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    A Long Bridge Home
    A Long Bridge Home
    A Long Bridge Home
    Ebook384 pages5 hours

    A Long Bridge Home

    By Kelly Irvin

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    After her community in the awe-inspiring Montana mountains is suddenly consumed by a raging wildfire, one young Amish woman finds herself in a new town where she’s introduced to the Native culture of the Kootenai people. 

    When the Mast family is forced to evacuate their home in the West Kootenai region of Montana, Christine chooses not to move with her family to her father’s childhood home in Kansas. Instead, she wants to stay closer to home and to her beau, Andy Lambright, who has yet to ask for her hand in marriage and who seems to be holding tightly to secrets from his past. 

    Now, living with her aunt and uncle in St. Ignatius, Christine is on her own for the first time in her life. While working in her uncle’s store Christine meets Raymond Old Fox, whom she befriends, and he introduces her to his rich native culture with strong ties to the earth and nature. Despite the warnings of her aunt and uncle, Christine is inexplicably drawn to Raymond, and her mind is opened to a history and heritage far different from her own. 

    With her newly expanding horizons, Christine wonders if she can return to the domestic life that is expected of her. Her heart still longs to be with Andy, but she isn’t the same person she was before the fire, and she wonders if he can accept who she is becoming. Has too much distance grown between them? Or can they bridge the gap from past to present and find their way back together?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherZondervan
    Release dateFeb 11, 2020
    ISBN9780310356745
    Author

    Kelly Irvin

    Kelly Irvin is a bestselling, award-winning author of over thirty novels and stories. A retired public relations professional, Kelly lives with her husband, Tim, in San Antonio. They have two children, four grandchildren, and two ornery cats. Visit her online at KellyIrvin.com; Instagram: @kelly_irvin; Facebook: @Kelly.Irvin.Author; X: @Kelly_S_Irvin.

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      Book preview

      A Long Bridge Home - Kelly Irvin

      title page

      Dedication

      To Northwest Hills United Methodist Church,

      my church family.

      Thank you for standing in the gap for me,

      for reminding me that God is good all the time,

      and for making me think about what I believe and why.

      Epigraph

      Jesus answered, I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.

      John 14:6

      I urge, then, first of all, that petitions, prayers, intercession and thanksgiving be made for all people—for kings and all those in authority, that we may live peaceful and quiet lives in all godliness and holiness. This is good, and pleases God our Savior, who wants all people to be saved and to come to a knowledge of the truth.

      1 Timothy 2:1–4

      Contents

      Cover

      Title Page

      Dedication

      Epigraph

      Contents

      Featured Families

      1

      2

      3

      4

      5

      6

      7

      8

      9

      10

      11

      12

      13

      14

      15

      16

      17

      18

      19

      20

      21

      22

      23

      24

      25

      26

      27

      28

      29

      30

      31

      32

      33

      34

      35

      36

      37

      38

      39

      Discussion Questions

      Acknowledgments

      An Excerpt from Over the Line

      Chapter 1

      Deutsch Vocabulary*

      About the Author

      Acclaim for Kelly Irvin

      Other Books by Kelly Irvin

      Copyright

      Featured Families

      9780310356745_familytree.jpg

      1

      West Kootenai, Montana

      Even the fresh scent of bleach couldn’t overcome the acrid stench of smoke from the Caribou wildfire that raged in Kootenai National Forest.

      Usually Christine Mast approached her work with steely determination to smite every dust particle, ferret out every stain, and banish every germ. It seemed silly to clean a house that might burn to a crisp in the next few days. On the other hand, on Wednesdays she cleaned the Drake house. Period. DeeDee Drake didn’t sacrifice cleanliness for anyone or anything. Labor Day weekend might be a time for holiday celebrations, but for Christine, it meant laboring. The Drakes’ ranch-style home better be spick-and-span or DeeDee would have plenty to say about it. That’s why she and Christine got along so well. Cleanliness was, after all, next to godliness.

      The evacuation order could come any second, and yet Christine stood in the Drake living room with her trusty dusting rag in one hand and a Willow Tree figurine of a woman and man holding a newborn baby in the other. These delicate carvings were so sweet. DeeDee had more than a dozen on her mammoth fireplace’s wooden mantel.

