A Long Bridge Home

by Kelly Irvin

  Women surrounded tables laden with sandwiches, bushel baskets of apples, oranges, and peaches, pasta salads, pickles, chips, cookies, cakes, and pies. Many of them wore long dresses, aprons, and prayer coverings. Even though they came in all shapes and sizes, Raymond had difficulty telling them apart.

  There she was. Christine stood near a row of Igloos on a table at the edge of the feeding area. A smile on her face, she filled a water bottle while talking to a long-haired blonde woman in jeans and a T-shirt. The woman threw her head back and laughed. Christine shook her finger at her friend.

  The friend strolled away in purple cowboy boots.

  If her parents saw him with Christine, she’d be in trouble. Sneaking around might cause even greater problems. It certainly had in the past.

  “Here we go,” he said to no one in particular. “Do what you came to do.”

  That last part he directed to himself.

  Dozens of pairs of eyes turned his direction as he marched across the barren yard toward Christine. She hadn’t noticed him yet. “Christine.”

  She glanced up just as an Amish man with the most vivid green eyes Raymond had ever seen stepped into his path. “You must be Raymond.”

  “I am.”

  “I’m Andy Lambright.” The man shoved his straw hat back on his head. “It’s time we had a talk.”

  Christine started toward them. Andy shook his head at her. She opened her mouth. He shook his head a second time. Her gaze shifted to Raymond. Her eyes spoke an apology, but she said nothing and ceased to move as if her black sneakers were encased in the cement used for the house’s foundation.

  “I came to share some news with Christine. It’s personal.” Raymond tempered the words with kindness drawn from a well of understanding. This was the special friend—the man who loved Christine. She was deeply lovable and deserving of such adoration. “It won’t take long.”

  Andy’s eyes darkened. The forest green turned dusky as if night had fallen in the forest. “Christine has returned to her home and her friends. She realizes she shouldn’t have become so involved with outsiders. It violates our basic tenets.”

  “Okay. Let’s talk.” Raymond spun around and stalked toward the road in worn Reeboks. Andy matched his steps in dirty work boots. Even in the crisp October air, Raymond’s shirt felt damp on his back. The soft breeze no longer cooled him. “Let me start.”

  “Fine.”

  “I never meant any disrespect for your community.” Raymond threaded his way through stacks of lumber and dumpsters filled with debris until he reached asphalt. He stopped and faced Andy. “Christine thirsted for knowledge. She wanted to know about my people. She gave me a chance to know about your people.”

  Rubbing absently at a smudge of dirt on the back of his hand, Andy stared at Raymond. “You didn’t learn much then. Planting gardens, taking care of our families, cooking, cleaning—that’s the knowledge our women need. They don’t need exposure to your world.”

  “Christine’s not a housewife-in-waiting. She’s an intelligent woman capable of making her own decisions. What harm does learning about another culture do?”

  Raymond stopped.

  He clamped his mouth shut. People wouldn’t agree with many of his people’s cultural mores either. Engaging Andy in an argument would serve no purpose. Long-standing beliefs didn’t change on the strength of one conversation, but by relationships that evolved over time, like drops of water shaping boulders on the banks of a river. “Don’t answer that. I respect your belief system. I understand your traditional view of male-female roles. The Kootenai people have their own, although ours is a more matriarchal society. I came to tell Christine that my great-grandmother died. She met her. She would want to know.”

  Andy’s hands dropped. His gaze softened. “I’m sorry for your loss.” His tone shifted to the awkward one men adopted when confronted unexpectedly by emotion. “It’s been a hard time for all of us.”

  “There is something else I need to tell her. Something personal.”

  “Tell her or ask her?” The distrust returned as quickly as it had fled.

  Raymond’s temples began to throb. “Look, personal means personal. It concerns my dad. She’ll know what it’s about.”

  Empathy flitted across the man’s face. Some struggles were clearly universal. Coming to terms with parents took many paths, but almost everyone related to the feelings associated with making that journey.

