St. Ignatius, Montana
So much learning in one day caused a person’s head to feel stuffed and heavy. What to think about first? Christine rode her bicycle back to Uncle Fergie’s after Raymond dropped her off at The Malt Shop. It gave her time to try to figure out what it all meant. She’d never seen a man so full of learning and so passionate about a past that’s ink had long dried on the pages of history books.
Her father and the district elders had passion for the history that brought their ancestors from Europe to America, but it was different. More stoic. More forgiving. Because they had a forgiving faith.
The Kootenai didn’t forgive or forget. Raymond didn’t forgive or forget. She propped her bike against the porch and clomped up the steps. He didn’t even believe in Jesus.
How did that feel? How did she feel about it? Myriad emotions tumbled around in her head, like clothes in a wringer washing machine. Jesus said, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”
Jesus Himself said it, so it had to be true. Every word of the Bible was God-inspired, God-breathed. That’s what the bishop said in his sermons. The apostle Peter said salvation was only possible through Jesus.
So where did that leave people like Raymond whose people had been treated badly in the name of religion?
Her heart ached for him and for his ancestors, even though he didn’t want or need her pity. He didn’t know what he was missing.
Should she try to tell him? Her people didn’t evangelize like the Jesuits. They witnessed by the living of their lives.
For some reason Raymond Old Fox found it important for her to understand that she now lived on a reservation that belonged to his people. Every non-Native person should know, understand, and appreciate the enforced sacrifices that had led to this arrangement. Even West Kootenai didn’t really belong to its residents, according to Raymond. It belonged to the mountains and the creatures who lived there.
She stopped on the porch, just short of the door. The realization spun her around. She’d lived in the shadows of those mountains her whole life. She had no appreciation of them beyond an occasional glance their way as she made venison stew or sausage from elk meat or grilled salmon. She enjoyed the bounty they were able to eat because of these creatures, but she didn’t truly appreciate them the way Raymond did.
Peering through the lenses of his people, she caught a glimpse of nature’s beauty and grace. Her infinite abundance when mankind didn’t abuse her or fritter away her bounty.
Another thought sent her reeling a second time. This entire day had passed without any thought of Andy. Andy and his first special friend. A friend he kissed and hugged and hoped to marry. When she chose another, then he set his sights on Christine.
Second choice. It didn’t hurt as much now that she’d spent an entire day talking to another man. She hadn’t paused to compare Andy’s tow hair and fair skin or his tall, lean build to Raymond’s black hair and dark eyes or his compact, burly build. Nor had she paused to consider what Andy would think of Raymond’s storytelling. The two men were from different worlds, and only in her did the far margins of those worlds touch.
Andy’s voice from the first time they kissed sounded in her head. “Your lips are so sweet. I’d like to kiss them every day.”
A delightful idea indeed. Had he said the same to his first love?
A bitter taste burned the back of her throat.
Conflicting feelings stumbled around in her head, bumping into each other. Drunk on emotion and uncertainty and strange new ideas.
Too much to think about. Better to think about starting supper for Aunt Lucy. She would be tired after a long day at the store. Christine tugged open the door and slipped inside.
“So there you are.”
Aunt Lucy sat in the hickory rocker in front of a dark fireplace. She held a basket of sewing in her lap. Uncle Fergie sat at the old oak desk shoved against a wall next to an open window that overlooked their garden. He had a spreadsheet book open. Both of them had the same disappointed, disapproving expression on their plump faces.
“You’re home early.” Without bending over, she used one black sneaker to nudge off the other and then her bare toes to remove the second one. “I was about to start supper. I thought pork chops and fried potatoes sounded good.”
“Where have you been?”
“I went to a museum in Pablo.”
Uncle Fergie’s woolly silver eyebrows rose and fell. “Your cousin was at the ice cream shop this morning getting a gallon of vanilla for his fraa’s birthday supper. He saw you get into a car with the Indian man who comes into the store sometimes. Raymond.”
“Jah. He took me to The People’s Center in Pablo. It was closed. We were the only ones there. No one saw us.”
The significance of her words spoken in haste made even Christine wince. She’d been alone with this virtual stranger the entire day. And she knew she shouldn’t be or she wouldn’t be assuring her aunt and uncle that no one saw them.
“What were you thinking—”
“Let me.” Uncle Fergie cut into Aunt Lucy’s horrified shriek. “You are here because your daed and mudder trusted us to watch over you. You are a young woman now. Old enough to know what’s right and wrong. Old enough to know better. You’ve violated our trust in you.”
His somber pronouncement cut far deeper than Aunt Lucy’s emotional outburst.
Christine fought to keep from hanging her head like a repentant child. “Nothing untoward happened. He simply wanted to teach me about his people so I would understand why this land we live on is so important to them.”
“Did you stop to wonder why he picked you out to tell this story to?”
She couldn’t explain the connection. Raymond had been right when he asked her if she felt it that day in the deli. “He’s kind and welcoming to a stranger who is away from her family for the first time because of a fire burning around the only home she’s ever known.”
Aunt Lucy’s harrumph lingered in the air along with Uncle Fergie’s stare that could slice meat from bone without moving.
“You are with family. Me and your aenti.” Uncle Fergie’s words followed a low growl in the back of his throat. “You’re not to see him again.”
Ach, Raymond. He had so much to share and she had so much to learn. Christine edged toward the kitchen door.
“Did you hear me?”
She managed a jerky nod.
She almost made it to the kitchen door when he spoke again. “We came home from the store because we thought you should know your friend Andy was in a car accident yesterday. His driver, John Clemons, died.”
Guilt and shame buffeted Christine from all sides. She hadn’t given Andy a thought until she arrived here, when a tragedy had changed his life forever. “Is he all right?” She whirled and stumbled back into the living room. “How badly was he hurt?”
“His mudder called the store and left a message with Esther Marie.” Aunt Lucy stood and picked up her coffee mug. “She said he’s bruised and banged up, but he’s at home resting. She thought you would want to know. Like me, she thought there was something between you and Andy.”
Something real and tangible did exist between her and Andy, but she didn’t dare speak of it to her aunt and uncle. That something kept her awake at night, thinking of his lips on hers and the sound of his voice as he carved toys from chunks of wood he brought home from the store. The way his eyes lit up when he saw her. The way his hand gripped hers when he helped her into the buggy. A day with a dark-haired stranger didn’t change any of that.
“I feel terrible about Mr. Clemons. He was a nice man.”
Lucy’s shoulders slumped and her eyes filled with tears. “She sounded pretty shaken up herself. I don’t know your friend Andy or even the English man who died, but it sounds so very sad.”
“Gott’s ways are a mystery to us, but He can use even this for our gut.” Uncle Fergie’s stern gaze bounced from Aunt Lucy to Christine. “Never lose sight of that.”
“May I call him?”
Aunt Lucy seemed on the verge of nodding, but Uncle Fergie’s “nee” sealed her lips. “You can’t be trusted to go to the store by yourself. It’s almost suppertime. Help your aenti in the kitchen.”
She deserved his distrust. Andy wouldn’t know of her sorrow because of it.
Adventures took their toll on everyone, it seemed.
Were they worth it?