      Christine held the figurine family close to her chest and closed her eyes. What would it feel like to rock her own baby to sleep on a cold winter night? Her beau, Andy Lambright, talked about marriage, but he never came out and asked her. Sometimes he looked as if he might pop the question any second, and yet, nothing. Wouldn’t it be the pinnacle of happiness—cleaning her own house for a husband who appreciated all that hard work?

      Neither the man nor the woman holding the baby answered. Their faces remained blandly blissful.

      Christine. You need to go—now!

      DeeDee’s voice boomed behind Christine. She jumped. The fragile sculpture slipped from her fingers and hit the pine plank floor. It shattered in a half dozen pieces.

      Ach! Christine sank to the floor. She gathered the pieces of the happy family, their faces a puzzle that couldn’t be put together again. I’m so sorry. Your beautiful figurine—

      It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s not the end of the world. DeeDee knelt next to her. Stop, you’ll cut yourself.

      Indeed, the end of the world did roar down the mountains, and this tiny bit of beauty seemed too precious to lose. Christine would glue the family back together. No, it would never be the same. Like her serene, orderly life.

      A pointed shard pierced Christine’s thumb. Blood dripped on her apron. She clutched her hand to her chest, trying to stymie the flow from a small cut. I’m such a clumsy girl.

      You’re not clumsy. It’s my fault. I scared you. DeeDee heaved herself to her feet and offered her plump hand. Let’s get you a bandage and get you going. We just got the Code Red Reverse 911 call. It’s time to evacuate. The fire’s coming.

      With one last look at the broken family, Christine scampered after the other woman. A quick fix in the kitchen and she rushed out the door. DeeDee followed. They hugged as if they might never see each other again. Being hugged by DeeDee was like being enveloped in a soft, down-filled comforter that smelled of Dove soap and lavender shampoo. A safe, clean fragrance.

      I didn’t finish the bathrooms. A sob caught in Christine’s throat. Letting go and leaving this kind woman who had been a neighbor for Christine’s entire life seemed impossible. Alex left a terrible mess in the kids’ bathroom.

      The oldest Drake son was a teenager sure he needed to shave those three spindly blond hairs on his chin and wear large quantities of a stinky aftershave that made Christine sneeze.

      Honey, God willing, they’ll still be here when we come back and you can scrub them extra hard. DeeDee gently tugged free. We’ll see you and yours in Eureka. Don’t you worry.

      A conversation played in Christine’s head. One she wasn’t supposed to hear. Mother and Father whispered over glasses of iced tea in the kitchen after the little ones went to bed. Father wanted to go home—to his home. Kansas. Mother argued against it, but if things went as usual, Father would have the final word.

      Christine had been two when Father pulled up stakes and moved the family to Montana, drawn by the gorgeous vistas, hunting, fishing, and mountaintops he said brought them closer to the God who created them. Kootenai was their home. Christine had graduated from school here in the eighth grade, cleaned houses for four English families since she was fifteen, and been baptized at eighteen. She went on camping trips with her family to Lake Koocanusa even though tramping around outdoors with the mosquitoes and snakes numbered far down her list of favorite activities. She’d hike in the mountains a hundred times a year to stay here.

      All she remembered from trips to visit family was a shimmering asphalt ribbon that cut a straight line through endless flat fields of golden wheat and corn as far as she could see—and dirty convenience store restrooms. Even as a child, she’d rather hold it than relieve herself in such stinky, miserable quarters.

      The future heaved in front of her, a winding mountain road that suddenly buckled under the weight of a rock slide. I’ll pay you back for the figurine. Tears choked Christine as she grabbed the bike she’d left leaning against the back porch. I’m so sorry I broke it. It was so beautiful.

      Knickknacks can be replaced. DeeDee swiped at her dimpled cheeks and then shooed her with both hands. Go, girl, hurry. Your daddy and mama will be looking for you.

      Christine slid onto her mountain bike and pedaled down the gravel road. The thick smoke stung her eyes and hurt her throat. The entire world smelled like a wood-burning stove. The bandaged cut on her palm throbbed.

