Easter in Dry Creek

by Janet Tronstad

  Clay stood back up. He didn’t want to upset anyone. Things here in Dry Creek weren’t what he expected, though. He wondered if he’d been too quick to judge people before. Maybe they hadn’t been as set against him as he had thought.

  * * *

  Allie caught her breath. Clay looked like he was trying for a quick getaway when Jeremy had caught him. She had no idea what he was planning to do now. She noticed Clay was smiling at her nephew, though.

  “Mrs. Hargrove gets her tamales from the sheriff’s wife,” Allie said. “They are really very good. Chicken and beef ones. And some special spicy ones she ordered with you in mind.”

  “I like hot food,” Clay said.

  Allie nodded. “Mrs. Hargrove knows. Extra chili peppers.”

  Clay smiled, and she watched his face transform itself. He appeared years younger, the way he used to look years ago when they had a new colt born on the place and he’d been happy.

  Allie heard the door open behind her, and she turned to see who else was leaving the church before the coffee was served. It was Mrs. Hargrove. The older woman stepped to the far right on the stairs so that she could grab the handrail. She carefully started to step down, and Allie rushed over to take her other arm. Fortunately, the short piece of walkway in front of the church and the whole stairway were always shoveled off before services. So by now, the steps were free of ice and they were dry.

  When Allie and the older woman reached the bottom of the stairs, Mrs. Hargrove held out her arms, and Clay stepped into them eagerly. Allie watched the two of them hug each other tight. They made a strange sight, a white-haired farm woman and a young man with a prison haircut, but there was no doubt of their affection for each other.

  She heard Mrs. Hargrove repeatedly whisper, “Welcome home.”

  Allie was stricken with remorse as she contrasted Mrs. Hargrove’s greeting with the one Clay had received at the Nelson ranch. Maybe guilt and judgment weren’t as important as love and forgiveness. Her only saving grace, Allie thought, was that no one else in Dry Creek had idolized Clay like she had. He had further to fall in her estimate than in anyone else’s.

  Still, she wished she had welcomed him home.

  Chapter Ten

  A little while later, Allie was in Mrs. Hargrove’s kitchen and the other woman was taking a pan of Spanish rice out of the oven. The air was warm and smelled of cooked beef. Wide windows on the left of the room looked out to the yard. A small wooden table stood next to old-fashioned white cabinets. A bowl of lettuce salad sat on the counter, bright red tomatoes and green cucumbers peeking out between the leaves. A small meat loaf sat cooling on one of the stove burners. A huge platter of tamales sat on another burner.

  “There’s ice in the top freezer to fill the glasses,” Mr. Hargrove said as she moved around the kitchen. She wore a large ivory apron with large pockets that covered most of her green-checked gingham housedress. She’d changed after she came in the door after church, saying she didn’t want to get any spots on her new wool suit.

  It was the suit more than anything that told Allie the older woman saw this as an important day. Most of Mrs. Hargrove’s Sunday clothes were simple polyester dresses in navy or gray. The wool suit was a beautiful pale pink with dark rose piping around the edge of the collar.

  “You looked particularly nice this morning,” Allie said as she reached into the freezer and pulled out a tray of ice cubes.

  “I ordered the suit from a catalog,” the older woman said as she stopped with a small frown on her face. “My daughter, Doris June, suggested it. You don’t think it looks too...” She spread her hands as though she couldn’t find the word she wanted.

  “It was perfect.” Allie used a plastic tong to put ice cubes in the dinner glasses.

  Mrs. Hargrove nodded in relief, the tight gray curls on her head bouncing as she moved her head. “It’s not every day that Clay West comes back home.”

  Clay and the other men were out in the garage looking at a small saddle Charley had stored from the days when his son was Jeremy’s age.

  Allie stopped what she was doing. “You think Clay’s innocent then?”

  Mrs. Hargrove did not answer right away. She was scooping some cooked corn into a serving bowl.

  Allie had turned back to the drinks when the older woman answered.

  “I’m not sure it matters anymore if Clay is guilty or not,” Mrs. Hargrove said. “He served time in prison. He’s a good man. You only have to look him in the eyes to know that he’s going to try hard to live a worthwhile life. Anyone can make a mistake.”

  “It seems to matter to him if people think he’s innocent or not,” Allie said.

  The other woman nodded. “Men can be that way. I’m reminded of the Prodigal Son. All the father wanted to do when his son came back was celebrate. Sometimes people forget that with God, guilt isn’t permanent. Forgiveness can make us new.”

  Allie hoped that would be enough for Clay. And for her.

  The sound of the door opening in the living room was followed by the thump of many boots.

  “They’re back,” Mrs. Hargrove said as she picked up the platter of tamales. “They’ll be ready to eat.”

  By now, Allie had a tray of ice-filled glasses, and she lifted it so she could follow Mrs. Hargrove into the dining room.

  Sunshine filled the dining room. White net curtains hung at the wide windows along the side of the large wood dining table. A couple of ferns hung from hooks in the tall sills of the windows.

  “Auntie, Auntie.” Allie heard Jeremy’s call before she saw him come running into the dining room.