  “I’ll send her over.”

  Just like that. Christine’s special friend had emotional maturity to spare. “Thank you.”

  “Then you’ll go?”

  “Then I’ll say goodbye. I’m headed to Missoula to study ancient peoples at the university. I’ll not be in these parts again. This truly is goodbye.”

  The battle raged on Andy’s face. His gaze lingered on Raymond for several seconds. He shifted and straightened. “She’ll be well cared for among family and friends. It’s where she belongs.”

  “You mean with you. She belongs with you.”

  His gaze came up. “Both. You know it.”

  “She’s special.”

  “Plain people do not aspire to be special.” Andy backed away as if he loathed to turn his back on the enemy. “But your point is taken.”

  “You’re a lucky man.”

  “We don’t believe in luck.” He whirled and walked away. “I am blessed.”

  The words danced on the air.

  To be so blessed.

  * * *

  The path from the man who had intruded willy-nilly into their lives to Christine was a straight one. His head clear for the first time in weeks, Andy took his time walking toward her. He guarded his feelings and gathered his words. No one had a right to judge the Plain ways. Nor did he have the right to judge Raymond Old Fox. The man’s intentions, however good, were not proper.

  If he were honest—and he had to be because God knew his heart—Andy would admit to Christine that his actions had less to do with her eternal salvation and more with his own jealousy. Regardless of their discussions in the last few weeks, he loved her. Or because of his love, he argued with her instead of telling her his true feelings.

  He didn’t see those feelings in Raymond’s eyes. Raymond liked Christine. She interested him. She might even arouse feelings in him. But he chose to see her as a friend he would let go for her good. It took an honorable man to do that.

  Aware of knowing gazes and curious minds, Andy stopped so a picnic table stood between Christine and him. He picked up a cup and handed it to her. “He is a gut man.”

  “He is.”

  “I’m sorry I’ve let past experience get in the way of trusting you for who you are.”

  “I gave you far too many reasons to worry. I’m also sorry.” She glanced toward the road and Raymond, but she didn’t move. “We’ve both grown and changed, but I like to think it’s been for the better. We will be better together than apart. I have never felt anything so strongly.”

  “I love you.” The words slipped out in front of the whole world. “I always have. I always will.”

  A smile broke through the clouds. Her glance strayed to her father who stared, a frown on his craggy face. “You had to say that here with everyone around?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Shouldn’t a statement like that be followed by a kiss?”

  “It should. But being forced to wait for something so special causes it to be all the more pleasing and enjoyable.”

  “Is that right?” Her smile widened. “I love you too.”

  “Raymond has come to tell you something. You should go to him.”

  “Danki for letting me talk to him.” Her smile disappeared. “I’ll never see him again after today.”

  “He said as much. He has come a long way and he has news. Go before I change my mind.”

  “Gramma.” Concern, followed by sadness, flitted across her face. She nodded. “I have to go to him. To be continued.”

  “To be continued.” Andy watched her trot across wh
at had once been the Knowles’s front yard. She picked up speed as she went. She wanted to face Raymond’s bad news head-on, and she wanted to offer her friend comfort. That made her a kind, good woman. Andy should be pleased at that.

  God had blessed him with a loving woman. He couldn’t wait to make her his bride.

  Danki, Gott. He whispered a prayer and went to talk to Christine’s dad before he stampeded his daughter and her visitor.

  37

  West Kootenai, Montana

  Only sheer willpower had prevented Christine’s legs from declaring mutiny and running straight to the spot on the road where Andy and Raymond stood talking only minutes earlier. Now she rushed because joy awaited her once this conversation was complete. The chapter with Raymond would end. She would miss him. But a new chapter in her life had begun.

  The fire changed her, changed Andy, and changed their community. As much as they jabbed at each other, they knew the moment he walked into the Mast house and announced he planned to buy it, he’d staked his claim and she’d accepted it. The events of the past several weeks grew them into people who could say that they loved each other aloud, no holds barred.