      She glanced back. DeeDee stood on the porch waving as if she had all the time in the world. Behind her, black smoke loomed over the house, a sinister, growing monster lurching closer and closer. The towering pines and spruce that normally guarded the grounds with such stately dignity quivered and shrank as if they could see the seething flames roaring down the mountain, bringing with them the demise of every living creature and plant in their path.

      Don’t look.

      Gritting her teeth, she faced the road and pumped harder. Her muscles complained. Her parched throat ached with each intake of harsh air.

      A horn blared. A shiny blue pickup truck loaded down with furniture, boxes, and suitcases swerved around her. She skidded to a stop at the intersection with Wilderness Road. The truck barreled past her. Gene Dickson’s wife yelled an apology from the passenger’s seat. Her words whirled away on a gust of wind, dust, and smoke.

      Christine’s legs quaked. She gasped for air and then regretted it. Smoke burned all the way to her belly.

      Go, go, go. Gott, help me.

      A buggy came into view with a familiar chocolate-colored gelding pulling it. The steady clip-clop of horse’s hooves thudding on packed dirt steadied her.

      Andy.

      He always showed up when Christine needed him. He showed his love in every way possible—except one.

      Now she might never get a chance to hear those words.

      2

      West Kootenai, Montana

      Gott knows what’s in a person’s heart. That’s what Christine’s dad always said. How surprised would Andy be if Christine hopped from her bike and jumped into his arms? Rather than shocking him half to death, she settled for a sturdy wave. He plowed to a stop in the intersection, hopped from the buggy, and strode toward her with a frown on his tanned face.

      "I couldn’t believe it when your daed said you went to work this morning with the preevacuation notice hanging over us. He punctuated the statement with emotions—anger, worry, fear, love—in that gruff voice that never failed to send goose bumps hiking up Christine’s arms. You should’ve been on the first wagon out of here."

      As usual her heart took a quick vacation from beating as she stared up at his unlined face with his forest-green eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips. His normally crisp, clean blue shirt sported dark sweat stains. His pants were dirty. If only she could do his laundry. He towered over her, but so did most people. He said he liked that she was short, and he never took advantage of her height by treating her as if she were a child because she looked like one. I was at DeeDee’s cleaning when they got the call.

      Get in. My boss got the same call. I’ll put your bike in the back.

      Andy didn’t wait for her to agree. He waggled his fingers at Donut—so named because he’d never met a doughnut he didn’t like—and the dog hopped from the front seat into the back with a soft woof. Christine slipped from the bike and climbed into the buggy. Donut’s snout nudged her arm. She swiveled and petted the gray German shepherd’s grizzled head. "Jah, it’s gut to see you too, hund."

      Andy settled next to her and snapped the reins. Your daed was headed back to the house. He asked me to come get you.

      Do you think he knows about us?

      "Nee. He knows he can trust me with you, that’s all. Andy’s voice deepened. He and I are friends despite the age difference. Anyway, he wanted to set up sprinklers to try to protect the house and finish packing the wagon. He wants your mudder and the kinner out of here. None of us should’ve been working, I reckon."

      Plain folks didn’t know how not to work. Sawdust decorated Andy’s shirt and homemade denim pants. Fire or not, the Montana Furniture Store had orders to fill for customers from across the country who wanted rustic, log cabin–style furniture. Christine’s fingers itched to brush off his shirt. She clutched them in her lap instead. Daed said we should pray for relief, prepare for the worst, and go about our business, knowing Gott has a plan.

      "He’s a wise man, but if you were my dochder, I would’ve made you stay home."

      I’m so glad I’m not.

      Her dry observation elicited a small chuckle.

      Her own laugh skittered away on the smoke-filled wind. I heard him say something last night . . . Should she repeat information she wasn’t meant to hear? Christine chewed her lower lip. If she couldn’t tell the man she eventually intended to marry, who could she tell? "He and Mudder were talking in the kitchen before bedtime. I went to say gut natcht. They’re thinking about returning to Haven."

      To Kansas? He took his gaze from the road long enough to share a look of disbelief with her. He hasn’t said anything to me.

      The two worked at the furniture store together. Christine shrugged. He hasn’t even told us.

