Rexford, Montana
A man should know better than to sneak up on a woman with a flaming marshmallow skewered on her stick. At the sound of Andy’s voice, Christine whirled. She came within an ant’s tongue of stabbing him with her dessert.
He ducked just in time. “Hey. It’s me.”
Acutely aware of her mother’s observant stare, Christine stumbled back a few steps from the Coleman stove. The roasted hot dogs had been crisp on the outside and juicy on the inside. In other words, perfect. Despite her certainty that this terrible day had left her without an appetite, Christine had managed to eat two on fresh, spongy buns and a large helping of tangy mustard potato salad before they started on the s’mores. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were here.”
Or maybe she’d closed her ears to the familiar sound of his voice, not wanting to be disappointed by another conversation. The girls had heard him. Maisie and Abigail loved Donut. Socks and Shoes weren’t as excited about the German shepherd’s appearance, but they tolerated him. Maisie had ridden him like a horse until she grew too big. Now she showered him with hugs and he repaid her with kisses.
Kisses. The word conjured up the first sweet yet fiery kiss Andy had given her after almost a year of courting. It had taken awhile for him to touch her, but once he had she found herself seeking those intimate moments at every turn. She dreamed about them—during the day and at night. He approached kissing with surprising enthusiasm—surprising because it took him so long to decide to do it at all. She had no experience in this area, but he was good at it. So good her muscles turned to noodles and her brain stopped thinking about anything except when that next kiss would come.
“Your daed invited me to spend the night here.” His confident way of speaking sputtered and died for a second. His gaze floundered around her feet. He looked tired and dejected. Christine’s heartstrings thrummed. It was impossible to stay mad at him for wanting to do the right thing—even if it meant being apart for a while.
Andy cleared his throat. “It’s getting dark. It wouldn’t be a gut idea to be on the highway with all these strangers who don’t know where they’re going.”
“Unlike you who’s definitely headed to Lewistown.”
“Not tonight.” A touch of belligerence mingled with a faint bit of hurt in his tone. Could he be as hurt as she was? It didn’t seem possible. “A man has to do what a man has to do. For family.”
“Indeed.”
“Have you eaten?” A package of raw hot dogs in one hand, Mother squeezed between them. “Help yourself. We’re stuffed to the gills.”
Christine swooped down and grabbed the dogs. “Jah, you look hungry.”
It would give them time to talk. Or at least be close.
“I’m beat. I still have to set up my tent.” He backed away from the picnic table. The shadows overtook his face so she could no longer see his features. “Tomorrow will be soon enough to figure out what to do next.”
A spark of hope leaped over the lake and wafted on the cool September breeze.
“A gut night’s sleep will help everyone think more clearly.” While Mother’s tone was warm, her gaze could pierce skin and bone. “It’s time to turn in.”
“We didn’t get to eat.” Martin edged closer to Christine and the hot dogs. “I sure could use a wiener.”
“Can we look for frogs first?” Mark asked. “Just for a little bit.”
They knew better than to question instructions, but this was a strange night for everyone. Mother took pity on them. “I know Terry filled you up with junk. Hot dogs are pretty much the same thing, but go ahead. Be quick about it, though. The sun will be up before you know it.”
She made shooing motions that sent Maisie and Abigail scrambling to their pup tent. Delilah was already in the slightly bigger tent Christine would share with her. The three boys shared the last one, a new green canvas purchased at the beginning of summer. This must be what the Israelites felt like those forty years wandering in the wilderness and living in tents. Dirty and sweaty and no place to clean up.
Surely it wouldn’t be that long.
Mother gave Christine a knowing glance—one that said the boys would be nearby serving as chaperones until they finished eating.
No need for worry, that was obvious. Andy unhitched his horse and fed him. From there he grabbed a duffel, a kerosene lamp, and a nylon tent bag from his buggy and ambled several yards from the campsite.
Christine chewed on her thumbnail. Mother and Father disappeared into the biggest beige tent on the outskirts of their site. Their shadows flickered in the lantern’s light.
