Easter in Dry Creek

by Janet Tronstad

  “Is the door closed?” Allie asked him. “So Jeremy can’t hear us?”

  The older man nodded.

  Clay wondered what they were so worried about, but there was no time to ask before Allie started talking again.

  “Well, what does it say?” Allie asked Clay like she’d never heard that Mark had left a message.

  Clay walked over to the table and sat in one of the chairs before he unfolded the note. It was a lined paper, like those in school tablets. The letters were large and ragged—like a small child would write. But they were legible. Clay read the words aloud. “‘Dear Clay, I need your help. My girlfriend won’t talk to me. She broke up with me, but I think I can get her back if you help me. Be a good buddy. I think she’d be impressed if I do the wagon for Easter morning. The doctor said I can go if someone drives the thing for me. Remember I told you about that? It’s a big deal around here. Her mother makes her go to church on Easter so I know she’ll be there. I’ll be some kind of hero that day. I’m going to ask her to go to dinner with me after church on Easter. How can she say no? I’ll owe you one if you help me.’”

  The note was signed “Mark.”

  There was a postscript. “Your brother—sort of. For real.”

  Clay was silent after he finished reading the words. He glanced over at Allie. She met his gaze.

  “He could have asked me to help,” she whispered.

  She had her boots off, too, and walked over to sit in a chair at the table, as well.

  “I would do anything for him,” she added.

  Clay felt relieved that she sat down beside him. But he shook his head slowly. “It’s a guy thing. He can’t ask his little sister to help get his girlfriend back. Besides, you used to tease him mercilessly about him dating someone.”

  Allie scowled at him, but she couldn’t seem to stop her lips from curving up in a smile. “Well, he was too busy for all that. He wanted to go to college and he almost had that scholarship.” She thought a moment. “He still has the scholarship, I think. They froze it for him in case—”

  Clay wondered if he should feel so good just to be talking with her.

  “He did have plans, didn’t he?” Clay said, hoping to lighten her emotions. When he first heard about that scholarship, Clay remembered wondering how Mark could bear to leave the ranch. But he was set on college and then medical school. It was Allie who wanted to stay and work with the horses. Now it was questionable whether either one of them would have their dreams.

  Mr. Nelson was still standing in the doorway, clearly lost in his own memories. “When he was a little boy, Mark always liked to get up at five o’clock on Easter morning and drive our old hay wagon down the street, leading everyone to that seven o’clock service behind the church. I used to let him sit on my lap and take the reins. People would just stand outside there and look up at the old cross. Mark was a good boy. And he loved Easter. Called it the best day of the year. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t know he realized the time of year. They don’t give him a calendar. He wouldn’t have known when Easter was coming, either, except last month he saw some decorations in the nurse’s station and asked when the day was. He wanted me to tell Clay to get the wagon ready. You know people around here count on that tradition. That and the yellow daffodils—they make Easter morning.”

  “He still doesn’t need Clay,” Allie said quietly.

  “He seems to think he does,” Mr. Nelson replied. “He said Clay agreed to help him.”

  Mr. Nelson finally walked over and sat at the table also.

  “I will do what I can,” Clay told him. “But I haven’t heard from him.” The prison was pretty good about getting mail to the inmates, and he had heard regularly from Mrs. Hargrove. “Did he write and ask me to help with that? Maybe he expected you to mail the note he wrote.” The older man shook his head. “Well, Mark and Hannah must have been off and on for some time now.”

  Mr. Nelson was silent for a minute longer. He studied the floor, seeming to be searching for an answer, and then looked up to meet his daughter’s gaze.

  “We have to tell him everything,” Mr. Nelson finally said to Allie. “It won’t make sense otherwise.”

  She nodded and looked at Clay, her eyes searching for something in his face. “But you have to keep what we tell you to yourself. We haven’t told anyone around here. People know that Mark is improving and getting better every day, but they don’t know the full situation. They think he’s still just wiggling a few toes.”

