Page 6 of The Fault Between Us
Claire stared at him, then back at her gift. She’d come to Yellowstone for a summer of adventure. Falling in love with a cowboy hadn’t been in her plans. Then she met Red Wilder. Red had asked Claire to marry him a dozen times during their whirlwind romance. Each time he asked, she’d said no. Of course she said no.
Red kept asking.
Marigold nuzzled her shirt pocket, looking for her evening carrot. When Claire got on the bus to go back to her life in Minnesota—to her sisters, her students at Tara School, her father—she told Red goodbye in no uncertain terms. But Red hadn’t given up. He bought her a horse, and the next spring drove to Minnesota and asked her one last time to marry him, standing in the gray spring snow outside Tara School.
She’d said yes.
Claire fished the carrot from her pocket and Marigold gently took it from her palm with soft, whiskery lips. Red hadn’t given up hope for her—for their life together.
When ten o’clock came, Claire paced from the kitchen window to the front door. She tried to pray. Why was it so easy to see God—to speak to him—in the beauty of a sunset or the majesty of the mountains but here in the dark her words felt empty and useless? She switched on the radio, keeping the volume low so she wouldn’t wake Jenny. Most days, it didn’t bother her that the phone had been disconnected, but tonight she wished she could call Sunnyslope and find out what was keeping Red. Or at least phone Bridget for a long talk to take her mind off where Red could be at this late hour. She and Bridget hadn’t had a good talk since Christmas—and even then, the price of long distance made for a rushed conversation.
The hollow emptiness of homesickness came over Claire like a flood, the silence of the house reminding her how alone she was in Riverside. She would write to Bridget. That might be just the distraction she needed.She took out her stationery and the fountain pen Dad gave her for her eighteenth birthday.
Dear Bridget...
She stared at the words and thought about Beth Henshaw. The poor girl’s story wasn’t very different from her own. Beth had come out to Yellowstone to work on her uncle’s ranch and met Dell there, the same summer Claire had worked at Old Faithful and met Red. According to Grace Miller, Beth had married against her families’ wishes, like Claire. They had both started their married lives in new and unfamiliar places, as outsiders.
But Beth Henshaw’s story hadn’t had a happy ending.
Had Beth’s father warned her, like Dad had warned Claire? Had he told Beth she was making a big mistake? Did Beth have a sister or friends she could turn to?
After their hurried wedding, Claire and Red had left for their new home in Riverside and she hadn’t been home for a visit since. Between the bills and a baby, it just hadn’t been possible. Now—inthe lonely house—home sounded heavenly. Her old bedroom and long talks with Bridget. Flo’s cheerful gossip and home-cooked meals. Her friends and familiar surroundings. It would even be nice to see Frannie.
A knock on the door made Claire jump, scattering her stationery to the floor.
Her heart pounded against her ribs. Red wouldn’t knock.
She made herself take a deep breath and stood on shaky legs, telling herself she wouldn’t open the door to find the sheriff with his hat in his hands, terrible news written on his face. She walked across the tiny sitting room toward the front door and pulled it open.
Bucky stood in the glare of the porch light. He took off his hat and looked at his boots. His pale blond hair was plastered to his head and a stark tan line crossed his forehead. She waited, mouth too dry to speak, her pulse pounding.
Finally, he got the words out. “Red won’t be home tonight.”
Claire swallowed. “Where is he, Bucky?”In a river? At the bottom of a cliff? In the hospital at Mammoth?
Bucky finally managed to get out, “In jail.”
Claire leaned against the doorframe, relief rushing through her. He wasn’t dead like Dell Henshaw.Thank God.Then, consternation. Jail? That couldn’t possibly be true.
“I would have come by earlier but...” Bucky twisted his hat in his hands. His knuckles were red, and as he raised his face to the porch light she saw a cut on his lip. Bucky’s voice dropped to a mumble she had to strain to decipher. “Red’s gotta stay ’til morning, Sheriff said.”
Claire wanted to sit Bucky down and demand a full explanation—Why is he in jail? What happened?—but Bucky looked so miserable already. “Have you eaten?” she asked instead.
Bucky shifted his weight from one foot to another as if given the choice between a homemade meal and escape, he’d take escape.
“Wait here.” He might as well eat Red’s dinner instead of heating up a can of Campbell’s soup like he did most evenings. Claire took Red’s plate from the oven and wrapped it in a towel. Bucky got outa thank-you and bolted toward his house across the road like a bear was chasing him.
Claire shut the door and leaned against it for a moment. Her thrumming pulse slowed, but heat rose up her neck. In jail? She’d never even known anyone who had been in jail, and now her husband was incarcerated? Claire walked to the kitchen, and crossed her arms over her chest, her thoughts tumbling. Helen Eagle’s accusations, Dell’s death, Grace Miller. Red in jail while she was home alone, frantic with worry and alone with a baby.
With jerky motions, she gathered her fallen stationery from the floor.Dear Bridget.She certainly couldn’t write to her sister about this terrible day. She wouldn’t know how to begin and she couldn’t possibly tell her sister Red was in jail. The heat of her anger drained away, leaving an empty ache for the comfort of home and her family. Her father and her sisters and friends. For goodness’ sake, Jenny hadn’t even met her aunts and grandpa yet.
Claire stood in the silence of the empty house as the idea of home gained purchase in her mind. Dad wouldn’t mind wiring her the money for her ticket. She could take the bus to Livingston, and she and Jenny would be on the train home by tomorrow afternoon.
Home.
She went to the bedroom and quietly opened the closet door. She pulled her suitcase from the top shelf. The sleeveless summer dresses in tropical prints and polka dots that Dad had sent from the store went in first, then a hostess dress she’d never worn, but it would come in handy at home. Claire tossed in a few pairs of shiny pumps, their matching handbags, and some cotton gloves. Jenny’s outfits were next—thanks to Dad, she had more pretty dresses than any baby needed—and a stack of diapers.
Claire snapped the latches closed. Red would just have to understand, that’s all there was to it.
