A Long Bridge Home

by Kelly Irvin

  That was so like his brother. A full-blooded Kootenai who had no feel for his indigenous brothers and sisters. No interest in tribal history, the Kootenai language, or customs. Just a guy. It must be so restful.

  “I guess not.”

  Vic smacked Raymond’s shoulder with his fist. “Gramma was a fine old lady, wasn’t she?”

  “I’ll miss her.”

  “Me too.” He ran his hand through unruly black curls. Also from his father. Maybe they could sketch drawings of the fathers by the characteristics they inherited that didn’t come from their mother. “Like I said, come visit us. Nothing says you can’t leave the rez now and then.”

  “Yeah.”

  Vic’s square chin jutted out. “By the way, Tonya Charlo is staring at you.”

  She’d kept her distance during the service at the community center. Her mom said hello and patted his shoulder. Her dad sat as far from her mom as possible in the tiny gym. “No she’s not.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Get a life, dude.”

  He had one, just not one Vic would understand.

  Janie waved as they drove away.

  He waved as he walked to the Volvo.

  He couldn’t talk to Tonya. Not yet.

  She would know that. She knew everything.

  35

  West Kootenai, Montana

  The silent landscape was unnerving. Christine tilted her head, trying to hear something. Anything. No birds twittered. No crickets sang. No dogs barked. The stench of devastation hung in the air. A layer of white, gray, and black ash softened the thud of their footsteps as they approached their home. The Mast house stood, a squat, sturdy reminder that they had fared better than some of their neighbors, but the barn, the lean-to, the shed, and even the chicken coop had suffered a fiery death.

  The drive along Wilderness Road squelched any desire for conversation. Stands of blackened toothpicks dotted the mountains where once-beautiful trees had stood. The stench of burnt wood and rubber still hung in the air. A person could only take in so much at one time. Christine’s joy at Father’s decision to allow this trip home before heading to Kansas dissipated in the high mountain air. She stared at her dirty sneakers while Mother and Father stood side by side studying the miracle of their untouched home in the midst of so much devastation.

  “We’ll need to clean up this mess before we put it up for sale.” Father’s voice held steely determination seasoned with mild sadness. “We can’t expect a buyer to take it like this. I’ll rent a truck to take the rest of the furniture. Thanks be to Gott that we still have it to move. It’ll save us having to buy more in Haven.”

  “Why do we have to sell at all?” Hating the whine in her voice, Christine still couldn’t quell the outburst. She ignored her mother’s arched eyebrows and quick frown. “Come back to stay, Daed. The whole family can rebuild the outbuildings together. I’ll get more houses to clean. Zeke will work at the furniture store with you. Delilah can go back to work at the store or take over teaching when Mercy finally makes up her mind to marry Caleb. It’ll be like it was before, only better.”

  She would be safe from those influences they feared in St. Ignatius. Leaving without saying goodbye to Raymond had broken her heart. She didn’t even have time to write a note for Esther Marie to deliver. If anyone would understand, Raymond would. He, too, straddled a line and found it untenable. Half Native, half white, he wandered lost somewhere in between. She would learn to confine herself to the world in which she’d been born and raised. Where she would someday die.

  To her surprise Daed didn’t rebuke her. Instead, the sadness spread across his face and lined his mouth and eyes. “I know this is hard for you. It was harder for me than I expected, leaving this place. But it’s what’s best for the family. We’re doing better there. You’ll see.”

  “Let’s go inside.” Mudder reached for Christine’s hand. “It’ll take a lot of cleaning to get the smell of smoke out of the house. We’ll want it to be spick-and-span for the new family who lives here. Knowing you, you’ll have it shipshape in no time.”

  They were trying to be kind, which made it all the harder not to cry.

  She accepted Mother’s hand and walked with her into the house. Memories greeted her. Abigail, then Maisie’s birth in Mother and Father’s bedroom. Birthday celebrations at the big table with carrot cake and homemade vanilla ice cream. Giggling under the covers with Delilah as they struggled to understand why boys were so strange yet so beguiling. Father and Zeke playing checkers by the fireplace. Mother teaching her to make sourdough bread from the starter.

