The Kissing Bridge

by Tricia Goyer

  Like Marianna.

  “Ja, all my minutes are gone.” Rebecca pushed thoughts of Marianna out of her mind. Marianna was married now—to an Englischer. The last thing Rebecca needed was to add trouble to herself by visiting her shunned friend. It would be bad enough when her parents discovered what she’d left to do.

  Lora chuckled. “You used all your minutes sending Facebook messages to some handsome stranger, yes?”

  “I wish.” Rebecca sighed. “Nothing quite as exciting as that. Do you know how hard it was to take an anatomy test on a tiny screen on my phone? Thankfully, it was just a multiple-choice test that went with last week’s lab.”

  Lora gasped as if horrified. “You’re just a rebel, Rebecca. Sneaking a phone . . . and taking college classes.” She sighed and shook her head. “My parents would buy me my own top-of-the-line computer if I was half as interested in school as you are. Do your parents know yet?”

  “Ne.” She lowered her head, fiddling with the snaps on her sweater. “They’re at Aenti Mary Sue’s birthday party tonight. They most likely won’t even know I’m gone until tomorrow morning when I don’t come to breakfast. They’re used to me coming in late.”

  “But you told them what you’re doing—where you’re going—in the letter that you wrote them, right?”

  “Vell . . .” Rebecca glanced at the passenger’s-side window, resisting the urge to wave as they passed the buggy of an older couple her family knew. “I told them in the letter that I was going to Oregon. I didn’t mention college. Just writing that I was leaving was difficult enough. I didn’t want to break their hearts twice in the same note.”

  “It’s just college,” Lora urged. “And you’re doing it to help people—help those in your own community. Help make sure that what happened to Claudia won’t happen again.”

  A lump rose in Rebecca’s throat, and she tried to swallow it away. “I want to help, all right, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do it in my own community. I can maybe go somewhere people don’t know me as well, like Goshen or Napsee . . . and then maybe work with the Mennonites with hopes they will help me to educate their Amish friends.” Rebecca’s fists tightened into two balls on her lap. “Your dad was Amish, Lora. You know that’s not how things work. You can’t join the church and then run off to college and get an education. And I don’t know anyone who’s come back from college and joined the church. College is ‘the world’ . . . It’s just not their way.”

  Lora released a slow breath and turned onto the county highway. “Oh, yeah, it makes total sense to me. Let’s let more people in our community die—that’s better than allowing someone to become educated by the world, ja?”

  Rebecca didn’t answer. What was the use? Her family—her community—trusted that everything, especially life and death, was in the hands of God. But couldn’t this desire deep within her to be a nurse be from Him too? She wanted to think so, but she doubted her parents would agree.

  Her oma used to say that God created each person for His own good purpose. Something inside her heart told Rebecca that her purpose was to help women live better, longer lives through nursing. But how could that be from God if she had to walk away from His people and her family to follow Him?

  Rebecca didn’t want to think about it anymore. She’d gotten very little sleep lately asking the same questions. She instead turned her attention to Lora.

  “So how did that date with Chad turn out—wasn’t that his name?”

  Lora bit her lower lip. “Oh, well, it was fine, I guess.” Red heat moved up her neck. “He’s really nice, and he treated me well. He bought dinner and even brought flowers.”

  “Ja, ‘jest fine’? Your face says it’s more than ‘jest fine.’ ” Even as Rebecca teased her friend, a longing welled up in her chest. What she wouldn’t give to feel the same excitement . . . There had been a few Amish young men she’d been attracted to, but she hadn’t let herself explore her feelings. Why should she when she’d planned on leaving?

  Lora glanced over and winked. “I won’t kiss and tell.”

  Rebecca sighed. “I jest wish I had something to tell about.”

  “You’ve had plenty of offers of dates, Rebecca. I heard it from Elmina Yoder’s own mouth that her son Monroe was quite upset when he showed up at your house and you wouldn’t let him in the front door.”

  Rebecca pouted out her lower lip. “I like Monroe all right. He’s fine enough. I just couldn’t do it to him, to anyone.”