  Allie stopped then as though she couldn’t go on, but she kept staring intently at Clay. “You have to promise to keep it a secret—at least until Mark says it’s okay to say something. We don’t know, but it could hurt him in his recovery if we’re not careful. Like ripping off a bandage too soon. That’s what the doctors say.”

  Clay nodded. “I’d never do anything to make his situation worse. I don’t lie, but I can keep a secret.”

  Allie kept her eyes on Clay as though she was still taking his measure. Finally, she spoke. “Mark doesn’t know how much time has passed since his accident. He thinks it’s just now coming on to Easter. He must have asked you about helping with the Easter wagon that year before the accident.”

  “He did—” Clay said. “But that was back then.”

  They had been reading the Gospel of Luke for that challenge at the church. Mark said it would be great fun to bring the cross to the back of the church for the processional.

  Clay was beginning to understand.

  “Mark only knows what he’s told,” Allie continued as she paced the kitchen floor. Then she turned to her father. “We need to tell Mark he can’t do it. Anybody in the church could say something to him. Surely, they will. And it’s too many people to keep a secret. This coming Sunday is Palm Sunday. Then it’s Easter. There’s not time for Mark to be ready to do something like that.”

  Mr. Nelson shrugged. “The doctor thinks it will be good for Mark. He’s figuring Clay can drive the wagon. People won’t even necessarily know Mark is there. We’ll have him so wrapped in blankets no one will see him. But Mark is expecting Clay to do this with him, and he wants to see Clay anyway. I’m thinking Clay can leave the wagon and drive Mark home after the service in that old red pickup. Mark won’t even need to speak to anyone else.”

  “But what about Hannah?” Clay asked. “Is she on board? She’s the one Mark wants to talk to. He’s not going to be happy to make all of this effort if she isn’t even there on Easter morning.”

  “Mark might do it for the church anyway,” Allie said, but she didn’t look convinced.

  “Trust me, he’ll want her to be there,” Clay said. No wonder Mark asked him to help with this. Any guy would know what was important.

  Mr. Nelson looked uncomfortable, and Allie didn’t say anymore.

  “She—ah—” Mr. Nelson stuttered. “Hannah’s moved on with her life. I’m afraid she’s given up on Mark. She hasn’t been to see him since he’s been regaining consciousness. She came a few times early on, but—”

  Mr. Nelson let his words taper off.

  “She might have come without us knowing,” Allie interjected.

  Clay recognized that look. She wasn’t convinced.

  “You want to think she would have come,” Clay corrected Allie. She always saw the best in everyone. Well, except for him, Clay told himself.

  Allie nodded.

  “And he wants me to get her interested in him?” Clay asked. It suddenly hit him how big the problem was. “He doesn’t know four years have passed since that night. Is that right?”

  “He doesn’t remember anything after Hannah broke up with him,” Allie said. “Not even the robbery. Or where the two of you got that tequila.”

  Her father winced as he stood there. “The alcohol isn’t important. You need to forget about that. It doesn
’t matter where they got that tequila.”

  “Nothing about the robbery?” Clay asked. “He’s forgotten all that?”

  “That’s right,” the older man said. “His mind is wiped clean of the memory. And the doctor said we shouldn’t force Mark to remember. He needs to do it in his time.”

  “But he will remember?” Clay asked.

  “We don’t know,” Mr. Nelson said. “He hasn’t so far.”

  Clay let the words settle in. He hadn’t even let himself hope yet that Mark would one day be able to set the record straight on that night. Now it appeared that it might not happen. Mark was the only other person who knew the truth. Clay realized for the first time that he likely would never be acknowledged as innocent. Allie would never know the truth of what happened.

  “I’ll do whatever I can to help,” Clay said firmly. Now was not the time to worry about himself. Mark needed his help. “I can’t make any guarantees about Hannah, though. I don’t have much experience with women.”