      Andy shook his towhead as he turned onto the dirt road that led to the Mast property. He often did that when mulling over a problem. He likely had no idea how often he peered into space, frowning, his shaggy hair bobbing. Maybe your parents will allow you to stay. You’re a grown woman. You have a special friend. They know that.

      Maybe if he’d asked her to marry him, they wouldn’t be having this conversation. Why was he holding back? What was he holding back? Since the first time Andy gave her a ride home from a singing, she’d never looked at another man. He said he had to wait until he saved enough money to buy land and build a home for his future family, and that was fine with her.

      Only a few months ago a small house had come on the market for rent. A perfect starter home for a newlywed couple. She’d thrown out a comment about it, hoping he’d bite. He nodded and said it would indeed be a good house . . . for some young couple. Nothing more. Stay where?

      You could stay with Mercy and the Yoders.

      Maybe. They’re staying in Eureka. We could see each other there.

      I won’t be in Eureka.

      Now Christine shook her head. He couldn’t be serious. Are you staying in Rexford? That’s still close. Or Libby?

      Libby would require a car, but it was only an hour away.

      Andy didn’t answer. His expression was unreadable, as it so often was. They pulled into her front yard. What had been a peaceful mountain country scene at dawn with a sprawling house, chicken coop, horse corral, barn, and swing set for the children was now the scene of furious activity. Christine’s dad and her three brothers handled hoses that sprayed water over the house, the nursery, and the sheds. Her sisters and her mother lugged suitcases and boxes to the wagon. They needed her help, but she couldn’t let this discussion end with that bombshell.

      Are you going to tell me, or is it a secret?

      I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier. With a glance around, Andy grabbed her hand, squeezed, and let go. "My daed wants me back home. His health is bad. My bruders built on a dawdy haus for him and Mudder."

      Lewistown is six and a half hours from Eureka by car. Andy left his family’s farm between Moore and Lewistown after a falling out with his older brother—one he never wanted to talk about. You promised me we would always live in Kootenai. You never wanted to go home.

      "It’s not forever. Just until he’s feeling better. All the suhs are at the farm for now."

      It must be bad if all the sons were converging on Lewistown. Whatever you need to do.

      Don’t be mad. He hopped down from the buggy and waited while she did the same. I have to take care of family.

      Christine managed a smile. She would do the same, if called upon. I’ll miss you.

      His long fingers brushed hers. Me too. Now go help your mudder. You need to get out of here. Now.

      He marched away just like that. No backward glance. No assurances. Men were so hard to understand. How will we stay in touch? she called after him.

      It’ll work out. He did a backward wave over one shoulder and kept going. Remember, worry is a sin.

      Fine. No worries here. She would let him go and let God sort it out.

      *  *  *

      That had not gone well. Leaving such important information until the last second was all wrong. His throat aching, Andy scooped up the hose left on the ground by Christine’s brother Zeke and sprayed the log walls in the hope that it would be enough to save the structure when flames surrounded it. He had no choice but to go home. Family came first. Even if it meant leaving behind the woman he loved. Even if it meant dealing with a brother who’d done something nearly impossible to forgive.

      Even after four years, the thought of facing Stephen and his wife caused embers hotter than the ones sparked by the fire to burn through Andy. He could be the bigger man. He had no choice. Just when his goal of saving enough money to get his own place and propose to Christine seemed within reach, lightning ignited the mountains above West Kootenai, his father’s health failed, and Ben Mast had decided to take his family back to Kansas. If this was God’s plan, Andy couldn’t fathom it.

      Nor question it. An obedient believer did not question. His father’s words the day Andy left the farm rang in his ears. It’s not your place to question Gott’s plan or to run away from it. You’re needed here. Forgiveness is one of the most important planks in building a strong faith.

      But he had questioned. Unable to forgive, he ignored the pleading in his mother’s eyes and left. And met Christine, for whom his feelings had grown over time despite his stubborn desire to protect his heart. And he’d learned to love this tiny town of just over four hundred people. Sometimes God’s plans were more outrageous than a person could imagine. All’s well that ends well, his father would say. But not until Andy learned to forgive.