  “Unka Clay is teachin’ me ta ride a horse,” the boy almost shouted, he was so excited.

  Allie almost dropped one of the glasses. She set the glass down on the table before she walked over to her nephew.

  By that time, the men had come into the dining room, too. They all had sheepish looks on their faces.

  “I made a mistake,” Clay confessed. He still had his Stetson and his coat on, so Allie figured he’d only managed to scrape the snow off his boots. “It’s all my fault.”

  “Jeremy,” Mrs. Hargrove called. “Why don’t you come in the kitchen with me and see if we can find you a cookie. Do you like cookies?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the boy said with a grin, happily following the older woman into the other room.

  “Now, it wasn’t all Clay’s fault,” Allie’s father said to her when the kitchen door was closed.

  Charley and Randy stood there looking uncomfortable, but they were quiet.

  “We were looking at that saddle Charley’s son used when he was a little tyke,” Clay began. His eyes met hers, but they were stormy with distress. “Jeremy was all excited about learning to ride a horse and I forgot—I said his father would be pleased that he wanted to ride.”

  Allie’s jaw dropped open.

  “We never mention his father,” she whispered.

  “I know,” Clay said. “That’s why I said I meant his uncle. His uncle would be pleased. He seemed to accept that. Then he wanted to know who his uncle was. Then—”

  Clay turned to look at her father, and Allie followed his gaze.

  “Don’t look at me,” her father said. “Jeremy already knows I’m his grandpa. I can’t be his uncle, too. He’s a bright boy. He’d figure that one out. So I’m the one who told him Clay was his uncle.”

  Allie shook her head. “I can’t believe this.”

  “Well, it’s sort of true,” her father explained. “Clay was a foster son in our family and Mark looks to him as a brother. Clay’s the closest thing to an uncle that the boy has. His mother is an only child, and you’re a girl.”

  “Okay,” Allie said as she nodded. “I guess I can see that.”

  “A fatherless boy needs an uncle,” her father sa
id.

  “In some villages in Africa, an uncle can be nothing more than a family friend,” Clay said. “It’s an honorary title. I’d like to think I’m that at least.”

  Allie met Clay’s eyes. His hat shaded his face, but she could see he was sincere and nervous. Suddenly, he seemed to remember his Stetson, and he swept it off his head, leaving his hair a little mussed.

  “You’re going to have to keep your promises to Jeremy,” Allie said fiercely. She wasn’t so sure it mattered who the boy’s uncle was as long as the man was dependable. “I won’t stand by and let you disappoint him.”

  “I never lie,” Clay said calmly.

  “He’s too young to ride a horse,” Allie said.

  Clay looked at Randy then.

  “I figure we’ll start him on the goat,” Clay confessed. “We’ve already explained that there will be a training period before he actually sits on a real horse.”

  Allie was silent as she looked at the men.

  “We figured it was the goat or the pig,” Randy said then, his voice hesitant. “And that pig is too small.”

  Suddenly, Allie started to giggle.

  “Those poor animals have no idea what they are getting into,” Allie finally managed to say. By now, everyone was chuckling.

  “The boy will do fine,” Charley said then. “My pa taught me how to ride on a sawhorse in the barn. A ranch boy has to be flexible. I’ve heard of small boys learning to ride on large calves.”

  Mrs. Hargrove opened the kitchen door and stuck her head back into the dining room. “All clear?”

  “We’re ready to eat,” Charley said as he motioned everyone to have a seat.

  Allie walked back to the kitchen to help Mrs. Hargrove bring the rest of the food to the table. She was surprised at how relaxed she felt today.

  * * *

  By the time they all were ready to push their chairs back from the table, Clay was full.

  “That’s the best meal I’ve had in ages,” Clay said to Mrs. Hargrove. “I can’t thank you enough. Are you sure I can’t chop you some wood before we leave?”

  “Absolutely not,” the older woman said. Her face pinked in pleasure. “This is your welcome-home party. You’re the guest of honor.”

  Clay blinked away a sudden tear. This woman had stood by him all the years he’d been away, and it touched him. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice his sudden need to blink.

  “I have something to show you,” Mrs. Hargrove said then as she slid her chair back from the table. “The dishes can wait.”

  “I’m more than happy to take care of those dishes for you,” Charley said as he pushed his chair back, too. “I figure me and Jeremy can manage to wash everything up fine. How about that, pardner?”

  Jeremy nodded his head vigorously.

  “I’ll give you a hand, too,” Randy said as he rose with them.

  Clay looked up at the ranch hand in surprise.

  “What?” Randy said with a grin. “It’s not like I’m wearing an apron or anything.”

  “Still,” Clay muttered. The whole world was shifting. “You have something in the kitchen? A cake or something?”

  Mrs. Hargrove chuckled. “It’s peach pie, and we’re going to serve it after the dishes are done. But before anyone leaves the table, I have an announcement for you.”

  The older woman reached into the big pocket in her apron and pulled out a glossy flier and a newspaper article. The flier was folded into thirds, and she held it up like it was something special. The article stayed in her other hand.

