Free Covered Bridge Charm by Dianne; Christner Page B

competition, postage stamp collection, wine tasting, a pumpkin catapult, and kids activities. Goodness, I think it must get bigger every year.”
    “Pity’s sake. A pumpkin catapult? Can you imagine the mess that made? What are people thinking?”
    Carly laughed. “Anything to draw a crowd.”
    “In my opinion the best thing about covered bridges happens without a crowd.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You know. The kissing.”

    Widow Martha slipped back in time to the summer she’d turned sixteen. Her heart beat rapidly as she remembered how she’d met her first love. She’d leaned over the bridge and dared to speak to the handsome Englísh boy flirting with her.
    “No, I don’t want to bait your hook.”
    His warm laughter compelled her to stay, even though she knew it was wrong.
    “Wait. I’m coming up.” He laid aside the pole.
    Her heart raced. She was crazy to wait for him but couldn’t make her feet move.
    Panting, the tall blond leaned against the bridge and studied her. “You Amish?”
    “No. Mennonite.”
    “You got a boyfriend?”
    John Struder’s image popped into her mind, but they weren’t really committed to each other. “No, why?”
    “Wondering if I should bother to teach you to fish.”
    Martha grinned. “Well I’m a quick learner.” He grabbed her hand and led her to the bank. She looked at the rugged path down the steep embankment.
    He laughed that infectious laugh of his. “Don’t worry. I got you.”
    His muscular build supported his words. She recalled the thrill of his hand.

    “Martha?” Smoothing the article, Carly shook her head. “Doesn’t say anything about a kissing booth.”
    Martha sighed with impatience. “I’m not talking about the festival. When I was young, it was a place to go with your sweetheart.”
    Dropping the paper in her lap, Carly asked, “You ever do that?”
    Quiet for a long, reflective moment, Martha nodded. “I sure did. I had a secret boyfriend. We used to meet there.”
    “How old were you?”
    Her voice carried a loose asthmatic-rattle as she replied, “Sixteen. Seems like forever and also like yesterday. I can still see him. Tall. Handsome. Blond.”
    Leaning forward, Carly asked, “Why was he a secret boyfriend?”
    She wheezed, “Because I was Mennonite and he wasn’t. It would’ve been forbidden.” Martha smiled. “He was my first love. We even carved our initials on the bridge.”
    Entranced, Carly probed, “How’d you meet?”
    “I was walking one day and ended up at the bridge. He was fishing. He introduced himself. We had a good time that day. After that, I headed out there as often as I could. Guess he did the same thing, ’cause we met again. Pretty soon we were planning to meet.”
    “How long did this go on?”
    “That whole summer. My friend Ruth Stucky sure was jealous.” Martha’s face saddened. “Until he went off to war. Then I never saw him again. I always wondered if he made it back.”
    “Were you heartbroken?”
    Martha nodded. Though time-wrinkled and framed in gray, her face was still touched by emotions from years earlier. “After that, the bridge was the loneliest place to go. I wanted to stay away. But I kept thinking I might meet him again. I had to keep trying. Mostly I got over him. But I did go back one more time. Stared at that big old tree where I had my first kiss. It was the week before I got married.”
    Riveted, Carly’s eyes misted. “You must have loved him.”
    Martha adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose. “I did. But he wasn’t there, so I married John.”
    “Were you happily married?”
    She sniffed, then used her inhaler. “You know I was. I talk about John all the time. He was the best man a woman could ever have.” She hardened her voice and snapped, “The other relationship never would’ve worked. And now I have such a nice family. Until they put me in this place. Now they forget I exist. Helen doesn’t even remember I’m going to be eighty-five.”
    At