I’ll sell it.”

  “No coming back.”

  “Nee, no coming back.”

  Andy needed that root beer. He cleared his throat, but he couldn’t find the right words. Ben knew about Andy courting Christine. That didn’t mean he wanted to talk about it. Plain folks didn’t do much of that.

  “Kansas isn’t a bad place for a fellow to settle.” Ben replaced his hat and straightened. “Farmland is plentiful and fertile.”

  What Andy knew about Kansas would fit on the head of a nail. A good place to farm. Not too crowded. No mountains, no natural lakes. “I’m a mountain man. That’s why I moved up here to Kootenai.”

  “My fraa talked—”

  “Here it is. Icy cold as promised.” Terry pushed open the double glass door with his elbow.

  Zeke came in behind him and held it open while the store owner bounded through with two bottles of root beer. Pop in hand, the boys followed. Mark and Martin, who looked like twins but were actually two years apart, also carried paper bags bulging with unidentified goodies. Knowing Terry, they contained his favorite junk foods—Twinkies, Doritos, and Oreos. How the man stayed so thin remained a mystery.

  Andy offered his thanks, even though the man’s timing left a great deal to be desired. How he’d love to know who Melba talked to and what was said.

  Ben took a long swallow, lowered the bottle, and belched. “You’re a gut man, Terry.” His smile fleeting, he nodded at Andy. “Do you have a tent?”

  “I do.”

  “You can pitch it at our site. Down by the water.”

  Translation. Far from Christine. “Danki.”

  Ben shrugged. “No need for thanks. Let’s go, boys.”

  While his three sons climbed into the buggy, Ben turned back for a second. His stare was long and level. “The kinner don’t know. I want to tell them.”

  “Understood.” Andy sucked down half the root beer. The day had been long and difficult.

  The hardest conversations were yet to come.

  5

  Rexford, Montana

  A man should know better than to sneak up on a woman with a flaming marshmallow skewered on her stick. At the sound of Andy’s voice, Christine whirled. She came within an ant’s tongue of stabbing him with her dessert.

  He ducked just in time. “Hey. It’s me.”

  Acutely aware of her mother’s observant stare, Christine stumbled back a few steps from the Coleman stove. The roasted hot dogs had been crisp on the outside and juicy on the inside. In other words, perfect. Despite her certainty that this terrible day had left her without an appetite, Christine had managed to eat two on fresh, spongy buns and a large helping of tangy mustard potato salad before they started on the s’mores. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were here.”

  Or maybe she’d closed her ears to the familiar sound of his voice, not wanting to be disappointed by another conversation. The girls had heard him. Maisie and Abigail loved Donut. Socks and Shoes weren’t as excited about the German shepherd’s appearance, but they tolerated him. Maisie had ridden him like a horse until she grew too big. Now she showered him with hugs and he repaid her with kisses.

  Kisses. The word conjured up the first sweet yet fiery kiss Andy had given her after almost a year of courting. It had taken awhile for him to touch her, but once he had she found herself seeking those intimate moments at every turn. She dreamed about them—during the day and at night. He approached kissing with surprising enthusiasm—surprising because it took him so long to decide to do it at all. She had no experience in this area, but he was good at it. So good her muscles turned to noodles and her brain stopped thinking about anything except when that next kiss would come.

  “Your daed invited me to spend the night here.” His confident way of speaking sputtered and died for a second. His gaze floundered around her feet. He looked tired and dejected. Christine’s heartstrings thrummed. It was impossible to stay mad at him for wanting to do the right thing—even if it meant being apart for a while.

  Andy cleared his throat. “It’s getting dark. It wouldn’t be a gut idea to be on the highway with all these strangers who don’t know where they’re going.”

  “Unlike you who’s definitely headed to Lewistown.”

  “Not tonight.” A touch of belligerence mingled with a faint bit of hurt in his tone. Could he be as hurt as she was? It didn’t seem possible. “A man has to do what a man has to do. For family.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Have you eaten?” A package of raw hot dogs in one hand, Mother squeezed between them. “Help yourself. We’re stuffed to the gills.”

  Christine swooped down and grabbed the dogs. “Jah, you look hungry.”

  It would give them time to talk. Or at least be close.

  “I’m beat. I still have to set up my tent.” He backed away from the picnic table. The shadows overtook his face so she could no longer see his features. “Tomorrow will be soon enough to figure out what to do next.”

  A spark of hope leaped over the lake and wafted on the cool September breeze.

  “A gut night’s sleep will help everyone think more clearly.” While Mother’s tone was warm, her gaze could pierce skin and bone. “It’s time to turn in.”

