Day fourteen. Saturday. The bridge stood.
Oak on stone footings. Four meters wide — two buggies could pass. Railings — carved, simple, no decoration (decoration = pride). Larch decking. Josiah tested every board: jumped on it. 110 kg of living carpenter — board holds, so a truck will too.
The Test
First across was Mr. Henderson in his pickup. Slowly. Bridge didn't budge. Henderson stopped on the far bank, got out, looked down. No cracks. No flex.
'Joe,' he said, 'I've been in construction twenty years. This bridge will last fifty.'
Josiah nodded. 'Seventy,' he corrected. Not boasting. Just knew his oak.
The Money
Henderson held out an envelope. Six thousand. Josiah took it, counted (not greed — precision), pocketed it. 'Thank you.' 'Thank you, Joe.' They shook hands.
At home Josiah gave the envelope to Sarah. Sarah counted (tradition — wife handles money). Three thousand — new beams for the kitchen table (the old ones went to the bridge). Two thousand — community aid fund. One thousand — dentist for little Ruth (molars coming in crooked).
Monday
Monday morning Josiah sat on the porch. Drank hot water with mint. Looked at the bridge.
A yellow school bus crossed the bridge. Maplewood children — to school. Three miles instead of twelve. Driver honked. Josiah didn't wave — Amish don't wave (drawing attention = pride). But Sarah, standing at the window, saw him almost smile.
The bridge didn't last fifty or seventy years. It's still standing. Locals call it 'Amish Bridge.' Josiah doesn't know. They don't tell him — they know it would embarrass him.