  “Do what?”

  “Shame him. Love ’em and leave ’em. Make him the laughingstock of the community when his girlfriend leaves to pursue her education.”

  “Good decision.” Lora turned the car onto the road leading to Elkhart. “You don’t want to waste your heart, your emotions, on someone who’s ‘jest fine.’ I’ve made that mistake.”

  “Ja, but how will I know when the right one comes?” Rebecca asked.

  “You’ll feel it from your nose to your toes. You’ll get all heated up as if you’ve just been attacked by fire ants.”

  Rebecca chuckled, playing along. “Why, that sounds jest horrible!”

  Lora waved a hand. “I’d like something so terrible to bite me.” She winked. “I have a feeling, Rebecca, that once you get out of this suffocating community your heart will have a chance to open up. Let it.” Lora reached over and patted Rebecca’s arm. “Promise me you’ll let it.”

  “I can’t promise that, Lora.” Rebecca shrugged with about as much enthusiasm as Claude had when told to get ready for a bath. “I’m not leaving the community to find a boyfriend. I’m leaving for an education, and that is that.”

  Lora nodded but didn’t say a word. She didn’t understand. Rebecca didn’t expect her to.

  Fifteen minutes later, Lora parked the car and climbed out. Rebecca used the mirror on the sun visor to return her kapp to her head. She didn’t have time to change out of her Amish clothes, and it would be disrespectful to wear the clothes without her kapp. When the train was under way, she could change into her Englisch clothes from her suitcase.

  A strange sensation came over her as she realized this was probably the last time she’d wear Amish clothes . . . at least for a while. She wouldn’t wear them in Oregon. Her plan was to fit in. To do her work without being noticed. She felt sadness, mixed with regret, that life couldn’t have been simpler. It wasn’t that she wanted to leave or rebel. She simply didn’t have a choice—not if she was going to follow what she knew in her heart was right.

  Where would I be if Claudia hadn’t died?

  Maybe she’d be sharing kisses with a handsome Amish guy and promising not to kiss and tell. The worst part was that God could have changed everything. He could have saved Claudia. Wasn’t that what her parents had raised her to believe: that God had the power to create the storm and to still the wind?

  No . . . don’t think of that. Anger bubbled inside, but she pushed it down. She couldn’t stay mad at God. Not now. He was the only One boarding that train with her.

  Lora popped open the car’s trunk, and Rebecca hurried to the back of the car and pulled out her suitcase. Her whole world was encased within the old, brown-leather satchel she’d picked up at Goodwill.

  They walked toward the door of the station. Rebecca paused before going inside. “You don’t have to come. I know that you have things to do.”

  Lora offered a sad smile. “Are you kidding? This is a big step. I’m not going to send you off alone.”

  “That’s kind of you. But it’s really not necessary.”

  “So that’s it? You’re leaving cross-country, and you’re not going to let a soul see you off?”

  How could Rebecca tell her friend that she didn’t want to cry . . . and seeing Lora on the platform would cause her to do just that.

  “Danki, but really, I’ll be fine.” The suitcase pulled down her arm. Around her, people moved to and from the train station. They parted around the two friends like water flowing around rocks in a stream. “I’ll
write and give you my address when I’m settled. I want you to write to me about Chad, you hear? Don’t leave any detail out . . . Well, except for the mushy details.”

  “Ja . . .” Lora smiled, using her Pennsylvania Dutch. She looked as if she was going to offer a hug, but then took a step back. “Oh, one more thing. I have your mail.”

  “Ach, gut. I forgot about that.” Rebecca grabbed the envelopes and tucked them into her purse. She’d used Lora’s address for all her school bills and college correspondence. The last thing she needed was a report card showing up at her parents’ house, especially when they thought she divided her time between selling cupcakes at the bakery and hanging out with friends, both of which were more acceptable in their eyes.

  Ten minutes later she was seated on the train. She clung to the handle of her suitcase, thankful she had been able to trust Lora not to look inside it. Her future depended on what the leather suitcase contained.