  Hundreds of memories had been sewn together into a beautiful crazy quilt that made them family.

  Tears welled in Mother’s eyes. The memories crowded her too. Christine squeezed her hand. “I’ll get the supplies from the wagon.” That would give Mudder time to collect herself. “We’ll need lots of bleach, buckets, and scrub brushes. Daed will have to paint.”

  Outside Father stood talking to Juliette Knowles’s father, who leaned against his Suburban. No doubt they were discussing plans to rebuild the Knowles’s house. The Plain community—not just from West Kootenai, but from every district in northwest Montana—would pitch in.

  That meant Nora and Mercy would be here. To have their friendly chatter again would be a blessing, even if it was only for a short time before Daed exiled her to Kansas.

  With a big ache in her chest where her heart should be, Christine waved at the men and trudged to the buggy. She tugged at a box filled with cleaning supplies. Tears threatened. Don’t you dare. She swiped at her face with the back of her hand. Our house still stands. We have another one in Haven. We’re safe. Gott is gut. You have no reason to cry like a big bopli.

  The squeak of buggy wheels and the whinny of a horse made her look up.

  Andy.

  Danki, Gott.

  He pulled in next to their buggy and climbed down. “Guder mariye.”

  “Guder mariye.” She managed a stiff smile to match his. “Have you started on your cabin yet?”

  “I’ll be over in a minute,” he called to the other men. Her dad’s frown dissipated. “I’ll carry in these heavy boxes first.”

  The box wasn’t that heavy. An excuse to talk to her? Christine ducked her head and moved aside. Maybe the meeting in the middle had begun.

  Please, Gott.

  Yet neither of them spoke on the short walk to the house. He stalked through the living room to the kitchen and plunked down the box. “It’s not too bad in here. Smoke damage and the smell are really the only damage. You’ll have to paint the walls, I reckon.”

  “Andy—”

  “The men are gathering to make a plan. We’ll start with Leland’s house. The word has already gone out to St. Ignatius, Libby, Lewistown, and the other districts. My brothers will be here next week. I reckon Fergie and his brood will be here sooner.”

  “Andy!”

  “What?”

  “Did you . . . take care of your business?”

  “Did you?”

  “I didn’t get a chance.”

  Disappointment flitted across his face. “Do you still—?”

  Mother traipsed into the room. She stopped when she saw Andy. “Gut to see you. I was sorry to hear about John.”

  “He was a gut freind.”

  They commiserated over the fire and discussed the rebuilding plans while Christine busied herself unpacking the cleaning supplies and filling the buckets with soapy water.

  “Christine, give Andy some of those brownies you made while I pack up the rest of the kinner’s clothes.” She trotted away without giving Christine a chance to answer.

  The retort “Andy doesn’t want my brownies. He doesn’t trust me” danced on the tip of her tongue. She wrangled the words to the ground and cut him two large chunks of frosted brownies.

  “I can’t eat all that.”

  “Maybe their sweetness will remind you of something.”

&
nbsp; Like the sweet memory of the kisses they’d shared or the dreams they’d once held dear.

  “Me?” He ducked his head and sighed. “I can think of nothing else. Meeting in the middle means leaving behind certain things. Are you prepared to do that?”

  “I had hoped to say my goodbyes, but if that doesn’t happen, then I’ll have to live with it.”

  “So you’re ready to commit to your faith, to your family, and to me?”

  “I already did that. It’s possible to learn more about the world and, in doing so, strengthen your own beliefs. It’s important for two people who love each other also to trust each other.”

  “I’m trying, but you can imagine how hard trust is for a person like me who has been treated badly by someone who claimed to love me.” His hoarse voice dropped to a whisper. “I have to know for certain that you’ll not change your mind and decide to seek after this man and his beliefs.”

  “Look at all the time you spent with John and then with his family. Does that mean you want to leave our faith and become like them? Baptists?”

