Covered Bridge Charm (20 page)

Widow Martha tightened her lips, realizing she’d made a mistake. She hoped nothing came of it. She’d never ever told anybody his surname for fright her parents would find out. And hadn’t she done a good job to suppress his memory all the time she’d been married to John? She’d been faithful. So why had it popped out now? Was she losing her mind?
“It’s not our fault,”
James had reasoned.
“Fate dealt us a bad hand. If you were older, we’d elope.”

How her heart had soared at his declaration. Only she was too young. “And your folks want you to go into the military.”

“We can write,” he suggested hopefully.

She remembered her struggle. The pain of letting him go. “Look me up when you get home,” she’d said. “If God wants us together, He’ll make a way.”

“I hope there really is a God,” he’d replied.

It had been the clincher that had allowed her to release him.

She wondered if he’d ever found Jesus. Though she often struggled with her sins, she loved the Lord.

Carly’s heart pounded. “Was he the boy you liked that one summer?”

Martha’s eyes darkened. “We were just friends. So what about you?”

“I like fishing.”

“I mean when are you going to get a man?”

Carly sputtered, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Men are like stockings, you know. You can’t pick up the cheap ones. You have to get the ones that are worthwhile. Like my John. He was an interesting man. Never could outsmart him.” Her eyes went to the bookcase across the room, filled with books from all sorts of genres. “We made a good match. Had a good life.”

Carly saw she was steering the conversation away from her summer fling. “When are you going to quit with the stockings?”

“Just wanna make sure you learned your lesson. Why don’t you date that Lapp fellow from the woodworking class? He’s made of quality stuff. Like my John.”

“Adam won’t be teaching the class until after Christmas. His family owns and operates a Christmas tree farm. Anyway, that’s getting a little personal, don’t you think?”

“I thought we were friends.”

Carly touched Martha’s arm. “We are. It’s just a touchy topic for me. Dating doesn’t seem to agree with me.”

“Baloney! The ones who can’t handle you aren’t worth fretting over. But that Lapp fellow’s different. I can tell.”

“You’re right about him. But we’re friends. Just like you and James Irish were friends.”

Martha’s face broke into a smile. “I knew it! You like—” Seeing her mistake, she clamped her hands over her mouth. When she pulled them away, she said, “It was a long time ago, and I shouldn’t have brought it up because it dishonors John.”

Her elderly friend must have loved both men deeply. “I don’t mean to be trite or dishonoring. You were a good wife. But now that John’s gone, it’s all right to think about those childhood memories. People remarry all the time.”

“Who are you to talk when you don’t even love one man?”

The harsh statement cut her, but she didn’t dwell on it. “Of course, you’re right.” She began to tidy Martha’s side table. “Your breathing seems improved, but since it’s raining today, we’ll give treatments every four hours.” Then she remembered what she’d wanted to talk to Martha about in the first place. “Can we talk about Dot?”

Martha nodded. “I worry about her when she’s not driving me nuts with those nursery rhymes. It’s worse when she’s troubled.”

Carly suddenly realized that the nursery rhymes could be causing Martha’s angry outbursts. “You think reading scripture to her would help?”

“Crusher reads to her every morning when he brings her orange juice at ten o’clock.”

“Do you know if it helps?”

“Helps the canary. Dot claims the bird likes it when Crusher reads.”

“So it makes Dot happier?”

“Well, jah. I guess I could read to her.”

“Why don’t you read something from Psalms, verses about overcoming fear?”

“Sure. I can find something like that.”

“In fact, if you read the same verse every day, she might be able to remember it.” Carly handed Martha the paper. “Thanks, I need to go now.”

But Martha shoved the paper back. “I’m done with that. I’ll find her a verse now.” She took the Bible from her side table and began leafing through it.

Feeling much better, Carly moved down the hall and paused a moment to watch Klepto in her room working on one of the new puzzles Sherie had purchased for her. Carly envisioned Martha accepting a handwritten journal telling her that James Irish made it out of the war alive. She had to make it happen.

S
aturday dawned crisp and clear. After the rain, it had stayed above freezing. Carly was eager to head back to the Crawfordsville Bridge area. Even though the sky was clear, this time she threw her new rain jacket into her wicker basket along with a notebook and pen, her lunch, and her freshly charged phone. Her first stop was the couple who lived at Martha’s old home-place. But they’d never heard of James Irish and didn’t recognize the surname.

After that, she went to the bridge, using it for a starting point, and rode away from Crawfordsville. She hadn’t gone far when she saw an elderly man in jeans and a striped polo shirt walking to his mailbox. She hit the brakes and came to a clean stop.

“You handle that bike like a pro.”

“That’s because it’s my mode of transportation.”

“You don’t have a horse and buggy?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m not Amish. I’m Conservative Mennonite.”

“Is that a fact? Well can’t say as I know one from the other.”

She fixed her kickstand and offered her hand. “My name’s Carly Blosser. I’m on a scouting mission.”

“George Street. Nice to meet ya. What kind of mission? Something for your church?”

