Easter in Dry Creek

by Janet Tronstad

  “Isn’t it enough if you are just forgiven?” she asked him. “The church will do that much.”

  He didn’t answer her, but she could see from the faces of all the men that forgiveness wasn’t enough for a proud man.

  “We may as well eat then,” she said.

  Clay helped her put the food on the table like he had done for breakfast, but he didn’t talk, and when it came time to say the blessing for the meal, no one held hands.

  Father, forgive us, Allie added silently to her father’s prayer. Help us to understand each other. She looked across the table at Clay. And accept each other.

  Chapter Nine

  The sun rose bright the next morning, the light shining through the blinds. Clay opened his eyes a little and squinted. The linoleum on the floor was cold, and he felt his hand resting against it. He was puzzled a moment and then remembered he was in the bunkhouse. He’d moved the mattress from his bunk bed to the kitchen floor in the middle of the night because Randy snored. Which probably wasn’t the real problem, Clay told himself. He’d listened to dozens of men snoring at night in prison and it hadn’t stopped him from sleeping. No, what kept Clay awake was that Randy talked in his sleep.

  Clay groaned as he rolled over so he could see the small clock he’d plugged in last night. It was a little before six o’clock. Church was at ten o’clock, and there were chores to do before he got ready.

  He had asked Allie for a box of cold cereal last night, and she’d given him that and a small carton of milk. He didn’t want her to have to get up early on Sunday morning to cook him and Randy breakfast.

  Clay heard a noise by the doorway and looked over to see Randy. The ranch hand was wrapped in a blanket, and his hair looked like he’d spent the night wrestling with someone.

  “Who is Lois?” Clay asked as he lay there.

  Randy glared. “What do you mean?”

  “You were talking about her last night in your sleep,” Clay said with a yawn. “I thought she might be someone special. You know, your mother or someone.”

  “Lois isn’t my mother,” Randy snapped.

  “Well, then—” Clay started to continue.

  “She’s none of your business,” Randy said then, with enough fire in his voice that Clay decided she was someone important.

  “Sorry,” Clay murmured. “I won’t mention her again.”

  “See that you don’t,” Randy said as he walked over to the refrigerator. “Did you get us orange juice?”

  “Milk and cold cereal,” Clay said as he sat up on the mattress. “That’s all.”

  Randy grunted at that news and stomped back into the other room.

  Clay decided it was a poor morning when he and Randy Collins had nothing better to do than feel sorry for themselves, but that’s the kind of day it was shaping up to be.

  “We need to get some more wood to build another fire,” Randy called from the other room. “We could freeze to death in here. Besides, we’ll want hot water for when we shave.”

  “It’s not that cold,” Clay said as he stood up. They’d had a fire last night, and the water from the tap was warm. He kept a blanket around him and thought he was doing pretty well until he put his feet on the freezing floor.

  “I’ll get some wood in a minute,” he called out to Randy. “You get some of the kindling going.”

  Clay opened the back door just enough to pull in some logs. Fortunately, they were dry since it hadn’t snowed last night.

  “I’ll heat a pot of water on the stove for shaving,” Clay called out, as well.

  It wouldn’t be the first time Clay had gone to church with a dark shadow from not shaving, but he figured it was best that he look as sharp as he could this morning. People were sure to take a good look at the ex-con who was out on parole. He didn’t want to give them any reason to doubt the account he was going to give of the robbery.

  “You’re welcome to use my aftershave,” Randy called. “It’s on the shelf in the bathroom. Sort of pine smelling.”

  “Thanks,” Clay called back. He couldn’t remember Randy ever offering to share something with him, and it felt good. Maybe the other man knew it would be hard for Clay to walk into the sanctuary this morning wearing old jeans and a shirt that was frayed around the bottom.

  “I’ll give you a ride to church, if you want,” Clay offered in return. “Mr. Nelson told me I could use the red pickup.”