  “Nee, of course not.” He rubbed his forehead and then let his hand drop. “John was my friend. His wife and children are still my friends.”

  “Raymond is a friend. He shared his world with me. Nothing more, but nothing less either. It was a precious gift. Like John’s gift to you.”

  “It’s different.” More forehead rubbing followed the shuffling of his big feet. “I know it might not seem fair, but it is different.”

  “Because I’m a woman.”

  “Jah. You’re a woman. He’s a man. As much as you flaunt the rules, you know better. He’s not even a Plain man.”

  He was right. She’d known from that first day when they went to The People’s Center that she shouldn’t. Raymond wouldn’t understand. Nor would the rest of the world—even the Christian world, but she did. “Be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.”

  “I’m sorry, Andy, I truly am. I want you to trust me. You can trust me.”

  “I’m trying.” He swiveled and headed through the door. A second later he returned and swooped up the brownies. “Danki.” He whirled and retreated once again.

  “You’re welcome.” Her yell echoed in the kitchen where she’d learned to make elk stew, pie, and bread. “There’s plenty more where those came from.”

  Funny how words could say one thing and tone something completely different.

  Sometimes when they were courting, she and Andy would return to the house and sit in the kitchen after their buggy ride. They’d grin at each other as they whispered over iced tea and her brownies. They liked the idea of being in the house alone while everyone slept.

  The last thing she wanted to do was hurt this man. But she had hurt him. His fear of trusting her held merit. Christine plopped into the closest chair and laid her forehead on her clasped hands. Gott, forgive me. Please help me understand what is right, what is gut. I love Andy. I care about Raymond and his people. Can I not do both?

  Lay your worries and fears at My feet, child. I will do the work according to My perfect plan. Not you.

  The voice echoed in the nearly empty room. As loud and as strong as Father’s when he disciplined the boys.

  “Gott?”

  Be still and know that I am God.

  Raymond found his Creator in the Douglas firs and the red foxes and the mountain lions. Hers made His thoughts known among the bleach bottles, cleansers, and sponges in a smoke-damaged kitchen.

  Could He be the same God?

  “By the way.” Andy strode into the kitchen yet again. He had frosting on his upper lip. For some reason it made him seem young and, despite all her efforts to see him to the contrary, endearing. “I plan to buy this place from your daed. I’ll set up the sawmill on this property. I’ll live and work here.”

  Once again he strode from the room.

  He planned to return to Kootenai to stay. She breathed. “So why’re you telling me all this?” Her words bounced around a kitchen empty of their intended target. “What does that have to do with me?”

  Could it be that having the man she loved live in the house she loved reflected just how God’s plans were always bigger than any she could imagine or hope for? That Andy had chosen to trust her? That he’d laid his fears and worries at God’s feet? That God was working in them, just as He worked in Raymond and his people?

  “What’s all the yelling about?” Mother stuck her head through the door. “A fraa bows to her mann’s wishes.”

  “I’m not a fraa.”

  A knowing grin spread across Mother’s face. “Not yet, but from the sound of things, soon.”

  From her lips to God’s ears.

  36

  St. Ignatius, Montana

  “Sh-sh-she’s gone.” Esther Marie’s forlorn expression communicated more than her stuttered words.

  Raymond stuck his fists in his khaki work pants. He had no excuse to stop by Valley Grocery Store anymore. He had no need of horseradish cheddar cheese. Those trips to the cabin to eat supper with Gramma were no more. With time the hole her death left in his life would shrink, but today it gaped like the Grand Canyon. His excuse to come here had been a good one. Christine deserved to know of his great-grandmother’s passing. She’d want to know he’d found his father and planned to see him again. They had unfinished business.

  “Gone where?” He took the roast beef, swiss cheese, and spicy mustard on rye sandwich from Esther Marie. “I’ll take a bag of barbecue chips too.”

  “Her parents came and got-t-t-t her.” Esther Marie held out the bag of chips. “They went-t-t to K-k-kootenai. Then K-k-kansas.”