      It would take a stronger man than himself to resist Christine’s slightly crooked smile, dimpled cheeks, sky-blue eyes, or the bonfire that raged when her fingers brushed against his or he touched the soft skin on her neck. Or kissed eager lips that melded to his. Or the way she looked when she served him at the supper table when he joined her family for a meal—as if she’d made the cherry pie just for him.

      He couldn’t tell her that his hesitancy had nothing to do with her and everything to do with his fear that she would be another woman who took his heart and then left him standing at the back of the room while she married another man.

      Why would Ben give up and go back to Kansas before the fire touched the home he’d built for his wife and seven children?

      Now would not be the time to ask.

      Is everyone packed up and out by your place? Ben manhandled a wheelbarrow filled with tools toward the wagon already overflowing with boxes, suitcases, two dogs, a cat, and the four girls. Sweat rolled down the older man’s face and soaked the collar of his shirt. Christine’s father had the build of a giant sequoia tree and a black beard threaded with shiny silver. If you’re not needed there, I can use your help setting up sprinklers around the barn.

      We’ve done all we can at the cabins. Ian is gone. Henry went to help the Borntragers at the store. Andy turned off the water and unscrewed the hose so he could move to the barn. I think Caleb is at the Yoders, helping Jonah.

      Gut. Ben swiped at his forehead with his sleeve. "I’ll get my fraa and kinner moving. Then I’ll be back."

      Andy connected the hose a second time and grabbed a sprinkler from the pile next to the massive wooden building’s double doors. He scooped up a respirator and stuck it over his head. Immediate relief seeped into his burning throat as he watched the tableau of husband and wife saying goodbye. Melba Mast didn’t want to leave her husband and sons—that was obvious. Her round face turned red. She gesticulated with both hands. Ben’s vigorous shake of his head indicated his reaction to her argument.

      The big man stepped into his wife’s space and leaned so close it appeared he might hug her or even kiss her. Melba’s hands stopped moving. The two seemed to communicate without words. Twenty-five years of marriage shimmered in the space between two human beings more connected than branches of the same cottonwood.

      To have that would be the ultimate gift from God. A person had to be worthy of such largess.

      Andy averted his eyes. The moment demanded privacy. He concentrated on the spray of warm water that soaked the faded gray barn walls. Drops of water sparkled in the rays of sun that managed to squeeze through thick clouds of smoke like hope in the face of a future that might be consumed by fire.

      Sechndich schpeeder.

      Christine’s voice held a plaintive, questioning note. God willing, they would see each other later. Maybe not today. But later. Andy swiveled and let the hose water grass turned brittle and brown by a long, hot summer with no rain. Mach’s gut.

      She smiled and waved. Andy’s muscles quivered and begged for the chance to stride over to the wagon and kiss her thoroughly in front of her parents, sisters, brothers, and God. He waved back.

      The wagon carrying his hope for a full future jolted down the dirt road and disappeared ahead of a flurry of dust.

      Gott, keep them safe, I humbly beg.

      He should add, Thy will be done.

      But God would do what He would do. He didn’t need Andy’s permission. That was obvious.

      Trying not to look toward the mountains, Andy spent the next hour helping Ben move the sprinklers and soak the buildings. Wearing respirators meant little was said, but the set of the man’s broad shoulders reflected his desperate need to believe their paltry efforts would make a difference when the fire drove them away from his property.

      A siren whooped, a harsh, discordant sound not often heard in these parts. Andy dropped the hose and whirled. A dirt-covered Lincoln County sheriff’s SUV swung around the bend in the dirt road leading to the Mast home, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. Brakes screeched and the SUV halted at a crazy angle a few yards from the shop Ben used for his own creations—benches, tables, and other primitive pieces—from wood he scavenged from the forest floor. Deputy Sheriff Tim Trudeau, a tall, muscular, red-haired man who normally wore a good-natured smile, emerged.

      It’s time to go. Scowling, he waved his paw the size of a catcher’s mitt in the general direction of the mountains. It’s coming.

      You said we had four to five hours. Ben coughed as he glanced up at the sunlight leaking through dense smoke. He wiped at his face with a dirty sleeve. It’s not even been two hours since Deputy Quiñones came by.

