A Long Bridge Home

by Kelly Irvin

  He would never allow either to get in the way of his basic tenet that Native men should date and marry Native women. Just as Amish men and women should marry among themselves.

  Christine hadn’t mentioned the punishment she would receive for not following the rules. Probably because marriage hadn’t been on her mind. It certainly wasn’t on his. The frequent but fragmented image of his children sitting at Gramma’s feet, listening to her stories, barreled its way into his imagination. Yes, he wanted his children to know her. The clock ticked so loud it boomed. Yet the fragment told him nothing of the woman with whom he would have these children.

  Native children who would still be one-quarter white.

  He pulled onto the cracked, oil-stained cement pad that served as a parking space next to his gramma’s cabin. An old—but still muscle-bound—powder-blue Impala took up half the space. Who did that belong to? He smacked his hand on the wheel. Keep calm. Breathe. Life happens. What other clichés could he come up with on short notice?

  At least Gramma wouldn’t be able to pelt him with questions about his job or how he spent his free time. She had plenty of spare time to contemplate her questions and their answers.

  He grabbed the cheese and headed to the door. It opened before he laid his hand on the knob. Tonya Charlo offered him a smile. She had a bag of Gramma’s favorite mini chocolate-covered donuts in her free hand. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  “Son, you remember Tonya?” Her grin gleeful, Gramma shouted from where she sat on the sofa, a faded green and blue knitted shawl around her shoulders, donut crumbs on her chin. “She is Tilly and Sal’s oldest granddaughter.”

  Sal Charlo had served on the tribal council with Gramma.

  Of course Raymond remembered Tonya. That would be called an understatement. Now a medical assistant at the Tribal Health Department Medical Clinic in Pablo, she’d been one of a handful of girls he dated in high school. They reconnected at S&K College where she earned an associate’s degree in medical assisting. Their on-again, off-again relationship had been smoldering in the off phase for about a year. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”

  “Mom asked her to teach me beading.” Tonya had the silky voice of a songbird and the body of a dancer. In fact, she’d performed at the Arlee powwow with her family since before she started school. Her dark hair hung to her waist in a shiny, rippling black sheet that touched the top of her tight, faded Levi’s. “She’s also helping me with my Kootenai.”

  “That’s good. You know they have classes at The People’s Center.” He moved past her and stuck the cheese in the refrigerator. “I can get the schedule for you.”

  “Thanks, but I’m recording Little Runner’s stories for a paper I’m writing.”

  “You’re back in school?”

  “Online classes for now. I like helping people at the clinic, but it’s not enough. Taking temperatures and blood pressure, asking a few questions, helping schedule procedures—it’s all superficial.” Tonya went to the counter and settled the donuts next to a bag of pistachios and a can of Folgers coffee.

  Raymond took the opportunity to mouth, “I’ll get you for this,” at his great-grandmother. She shot a wicked grin back at him.

  Tonya didn’t notice. She just kept talking. “I plan to get a bachelor’s degree. Public administration. Maybe I’ll run for office someday. Did you see two indigenous women got elected to Congress? One Laguna Pueblo and the other Ho-Chunk? They’re the first Native women to serve in the US House of Representatives.”

  Natives only became citizens in 1924, and some states didn’t give them the right to vote until 1948. Progress came slowly. If this could be called progress. “I wonder if it’s worth becoming entangled in the white man’s political machine. Look how it worked out for your Salish ancestors.”

  They refused to sign the treaty that would move them to the Flathead Reservation—then known as the Jocko Reservation. When the document was published, it had Small Grizzly Bear Claws’s X. A forgery. He refused to move from Bitterroot Valley. The military forcibly moved his ragtag remnant band in 1891.

  “I don’t need to be reminded of my tribe’s history. I’ll never forget it, and I won’t let those white guys forget it either.”

  The fierce look on her face punctuated the words. Raymond couldn’t suppress a grin. They didn’t know what they were in for. “Are you transferring to Missoula?”

  “Yes, if I can get the money together. Right now I’m barbecuing moose steaks out back.” She picked up a platter of raw meat and pointed at a basket of spices and cooking utensils. “Help me out. Bring that for me.”

