Covered Bridge Charm

by Christner, Dianne;

  Carly sighed. It was better than “Baa Baa Black Sheep,” but she wished Dot sang Christian refrains instead and wondered why she didn’t.

  She approached Sherie at the receptionist’s desk with a smile. “Good morning. Looks like everything’s back to normal.”

  “Now that you’re here. How’s your arm?”

  Involuntarily crossing her arms to touch them, she replied, “Oh fine. Healing nicely now.”

  “Probably wasn’t smart to get all wet. Everybody worries about you. Some of the residents prayed for you at mealtime.”

  She rubbed her wet sleeves and fought back her emotions. “I heard. That’s special.” She hesitated briefly, then said, “I’m ready to make those calls for Every Little Bit Helps.”

  Sherie’s eyes lit with enthusiasm. “That’s awesome.” She reached into a cubby and pulled out a list of names and numbers along with the script. “And here’s a list of duties and responsibilities. Would you mind looking it over? I started with your ideas and added some things.”

  “Sure.” She glanced at the blackboard of events. “So today’s table games?” They usually played checkers and dominoes. Same old thing. “I can’t wait until we get those volunteers and get some fun events planned.”

  “Me, too. Thanks for helping, Carly.”

  “Jah. You’re welcome. I owe you an apology.”

  “No, you don’t. I get it.”

  Carly nodded with relief, feeling good inside and wishing it hadn’t taken so long to push aside her resentment.

  Miranda came down the hall, breathless. She whispered, “Mr. Gadget fell. He’s back in his wheelchair, and I think he’s fine.”

  Sherie replied, “I’ll call the nurse. After she checks him out, I’ll call the family. Meanwhile, Miranda, you can finish your rounds. And Carly, you can help the breakfast staff.”

  Several thunderclaps drowned out further instructions. Placing the volunteer paperwork in her cubby and starting toward the kitchen, Carly knew it was going to be a long day. Behind her she heard Dot’s soft refrain: “Water in the gutter, water in the street. Water, water, water wetting people’s feet. See how it pours. I’m glad we’re indoors.”

  After breakfast Carly took the newspaper to Martha’s room and found her sitting in her flowered recliner, reaching for her inhaler. High humidity always worsened her asthma. Normally all medications were locked in the residents’ drawers, but when Martha’s family admitted her, they made it clear that while the caregivers could monitor the preventative inhaler, Martha would administer her own emergency inhaler until either they or the staff thought she was unable to use it correctly. A special disclaimer clause had been written into her contract.

  She went to the side table, which held an old-fashioned lamp, a tiny devotional book, a Bible, a political magazine, a tissue box, and a nebulizer.

  “How about a breathing treatment instead?”

  “Good.” Martha nodded.

  Carly prepared the nebulizer and handed Martha the mask. Then she sat down beside her and started to read from the New Era. “‘The annual geranium giveaway was a success. Every year geraniums from the city’s median strip are pulled, and the geraniums are given to people who would like them from 1:00 to 3:00 p.m. while supplies last. All the geraniums were given away.’”

  Martha pulled her breathing mask aside, “I did that once. They didn’t last long.”

  Continuing, Carly read: “Pumpkin Festival—”

  Martha waved her hand, to skip to something else. Then Carly got a sudden hunch. “Summer steelhead return from March through October with peaks of the run occurring during late spring and early February. There are tales of smallmouth bass lurking in the lower Calapooia, and largemouth can be found in ponds throughout the west end of the county.” She lay the paper on her lap and got up to turn off Martha’s sputtering nebulizer. “You like fishing?”

  “Jah. John and I used to go below the dam at Foster Lake. He’d take the boys off the Pleasant Valley Bridge. Wonder if any of the boys will come home for my birthday.”

  Trying to redirect the conversation, Carly asked, “Did your dad ever take you?”

  “No,” Martha made a face. “I had too many brothers. Us girls had to stay home with Mom.”

  “You lived close to the river, didn’t you?”