  Allie lifted one eyebrow and smirked.

  “What?” Clay remembered her wearing that same expression when her brother said something outrageous. She’d never given Clay that look before. “I told you before I didn’t.”

  Her eyes were shaded and her voice smooth. “Don’t expect me to believe that.”

  She’d never used that tone with Mark, either. There was nothing girlish about the sound. It was warm and feminine.

  Clay’s heart started beating faster, but his tongue was tied up in knots. What a tangle they were in. He could see Allie didn’t like thinking of him with other women. He wondered where she thought he’d gotten any experience dating anyway. But she didn’t like it. Allie’s voice had almost sounded like she was flirting with him.

  He must be hallucinating, he told himself. He thought she’d never warm to him.

  * * *

  The sound of the clock ticking was all that filled the silence. Allie thought it should be soothing, but it made her edgy. Her breath kept coming fast. She couldn’t take her eyes off Clay. He seemed a little stunned as well, his blue eyes wary. The sun coming in the window at them showed the dark stubble on his face. She didn’t want to keep staring, so she turned her head slightly. That’s when she saw her father studying her like he was trying to puzzle something out. The last person in the world she wanted speculating about her feelings toward Clay was her father. When he caught her eye, though, he spoke.

  “You still trying to figure out where that tequila came from?” he asked, his head tipped to one side.

  Allie blinked. So that was what he was thinking about.

  “You can’t buy tequila in Dry Creek,” Allie said. “I’m sure there are a few places in Miles City that carry it, but there’s no need for you to concern yourself with it. Mark wouldn’t have bought any tequila that night.”

  Allie knew her father was an alcoholic. Even if he had stopped drinking before her mother died, he still fixated on anything to do with alcohol. At least, Allie certainly hoped that was it and that he hadn’t been trying to find a place to buy some alcohol.

  The sound of an engine coming up their drive distracted everyone.

  “That’ll be Randy,” Allie said. “One of you go meet him and I’ll get dinner ready. We need to fix the corral fence first so the horses have room to move.”

  “I’ll go out with Jeremy and check the chickens, too,” her father said. “There won’t be any eggs today, but I thought he’d like to know where the nests are.”

  “I’ll take Randy to the bunkhouse,” Clay offered. “That is, if he wants to stay tonight.”

  “It’s up to him,” Allie said as she walked over to the kitchen cabinets. “We’ll only need his help for a few days, though, so he might not want to move anything out here.”

  Within minutes, Allie was alone in the kitchen. She had already put a roast in the oven, but she’d need to peel some potatoes and put together a salad. Before she started in with the food, though, there was something she had to do.

  She opened all of the cabinets and took a slow look at what she could see. Then she got a step stool and stood closer to the shelves, moving the spice bottles and flour sacks to the side. Her mother had told her that she needed to do more than check behind the tall containers like those for vinegar or molasses. A bottle of alcohol, she’d said, could be placed on its side and hidden behind short items, too. Allie didn’t expect to find anything, but she routinely checked every time she came home. She did it for her mother, who had told Allie that her father always hid his bottles in the kitchen cabinets.

  Five minutes later, Allie found the bottle behind her mother’s prized blue willow plates in one of the bottom cupboards. From the looks of the faded label, the bottle was likely from before her father had given up drinking. The cork hadn’t been secure and a dark stain marked where the last of the bourbon had leaked out years ago. She gently lifted the bottle, knowing from the light weight that it was empty.

  Both her parents had always said her father drank only whiskey. She realized then that if her father had been drinking bourbon back in those days, he might also have bought a bottle of tequila.

  Allie carefully took all of the blue willow plates off their shelf. As she was growing up, they used these dishes only for holidays or sometimes Sunday dinners. In spite of everything, she smiled as she brought those dishes out. When she washed them as a girl, her mother would explain that the picture of the willow trees and bridge showed the tragic story of a young Chinese woman and the man she loved.