Andy really should eat. A man needed nourishment. Christine settled into her lawn chair. It sank into the loamy soil under her slight weight. The boys stuffed their faces. She stood and went back to the stove where she cooked two more wieners until they had a nice toasty skin. At the picnic table she slid them on buns and added all the toppings. Andy liked his loaded. The image of him devouring one with mustard, catsup, cheese, and relish, a look of delight on his handsome face, floated in her mind’s eye. At the volunteer firefighters’ fund-raiser. Later he’d kissed her, and the taste of pickle relish lingered on his lips. Sweet and tart. Like him.
She wrapped the dogs in paper napkins and started in the direction he’d taken.
“Where are you going?” Zeke stepped into her path. “It’s dark down by the water. We wouldn’t want you to fall in.”
“I’ll deliver these to Andy and be right back.” Christine stood toe-to-toe with her younger brother, who, like most men, towered over her. Zeke had his own rumspringa secrets. They’d run into each other a few times in the midnight hour. A teenager couldn’t find much trouble in Kootenai, but Zeke had smelled of cigarette smoke and alcohol. “You can keep an eye on the kinner.”
Zeke hesitated. He had the same big frame and massive biceps as Father, but in the face he looked like Mother. Especially when peevish. “I think that’s your job.”
“I’ll be right back.” She kept her voice soft. The boys didn’t need to hear. “How is Jane?”
His expression tightened. “How would I know?”
“Courting is private.” She smiled. “So is our rumspringa.”
He shrugged. “The hot dogs are getting cold.”
“I won’t be long.”
“Be careful and come right back.”
His concern warmed her. They used to have fun together when they both were in school, before they grew up and apart. “I will.”
She turned and scurried through calf-high grass and weeds. A breeze rustled the leaves in the trees. The scent of pine mingled with smoke from the mountains wafted in the air. No light sparkled on the normally satiny-smooth water. A strange sense of unreality washed over Christine. The day’s events crowded her. Swallowing against a sudden lump in her throat, she approached the clearing where Andy had assembled a two-man nylon tent in royal blue. A book in his lap, he lounged in a lawn chair with a kerosene lantern at his feet.
A low whine in his throat, Donut rose.
“It’s me, hund.” She spoke softly so as not to startle Andy.
He swiveled. “You came. I was hoping you would.”
“I can’t stay. I brought you some food. Hot dogs.”
“I’m so hungry I could eat my arm.” He laid the Bible on the folding stool next to him. “Pull up the other chair.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“Just for a second. I want to talk to you.”
Now he wanted to talk. She glanced at her family’s row of multicolored, well-used tents arranged in descending sizes. Like a hundred other camping trips over the years. “For a minute.”
“I know you think I’m unfeeling or I wouldn’t be leaving you right now.” He unwrapped the first hot dog. Mustard dripped on his pants. He wiped at it with the napkin, but it smeared more. How long would it be before they could do laundry? He shrugged, took a big bite, and chewed. She waited. He swallowed. “But I’m not. My daed taught me that a man needs to work hard. Gut things come to those who work and wait on Gott’s plan. I only want to do what’s right and do it the right way.”
“I understand that.” Christine struggled to find words that didn’t make her sound young, selfish, or naive. “I want to do the right thing too. It seemed as if we had all the time in the world. Mammi Tabitha would say that’s the curse of the young. We think we’ll live forever. Now we know things can happen from one day to the next that change everything. I just wish we’d moved more quickly. If we were married, we wouldn’t have to be separated.”
“It’s not because I don’t care for you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Even now he avoided the word love. “If you care—”
“You aren’t at fault for any of this. Please know that.” He wiped his face with the napkin. “The fire has made me realize I have to take care of unfinished business at home before I’m ready to settle down.”
Once again they were out of step. She wanted to leap off the cliff with his hand in hers. Maybe they weren’t supposed to be together. If he really loved her, what kind of unfinished business would keep him from asking her to marry him? “You don’t talk much about home. Do you miss it?”
“It’s beautiful, like Kootenai, but different. It’s a green valley with mountains in the distance.” His gaze drifted out to the lake. “I miss my mudder’s chokeberry jam. Did you know Lewistown is the chokeberry capital of the world?”
“I didn’t.” Crickets chirped and frogs croaked in a familiar, comforting concert while Christine mused over his words. More likely he missed his mother as much as the jam. She would. It was hard to imagine not seeing Mother every day. “Maybe you could bring me some when you come back.”