  She refused to look out the window as the train squealed and moaned, rolling to a start.

  She was doing this for children just like Claude, she reminded herself. No child should have to grow up without a mother, and even though she’d been helpless once . . . Never again. Even if it meant sacrificing her future, her hopes of marriage, and—according to her Amish beliefs—her soul, more than anything she wanted to be a nurse.

  Rebecca held her breath, amazed she was really doing this. She was the only Amish person in a nearly full train car. Butterflies ping-ponged in her stomach as her seat rocked to the rhythm of the rumbling passenger car. The scents of perfume, potato chips, and cigarettes made her stomach rumble even more. Thankfully, no one sat beside her. They saw her as different. What would they think when she returned from the restroom in Englisch clothes? Would they even care?

  Only when the town of Elkhart was far out of view did she look at her mail. Bill. Bill. Information about on-campus housing. Ach . . . a letter from Marianna.

  Rebecca ripped open the envelope.

  Dear Rebecca, dearest friend,

  Danki for giving me Lora’s address. I didn’t know how your parents would respond if they saw a note from your wayward friend in their mailbox. I haven’t written to many people lately. When I do, I either don’t hear back or I get back impersonal letters that quote Scripture about the mistakes they believe I made in marrying Ben. Even my circle-letter friends are writing about how they are worried about my soul. But if they really believe that, what good do their words do? By their own confession there is no hope for me. I’m no longer part of the Amish community, and I’m married to an Englischer. I made my choice. And even if it is possible for a divorced person to be part of the Amish community, I love my husband with all my heart.

  Listen to me, babbling so. Danki, friend, for listening. You’ve always been there, and I don’t think I’ve appreciated it enough. I have friends here, but it’s not the same. There’s something special about having someone who can remember the first pie you tried to bake together. (I’ve never mixed up salt and sugar since then, thank goodness.) Also something special about a friend who listened endlessly to me talking about the boy who sat in back of me in school. And the friend who knocked out my first baby tooth with her elbow. Ach, writing this has made me miss you so. I wish you’d head out west sometime. I’d love the look in your eyes seeing the bear scat just beyond my back porch!

  Well, it’s not going to be a long letter today. My friend Millie Arnold asked me to walk with her to the lake. She’s sixty-six years old. She was a rancher’s wife before her husband passed away, and she’s in better shape than me. I come home from our walks winded . . . not only from the exercise, but from the laughter.

  Ach, I see her approaching. I better get my tennis shoes laced up!

  Love, Marianna

  Rebecca sighed. She couldn’t help but smile, thinking about her friend. Marianna had found what every Amish woman dreamed of: a man who loved her, a good home. And the next natural step would be to start a family. Tension tightened in Rebecca’s gut. How far was West Kootenai from good health care? Was there a good midwife in the area? A doctor? The worries plagued her, clacking in her brain like the wheels on the tracks.

  After a few minutes, she tucked Marianna’s letter into her purse and then pulled out the train schedule Lora had printed out for her. Her finger followed the train tracks through the states and into Montana. She sucked in a breath to see that their path took the train through Whitefish. Somewhere in her memory she remembered Marianna telling her that it was the closest train station to West Kootenai—only an hour away from the community where Marianna lived.

  Rebecca’s heart skipped a beat. Why hadn’t she thought of this before? She didn’t start classes for over a month. She could visit Marianna—at least for a few weeks. Marianna had invited her to come, hadn’t she?

  Rebecca pulled her cell phone from her purse and noticed the woman across the aisle staring. Rebecca looked away, focusing outside the window at the golden fields the train passed by. The woman hadn’t seemed interested that she was Amish until she saw her cell phone. Rebecca dialed, and when Marianna didn’t answer, she left a message for her friend to call her and then tucked the phone back into her purse. If Rebecca had learned one thing, it was that people believed the worst kind of Amish woman was one who didn’t give the appearance of humility and simplicity that everyone thought she should. Who used a phone or even a computer for her job.

  She was just glad that after she changed her clothes today, she would no longer have to straddle two worlds. She could be a nursing student, not an Amish woman, and no one would be the wiser for it.