  Allie had been enthralled with the story plates, as she called them, wondering at the strong love that would make the young couple risk their lives in hopes of being together.

  Allie shook her head. She wondered if she’d have the courage to really love someone like that. To her, everything seemed murky. She wondered if she was right to ignore the tugging in her heart for Clay. He demanded she believe him; she refused to ignore what seemed to be true. They had less hope of being together than that poor Chinese couple on the plates.

  After she had potatoes boiling and sourdough rolls heating in the oven, Allie washed the blue willow dishes and dried them. She told herself it was foolish to put them away without using them, so she set them on the table.

  The kitchen was quiet. The sun was high in the sky, and the day was warm. She glanced out the window and saw a single set of footprints in the melting snow leading all the way to the barn. The footprints were disappearing into puddles.

  Then she saw the barn door open. Allie watched as Jeremy stepped in Clay’s larger footprints, even though the snow had mostly gone. She had done the same when she was a little girl walking behind her father.

  She remembered then that there was a jar of homemade apple butter somewhere in the cupboard, and after she set some honey on the table, Allie turned back to look for it. She didn’t know if Jeremy had ever had apple butter, but she knew Clay hadn’t tasted it before coming to the ranch.

  By the time she had drained the potatoes, Clay, Randy, her father and Jeremy had come inside.

  “What’s the occasion?” her father asked when he saw the table.

  “I was looking down in the cupboards and saw mom’s special dishes,” Allie said. “Decided I might as well wash them and use them when we eat.”

  Allie watched her father’s face as he unwound the scarf from around his neck. One moment his face was relaxed, and the next, he’d gone pale. She saw the guilty look he gave the bottom cupboard. He didn’t say anything, but she noticed he was trying to figure out what to do.

  “I found it,” Allie said then.

  Her father’s shoulders slumped. “I forgot it was there.”

  “Since when did you drink bourbon?” she asked, her voice tight.

  He didn’t answer right away, but he finally started. “After your mother died, there were a
couple of years when I was drinking anything I could get my hands on, and a bar in Miles City was going out of business. They had a sale, and I bought a few bottles real cheap.”

  Allie smelled the roasted beef. Everything was dished up. The mashed potatoes. The gravy. The bread was ready to take from the oven. A bowl of green peas stood on the sideboard. But she had no appetite. She wondered if any of the men did, either. Clay was looking at her like he was trying to figure out what was wrong. Randy had a slight frown on his face. Jeremy was looking at the adults as though he knew something was amiss.

  Allie turned to her father. “Was one of those bottles tequila?”

  He was silent for a long moment. “I never liked the stuff.”

  Allie knew what that meant. “So the bottle was almost full when Mark found it.”

  It wasn’t Clay who had given Mark the alcohol, Allie realized.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you when you said that the bottle wasn’t yours,” she said to Clay. She felt ashamed. “I will do what I can to set the record straight.”

  “How would you do that?” Clay asked quietly.

  “If you’re still going to say something in church tomorrow, I’ll stand by you on the question of where the alcohol came from,” Allie said.

  Her father made a sound of protest, but when she looked over at him, he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to admit I still had a problem with alcohol. I’d promised your mother I was giving the stuff up and then—”

  “I don’t need to mention the alcohol tomorrow,” Clay said. “And Randy won’t say anything, will you?”

  The ranch hand shook his head. “That’s right. I won’t.”

  Allie looked at Clay incredulously. “I thought that the whole point of saying something tomorrow is that you want people to believe you. This is your chance.”

  “Having your father confess about the alcohol won’t make anyone believe I had nothing to do with the robbery,” Clay said.

  Allie wondered if Clay meant she wouldn’t believe it, but she wasn’t going to ask. She had been hoping it would be enough for him if she agreed with him that he hadn’t provided the alcohol. She saw now that it wouldn’t be enough for either one of them. But she couldn’t wear blinders, no matter how much she wished for it to be true that Clay was innocent.