“No. I work at Sweet Life Retirement Center, and I’m trying to locate one of the resident’s old friends… for her birthday.”

“That’s a nice thing you’re doing. Let me stick these letters in the mailbox and take you to the house to meet my wife, Rosie.”

Carly waited, then walked with him to the back door. “Rosie!” he called. “I’m bringing somebody inside.”

The cutest woman met them in the screened porch. Her eyes widened when she saw Carly, her eyes roving, taking in her plain clothing and covering. Carly knew she probably wasn’t a good representation, that most likely her hair was messy. But she introduced herself and repeated what she’d told George.

“You drink coffee?”

“Jah. Thanks.” Once she was served, she explained, “I was hoping to find somebody who’s lived in the area long enough to remember the Irish family.”

“You stopped at the right house. My family’s lived here since the house was built.”

Thank You, Lord,
Carly prayed. “The man’s name was James Irish.”

“Nope, doesn’t ring a bell.”

“He used to go fishing on the Crawfordsville Covered Bridge.”

George chuckled. “People come from miles to fish there.”

Carly suddenly wondered if James had ridden his bike or driven. Surely Martha would’ve mentioned a car.

“I’ll make some phone calls if you like,” the woman offered.

“Save you from riding all over creation,” George added.

“I’d appreciate it. Let me give you my phone number.” Carly rattled off the numbers and finished her coffee.

“We’ve got some friends over at Sweet Life,” George said. “In independent living. I don’t mean any disrespect, but I was surprised the bathroom isn’t even set up for a wheelchair.”

Embarrassed, Carly said, “They’re remodeling each house as residents—she searched for the right word, not wanting to alarm the elderly couple—“leave.”

“Thankfully our family lives close. We should be able to finish our days here in the home we love.”

“That’s wonderful.” Carly rose. “Thanks so much for helping me.”

“It’s been a pleasure,” Rosie replied.

They both saw her to the door and waved until she was headed down the road.

After that, she spoke to three more people who happened to be outside. Nobody had ever heard of the Irish family. Discouraged, she ate her lunch at the bridge. She sat at the picnic table, remembering that stormy day when Adam had rescued her. He’d asked her if she wanted to risk a relationship, and she’d refused. They’d put on the brakes that day. Adam wasn’t his flirty self any longer, but more cautious.

Yet he was the closest friend she had. Had they made the right choice? In weak moments, she hoped he’d work out his problems and make the offer again.

She thrust her chin in the air. She’d make do with whatever the Lord’s will was in the matter. But one thing was clear. She was going to need Dale’s computer expertise because she’d run into a block wall regarding James Irish.

On Sunday after church, everyone rallied around Carly, asking about her recent illness and giving her their good wishes. While she enjoyed the attention, her eyes kept roving, searching for Adam. Finally, she saw him cross the churchyard and head toward the parking lot.

“Adam!”

He turned. His eyes lit with pleasure, and he waited for her to catch up. “Miss me already, huh?”

“Of course I do. Sweet Life needs you.”

He arched an eyebrow at her.

“I have his name.”

“Martha’s old fling?”

“Jah. It’s James Irish. Ever hear the name?”

“Nope.”

“I canvassed the neighborhood yesterday and found an old couple whose family lived in the area a long time.” His eyes lit with hopeful interest. “They never heard of the Irish family, but she’s going to make some calls for me.”

“That’s great!” He touched her arm. His touch lingered there, then dropped to her waist. “Would you like a ride home?”

Tempted, she glanced around the churchyard. Ann was talking to her sisters but shooting a nervous blue gaze at Adam’s dad. Then she saw Roman watching them. Her heart nearly stopped at the blatant disapproval on his face. Even when their gazes met, his remained stony. She knew he was part of Adam’s problem and was glad Adam’s back was turned toward Roman. “No thanks. Not today.”

Adam finally withdrew his touch, leaving a burning spot at her waist. He waited, evidently sensing she wasn’t finished.

“I could use your help.”

“You know I’m here for you.”

“Could you call Dale again and see if he can find anything?”

He hesitated.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Adam shook his head. “I’ll do it.”

“Okay, thanks. Have a good week.”

“You, too.”

As she rode home, she wondered what she’d said or done that had made him hesitate and grow introspective. Maybe he knew they were being watched and was in a hurry to get rid of her. But then why had he held his hand so long on her waist?

Adam pulled into the home-place, wishing he hadn’t accepted his mom’s invitation to Sunday dinner. But he went through the back door which led to the kitchen and wrapped his mom in a hug. “Smells awesome.”

“Just a roast,” she replied. Sissie Lapp was humble but proficient. No matter how his dad harped about female submission, Mom ran the household. Personally, he didn’t see anything wrong with it. There was enough estrogen in the house that Dad probably didn’t even know. He just stayed out of the way, handling the farm. Adam asked Ann about the children and listened to her contented prattle. Then taking a slice of cheese, he asked Charity about her newborn. She slapped his hand. “Don’t ruin your appetite.”