  “Well, Jah.” Then her eyes lit with amusement. “James Irish tried to teach me to bait a hook. But I wasn’t having any part of that. But he did teach me how to fish.”

  Widow Martha tightened her lips, realizing she’d made a mistake. She hoped nothing came of it. She’d never ever told anybody his surname for fright her parents would find out. And hadn’t she done a good job to suppress his memory all the time she’d been married to John? She’d been faithful. So why had it popped out now? Was she losing her mind? “It’s not our fault,” James had reasoned. “Fate dealt us a bad hand. If you were older, we’d elope.”

  How her heart had soared at his declaration. Only she was too young. “And your folks want you to go into the military.”

  “We can write,” he suggested hopefully.

  She remembered her struggle. The pain of letting him go. “Look me up when you get home,” she’d said. “If God wants us together, He’ll make a way.”

  “I hope there really is a God,” he’d replied.

  It had been the clincher that had allowed her to release him.

  She wondered if he’d ever found Jesus. Though she often struggled with her sins, she loved the Lord.

  Carly’s heart pounded. “Was he the boy you liked that one summer?”

  Martha’s eyes darkened. “We were just friends. So what about you?”

  “I like fishing.”

  “I mean when are you going to get a man?”

  Carly sputtered, “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. Men are like stockings, you know. You can’t pick up the cheap ones. You have to get the ones that are worthwhile. Like my John. He was an interesting man. Never could outsmart him.” Her eyes went to the bookcase across the room, filled with books from all sorts of genres. “We made a good match. Had a good life.”

  Carly saw she was steering the conversation away from her summer fling. “When are you going to quit with the stockings?”

  “Just wanna make sure you learned your lesson. Why don’t you date that Lapp fellow from the woodworking class? He’s made of quality stuff. Like my John.”

  “Adam won’t be teaching the class until after Christmas. His family owns and operates a Christmas tree farm. Anyway, that’s getting a little personal, don’t you think?”

  “I thought we were friends.”

  Carly touched Martha’s arm. “We are. It’s just a touchy topic for me. Dating doesn’t seem to agree with me.”

  “Baloney! The ones who can’t handle you aren’t worth fretting over. But that Lapp fellow’s different. I can tell.”

  “You’re right about him. But we’re friends. Just like you and James Irish were friends.”

  Martha’s face broke into a smile. “I knew it! You like—” Seeing her mistake, she clamped her hands over her mouth. When she pulled them away, she said, “It was a long time ago, and I shouldn’t have brought it up because it dishonors John.”

  Her elderly friend must have loved both men deeply. “I don’t mean to be trite or dishonoring. You were a good wife. But now that John’s gone, it’s all right to think about those childhood memories. People remarry all the time.”

  “Who are you to talk when you don’t even love one man?”

  The harsh statement cut her, but she didn’t dwell on it. “Of course, you’re right.” She began to tidy Martha’s side table. “Your breathing seems improved, but since it’s raining today, we’ll give treatments every four hours.” Then she remembered what she’d wanted to talk to Martha about in the first place. “Can we talk about Dot?”

  Martha nodded. “I worry about her when she’s not driving me nuts with those nursery rhymes. It’s worse when she’s troubled.”<
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  Carly suddenly realized that the nursery rhymes could be causing Martha’s angry outbursts. “You think reading scripture to her would help?”

  “Crusher reads to her every morning when he brings her orange juice at ten o’clock.”

  “Do you know if it helps?”

  “Helps the canary. Dot claims the bird likes it when Crusher reads.”

  “So it makes Dot happier?”

  “Well, jah. I guess I could read to her.”

  “Why don’t you read something from Psalms, verses about overcoming fear?”

  “Sure. I can find something like that.”

  “In fact, if you read the same verse every day, she might be able to remember it.” Carly handed Martha the paper. “Thanks, I need to go now.”

  But Martha shoved the paper back. “I’m done with that. I’ll find her a verse now.” She took the Bible from her side table and began leafing through it.