  He still had to ask her to marry him, but she didn’t doubt that he would. He couldn’t do it until she cleared this final hurdle. Raymond Old Fox had come for her. She needed to complete her business with this good, kind man who’d taught her so much. Andy would never understand, but he would accept her hike into an alien world, and they would go on.

  She could no longer let anything come between them. The restless desire for something more had left her like a fever that dissipated.

  Raymond had returned to the car. His face weary, he leaned against the dirty bumper and examined something on the ground with great interest.

  “Raymond, is Gramma all right?”

  “She died.” His hand dropped and he straightened. His face crumpled. His shoulders slumped. “We buried her earlier in the week.”

  Gramma was gone. That one afternoon spent riding in a car with her would never be forgotten. Her face—a road map of a long, fruitful life—would remain etched on Christine’s memory. She’d had one day with Gramma, and that experience would leave a hole as if there should have been more. How much bigger that hole must be for Raymond.

  His head down, he studied the ground, waiting for her response. He needed a hug. Anyone in her right mind could see that. Christine’s arms ached to provide it. Her parents would say men and women could not be friends. The elders would counsel her that she must not enjoy the company of non-Plain men. Or any men who were not her family or soon-to-be husband.

  How could this feeling—so like what she felt for her brothers—be wrong? She swallowed her own tears and breathed through the ache in her throat. “I’m so sorry.” Before her entire Plain community and many others, she squeezed his hand. “She rests in peace now.”

  “You don’t believe that.” His lopsided smile softened the cynicism in his voice. “She was a heathen, as I am.”

  “I’ll never stop praying for you.”

  “It’s the pinnacle of arrogance to think your beliefs are the way, the truth, and light.”

  “I only know what I believe.”

  His gaze went over her shoulder to all those who pretended to work but instead watched and whispered. “Even after everything we talked about?”

  “You opened my eyes to the beauty of the world around me. I’m so thankful for that.” Every time she saw a blue heron or smelled the mustiness of wet leaves and dirt on a riverbank, she would think of him. Every time it rained or the wind blew or the water lapped along the shorelines of the lake, she would think of him. “That is a great gift.”

  “You made me examine what I believe and what’s important in my life.” He patted his old green car. “I left my laptop at home. I filled out the application to attend the university next semester. I’ll study archaeology. That is a great gift, and I’m thankful for it.”

  Those beautiful eyes were so sad even though he spoke happy, hopeful words. He still had many miles to go before he found his contentment. Hers waited for her only steps away. “You’re on the right track then.”

  “I am. I also found my dad. He’s a guide for an outfitter company at Swan Lake.” He ducked his head. “You have so much family, and I thought I should be more in touch with what I have.”

  “You’re right. You should.” They had both made progress. Because of the fire, their lives had touched for a brief few weeks. Part of God’s plan? The bishop would say no. So would Andy. But those were human perspectives. No one knew for sure how God’s plan unfolded. Only He knew. “Will you see him again?”

  “We might go fishing.”

  “That’s a good start.”

  “It looks like you have a good start here.” He nodded toward the beginnings of a new house for the Knowles. “Are you and Andy getting married?”

  “He hasn’t asked yet, but I think he will.” Heat curled up her neck and around her cheeks. Not a topic she ever imagined discussing with a man like Raymond. Yet she would tell a brother. “It might be soon.”

  “He seems like a good man, and it’s obvious he loves you. Good for you, Christine.” The sadness gone from his smooth face, he tugged car keys from his pocket. “I should go. You have work to do. And I have to get back to my life.”

  “Goodbye, Raymond Old Fox.”

  “Have a good life.”

  “I will.” Christine walked around the car with him. She waited until he got in and rolled down the window. “Clean out your car before you decide to take Tonya on a date. Even girls who aren’t germophobes like me prefer a man with a clean car or buggy, as the case may be.”

