A Long Bridge Home

by Kelly Irvin

  “Such pride. Have you forgotten Gelassenheit? Demut, not hochmut. Plain women do not gallivant across the countryside with men who are not family members. It’s not done. You know that. You know better.”

  “I haven’t forgotten anything. I’m unmarried. Until I find a mann, I have more latitude—”

  “A rumspringa that never ends? Even then you don’t rub your family’s nose in it. Much latitude is given, but once you’re baptized, you’ve joined the church. You’re held to a higher standard.”

  “I don’t mean to disrespect anyone.” How could she explain her desire to know—really know—Raymond Old Fox? It had nothing to do with man-woman things. Words weren’t big enough to describe the feeling she had when he introduced her to the falls under the swinging bridge, when he pointed out the red hawk or simply sat without speaking, letting the sound of the roaring falls inundate their senses. “The respect they have for the land and the plants and animals is similar to ours. They have fought against the Englisch for the right to their culture, religion, and even their language.”

  “They have no religion—”

  “That’s not true—”

  A sharp rap on the screen door stopped Christine from pouring out all she’d learned of the Kootenai beliefs. They would never understand. She didn’t even understand. She didn’t defend their beliefs, only their right to have them. Did that make her a heathen?

  Would God smite her?

  Jasper went to the door. A minute later he returned with Bishop David Hershberger in tow.

  Fergie’s fierce frown said it all. Now look what you’ve done. He hopped up from the couch. “David, gut to see you. What brings you by?”

  David nodded at Lucy, who offered him her seat in the straight-back chair near Christine’s. “Sit, sit. I’ll get kaffi. There’s a chill in the air today. You remember my niece Christine, don’t you? How’s Diana? Are the kinner over their colds yet?”

  She flitted around the room like a butterfly, not giving him time to answer any of her questions, and then flitted right out the door to the kitchen.

  His expression amused, David said nothing until Fergie settled back on the couch and Jasper stomped up the stairs. “I’m glad you’re here. I wasn’t sure if you’d still be at the store.”

  “We had business here at home.”

  “I thought as much.” David had drawn the lot at the young age of thirty-one, according to Aunt Lucy. He was well respected for his even temperament and insistence on prayer before action. He never raised his voice and seemed content with his wife and six children under the age of ten.

  Now he stroked his blond beard and openly studied Christine’s face. “You’re not a member of this district, Christine, but you’re living here with Fergie and Lucy, so what you do reflects on them and on us as a Gmay.”

  “I was just telling her—”

  “I heard what you were telling her all the way out at the road.” David removed his straw hat and settled it in his lap. His brownish-blond hair lay flat on his scalp. He had a big head for a rather slight man. It made him look top-heavy. “Loud words spoken in anger are rarely heard by the recipient.”

  With one sentence he’d put Fergie in his place. Fergie’s pudgy jowls shook. His vigorous nod acknowledged the critique, but he said nothing.

  “This isn’t about how it looks to others.” David’s stern gaze returned to Christine. She fought the urge to squirm. His eyes were a pale brown. “My concern is for you. All of us must be concerned for you rather than ourselves and the discomfort your actions may cause us.”

  “I don’t mean to cause trouble.”

  “Nee, you don’t. Yet your actions reflect a troubled heart and mind.” He studied her so hard she felt like a math problem he couldn’t solve. He sighed. “What troubles you so much that you seek fellowship with an Indian? Is it the wildfires that upended your world in Kootenai? Or your daed’s decision to move back to Haven? Why did you choose to stay here?”

  A bundle of questions, none easy to answer. Especially in front of Fergie. “Private matters made me ask for permission to stay here.”

  “With the understanding that you would abide by your onkel’s rules while living in his house?”

  “Jah.”

  “Yet here we are. Again, I ask what troubles you so much? Or is it simply the lure of the unknown or that which is different? A desire to experience the world? A desire that should’ve died when you were baptized.”