  Feeling much better, Carly moved down the hall and paused a moment to watch Klepto in her room working on one of the new puzzles Sherie had purchased for her. Carly envisioned Martha accepting a handwritten journal telling her that James Irish made it out of the war alive. She had to make it happen.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Saturday dawned crisp and clear. After the rain, it had stayed above freezing. Carly was eager to head back to the Crawfordsville Bridge area. Even though the sky was clear, this time she threw her new rain jacket into her wicker basket along with a notebook and pen, her lunch, and her freshly charged phone. Her first stop was the couple who lived at Martha’s old home-place. But they’d never heard of James Irish and didn’t recognize the surname.

  After that, she went to the bridge, using it for a starting point, and rode away from Crawfordsville. She hadn’t gone far when she saw an elderly man in jeans and a striped polo shirt walking to his mailbox. She hit the brakes and came to a clean stop.

  “You handle that bike like a pro.”

  “That’s because it’s my mode of transportation.”

  “You don’t have a horse and buggy?” he asked.

  “Oh, I’m not Amish. I’m Conservative Mennonite.”

  “Is that a fact? Well can’t say as I know one from the other.”

  She fixed her kickstand and offered her hand. “My name’s Carly Blosser. I’m on a scouting mission.”

  “George Street. Nice to meet ya. What kind of mission? Something for your church?”

  “No. I work at Sweet Life Retirement Center, and I’m trying to locate one of the resident’s old friends… for her birthday.”

  “That’s a nice thing you’re doing. Let me stick these letters in the mailbox and take you to the house to meet my wife, Rosie.”

  Carly waited, then walked with him to the back door. “Rosie!” he called. “I’m bringing somebody inside.”

  The cutest woman met them in the screened porch. Her eyes widened when she saw Carly, her eyes roving, taking in her plain clothing and covering. Carly knew she probably wasn’t a good representation, that most likely her hair was messy. But she introduced herself and repeated what she’d told George.

  “You drink coffee?”

  “Jah. Thanks.” Once she was served, she explained, “I was hoping to find somebody who’s lived in the area long enough to remember the Irish family.”

  “You stopped at the right house. My family’s lived here since the house was built.”

  Thank You, Lord, Carly prayed. “The man’s name was James Irish.”

  “Nope, doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “He used to go fishing on the Crawfordsville Covered Bridge.”

  George chuckled. “People come from miles to fish there.”

  Carly suddenly wondered if James had ridden his bike or driven. Surely Martha would’ve mentioned a car.

  “I’ll make some phone calls if you like,” the woman offered.

  “Save you from riding all over creation,” George added.

  “I’d appreciate it. Let me give you my phone number.” Carly rattled off the numbers and finished her coffee.

  “We’ve got some friends over at Sweet Life,” George said. “In independent living. I don’t mean any disrespect, but I was surprised the bathroom isn’t even set up for a wheelchair.”

  Embarrassed, Carly said, “They’re remodeling each house as residents—she searched for the right word, not wanting to alarm the elderly couple—“leave.”

  “Thankfully our family lives close. We should be able to finish our days here in the home we love.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Carly rose. “Thanks so much for helping me.”

  “It’s been a pleasure,” Rosie replied.

  They both saw her to the door and waved until she was headed down the road.

  After that, she spoke to three more people who happened to be outside. Nobody had ever heard of the Irish family. Discouraged, she ate her lunch at the bridge. She sat at the picnic table, remembering that stormy day when Adam had rescued her. He’d asked her if she wanted to risk a relationship, and she’d refused. They’d put on the brakes that day. Adam wasn’t his flirty self any longer, but more cautious.

  Yet he was the closest friend she had. Had they made the right choice? In weak moments, she hoped he’d work out his problems and make the offer again.

  She thrust her chin in the air. She’d make do with whatever the Lord’s will was in the matter. But one thing was clear. She was going to need Dale’s computer expertise because she’d run into a block wall regarding James Irish.

  On Sunday after church, everyone rallied around Carly, asking about her recent illness and giving her their good wishes. While she enjoyed the attention, her eyes kept roving, searching for Adam. Finally, she saw him cross the churchyard and head toward the parking lot.