  “We didn’t get to eat.” Martin edged closer to Christine and the hot dogs. “I sure could use a wiener.”

  “Can we look for frogs first?” Mark asked. “Just for a little bit.”

  They knew better than to question instructions, but this was a strange night for everyone. Mother took pity on them. “I know Terry filled you up with junk. Hot dogs are pretty much the same thing, but go ahead. Be quick about it, though. The sun will be up before you know it.”

  She made shooing motions that sent Maisie and Abigail scrambling to their pup tent. Delilah was already in the slightly bigger tent Christine would share with her. The three boys shared the last one, a new green canvas purchased at the beginning of summer. This must be what the Israelites felt like those forty years wandering in the wilderness and living in tents. Dirty and sweaty and no place to clean up.

  Surely it wouldn’t be that long.

  Mother gave Christine a knowing glance—one that said the boys would be nearby serving as chaperones until they finished eating.

  No need for worry, that was obvious. Andy unhitched his horse and fed him. From there he grabbed a duffel, a kerosene lamp, and a nylon tent bag from his buggy and ambled several yards from the campsite.

  Christine chewed on her thumbnail. Mother and Father disappeared into the biggest beige tent on the outskirts of their site. Their shadows flickered in the lantern’s light.

  Andy really should eat. A man needed nourishment. Christine settled into her lawn chair. It sank into the loamy soil under her slight weight. The boys stuffed their faces. She stood and went back to the stove where she cooked two more wieners until they had a nice toasty skin. At the picnic table she slid them on buns and added all the toppings. Andy liked his loaded. The image of him devouring one with mustard, catsup, cheese, and relish, a look of delight on his handsome face, floated in her mind’s eye. At the volunteer firefighters’ fund-raiser. Later he’d kissed her, and the taste of pickle relish lingered on his lips. Sweet and tart. Like him.

  She wrapped the dogs in paper napkins and started in the direction he’d taken.

  “Where are you going?” Zeke stepped into her path. “It’s dark down by the water. We wouldn’t want you to fall in.”

  “I’ll deliver these to Andy and be right back.” Christine stood toe-to-toe with her younger brother, who, like most men, towered over her. Zeke had his own rumspringa secrets. They’d run into each other a few times in the midnight hour. A teenager couldn’t find much trouble in Kootenai, but Zeke had smelled of cigar
ette smoke and alcohol. “You can keep an eye on the kinner.”

  Zeke hesitated. He had the same big frame and massive biceps as Father, but in the face he looked like Mother. Especially when peevish. “I think that’s your job.”

  “I’ll be right back.” She kept her voice soft. The boys didn’t need to hear. “How is Jane?”

  His expression tightened. “How would I know?”

  “Courting is private.” She smiled. “So is our rumspringa.”

  He shrugged. “The hot dogs are getting cold.”

  “I won’t be long.”

  “Be careful and come right back.”

  His concern warmed her. They used to have fun together when they both were in school, before they grew up and apart. “I will.”

  She turned and scurried through calf-high grass and weeds. A breeze rustled the leaves in the trees. The scent of pine mingled with smoke from the mountains wafted in the air. No light sparkled on the normally satiny-smooth water. A strange sense of unreality washed over Christine. The day’s events crowded her. Swallowing against a sudden lump in her throat, she approached the clearing where Andy had assembled a two-man nylon tent in royal blue. A book in his lap, he lounged in a lawn chair with a kerosene lantern at his feet.

  A low whine in his throat, Donut rose.

  “It’s me, hund.” She spoke softly so as not to startle Andy.

  He swiveled. “You came. I was hoping you would.”

  “I can’t stay. I brought you some food. Hot dogs.”

  “I’m so hungry I could eat my arm.” He laid the Bible on the folding stool next to him. “Pull up the other chair.”

  “I shouldn’t.”

  “Just for a second. I want to talk to you.”

  Now he wanted to talk. She glanced at her family’s row of multicolored, well-used tents arranged in descending sizes. Like a hundred other camping trips over the years. “For a minute.”

  “I know you think I’m unfeeling or I wouldn’t be leaving you right now.” He unwrapped the first hot dog. Mustard dripped on his pants. He wiped at it with the napkin, but it smeared more. How long would it be before they could do laundry? He shrugged, took a big bite, and chewed. She waited. He swallowed. “But I’m not. My daed taught me that a man needs to work hard. Gut things come to those who work and wait on Gott’s plan. I only want to do what’s right and do it the right way.”