  The soft delivery of his damning words was far harder to take than Fergie’s blustering. The lump in Christine’s throat didn’t help. Nor the voice in her head that screamed repeatedly, He’s right, he’s right. What’s wrong with you?

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “Restlessness beset me like a bad case of the flu.”

  “A person can recover from the flu, although a few die from it. The same is true of spiritual malaise.” David leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his expression intense. “You may not belong to our Gmay, but you are a member of Gott’s family, a child of Gott. I pray for your soul. I pray for Gott to remove the veil from your eyes so you can see the hope and the joy and the contentment you will find if you only lean on Him. We talk about obedience and humility and dying unto self often, and all are necessary, fundamental building blocks of our faith, but that doesn’t mean we can’t also experience joy in the Lord and contentment, knowing our hope is in Him. Do you understand that?”

  “I do. I do.” That didn’t mean she couldn’t imagine finding all those things outside the Amish faith. The thought made Christine’s heart race. Her hands went to her throat.

  She had chosen to be baptized at eighteen—early by some standards. She’d never considered any other option. To leave her family and friends and never see them again was unfathomable. Not the fire in Kootenai, her father’s decision to move her family back to Kansas, not even Andy’s admission that’d he once loved another woman changed her bedrock—her faith.

  This faith shaped how she saw the world. Not until she met Raymond Old Fox had she given any thought to what others believed or why. She’d simply gone along with her parents and the deacon who taught her class, never questioning their words.

  It had been a safe, secure place. In a few short weeks, everything had changed.

  “I can see the struggle in your face.” Sadness a halo around his head, David gently shook his finger at her. “Don’t give up the struggle. Fight through it. If you must study the ways of another people, do it within the confines of your family and faith. Don’t run away. Face the restlessness. Persevere through the flu that afflicts you.”

  He stood and placed his hat on his head. “I expect you at my house two days hence for counseling. Our deacon, Matthew Miller, will sit with us. Gott expects us to fight for the souls of our children. Fight, we will.”

  “Wouldn’t it be best to send her to her parents in Kansas?” Fergie shuffled to his feet. “Let them fight the fight, so to speak.”

  “Sending her away won’t abate the temptations set in front of her. She needs to confront them.”

  Her life in a nutshell. Two men arguing over what was best for her. At least she didn’t have to go to Haven. Mother and Father would be horrified and angry. And she would likely never see her friends in Kootenai again. Or Andy. Or Raymond and Gramma and Tonya.

  “You know best.” Fergie’s tone didn’t agree with his words. David simply smiled and nodded.

  A tray filled with coffee mugs and cookies in her hands, Aenti Lucy trotted into the room. “Sorry, I had to make a fresh pot of kaffi . . .” Her gaze went from David to Fergie and back. “I brought lemon bars. Aren’t those your favorite, David?”

  Nodding, David snagged a lemon bar and trotted past Christine toward the door. “I can’t stay, I’m afraid. Diana is waiting supper for me. She doesn’t ask much, only that I be home for supper.” He tugged the door open and then looked back at Christine. “Remember, Thursday, around nine o’clock. Matthew is an eager beaver. He doesn’t like to be k
ept waiting.”

  “I understand.” Christine managed a smile. Her stomach rocked and bile burned the back of her throat, but she still smiled. “I don’t like to be late either.”

  David tucked the entire lemon bar in his mouth and opened the screen door. The muffled words that followed could’ve been hello or goodbye or neither.

  Before the screen door could close, Andy walked in.

  27

  St. Ignatius, Montana

  Autumn might be cool in Montana, but the temperature in the Cotter house was more winter-like, as in subfreezing and falling fast. Andy waved hello from behind the Plain man who’d been on his way out but turned around and led Andy into the house. He had curiosity written all over his face.

  Andy ignored it and focused on the Cotters. “It’s me again.” Whatever caused the hullabaloo had died down. Lucy and Fergie were all smiles. Christine retreated to the rocking chair by the fireplace, even though it was dark and empty on this fall day. She looked like a rabbit caught between two hungry foxes. No telling what was going on.

