A Long Bridge Home

by Kelly Irvin

  “I understand that.” Christine struggled to find words that didn’t make her sound young, selfish, or naive. “I want to do the right thing too. It seemed as if we had all the time in the world. Mammi Tabitha would say that’s the curse of the young. We think we’ll live forever. Now we know things can happen from one day to the next that change everything. I just wish we’d moved more quickly. If we were married, we wouldn’t have to be separated.”

  “It’s not because I don’t care for you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Even now he avoided the word love. “If you care—”

  “You aren’t at fault for any of this. Please know that.” He wiped his face with the napkin. “The fire has made me realize I have to take care of unfinished business at home before I’m ready to settle down.”

  Once again they were out of step. She wanted to leap off the cliff with his hand in hers. Maybe they weren’t supposed to be together. If he really loved her, what kind of unfinished business would keep him from asking her to marry him? “You don’t talk much about home. Do you miss it?”

  “It’s beautiful, like Kootenai, but different. It’s a green valley with mountains in the distance.” His gaze drifted out to the lake. “I miss my mudder’s chokeberry jam. Did you know Lewistown is the chokeberry capital of the world?”

  “I didn’t.” Crickets chirped and frogs croaked in a familiar, comforting concert while Christine mused over his words. More likely he missed his mother as much as the jam. She would. It was hard to imagine not seeing Mother every day. “Maybe you could bring me some when you come back.”

  “I miss hunting with my dad. This time of year the elk are bugling and the leaves are changing. My dad likes to fly-fish at Big Spring Creek. We hunt for grouse and pheasant and partridge. Them’s some gut eats.”

  He’d blown right past her suggestion. Hurt chipped away at her determination to be supportive—the way a wife would. Love endured. Distance wouldn’t matter if it was truly love. “What about your bruders and schweschders? Did you hunt with them?”

  “I miss the smell of the alfalfa when we cut it for hay. When I was little I sat with my dad on the wagon that held the propane engine that powered the harvester. Sometimes he let me take the reins and guide the team of horses.”

  Again, his answer skipped over her question, almost as if he hadn’t heard her. He’d been transported to another place and time.

  “I thought your daed had a sawmill.”

  “He does. The farm is only a hundred and sixty acres. It’s not nearly big enough to compete with the big two-thousand-acre farms that grow winter wheat, sugar beets, potatoes, and alfalfa and such. Daed had to find other ways to support the family.”

  “Your bruders work at the sawmill then?”

  “The smoke makes the night even darker.” His gaze lifted to the looming night. “It blankets the mountains and blots out the stars.”

  He spoke as if destruction were a foregone conclusion and he didn’t want to talk about his brothers. That was apparent, but why? Christine studied his face, letting her gaze trace the familiar contours of his hollow cheeks, perfect nose, and the full lips that gave her so much pleasure. “What is this unfinished business you must take care of?”

  “I told you, my father’s sick and my bruders want everyone there.”

  “You said that, but it seems like there’s something else bothering you. You don’t go home often, even though it’s not that far.”

  “Six and a half hours.”

  “Less than a day by van.”

  He scrubbed at catsup on his thumb with the crumpled napkin. His lips twisted. For a moment it seemed as if he would ignore the question. “Family relations can be complicated.”

  “What happened?”

  “It’s history. Nothing that needs to be dug up and rehashed.”

  “But you have to go?”

  He raised his head and nodded. “I have to go.”

  So be it. “They’ll put the fire out, you’ll take care of your business, and then we’ll see where we stand.”

  His shoulders hunched. His fingers worried the mustard spot. “You’re not going home.”

  Maybe that was the root of his somber stare. Not whatever waited for him in Lewistown. It was her turn to stare at smoke that looked like thunderclouds in the distance. “You talked to Daed?”

  “He said the decision is made.”

  “Mudder said the same.” Christine bit her lip. A tiny spiral of pain spurred her on. Now or never. “She also said true love can overcome distance and time apart.”