  “Right behind you.”

  She left the scent of sandalwood in her wake. He waited until the screen door slammed and then turned to Gramma. “You shouldn’t meddle in people’s lives. It’s not right. You don’t know what’s going on in my head.” He touched his chest. “Or my heart.”

  “Neither do you.” Gramma’s blithe words made Raymond’s blood pressure shoot up. “Any Native man who decides to chase an Amish girl wearing a bonnet has lost his bearings.”

  Two women on the same day who thought they knew his business better than he did. “I like to learn about people who live differently than we do. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

  “Much more. Much, much more.” She coughed, and her grin disappeared. He patted her back and removed a donut from her clawed grip.

  “Hey.”

  “You’re supposed to take it easy on the sweets, remember?”

  “Sweets for the sweet.”

  More coughing, but her cackle followed him out the door where he found Tonya stoking the wood-burning grill. “Chocolate donuts as appetizers. Moose steak and baked potatoes for the entrée. She’s in heaven.”

  “Wait until she tastes the chunky monkey caramel coffee–flavored ice cream I brought for dessert.”

  No use in arguing about the sugar-laden treats. Gramma would eat what she wanted to eat. “What’s the occasion?”

  Tonya flipped her hair over her shoulder and bundled it into a quick ponytail. She grabbed the plastic bags and wrestled three steaks from the Italian dressing they’d been marinating in. With an expert twist of the wrist, she plopped them on the grill and seasoned them with paprika and salt.

  Finally, she turned and handed him the tongs. “Nothing. She invited me to join her for dinner. I told her I would come as long as I could bring the dinner.”

  “She has trouble chewing steak, and she doesn’t digest it very well. Her body is weak.”

  “I’ll cut it up small for her. At her age she deserves a treat now and then.” Tonya stuck her hands on her hips and looked Raymond over, head to toe. “What’s eating you? You didn’t used to be so cranky.”

  “You know Gramma doesn’t do anything without an ulterior motive. She’s messing in my life and she’s messing in yours.”

  “And I’m willing to let her think she’s messing in my life if it gives an old woman pleasure. She has so little to amuse her. Besides, she’s a shaman. She knows more than she’s telling you or me.” Tonya motioned to two sun-faded lawn chairs with frayed woven bottoms that were sunken with use by big behinds. “Sit down. Take a load off. Relax.”

  She plopped into her chair and crossed her legs. She wore scuffed hiking boots. She’d always been an outdoorsy girl. More into hunting and football than dresses and makeup. She and her family had one of the best stick-game teams around. Second only to Gramma’s in her younger days.

  Forcing his gaze from her long, jean-clad legs, Raymond followed suit. Beyond the thicket of silver sagebrush, rabbitbrush, and mock orange shrubs with their citrus scent, ponderosa pine, mountain ash, and burr oak spread across the open fields. The sun hovered on the horizon. Dusk approached, made hazier than usual by smoke drifting over the valley from the mountains. Raymond took a long breath. He hadn’t barbecued in ages. The mouth-watering aroma of the steaks made his stomach rumble. He hadn’t eaten lunch or breakfast.

  “What�
�s going on with you? What’s got Little Runner so anxious?” Tonya studied him like a scientist peering through a microscope lens. “She told me she had a vision. Something about a man killed in a car accident. The last time that happened she lost your mother.”

  Gramma hadn’t mentioned this latest vision to him. His chest muscles seized. Shadowy memories of the tribal police at the door. Grandma Velda’s keening. Those were dark days. “How do you know so much about my life?”

  “Not from you. You were into the big, silent-man thing when we dated. Did you ever try to find your dad?”

  Never. In kindergarten or first grade, he’d asked his mother why the other kids had fathers and he didn’t. She said he was special. He had a mother who could do both. One of his few memories of her. It wasn’t a happy one. Her sad expression belied her words. He never asked again. “No.”

  “Look, if you don’t want to talk about this, it’s fine.” Tonya got up and turned the steaks. Grease dripped. The fire flared and smoked. The aroma filled the air. “But getting to know my dad was one of the best things that ever happened to me. My parents divorced when I was three. I didn’t spend time with him until I was fourteen and old enough to demand it. It’s like finding an arm or a leg that you’ve been missing all your life. Suddenly you’re whole for the first time. You can imagine doing things you’ve never done before.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Back to the big, silent Indian again.”