  As he got dressed, Clay mused on how people were basically good. Randy might be a little testy when talking about his Lois, but he was all right. They’d cleaned the bunkhouse yesterday afternoon, and Randy had accepted the Nelsons’ invitation to stay a few nights.

  Clay fed the horses while Randy tended to the chickens and the pig. They both ended up feeding the goat. Mostly because the animal was unpredictable. It took one man to feed him and another to be sure the goat behaved. Everyone was fed and watered, though, by a little before nine o’clock, which left both men time to polish their shoes and be ready to leave for church on time. Clay put the sheepskin coat on. If he kept that on, no one would notice his clothes. And, he had to admit that he smelled good with that pine aftershave of Randy’s.

  “People are going to think we’re a forest,” Clay said as he and Randy gathered up their things for church.

  “Better that we smell of forest than of old goat,” Randy said with a grin.

  Clay answered with a chuckle. He patted the pocket of his coat where he still had about twenty dollars. He’d like to put something in the offering plate just to prove that he could. At the last minute he went to the shelf in the kitchen and picked up the old Bible sitting there. He’d take that, too.

  Clay heard the door to the main house open. Mr. Nelson, Allie and the boy were heading out, and he knew that meant it was time for him and Randy to get going, as well.

  “This old thing gets around,” Randy said as he climbed into the passenger seat of the pickup. “Remember when we used to load it with a few bales of hay and take it out to the horses?”

  Clay nodded. “Those were the good old days.”

  He got inside and put the key in the ignition. “The heater doesn’t work very well.”

  “It’s okay,” Randy said.

  Clay studied the fields as he drove down the gravel road. When he’d come in earlier, it was all dark. But now he could see the gray dirt showing through patches of melting snow. Brown tufts of weeds and rocks were sprinkled over the land.

  Clay passed several pickups heading into Dry Creek.

  “What’s up with the traffic?” he asked Randy.

  The other man shrugged. “Guess word is out that you’re going to speak.”

  Clay gasped and turned to him in shock. “I’m just going to make a small announcement during prayer time. Did you tell everyone I was going to speak?”

  “Watch the road,” Randy said when Clay stared at him.

  Clay’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as he turned back. Then he slowed the pickup. They were past the café and the hardware store.

  “Well, people want to hear it, whatever it is.” Randy’s voice was confident. “I’ve heard them talking.”

  “Where?” Clay looked over at the ranch hand. “I just got back here. No one even knows I’m here.”

  Randy snorted at that. “You woke half the town up driving through it yesterday morning. It didn’t take much for them to tell the other half of the town that you’d come back.”

  Clay wished he’d stayed home. Or, well, at the bunkhouse. It was too late, of course, to go back. He’d already pulled the pickup to a stop on the side of the road next to the church. A woman in a hat had smiled at him. And he saw Mrs. Hargrove climbing the center stairs with her husband, Charley.

  “They have pretty good coffee inside,” Randy said as though he could tell Clay
was reluctant to keep going. “Sometimes doughnuts, too.”

  Clay figured he was trapped, so he reached over and opened the door of the pickup. There was a strong wind as he stepped down, and he reached up to keep his hat in place. When he looked back at the church, he saw Allie and Jeremy walking up the steps. Allie was wearing a gray wool coat, and the wind was swirling two tails of a long bright scarf around her neck. Red was mixing with gold and orange. Allie’s hair was uncovered, and strands of it flew with the scarf. She held Jeremy by the hand, and the boy squealed with pleasure in the wind.

  Clay sensed someone standing beside him and looked over to see Randy staring, too.

  “Who would have thought,” the ranch hand said. “She used to be a scruffy-looking tomboy.”

  “She was always beautiful,” Clay said quietly as he started to walk toward the church.

  Randy grunted as he followed. “By the way, that’s the other foster kid over there.”