  “That’s true whether it’s Lewistown or Haven, Kansas.”

  Their gazes held. Breathless, no longer distinct, one from the other. Her heart beat in her ears. Despite the cool evening breeze on her face, heat dampened her skin.

  Life could not be this hard. Grandma’s tart voice sounded in her head. “Silly child, of course it can. He’s not going off to war like the English husbands. You haven’t lost a child to cancer. You haven’t been widowed.”

  “How far do you think it is to Haven?” She forced her gaze to the lake with its water that shimmered in light but remained hidden and black in the dark.

  “I don’t know exactly, but it’s a couple of days’ traveling with kinner and household goods.”

  Gott, is this Your plan for me? First fire, then desolation, then distance?

  God is good.

  Grandma said that too. He did what was best for His children, not what was easiest.

  The words tripped over Christine’s heart and landed somewhere near the pit of her stomach.

  Thy will be done.

  * * *

  Andy’s heart refused to do its job. The hot dogs heaved in his gut. The flickering lantern light illuminated the sadness on Christine’s face. That lost look would be forever etched on his conscience. Why did love seem to involve so much discomfort? With Winona it hadn’t been true love. It couldn’t have been, or they would still be together. Christine’s hurt flailed at him, speaking of the fact that she truly cared. She would never do what Winona did. She cared that much.

  He’d been mistaken the first time. How could a man be sure? He might not be able to answer that question, but he could try to find a way to assuage Christine’s pain. “You have family in St. Ignatius, don’t you?”

  Her forehead wrinkled the way it always did when she thought hard. “I do. Aenti Lucy and Onkel Fergie and their kinner. They own the Valley Grocery Store. I’m sure we’ll stop to see them on the way to Kansas.”

  “Don’t you see? That’s it.”

  “What’s it?”

  “What if you stay with them? Don’t go to Haven?” Andy’s heart began to beat again. “Live with your aenti and onkel. Maybe you can work in their store.”

  “St. Ignatius is still at least five hours by car from Lewistown.” Her hands twisted in her lap. She shook her head. “Not only would I not have you, but I wouldn’t have Mudder and Daed and Delilah and Zeke and the kinner.”

  “I could get to St. Ignatius more often than all the way to Haven.” They would have a chance—a much better chance—to finish what they started. He couldn’t offer her a full life as his wife until he faced his past and returned to Kootenai to build a home for them. “I don’t plan to stay in Lewistown. I want to start my own business in Kootenai.”

  He almost said it. With you as my fraa. Not yet. Not until he faced the past.

  Hope flared in her face. “I don’t know if Daed and Mudder will agree to let me stay. Let’s ask them.”

  “Right now?” She couldn’t know how audacious this sounded in Andy’s own ears. She didn’t know how his heart threatened to bolt from his chest at the idea. “This minute?” He stood and held out his hand.

  She took it. Why keep up the pretense that their courting was a secret? Too much was at stake.

  Andy leading the way, they trudged back to the Mast campsite. A cup of hot chocolate in one hand, Zeke sat in a camping chair. He looked as if he had dozed
off. Christine reached for the cup. Her brother shifted and raised his head. “You’re back.” He directed the observation at Andy. “It’s getting late.”

  “It is.” Christine cocked her head toward the tents. “You should turn in.”

  His expression morose, he rose and dumped the rest of his cocoa in the dirt. He set the cup on the picnic table with a thump. “Dawn comes early.”

  Instead of letting it go, Christine frowned and pointed at the offending cup. “You should rinse that out. It’ll draw flies and be a dried-up mess by morning.”

  Zeke shrugged. His stare said he wouldn’t be distracted. Christine didn’t give in. “We’re just saying good night.”

  He trod toward the second tent but not without a knowing backward glance.

  Christine went to the first tent. “Mudder? Daed?” She whispered, but loud enough to elicit a whine from one of the smaller tents followed by rustling. “It’s Christine and Andy.”

  Two seconds later Melba appeared at the tent flap. She slapped her kapp on her head at a haphazard angle. “Andy?”