“I miss hunting with my dad. This time of year the elk are bugling and the leaves are changing. My dad likes to fly-fish at Big Spring Creek. We hunt for grouse and pheasant and partridge. Them’s some gut eats.”
He’d blown right past her suggestion. Hurt chipped away at her determination to be supportive—the way a wife would. Love endured. Distance wouldn’t matter if it was truly love. “What about your bruders and schweschders? Did you hunt with them?”
“I miss the smell of the alfalfa when we cut it for hay. When I was little I sat with my dad on the wagon that held the propane engine that powered the harvester. Sometimes he let me take the reins and guide the team of horses.”
Again, his answer skipped over her question, almost as if he hadn’t heard her. He’d been transported to another place and time.
“I thought your daed had a sawmill.”
“He does. The farm is only a hundred and sixty acres. It’s not nearly big enough to compete with the big two-thousand-acre farms that grow winter wheat, sugar beets, potatoes, and alfalfa and such. Daed had to find other ways to support the family.”
“Your bruders work at the sawmill then?”
“The smoke makes the night even darker.” His gaze lifted to the looming night. “It blankets the mountains and blots out the stars.”
He spoke as if destruction were a foregone conclusion and he didn’t want to talk about his brothers. That was apparent, but why? Christine studied his face, letting her gaze trace the familiar contours of his hollow cheeks, perfect nose, and the full lips that gave her so much pleasure. “What is this unfinished business you must take care of?”
“I told you, my father’s sick and my bruders want everyone there.”
“You said that, but it seems like there’s something else bothering you. You don’t go home often, even though it’s not that far.”
“Six and a half hours.”
“Less than a day by van.”
He scrubbed at catsup on his thumb with the crumpled napkin. His lips twisted. For a moment it seemed as if he would ignore the question. “Family relations can be complicated.”
“What happened?”
“It’s history. Nothing that needs to be dug up and rehashed.”
“But you have to go?”
He raised his head and nodded. “I have to go.”
So be it. “They’ll put the fire out, you’ll take care of your business, and then we’ll see where we stand.”
His shoulders hunched. His fingers worried the mustard spot. “You’re not going home.”
Maybe that was the root of his somber stare. Not whatever waited for him in Lewistown. It was her turn to stare at smoke that looked like thunderclouds in the distance. “You talked to Daed?”
“He said the decision is made.”
“Mudder said the same.” Christine bit her lip. A tiny spiral of pain spurred her on. Now or never. “She also said true love can overcome distance and time apart.”
“That’s true whether it’s Lewistown or Haven, Kansas.”
Their gazes held. Breathless, no longer distinct, one from the other. Her heart beat in her ears. Despite the cool evening breeze on her face, heat dampened her skin.
Life could not be this hard. Grandma’s tart voice sounded in her head. “Silly child, of course it can. He’s not going off to war like the English husbands. You haven’t lost a child to cancer. You haven’t been widowed.”
“How far do you think it is to Haven?” She forced her gaze to the lake with its water that shimmered in light but remained hidden and black in the dark.
“I don’t know exactly, but it’s a couple of days’ traveling with kinner and household goods.”
Gott, is this Your plan for me? First fire, then desolation, then distance?
God is good.
Grandma said that too. He did what was best for His children, not what was easiest.
The words tripped over Christine’s heart and landed somewhere near the pit of her stomach.
Thy will be done.
* * *
Andy’s heart refused to do its job. The hot dogs heaved in his gut. The flickering lantern light illuminated the sadness on Christine’s face. That lost look would be forever etched on his conscience. Why did love seem to involve so much discomfort? With Winona it hadn’t been true love. It couldn’t have been, or they would still be together. Christine’s hurt flailed at him, speaking of the fact that she truly cared. She would never do what Winona did. She cared that much.
He’d been mistaken the first time. How could a man be sure? He might not be able to answer that question, but he could try to find a way to assuage Christine’s pain. “You have family in St. Ignatius, don’t you?”
Her forehead wrinkled the way it always did when she thought hard. “I do. Aenti Lucy and Onkel Fergie and their kinner. They own the Valley Grocery Store. I’m sure we’ll stop to see them on the way to Kansas.”
“Don’t you see? That’s it.”
“What’s it?”