  “Your dad is Native. Mine isn’t. There was a white man at her funeral. I didn’t recognize him. He kept staring at me. I asked Gramma about him.” His mother’s funeral had been the only time he’d ever seen Gramma cry. “She said she didn’t know, but her eyes said she did. She looked mad.”

  “Maybe you should ask her again.”

  Tonya had changed in the last year. Grown more self-assured. But she’d always spoken her mind. That would never change. She had no way of knowing she poked in crevices where rattlers coiled ready to strike if disturbed.

  “Why are you so interested in poking around in my life? Seems like you’ve got enough on your plate.”

  “Because you were always full of dreams in high school. That’s one of the things I liked about you. Then you shut down in college. You were voted most likely to climb high mountains, not stare at computer screens for a living.”

  The assessment stung like a horde of wasps. “I’m not shut down.”

  “You wanted Missoula and archaeology? Why didn’t you fight for it?”

  “Gramma needed me here.”

  “Little Runner has plenty of people taking care of her.”

  “You sure are nosy.”

  “You sure are prickly.”

  “One of the things you liked about me in high school? I didn’t notice you liking me all that much. You dropped me like a fresh-roasted camas root when Kevin Birdsbill came along.”

  “I was sixteen, for Pete’s sake. He had a car. A Thunderbird.”

  It was an old argument, one he dug up whenever they started arguing, which they did often. Two strong-willed people with flames for hearts. The Volvo was Raymond’s first car. He’d been eighteen when he finally had enough cash from his first job at the Arlee grocery store to buy it off Dusty Tapia who ran an auto shop and wrecker service out on Old Person’s Road. “I like that Impala you’re driving now.”

  “It was Jordan’s.”

  Bad subject. Tonya’s older brother enlisted in the Army after high school graduation. His first tour in Afghanistan, an IED took out him and two buddies. He came home in a body bag.

  “Gramma likes her steak raw. Like the moose is still bugling.”

  Tonya stood and picked up the tongs. “You should talk to her again about your dad.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” He stood. “Or maybe I should let sleeping bison lie.”

  She snorted and plopped a sizzling steak on a platter. “I could use a friendly face in Missoula.”

  “You make friends fast.” He held the platter while she added the other two steaks. “I’m sure that hasn’t changed.”

  She brushed past him. “Apparently so do you. Watch out or we’ll change your name to Man Who Chases Woman in Bonnet.”

  “Gramma has a big mouth.”

  “And a big heart to go with it.” Tonya held the door for him. “Follow your dreams. Not someone else’s.”

  What if a guy couldn’t tell the difference?

  23

  Eureka, Montana

  All of West Kootenai, Rexford, and Eureka had turned out for John Clemons’s funeral. Andy squeezed into a pew toward the back. Madison and the boys sat on the front row with Lois and her husband. The three boys’ heaving shoulders and surreptitious swipes of their noses made his own throat ache. The Baptist church had a big sanctuary nearing capacity. Folks poured through the doors in a steady stream. Many stopped to pat him on the back or shake his hand.

  Everyone wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault. Every time a person said that, another wave of guilt swallowed him, leaving him gasping for air. A texting driver had been at fault, but John would have been at Lois’s eating a second piece of cherry pie if Andy hadn’t asked for a ride back to the farm. He lowered his head and stared at the hat in his hands in hopes that people wouldn’t notice his red eyes and the dark circles around them. Nightmares involving car crashes kept his sleep company every night.

  Knowing that Christine was nearby at Jasper’s uncle’s house didn’t help. Their conversation on the drive to Eureka hadn’t resolved much.

  “Can we sit by you?”

  As if his thoughts had crossed with hers in midair. He turned. Looking uncertain, Christine stood in the aisle, Jasper right behind her. Her confusion made sense. In Plain services, women sat on one side, men on the other. Here families sat together.