  “A quick word.”

  Ben pushed past his wife. He held a kerosene lantern in one hand and reading glasses in the other. “It’s time for everyone to turn in. Past time.”

  “I wanted to ask you something.” Christine’s voice was soft, but it didn’t waver. “Actually we wanted to ask you.”

  Andy took a step forward, but he kept a respectful distance—from Christine and from her parents. “It’s a suggestion. A thought.”

  “Fine. Be quick about it, then.”

  “It’s okay.” Melba tugged her sweater around her ample middle. “I could make us some tea. I’ll heat some water on the Coleman stove. It’s chilly.”

  “Nee, Fraa, it’s late and it’s been a long day.” Ben’s growl drew a puzzled woof from Donut, who’d followed them up the trail at a distance. “I want to get into Eureka tomorrow to the information center at the church first thing.”

  A gust of mighty wind to carry Andy far, far away would be nice. He shifted from one foot to the other. Just say it. Onward and upward. “You have family in St. Ignatius?”

  “My sister and her mann.” Melba yawned so wide her jaw cracked. “They have the store there.”

  “I’d like to stay with them instead of going to Haven.” Christine stretched to her full height—five two or three at the most—and lifted her chin. “Will you ask them if they’d mind? I could clean their house, help with chores, or even work at the store, I reckon. I can do whatever they need.”

  Melba’s hands went to her throat. She inched closer to Ben. “Not come with us? I don’t know, I—”

  “We’ll think about it.” Ben gave them his back. “Come, Fraa. It’s time everyone was asleep.”

  “Gut natcht.” Melba didn’t move. “See you tomorrow, then.”

  “Gut natcht.” Her gaze bore into the back of his head as he turned and walked toward his campsite. He sneaked a glance at Christine. Her eyebrows rose. She smiled and tossed him a quick wave without raising her arm.

  So “we’ll think about it” was a good sign? He’d known Ben for four years. Christine had a lifetime of signal reading and translating his words.

  Feeling lighter, he picked up his pace. One tiny step forward would surely be the first in a journey toward happiness.

  6

  West Kootenai

  So much had changed in only twenty-four hours. Death and destruction had their own peculiar aroma. The stench of burnt wood, rubber, and plastic might never leave Andy’s nostrils. Eyes closed, he squatted and fought the urge to hold his breath. He trailed his fingers through the gray ashes, thick as snow, around his worn boots. Maybe his eyes played tricks on him. The cabin had been reduced to a pile of rubble. A cargo trailer had its sides completely melted. Where his cabin and the twin cabin shared by Caleb Hostetler and Ian Byler once blocked his view of the road, nothing stood in the way now.

  In fact, Andy could see nothing except row upon row of blackened toothpicks that had once been Douglas fir, ponderosa pine, birch, tamarack, and spruce beyond the land that had been cleared for their humble three-and four-room homes. The insatiable fiery dragon had consumed all three of the cabins inhabited by Kootenai’s bachelor men. Leaving Donut with Terry at the store had been a good idea. The dog would have howled in despair at the sight. Andy might have joined him.

  So be it. He would rebuild. He and his neighbors would restore what fire had taken.

  “I’ll miss that western larch in the front yard.” Hands on his hips, hat shoved back, Andy’s cabinmate, Henry Lufkin, shifted slightly where he stood a few yards from the remains. “The colors were beautiful in the fall. Another month and they would’ve changed.”

  “Some foresters say we bring this on ourselves. It’s hard to believe it’s our own fault.” Andy brushed his hands on his pants. If only he could brush away the pain of loss as easily as ashes. “We build too close to the mountains. Fire through lightning has been a way of renewing the forests since the beginning of time.”

  “I reckon they know what they’re talking about.” Henry’s soft Kentucky drawl hadn’t changed in the two years since he arrived in Kootenai. He never had much to say, but he was the best hunter and fisherman in town. He had a knack for it. Something about his ability to be perfectly still. The English tourists often used him as a guide on their hunting trips. His jasper eyes were somber in his tan, acne-scarred face. “Even though we follow all their tips for fireproofing our houses, eventually it catches up with us.”