  Randy gestured with his head, and Clay saw the teenager standing by a pickup on the other side of the church. The youngster was dressed in a black hoodie and jeans. Most of the teenage boys around Dry Creek wore plaid shirts and blue jeans, so Clay figured the boy was proving he was different. Or maybe that’s all he had. Clay recognized the vehicle as belonging to the Redfern ranch, so he guessed not as much had changed around here as he thought. The men who worked there used that old blue thing to feed the hay in the winter and come to church on Sundays.

  Clay saw the boy watching him, so he wondered if he knew who Clay was.

  “Hi, there,” Clay called to him with a nod of the head.

  Clay got a glare in response. That’s when he noticed the nose ring on the teenager. The kid shifted his legs then, and Clay saw a crease in his jeans near his right ankle. The boy had a knife sheath snug to his calf. Whether it was empty or not, Clay couldn’t tell.

  “What’s his name?” Clay asked Randy quietly so that the boy wouldn’t hear.

  “Henry,” Randy said as he started taking the steps up to the church. “They call him Hen for short.”

  Clay kept his head down until they both stepped into the entry to the sanctuary. The sound of the wind was cut off suddenly, and the air was warm inside. He wasn’t sure, but he thought the sounds of people talking quieted considerably while he stood there. About half of the people were making their way to the pews, and the other half were standing by the coat racks.

  The church looked the same as he remembered. A polished mahogany cross hung from the front of the room. A row of square windows, filled with stained glass, went down both sides of the church. Two rows of pews, with a carpeted pathway, went down the length of the sanctuary. A wood pulpit stood on a slight rise in the front.

  He recognized many of the faces, but he had a hard time thinking of the matching names. Most of the women wore dark slacks and sweaters. The men wore cotton shirts and ties. No one wore a suit.

  He saw Allie’s bright scarf out of the side of one eye and turned his head. Mr. Nelson, Allie and Jeremy were settling into one of the pews on the right side. Allie had her head bent down, talking with Jeremy, and the next thing he noticed the boy was slipping out of the pew and walking toward him.

  “Aunt Allie said you was to come sit with us,” Jeremy whispered as he put a hand out to Clay. Then he reached the other hand out to Randy.

  Clay looked at Allie, but she was facing toward the front and didn’t even see him. He wondered if Allie had really made the invitation or if Jeremy just wanted some company.

  Randy shrugged and started allowing the boy to lead him, so Clay did the same. No one seemed to think anything was unusual as Jeremy guided Clay into the pew, not even when Clay ended up sitting next to Allie.

  Clay saw a pink flush on Allie’s face as he looked over at her. She must be embarrassed. Then he remembered what a small-town church was like. The people there probably all thought that he and Allie had some kind of understanding.

  The thought settled well with him.

  “Morning,” he whispered as he leaned over slightly.

  Allie smiled back.

  Mrs. Hargrove started playing the piano, and the few stragglers hurried to find seats. By the time the older woman had finished the song, the pastor was behind the pulpit and ready with a hymn for them all to sing.

  The last chords had scarcely faded away when the pastor asked Charley Nelson to come up to the pulpit and give the announcements. “We have a special guest with us today,” Charley began, looking every inch an old-time rancher, with his white shirt accented by a silver bolo tie and his worn jeans sporting a silver belt buckle.

  Clay’s arm brushed against Allie and he could feel her tense up as Charley spoke.

  “Clay West wants to say a few words to us,” Charley said as he stepped away from the pulpit to make room for him.

  “I’ll pray for you,” Allie whispered as Clay stood up.

  He looked down at her and nodded. He supposed it would make her feel better to pray. Then he made his way past Jeremy and Randy and walked to the front.

  Clay stood behind the pulpit and swallowed. He looked around. He saw Sheriff Wall sitting there with his wife and kids. The man had a good poker face. Clay couldn’t tell what he thought. He saw Mrs. Hargrove in her usual seat close to the piano. She was beaming at him, but then she had experience encouraging nervous speakers given all the kindergarteners she’d helped say their lines at Christmas pageants.