“What if you stay with them? Don’t go to Haven?” Andy’s heart began to beat again. “Live with your aenti and onkel. Maybe you can work in their store.”
“St. Ignatius is still at least five hours by car from Lewistown.” Her hands twisted in her lap. She shook her head. “Not only would I not have you, but I wouldn’t have Mudder and Daed and Delilah and Zeke and the kinner.”
“I could get to St. Ignatius more often than all the way to Haven.” They would have a chance—a much better chance—to finish what they started. He couldn’t offer her a full life as his wife until he faced his past and returned to Kootenai to build a home for them. “I don’t plan to stay in Lewistown. I want to start my own business in Kootenai.”
He almost said it. With you as my fraa. Not yet. Not until he faced the past.
Hope flared in her face. “I don’t know if Daed and Mudder will agree to let me stay. Let’s ask them.”
“Right now?” She couldn’t know how audacious this sounded in Andy’s own ears. She didn’t know how his heart threatened to bolt from his chest at the idea. “This minute?” He stood and held out his hand.
She took it. Why keep up the pretense that their courting was a secret? Too much was at stake.
Andy leading the way, they trudged back to the Mast campsite. A cup of hot chocolate in one hand, Zeke sat in a camping chair. He looked as if he had dozed off. Christine reached for the cup. Her brother shifted and raised his head. “You’re back.” He directed the observation at Andy. “It’s getting late.”
“It is.” Christine cocked her head toward the tents. “You should turn in.”
His expression morose, he rose and dumped the rest of his cocoa in the dirt. He set the cup on the picnic table with a thump. “Dawn comes early.”
Instead of letting it go, Christine frowned and pointed at the offending cup. “You should rinse that out. It’ll draw flies and be a dried-up mess by morning.”
Zeke shrugged. His stare said he wouldn’t be distracted. Christine didn’t give in. “We’re just saying good night.”
He trod toward the second tent but not without a knowing backward glance.
Christine went to the first tent. “Mudder? Daed?” She whispered, but loud enough to elicit a whine from one of the smaller tents followed by rustling. “It’s Christine and Andy.”
Two seconds later Melba appeared at the tent flap. She slapped her kapp on her head at a haphazard angle. “Andy?”
“A quick word.”
Ben pushed past his wife. He held a kerosene lantern in one hand and reading glasses in the other. “It’s time for everyone to turn in. Past time.”
“I wanted to ask you something.” Christine’s voice was soft, but it didn’t waver. “Actually we wanted to ask you.”
Andy took a step forward, but he kept a respectful distance—from Christine and from her parents. “It’s a suggestion. A thought.”
“Fine. Be quick about it, then.”
“It’s okay.” Melba tugged her sweater around her ample middle. “I could make us some tea. I’ll heat some water on the Coleman stove. It’s chilly.”
“Nee, Fraa, it’s late and it’s been a long day.” Ben’s growl drew a puzzled woof from Donut, who’d followed them up the trail at a distance. “I want to get into Eureka tomorrow to the information center at the church first thing.”
A gust of mighty wind to carry Andy far, far away would be nice. He shifted from one foot to the other. Just say it. Onward and upward. “You have family in St. Ignatius?”
“My sister and her mann.” Melba yawned so wide her jaw cracked. “They have the store there.”
“I’d like to stay with them instead of going to Haven.” Christine stretched to her full height—five two or three at the most—and lifted her chin. “Will you ask them if they’d mind? I could clean their house, help with chores, or even work at the store, I reckon. I can do whatever they need.”
Melba’s hands went to her throat. She inched closer to Ben. “Not come with us? I don’t know, I—”
“We’ll think about it.” Ben gave them his back. “Come, Fraa. It’s time everyone was asleep.”
“Gut natcht.” Melba didn’t move. “See you tomorrow, then.”
“Gut natcht.” Her gaze bore into the back of his head as he turned and walked toward his campsite. He sneaked a glance at Christine. Her eyebrows rose. She smiled and tossed him a quick wave without raising her arm.
So “we’ll think about it” was a good sign? He’d known Ben for four years. Christine had a lifetime of signal reading and translating his words.
Feeling lighter, he picked up his pace. One tiny step forward would surely be the first in a journey toward happiness.