  Arguing over an old fox, perhaps.

  Christine’s eyes and nose were red. She wrung her hands and said nothing. This was not a good sign. The urge to go to her warred with the sense that any move right now would be a wrong one. He planted his feet and directed his smile to Lucy. She held a tray of coffee mugs and cookies, for which there appeared to be no takers. “Is everything all right?”

  The stranger introduced himself. He had powdered sugar and crumbs in his beard, and his smile was apologetic. Andy offered up his own name when Fergie failed to complete the introductions. “I’m from Kootenai, but I’ve been staying near Lewistown awhile because of the wildfires.”

  A knowing look—mixed with a major dose of pity—transformed David’s face. “Then you know Christine.”

  “Jah.” Very well. Or so he had thought. She had changed in the last few weeks, but so had he. He would forgive her transgressions and hope she could do the same. She studied the pine floor as if the answer to all her questions resided in the wood. “I worked with her daed at the furniture store.”

  “Gut to meet you. I must go before my fraa feeds my supper to the goats.”

  Quiet reigned for several seconds after the bishop left for a second time. Maybe he had the right idea. “I wanted to stop by to . . . let you know I’m back in town.” Andy directed the statement to the space between Fergie and Christine. “I’m waiting for word that we can return to Kootenai. Then I’ll move my daed’s sawmill operation down there.”

  “He agreed then.” The look of shame and despair on Christine’s face dissipated, replaced with a smile. Her delight was encouraging. She cared. Notwithstanding a certain man named Raymond. “He’s retiring, is he?”

  “He has leukemia. He’s being treated at a hospital in Billings.”

  “I’m so sorry.” This time Christine beat her uncle to the words. She didn’t look contrite, either. “Do the doctors think he can be cured?”

  “They say his prognosis is gut, according to Mudder. Daed doesn’t say much of anything about it.”

  “He is a man.” Fergie scowled at Christine. Definitely not in the man’s good graces. “We don’t complain about our lot in life. The will of Gott be done.”

  Christine began to rock. The chair squeaked on the floorboards.

  “I called our bishop, Noah, in Eureka. He says we are being allowed back into Kootenai in a few days.”

  “Gott is gut.”

  “He is.” How best to approach this? Fergie wasn’t Christine’s father, but he was responsible for her while she lived in his house. “I’m staying here until he calls me to say we can get in.”

  “Why not stay with your family while your daed receives his treatment?”

  “I have business here.” He didn’t look at Christine. He didn’t dare. He did have business here, didn’t he? It all depended on her. “I also need Ben’s telephone number in Haven. He said he would sell his house to me. My parents are helping me with the funds.”

  “Gut for you.” Fergie’s expansive smile encompassed Christine. Perhaps he did see where Andy was going with this. He glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s suppertime. Why don’t you stay and eat with us?”

  “Where are you staying? We have an extra bed in the boys’ room,” Lucy added. “We can squeeze you in.”

  “I have a room at the bed-and-breakfast.” It might be easier to get a word alone with Christine if he stayed here, but it wouldn’t be right. And if she chose to keep her distance still, it would be horribly awkward. “No need to squeeze. But I will accept the supper invitation.”

  Maybe he’d get a chance to talk to Christine after supper. Or at least let her know he would come by later for a buggy ride. They could court like before. Those days seemed a hundred years ago. They were burned up by the fire, wrecked by the accident, and blotted out by a man as different from Andy as day from night.

  Lucy put on a good spread that included chicken-fried steak, baked potatoes, green beans, pickled beets, and hot rolls, followed by apple pie. Conversation around the table centered on the hunting season. Christine’s cousin Jasper had bagged his moose, but the others had not.

  “I want to go after a black bear now.” His gaze on his empty plate, Jasper laid his knife across it and fiddled with the spoon. “Have you hunted bear?”

  “Nee. I like elk and moose for the meat.”

  “You shouldn’t hunt anything you can’t eat.” Christine spoke for the first time. “It’s disrespectful to the animal.”