  He saw some of the wranglers from the Elkton ranch and Mr. and Mrs. Redfern. He slowly looked from face to face, seeing curiosity in most of them and condemnation in a few.

  “I suppose you know my story,” Clay began. “I’ve been in prison for four years now, and Mr. Nelson has helped set me up with a parole. I thank him for that. It’s important to me that you know I didn’t plan that robbery, though. I don’t steal. I don’t lie.” Clay didn’t want to talk about Mark’s part in that night, so he found he didn’t have much more to say. “Since I’m going to be around here, I wanted you to know. That’s all.”

  Clay didn’t even need to see the faces out in the pews. He could almost feel their shock. Jaws were slack, and he could hear whispers. Maybe he had been too outspoken. He did notice a couple of the older men glaring at him.

  “We forgive you,” one of the women in the front row called out. Clay couldn’t remember her name, but he saw a few heads nodding in relief. The older men weren’t among them, though.

  “I don’t need your forgiveness,” Clay said and walked back down the aisle.

  He didn’t get to the door before Charley had regained the pulpit and called out, “Wait.”

  Clay turned to look at the other man.

  “I need to make the announcement for the Easter sunrise service,” Charley said, his eyes trained on Clay. “We’ll meet at the edge of town by the stop sign at seven o’clock and form a processional to the area behind the church. My wife tells me our daffodils should be in full bloom by then. We’ll keep the tarps on until that Sunday. The weather looks like we’ll have some cold snaps, but they’re set to bloom like always. God is faithful to us.”

  Charley paused, and Clay figured the announcement was over. He turned to finish his walk to the door when Charley spoke again.

  “We’re hoping you will help with the processional,” Charley said, still looking directly at Clay. “As a tribute to your friend Mark Nelson.”

  Clay felt firmly caught. He wondered if Charley knew that Mr. Nelson had already asked him to do just that. Whether he had or not, there could be only one answer.

  “I’ll do it,” Clay said, his voice heavy.

  Mr. Nelson stood up then from where he sat in the pew. “Mark is going to be there, too. Clay is going to make that happen.”

  A rush of exclamations greeted that news along with a few hands clapping. This announcement was som
ething they understood.

  Clay saw the concerned look on Allie’s face. She had wanted to keep Mark’s presence quiet. But there was no way to unsay those words.

  Clay needed to escape into the fresh air. He was done for now. He opened the door and stepped outside onto the cement steps. He felt like he could finally breathe again as he leaned back against the doors. He noticed then that the two doors didn’t meet well in the middle.

  From where Clay stood, he could still hear the voice of the pastor asking everyone to open their Bibles to the Gospel of Luke. They were going to talk about Palm Sunday, he said, and what it meant to have faith.

  Clay looked straight ahead and saw Hen, the foster kid, sitting in the Redfern pickup with a knowing smirk on his face.

  Clay had planned to go and sit in the pickup until the sermon was over, but he didn’t want to set a bad example for that kid. At least that’s what he told himself as he found himself standing by the door.

  Clay figured maybe the kid would come up and listen with him, but he didn’t. Eventually, Clay forgot about anyone else as he concentrated on the words. After the pastor finished, Clay decided he’d go home tonight and read the whole Gospel of Luke just as he and Mark had set out to do four years ago.

  Clay had barely managed to make it down the steps before the doors to the church were thrown open and Jeremy raced down them, as well.

  “We’re staying for dinner,” the boy announced joyfully when he got to the bottom and stared up at Clay. “Mrs. Hargrove invited us. She’s making tamales.”

  “Is that right?” Clay asked as he knelt down to Jeremy’s height. The boy was jumping around in excitement. “Have you ever eaten a tamale?”

  The boy nodded vigorously and then turned to point up the stairs. “Auntie will tell you.”

  Clay looked up and saw Allie standing at the top of the steps. Her coat was open, flapping slightly in the wind. Her head was bowed so she could see him, and she looked dismayed.