      We miscalculated. Tim grabbed a can of spray paint from the SUV’s front seat. It didn’t slow down when it hit the meadow. The winds picked up. It’s moving faster than we figured it would. You gotta go. I’m sorry, Ben. You’ve done all you can do.

      What are you doing with that? Careful to keep the hose turned toward the building, Andy moved closer to Christine’s father. Spray painting in the middle of an evacuation?

      That’s how we know who’s gone and who’s staying.

      We can stay? Isn’t the evacuation mandatory—

      It is mandatory, Tim broke in. Especially for kids. We have a few thickheaded folks who refuse to leave, but they had to sign a form saying they stay at their own risk. No one will rescue them. His voice grew hoarse. You don’t want to do that, Ben. Get your boys out of here. Please.

      I will. Just give me a little longer . . . I want to set sprinklers around the shop. Ben shook his massive head and turned toward the mountains. Andy did the same. A curtain of hot orange and red flames careened toward them, consuming everything with a voracious appetite that never seemed to be satiated.

      Gott have mercy. Ben whipped toward the house. Suhs, in the buggy, now.

      Gott, help us. Andy turned off the water with hands suddenly all thumbs. He bolted across the yard to his own buggy. Wild-eyed, Cocoa whinnied and shied away from him. It’s okay, boy. You’re right. It’s time to go.

      No one’s in the house? Tim hollered.

      No one. Ben shooed his youngest boy, Martin, into the buggy. The women and children went on ahead.

      Thank God for that. Tim shook the can and sprayed a big black zero on the sidewalk leading up to the house. Now go.

      They went. Andy wanted to look back. Surely God wouldn’t turn him into a pillar of salt like Lot’s wife. The people of West Kootenai had done nothing but live by God’s commandments. No iniquity or darkness lived here. Only salt and light.

      His new beginning in the heart of God’s beautiful mountain oasis far to the west of Eden disappeared behind him, hidden by a dark curtain of black smoke from a fire started by lightning. Not man’s doing, but God’s.

      3

      Rexford, Montana

      A few Englishers not put off by fire bans and possible evacuations ate Popsicles, slurped sodas, and took selfies in Rexford’s General Store in a last stop before rolling their boats, canoes, kayaks, Jet Skis, and RVs to the shores of Lake Koocanusa.

      Christine stuck close to her mother’s side as she wove her way between two couples perusing US Forest Service motor-vehicle use maps and discussing how many bags of ice they needed. At the counter Mother found the person she sought. Owner and general manager Terry Dublin.

      Terry scratched his shaggy head of silver curls, smiled, and sighed in that order. Which was nothing new. He did that every time the Masts stopped by for a visit to one of their favorite camping spots.

      Sorry you had to evacuate. This fire is a monster. Terry removed his wire-rimmed glasses and replaced them in the exact same spot. What can I do for you?

      He did not ask the question idly.

      How crowded is it on Rexford Bench? Mother leaned closer to be heard over the buzz of customers. We need to set up camp for a day or two.

      A day or two. From her lips to God’s ears. Christine selected a handful of Bazooka bubble gums and laid a dollar on the counter. The girls would be thrilled with her small gift.

      Everyone here is concerned for your welfare. Terry’s kind smile encompassed Christine as he nudged the dollar bill back in her direction. On the house. Take some Tootsie Pops, too, for the little ones. Don’t you worry. With the fire bans and the smoke, people are choosing to camp in other areas. You won’t have trouble finding a spot. Did you bring plenty of blankets? When the sun goes down, it’ll cool off. You can’t make a campfire, of course, but set up your Coleman and the mosquitoes should leave you alone. Also, you’ll be close to the facilities. When Ben comes in, I’ll tell him where you are.

      That’s kind of you.

      What are neighbors for?

      The drive from West Kootenai encompassed the longest bridge in Montana and another seventeen miles north on Highway 37 to get to Rexford, but in Montana they were close neighbors.

      Christine thanked him for the candy, and Mother gathered up a few supplies, including more kerosene, hot dogs, buns, pickle relish, extra matches, flashlight batteries, and the ingredients for s’mores.

      S’mores, Mudder? Christine’s mouth watered. Between the Tootsie Pops and the chocolate, the kids would be hopping around like jack-in-the-boxes. "It really does feel like we’re

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