  To Kansas. Then she’d left for good. Not for good. For bad. He had another hole to fill. He’d known Christine just shy of a month. How could there be a chasm this size already?

  “She didn’t leave a note?” In other words, she didn’t say goodbye? “Nothing?”

  “No t-t-time.” Esther shrugged skinny shoulders. She grabbed a rag and wiped at a spotless counter. “Not me either.”

  “I’m sorry. You liked her, too, didn’t you?”

  She nodded. “She didn’t mind the st-st-stutter. She didn’t finish my sentences.”

  “I can see why you’d appreciate that.” Raymond studied her pale-blue eyes. They were red rimmed. Her nose was red and her white, freckled skin tear-streaked. A woman with a speech impediment who dealt with customers all day long had a great deal of courage. “Have a good life, Esther Marie. You deserve it.”

  She blushed crimson. “You t-too.”

  “I’ll tell Christine you miss her.”

  “Th-th-thank you. You’re-re-re going to K-K-Kootenai?”

  “Yes.” He lingered at the counter. “Did you ever go to a speech therapist?”

  She nodded. “It d-d-d-idn’t help.”

  “Don’t give up. They’re always coming up with new treatments in medicine. I’ll bring you some information the next time I come.”

  “You’ll come back?”

  Three perfectly clear words. “I will. I like the potato salad, and I get good service.”

  She smiled and nodded.

  “Thanks for the sandwich.”

  Raymond saluted her with the plastic-wrapped goodness and headed to his car. He would come back to this store. The Amish offered something the cookie-cutter grocery store didn’t—good food, a quirky collection of homemade rocking chairs, bulk materials, suspenders, hats, cookbooks, and employees who smiled when they helped their customers. Life could use more real people connections and fewer generic exchanges. Less social media.

  Fewer computers.

  One of the many things he learned from time spent with Christine. He’d wrapped his life around computer screens and software programs when what he really wanted was to be with people, to connect with people and the earth.

  He had to tell her that. Then he would do what
he was meant to do. Study people, not machines.

  With his search for his father and Gramma’s death, he’d missed too much work to take off for Kootenai immediately. Instead, he spent the next two days nose to the grindstone at S&K Technology. He liked his work. He liked his coworkers, but his work offered no connections to the real world, no soul. No spirit. Computers offered access to virtual worlds beyond the horizon, but these worlds no longer interested him.

  Friday night he dug through his contacts and called Tonya’s number. Her voice suggested the caller would have better luck next time but to leave a message in case she felt like calling back. He hung up without obeying her command. A twisted tongue kept him from telling a machine he had a hole in his heart and would the woman on the other end be willing to fill it?

  Tonya would laugh at this. She would say she knew he would call and hang up. She knew he still had that unfinished business. She knew he had one more trip to make to the mountains.

  Saturday morning he arose before dawn and drove the three and a half hours from Arlee to West Kootenai. In his entire life he’d never been farther north than Kalispell.

  When the blackened landscape came into view, Raymond pulled over. The granola bar and coffee he’d consumed for breakfast roiled and threatened to come back up. He hopped from the car, leaned over, hands on knees, and concentrated on not vomiting. Fire had always been part of the natural plan. A thunderbolt of lightning ignited this conflagration. He breathed in and out and murmured an apology for his weakness.

  If it hit him this hard, how much harder it must’ve been for Christine and her community, with their lack of understanding of the Creator’s ways. They’d lived here for a few years—not centuries—but long enough to feel a connection.

  Time to seek her out. Still murmuring in his Native language, he drove the remaining distance into Kootenai. A stop at the tiny store on the edge of the community resulted in directions to the home of a man named Lyle Knowles. The first build belonged to his family.

  The whole town had turned out and then some. Nearly two dozen picnic tables were arranged in an open field near a cement basement and foundation of a good-sized house. The wood frame had been partially erected. An army of men wearing tool belts swarmed the structure. Pounding punctuated good-natured yelling back and forth.