  “Adam!”

  He turned. His eyes lit with pleasure, and he waited for her to catch up. “Miss me already, huh?”

  “Of course I do. Sweet Life needs you.”

  He arched an eyebrow at her.

  “I have his name.”

  “Martha’s old fling?”

  “Jah. It’s James Irish. Ever hear the name?”

  “Nope.”

  “I canvassed the neighborhood yesterday and found an old couple whose family lived in the area a long time.” His eyes lit with hopeful interest. “They never heard of the Irish family, but she’s going to make some calls for me.”

  “That’s great!” He touched her arm. His touch lingered there, then dropped to her waist. “Would you like a ride home?”

  Tempted, she glanced around the churchyard. Ann was talking to her sisters but shooting a nervous blue gaze at Adam’s dad. Then she saw Roman watching them. Her heart nearly stopped at the blatant disapproval on his face. Even when their gazes met, his remained stony. She knew he was part of Adam’s problem and was glad Adam’s back was turned toward Roman. “No thanks. Not today.”

  Adam finally withdrew his touch, leaving a burning spot at her waist. He waited, evidently sensing she wasn’t finished.

  “I could use your help.”

  “You know I’m here for you.”

  “Could you call Dale again and see if he can find anything?”

  He hesitated.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Adam shook his head. “I’ll do it.”

  “Okay, thanks. Have a good week.”

  “You, too.”

  As she rode home, she wondered what she’d said or done that had made him hesitate and grow introspective. Maybe he knew they were being watched and was in a hurry to get rid of her. But then why had he held his hand so long on her waist?

  Adam pulled into the home-place, wishing he hadn’t accepted his mom’s invitation to Sunday dinner. But he went through the back door which led to the kitchen and wrapped his mom in a hug. “Smells awesome.”

  “Just a roast,” she replied. Sissie Lapp was humble but proficient. No matter how his dad harped about female submission, Mom ran the household. P
ersonally, he didn’t see anything wrong with it. There was enough estrogen in the house that Dad probably didn’t even know. He just stayed out of the way, handling the farm. Adam asked Ann about the children and listened to her contented prattle. Then taking a slice of cheese, he asked Charity about her newborn. She slapped his hand. “Don’t ruin your appetite.”

  “Dad’s in the living room,” Mom said.

  Having delayed going there as long as possible, he took the cue and left the women to their final preparations.

  As soon as Adam sat in Mom’s recliner, Dad lowered his newspaper.

  “Smells good in there, but I couldn’t get by with anything but one slice of cheese.”

  Roman chuckled. “I heard Sissie’s screech.”

  A small herd of grandchildren raced through the room. Two lingered. Ann’s blue-eyed Mary with brown ringlets dashed behind Roman’s chair. “Hi, Papa.”

  Brown-eyed Jacob squatted behind Adam’s recliner. “We’re hiding. Don’t tell.”

  “Act normal,” Mary whispered. “Talk about trees.”

  Roman folded his hands behind his head. “Did you get the quotes on shipping yet?”

  “Working on that,” Adam replied, playing along as Beth’s son Matthew tiptoed through the room, looking for his cousins.

  “I said talk about trees. Act normal,” Mary whispered.

  “I hear you!” Matthew yelled, and all three children dashed out of the room.

  Roman’s arms lowered. He leaned forward. “From the spectacle you put on at church, I half expected you to bring that Blosser woman to dinner.”

  Adam rolled his gaze.

  “She trying to lure you back to Simon’s?”

  Though Roman probed, Adam held the Rook card—the highest card in a game many Mennonite families enjoyed. “She asked me to call Dale.”

  Roman seemed stricken. “Why? Doesn’t she know he’s happily married?”

  Grinning inwardly, Adam kept a straight face. “She knows we keep in touch, and she needs some information from his computer.”

  “Bah! Why doesn’t she go to Simon?”

  Adam shot Dad a look that said, Really?