  Jasper groaned. His brothers giggled.

  “Animals don’t have feelings.” Kimberly, the youngest of the cousins, pursed her lips. “Do they, Daed?”

  “Nee.” Fergie took a drink of water, but his gaze remained on Christine. His thick eyebrows looked like scraps of gray yarn. “But that doesn’t mean we should let them suffer or shoot them for sport. They are creatures of Gott too.”

  Christine’s expression lightened. “Can I get you another piece of pie, Onkel?”

  He patted his rotund middle and seemed to examine the question with care. “I believe you can.”

  “I’ll be right back with it.” She disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Kinner, go finish your chores.”

  Without a word they pushed in their chairs and tramped out the back door.

  Lucy took her cue from her husband. She rose and shooed the girls into the kitchen.

  Fergie leaned back and curled his fingers around his suspenders. “I know you’re chomping at the bit to ask me something, so ask.”

  “It’s really Christine I need to ask, but I don’t want to be a bother to you and your fraa.”

  “Ah. You’re not. Believe me, you’re the medicine the doctor ordered or my name’s not Fergie.” Sighing deeply, he shook a toothpick from a holder on the table and chewed on it. “I should keep my nose out of it. Courting being private and all.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d get a move on before it’s too late.” He threw the toothpick onto his plate. “I wouldn’t say anything, but her eternal salvation is at stake while you hem and haw.”

  “I’m not hemming and—”

  “Here it is. With a scoop of vanilla ice cream.” Christine returned with the pie. Two slices in fact. Another one for Andy. His stomach protested but he smiled. She smiled back. Her eyes begged him to understand. “To celebrate you being here.”

  “Go help your aenti with the dishes.” Fergie picked up his fork. “Tell her to wait on the kaffi.”

  Not even his wife was welcome to this conversation. Andy forced himself to take a bite of the ice cream. The cool creaminess slaked the dry thirst in his throat. “Danki.”

  “No need to get fancy.” Fergie demolished half his pie in one big bite. “The girl is too full of herself as it is.”

  “I never noticed it.”

  “Maybe she’s changed since coming to St. Ignatius. She’s developed a stubbo
rn, rebellious streak.”

  “That doesn’t sound like the Christine I know.”

  “She needs a gut, strong mann to set her straight.”

  “Has something happened since we dropped her off after the funeral?”

  Fergie snapped his suspenders so hard he must’ve felt the pain down to his oversized feet. “I’m afraid to tell you for fear you’ll want nothing to do with her.”

  “You’ve come this far.” If he had no desire to scare Andy off, why bring it up at all? “It takes a lot to run me off.”

  “She’s still gallivanting across the countryside with Raymond Old Fox, visiting his people’s sacred grounds and such.”

  “Does it bother you that he’s an Indian, or is it because he’s a man?”

  “I’m not a bigot. No man should call himself a Christian if he harbors feelings of superiority over others who believe differently.” Fergie’s sudden fervor was impressive. The man might seem all bluster, but he had substance to him after all. “She seems taken with his people’s view of the world. Even their lack of faith.”

  Maybe he’d come too late. Maybe she’d gone too far. “Is that why your bishop was here?”

  “Jah. I wanted to send her home to Kansas, but he said no. He wants to counsel her. It’s generous of him, considering she isn’t from this Gmay.”

  “I could take her to Eureka, to our bishop.”

  “We could take her, but she has no family up there.”

  “She has friends. We—you can be sure they’ll be glad to have her stay awhile, just until . . .”

  “You’ve plans to ask her to marry—”

  “That’s between her and me.”

  “You’re right.”

  If he hadn’t left it for too late.

  * * *

  If only Andy and Uncle Fergie would speak a little louder. Christine didn’t dare edge any closer. Eavesdropping was not a pretty habit. She’d made the excuse of going to the bathroom to leave the kitchen, but she needed to get back. Aunt Lucy might not mind doing the dishes without her, but her cousins did. Work shared was work done quickly.