  Christine looked back at Jasper. He shrugged. She slipped closer and sat, leaving a goodly space between them. Jasper swiveled to talk to some folks who’d come from Libby and sat in the row behind them. Christine’s eyes were red rimmed. She held a sodden tissue in one hand.

  “I know I should rejoice for John. He was a devout believer.” She dabbed at her nose. It matched her red cheeks. “I’m really sad for his sons more than him. They’ll miss him so much.”

  “So will I.” To his dismay Andy’s voice cracked. Embarrassment sent heat barreling through him. He cleared his throat. “He was a gut friend.”

  Her gaze softened. Her hand moved from her lap to the space between them, close but not too close. “I’m sorry for your loss too. We’re to take joy when a bruder in Christ goes ahead of us. But that doesn’t mean we can’t mourn the hole that’s left behind.”

  “Where do you get the words?” Strangled by emotion, he stopped and forced himself to breathe evenly. In, out, in, out, in, out. “It’s not the words. It’s the ability to know what to say. I don’t know what to say to his sons, Derrick, Logan, and Johnny Junior. Derrick’s only twelve. Johnny is the oldest at sixteen.”

  “Don’t give him the man-of-the-house speech.” Christine sighed, a kind sound that soothed the pain in Andy’s heart without any physical touch. “Someone surely already has done that. Offer to take them fishing or hunting. They’d like that, I reckon.”

  The desire to touch her blew through him, a hard, south wind, warm and full of the heady vanilla scent of clematis and sweet gumbo lilies. Intertwining his fingers tightly in front of him, he begged them to behave themselves. This is a church, he scolded his thoughts. Have respect.

  Christine might not welcome his touch. She might prefer the touch of a man named Raymond Old Fox.

  He gritted his teeth and swatted the thoughts away. They didn’t belong at John’s funeral.

  “They would.” He uttered the two syllables without letting the other, less acceptable words escape. Don’t do this to me. I need you. I want you to need me. I want you to love me. I want to marry you. “I could do that, if Madison will let me.”

  “She will.”

  “She doesn�
��t blame me. I’m grateful for that.”

  “No one blames you, except you.” Her hands fluttered. So close. So close to touching him. They inched back to her lap. Her blue eyes simmered with August-like heat. “The bruises are starting to fade, but you still look tired. Are you still having pain from the accident?”

  “My neck and back are sore. But nothing worth talking about.”

  Jasper leaned forward, turned toward Andy, and stared. “You look like a horse someone rode hard and put up wet.”

  “I’m fine.” He drew another long breath. “Will you stay a few more days after the funeral?”

  “We’re to return to St. Ignatius tomorrow.” Jasper leaned back on the cushioned pew and crossed his arms. “I have to get back to work, and Mudder needs Christine at the house.”

  Christine’s look said, Sorry for his attitude. “When will you go back to Lewistown?”

  “It depends. I was hoping the evacuation would be lifted soon. I want to help with the rebuilding even if I don’t . . .” He floundered for a second in the face of her inquiring stare. “Sheriff Brody says the end isn’t in sight yet.”

  “When it is lifted, Onkel Fergie will come with a load of men from St. Ignatius to help with the rebuilding. Aenti Lucy will want to cook.”

  “You could stay with Mercy or Nora.”

  “Nora is in Libby still, although she may come with the Libby folks when construction starts. I heard Mercy got herself in a pickle by passing the time with a smoke jumper, or maybe he’s a firefighter. I’m not sure which.”

  “We’ll start building her house first. Jonah says he’ll borrow an RV for him and the boys to stay in out there. Maybe Mercy, too, if she’s to teach school.”

  “She’s teaching in Grandma Knowles’s garage right now. I’m sure she’ll be glad to get back to Kootenai when the time comes.” Christine craned her neck and glanced around. “I’d hoped to see her here, but she’s probably teaching today. I miss her and Nora and Juliette so much. We need an ASAP.”

  He’d forgotten about their silly name for getting together to compare notes on life, and especially on men. Awful Situation Approaching. It seemed a lifetime ago that any of them had been that young and carefree. He and Christine stood at the same bridge. They could cross over it together or go their separate ways. In the distance he could see their life together. Behind him stood their old lives.