Rexford, Montana
With early evening came cooler air, but it still held smoke that stank and irritated the throat. Andy coughed, but nothing could dislodge the taste from his mouth. The shadows from the ponderosa pines that lined Highway 37 grew, giving his buggy much-appreciated shade. He gulped lukewarm water from his canteen. The turnoff to Rexford loomed. Ben would turn there to reunite with his family at one of the campgrounds. Andy should keep going. His ultimate destination was Eureka, another thirteen miles west to Highway 93, where he could spend the night with his friends the Clemonses.
John Clemons delivered furniture for the store and often served as a taxi service for the Kootenai Plain community. Knowing Andy had no family in Kootenai, he’d offered not only safe haven when needed, but his friendship. He’d already agreed to drive Andy to Lewistown when he was ready to return home.
Two more hours on the road, most of it in darkness. Andy could pull in here and spend the night. That would give him time to talk to Christine. Where would he stay? It would be awkward. He couldn’t bed down at the Masts’ campground. “What do you think, hund?”
Donut’s low growl deep in his throat did nothing to assuage Andy’s discomfort. “Danki for nothing.”
The dog raised his head and barked once.
“I don’t know about that.”
The highway sign with the arrow pointing to a left turn into Rexford appeared, taunting him.
“Fine.” He wasn’t a coward. Nor did he wish to hurt Christine. She was far too sweet for that. “But you’re serving as my pillow, buddy.”
No response from Donut.
Andy followed Ben’s buggy into Rexford where he pulled into the General Store. Pipe clenched between his lips, Terry sat on a bench out front, his skinny legs propped up on the split-log railing. He had so much fluffy silver beard, it was a wonder he didn’t catch it on fire smoking the pipe. He waved and let his boots clomp on the cement beneath him.
“Howdy, neighbors.” He stood and stretched. “I figured we’d have some latecomers, so we stayed open past closing time.”
Ben slipped from his buggy, as did his three sons, all of whom did their own series of stretches. With sooty faces and blackened clothes, they all looked like refugees from the coal mines. Andy made his way to the impromptu powwow between Ben and Terry, whose scent of cherry tobacco was a welcome respite from the burnt forest stench. The boys headed inside to use the facilities.
“Did my wife stop by?” Fatigue darkened the bags under Ben’s eyes. His voice was hoarse and his lips chapped. “I need to find her.”
Terry shared information on the women and children’s whereabouts. Ben’s expression relaxed. “Gut, that’s gut. We’ll get down there.” He turned to Andy. “You’ll stay with us, then?”
An invitation made it easier and harder. He couldn’t turn it down without some explanation. Nor did he want to share the truth with the father of his special friend.
“I’ll bet you all have a powerful thirst.” Terry hitched up his baggy jeans and cocked his head toward the door. “What do you say I bring everyone an icy cold root beer on me?”
“That’s kind of you. It would be wunderbarr.” Andy responded before Ben had a chance. “My throat is burning.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Andy waited until Terry disappeared into the store. He turned to Ben. “I was thinking of traveling the rest of the way into Eureka.”
“That’s another two hours. You have to be tired.” Ben shoved his straw hat back on his head. “It’ll be dark, and you know there’ll be a bunch of Englisch tourists on the road who don’t know where they’re going. They’re not used to slow-moving buggies, either.”
“John Clemons has a couple of bunk beds in his spare bedroom in Eureka. He offered them to me and Henry.”
“So go there tomorrow.”
“It’s nice of you to offer, but—”
“If you’re worried about it being untoward, don’t be.” A grim smile stole across the older man’s face. “I know you respect my dochder—and her parents—too much to take advantage of the situation.”
“How do you know about—?”
“I have eyes in my head, don’t I?”
So much for their careful avoidance at Sunday services and Gmay picnics. “I’m not just headed to Eureka. John will take me to my daed and mudder’s place out by Lewistown in a day or two.”
“But you’ll be back.” Ben’s bushy eyebrows rose and fell. “I thought you liked it here.”
“I thought you did too.”
Ben’s jaw jutted. A scowl spread across his face. “Who told you otherwise?” The scowl deepened. “Has Christine spoken out of turn?”
“It’s true then? You’re moving back to Kansas?”
“Jah.”
No explanation. Not that he owed anyone—least of all Andy—any such words that would explain how a man could uproot a family after almost twenty years in one of the most beautiful places created by God in the universe. “When?”
“Within the week.”
“You won’t stay to see what happens to your house?”
“It could be weeks before we get back in there. I want to get my fraa and kinner settled with my family in Haven before winter comes.” His face was lined with exhaustion, Ben leaned against his buggy and fanned his face with his hat. “It’s better that way. I can return to move whatever’s left later.”
“And the land?”
“One way or another, I’ll sell it.”
“No coming back.”
“Nee, no coming back.”
Andy needed that root beer. He cleared his throat, but he couldn’t find the right words. Ben knew about Andy courting Christine. That didn’t mean he wanted to talk about it. Plain folks didn’t do much of that.
“Kansas isn’t a bad place for a fellow to settle.” Ben replaced his hat and straightened. “Farmland is plentiful and fertile.”
What Andy knew about Kansas would fit on the head of a nail. A good place to farm. Not too crowded. No mountains, no natural lakes. “I’m a mountain man. That’s why I moved up here to Kootenai.”
“My fraa talked—”
“Here it is. Icy cold as promised.” Terry pushed open the double glass door with his elbow.
Zeke came in behind him and held it open while the store owner bounded through with two bottles of root beer. Pop in hand, the boys followed. Mark and Martin, who looked like twins but were actually two years apart, also carried paper bags bulging with unidentified goodies. Knowing Terry, they contained his favorite junk foods—Twinkies, Doritos, and Oreos. How the man stayed so thin remained a mystery.
Andy offered his thanks, even though the man’s timing left a great deal to be desired. How he’d love to know who Melba talked to and what was said.
Ben took a long swallow, lowered the bottle, and belched. “You’re a gut man, Terry.” His smile fleeting, he nodded at Andy. “Do you have a tent?”
“I do.”
“You can pitch it at our site. Down by the water.”
Translation. Far from Christine. “Danki.”
Ben shrugged. “No need for thanks. Let’s go, boys.”
While his three sons climbed into the buggy, Ben turned back for a second. His stare was long and level. “The kinner don’t know. I want to tell them.”
“Understood.” Andy sucked down half the root beer. The day had been long and difficult.
The hardest conversations were yet to come.