  He’d been quiet on the ride over with Lincoln County sheriff’s deputy Salvador Quiñones. When the deputy came by the campground to tell them they could get back into Kootenai long enough to carry out a few more of their belongings, he’d stressed it would have to be quick—in and out. That wouldn’t be a problem now.

  Andy edged away from the smoking remnants of their shared home. He faced his cabinmate. “I need to head back to Lewistown for a while. What’s your plan?”

  “The taxidermy shop in Eureka is looking for help. Keith Harper said he’d be happy to have me around.”

  “That’s gut. Where will you live?”

  “It depends. I could stay at John’s until we rebuild here. I know he won’t mind.” Henry’s wince reflected how he hated to nose around in other folks’ business. “Are you coming back? It’s likely Morris will want to rebuild. We can help him.”

  Morris Tanner owned the cabins and rented them out as a means of income.

  “I hope to.”

  Sal’s Lincoln County SUV rumbled into sight. He pulled off the road and parked. A second later he slid from the truck and strode toward them. “We need to get moving. The wind could shift the fire back this direction anytime.”

  “How did the Drakes come out?” Andy dusted off his hands and faced the deputy. Christine would want to know. She’d been cleaning that house since she turned fourteen and graduated from school. “Better than this, I hope.”

  Sal removed his cowboy hat and held it over his heart. He didn’t answer for a second or two. Then he slapped the hat back on his head and sighed. “Their house is gone. The fire destroyed everything they had. The outhouses. The garage. Everything. Mike lost it. I wanted to give him a few minutes to pull himself together. That’s why I came over here. We’ll pick him up on the way out.”

  “It’s a blow, but he’ll recover.” People who lived in this neck of the woods with long, cold winters and deep snows knew how to survive nature’s furies. The Englishers in these parts didn’t mind doing without some of the technology and “comforts” valued by city folks. Mike preferred hunting, fishing, and working with his hands at his auto shop. “He’s a hard worker. So’s DeeDee.”

  “The governor has declared a state of emergency because of all the fires.” Sal removed his cowboy hat a second time and fanned his face with it. “I told Mike that FEMA will be here as soon as it’s safe enough for them to get in. He snorted and said he didn’t need no stinkin’ FEMA. I rec
kon he has insurance, though.”

  Plain folks didn’t have insurance, but they did take care of themselves. “Folks around here don’t count on government assistance.”

  To lose a house where a man had raised his family was different. The cabin was just a stop on the road to what every Plain man wanted—a wife and children. Even so, drywall and wood weren’t important. Possessions weren’t important. Not in the long run called eternity. So why did it still hurt so much? “What about the Masts?”

  “They got lucky. The house is still standing.” Sal’s brown skin was damp with perspiration. He mopped his face and bald head with a bright-red bandanna. “Everything else is gone. The shop. The nursery. The lean-to for the buggies. The barn. Funny thing is, the kids’ swing set is still there. And the trampoline. Big as you please.”

  With a shooing motion, he headed toward the SUV. “We need to roll.”

  Henry didn’t move. Andy met his gaze as he passed him. “Do you need a minute?”

  “Nee. Just fixing a picture of this in my mind.” Henry’s expression was serene. “Whenever I get too comfortable with my stuff, I’ll think of this and remember that it’s transitory. Like we are.”

  “I can’t help but think it’s strange that the Drakes lost everything and Ben still has his house.” Andy contemplated the blackened forest that stretched as far as the eye could see on the other side of the road as it wound toward the mountains. “He’s loading his family up and taking them back to Kansas. The Yoders lost everything and they’re staying. What do you think the plan is in that?”

  Together they slogged through the ashes to the SUV. Neither could answer the question. Only God knew His plan, and it was splashed on a canvas so large and so eternal, they couldn’t expect to see even a tiny piece of it from their earthly and human perspective.