  He grinned. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll take it under advisement.”

  “You do that.”

  He stuck his hand out the window and waved as he drove away. Christine watched until the car became a speck and then disappeared. Sadness for his loss washed over her, but Gramma’s days were done. What happened to her now was in God’s hands. They would both have to be satisfied with the knowledge that God’s ways were perfect and, at the same time, unknowable.

  A steady stream of delight filled the void—delight at having known this man and peeked into his world. His trip here to tell her about Gramma and his dad reflected his feelings. Their time together had been important. Now it was over.

  She turned and walked back to the picnic tables. Andy, to his credit, waited. He didn’t rush her. He refilled his paper cup. Her father had gone back to work. As had the bishop. There would be private discussions later, no doubt, but right now work was more important.

  “He’s gone for gut.” She grabbed the full trash bag from its can and tied off the top, then set it aside so she could replace the bag. “Danki for letting me talk to him and for explaining to Daed. I know he doesn’t understand. The elders don’t understand. But it’s done now. Raymond won’t be back.”

  Andy glanced around. He crumpled his cup and tossed it into the fresh bag. “I know I’ve had my own struggles. It’s only been a month, but so much has happened.” He picked up a hammer and laid it flat on the palm of his big hand. “I keep reminding myself that we’re honed by our struggles. Iron on iron. I don’t like it. I suppose that’s human. I wish I were a better man.”

  In this world there would be trouble. It surely didn’t end here, but facing those troubles with Andy, God between them, meant she had no reason to fear. “You are a better man. I’ve seen your changes with my own eyes. I hope I can do as well. I feel like Gott must be so disappointed in me sometimes. Often.”

  “I reckon He must be used to it by now. We’ll do better, but we’ll never be perfect.”

  His lopsided smile made Christine’s heart do that crazy drumroll. Heat toasted her cheeks. She picked up the trash bag. “I better get back to work. Everyone is watching us. I should help Mudder make more sandwiches.”

  “They all have their own troubles to tend to.” He took the bag from her. “I’ll drop this
at the dumpster.”

  “I can do that.”

  “I don’t mind. I need to stretch my legs.”

  He needed to think. That’s what Andy did.

  “Have you seen the girls? I need to talk to them.” All three had their own struggles with men in this season of their lives. At least Christine wasn’t the only one. They might not have the answers, but they could commiserate. ASAP. “Do you think Daed will want me to go to Kansas until we . . . I mean, until you . . .?”

  The heat on her skin now a boil, she stopped and threw up her hands. “You know what I mean.”

  “He doesn’t plan to return for at least another week, maybe two. He told me so this morning. He wants to help his neighbors, as does your mudder.” Andy’s words, coupled with the way his knowing gaze burned through her, grew hope from a spindly seedling to a stout oak. His smile widened. “We have time. Mercy had her own visitor—the smoke jumper. Caleb’s fit to be tied. Juliette took a walk with her deputy. I haven’t seen Nora. You have time to huddle with your friends.”

  Christine took the time to watch him walk toward the dumpsters. Everything about his muscle-bound frame, his walk, his broad shoulders, the shaggy blond hair peeking from under his hat mesmerized her. With a shake of her head, she grinned to herself. You have work to do, missy. And friends who need you. And news to share.

  He loves me. And I love him.

  She couldn’t wait to see what came next.

  38

  Two Weeks Later

  West Kootenai, Montana

  The tumult of emotion on Mercy’s face when she turned, her hand in Caleb’s, to face family and friends, brought tears to Christine’s eyes. A burst of applause punctuated a ceremony filled with somber reminders of the sacredness of their profound, unbreakable vows. Joy permeated those bonds too. Caleb’s friends pulled him from the arms of his bride—most likely for a round of foolish pranks. They’d bring him back in time to take his place at the corner table for his first meal with his new wife.