  CHAPTER

  3

  It was nearly dark as Caleb and Amos headed back to the bachelors’ cabin. Their steps, a staccato of heavy crunches, carried through the forest. The ground was littered with broken branches, dried brush, and pinecones. In a matter of months it would all be frosted with white snow—a thick layer, he hoped, like on Mem’s cinnamon rolls. With the snow it was easier to walk quietly through the forest, but now . . . Every sound echoed and bounced through the trees.

  “Hear anything?” Amos asked.

  Caleb paused to listen. “Ne.”

  “It’s the sound of my breaking heart. I was hoping to find someone to take on a date Saturday night, but there aren’t any young women in these parts who aren’t taken.”

  “There are a few.” Caleb smirked.

  “Do you have your eye on one?”

  “Nah, I haven’t found anyone yet with a little sense of adventure.” Adventure was the one thing that had been on his mind since he’d been in Montana. Adventure was what he’d come for. It was his grandfather’s dying wish—for Caleb to explore the world as his grandfather never had. He’d made a promise, after all.

  “You could have gone on that hike with us—up to Mount Robinson this spring,” Amos said.

  “Going on a hike once a year doesn’t make someone an adventurous person. Is it too much to think there is a woman who cares about something else other than quilting or gardening?”

  “You are looking for an Amish woman, ja? What you ask for is lecherich.”

  Caleb swallowed hard. He turned to Amos and studied his face in the dimming light. Amos’ cheeks were red from exertion. His friend lifted his eyebrows, waiting for a response.

  “Ja, ja, lecherich, ridiculous, of course.” What else could he say? Yes, he wanted to stay Amish. He just couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life living by a normal routine. One’s days were short. Life went by too fast. His opa had taught him that.

  He’d been eager to come to Montana for adventure, but what would happen when he returned home was never far from his thoughts. Wasn’t there more—something that really mattered, that he could do beyond following the cycle of the seasons and living a farmer’s life?

  Back at their cabin, they made a quick dinner. Afterward Caleb took his harmonica out to the front porch. He turned it over in his fingers. He guessed it had once been silver, b
ut the sides were now worn bronze. As he rocked in a chair on the front porch, he imagined his grandfather’s fingerprints ingrained there from all the nights of playing.

  To Caleb the sound of the harmonica ushered in spring and carried through fall. It was as naturally a part of the seasons as the blooms of nature and birth of new creatures. Only winter was silent with the still of the snow, the cold of the air, and the harmonica tucked in his opa’s dresser drawer until the sight of the first robin. For as much as Opa had enjoyed playing, Oma insisted that it be played outside. Some Amish communities, she reminded them, didn’t allow harmonicas to be played at all. And now . . . Caleb played in his stead. Yet he would do anything to be sitting at his grandfather’s side listening to Opa play. If one could only turn back time . . .

  Caleb’s gut ached, and he wished he’d taken time to ask Opa how to play more tunes. But while he didn’t have variety, he had heart and now played a favorite hymn as he stared up at an inky, star-studded sky. Usually there was the hoot of an owl or the rustling of a raccoon, but not tonight. It was as if all the animals stilled to listen to his hymn.

  He’d first heard about the West Kootenai area from copies of the Budget that he’d read to Opa during the last three years as he lost his vision. The Budget writers talked about hunting and bears in their yards and moose sightings and snow as high as a front door. Reading about it, Caleb knew he had to get there one day for a visit. The only problem was, he didn’t have the right woman to share this adventure with. There were a few nice single girls in West Kootenai, but no one he could offer his heart to.

  His dat had scolded him years ago when he refused to take Joan Sutter on a second date. “Kissin’ wears out, cookin’ doesn’t,” Dat had declared. Yet as much as he enjoyed a good meal, Caleb hoped that one day he’d find a woman with a bit of spunk, who didn’t mind a little adventure now and then, and who’d hopefully have a twinkle of humor peering up at him from wide eyes beneath her kapp. Was that too much to ask?