  “I suppose you’re wondering about the artwork you sent me over the years,” Mrs. Hargrove said, with a smile for Clay.

  “It was just a few sketches,” Clay said.

  The older woman nodded. “I usually have them hanging on the walls around the dining room. Your agent contacted me, though, and we talked. He was looking for sketches he could enter for an art showing at the Charlie Russell museum in Great Falls.”

  Clay swallowed back an exclamation of surprise.

  “I gave him what he is calling the Dry Creek collection,” Mrs. Hargrove continued. “The showing was last week and this—” she waved the newspaper article “—is the review. The art critics are saying you have a bold new look. They call you the next major Western artist.”

  Clay was speechless. He looked around and saw that everyone at the table seemed at a loss for words, as well.

  “That’s nice,” Clay finally managed to say.

  Mrs. Hargrove beamed even more. “They say there were offers for the collection of sketches starting at twenty thousand dollars. That is for the ten sketches.”

  “You need to sell,” Clay advised with a gasp. “Quick, before they change their minds.”

  “I wouldn’t sell those sketches for anything,” the older woman said firmly. “They have sentimental value. I did decide to get them insured, though.”

  “But—” Clay said, and then stopped. His mouth was hanging open, he knew, but he couldn’t seem to collect his thoughts enough to close it.

  “I did also say I would ask if you have other collections,” Mrs. Hargrove continued. “I talked to your agent, and he’ll handle the business side of things. I figure you must have other sketches that can be grouped together. Do you have any other sketches with you?”

  “In my old suitcase,” Clay said. “It’s still under my bunk. I checked it last night before I went to bed. I have dozens of sketches of—”

  Suddenly, Clay stopped. He blinked and looked around. He was too rattled by Mrs. Hargrove’s news to be thinking straight. “They wouldn’t work, though.”

  “Why not?” Charley asked, his tone suggesting Clay was not making the right choice. “I bet you could get tens of thousands of dollars for something. The time is right.”

  “They’re private sketches,” Clay finally said.

  “What of?” Mr. Nelson asked. “It didn’t seem like you were old enough when you were here to have much that was private.”

  Everyone looked at Clay as though trying to picture his secrets. He resisted the urge to squirm in his chair. He figured there was no hope of hiding anything. “I drew a few pictures of Allie.”

  He looked down at the table.

  “Was she...?” Randy looked around and whispered, “You know...naked?”

  Clay snapped his head back up. “Of course not.”

  His face was red and he couldn’t look over at Allie, although he wanted to know how she was taking all of this.

  “Well, what was Allie doing?” Mrs. Hargrove asked then. She, at least, seemed reasonable.

  “She was looking out the window,” Clay said. “One was her riding her horse. A couple of her with the new colts. One of her all dressed up for church. A few of her in the kitchen.”

  There was silence as everyone seemed to absorb this.

  “You sketched me?” Allie finally asked, her voice one of awe. “I never thought you even noticed me.”

  “I noticed,” Clay said.

  “Well, are you willing to give them over to those collectors?” Charley asked. “I think you could get a pretty penny for them.”

  “It’s up to Allie,” Clay said, looking at her directly for the first time since the conversation had started.

  “I’d be honored,” she said.

  Clay nodded.

  “I’ll let that agent of yours know,” Mrs. Hargrove said. “He said he could come by Dry Creek tomorrow.”

  Clay started to agree, and then he remembered. “I’m going to go see Mark tomorrow.”

  “We can work it out,” Mrs. Hargrove said. “Maybe I’ll tell him to come Wednesday morning. Would that give you enough time?”

  Clay was struck with uncertainty. “The paper I used might have gone bad sitting in that suitca
se all these years. I can’t promise anything until I see the sketches.” He looked at Allie. “You’ll have to give me your approval, too, before we close any deals.”

  Allie nodded.

  “What suitcase is that?” Mrs. Hargrove asked.

  Clay shrugged. “Just a case that was in the trunk of the car when my parents had their accident all those years ago. It was empty, but the policeman gave it to me days later. I took it to my first foster home and kept it all the way through until I brought it here.”

  “I remember you had it when you came to the ranch,” Allie confirmed.

  “It’s under my bunk now,” Clay added. “Full of this and that from my years bouncing around from place to place. None of it worth anything.”

  “It’s certainly worth something now,” Mrs. Hargrove said gently.

  Everyone was silent.

  “Well, I think that this all calls for peach pie,” Mrs. Hargrove finally said. “With ice cream.”

  Clay sat back in his chair. If it wasn’t for the strength of the spindles in the chair, he would be slumped down. He wondered if he was opening a door to something wonderful or something terrifying. It wasn’t just the events with the sketches that had surprised him. He was almost as astonished at the ease with which Jeremy had adopted him as his honorary uncle.

  He didn’t know what more to say about either one of those things. Fortunately, no words were needed because Charley brought in the pie.

  Chapter Eleven

  Allie was anxious to get home with her father and Jeremy. Clay followed in the pickup while she drove her father’s SUV. Randy was spending the afternoon in Dry Creek with his cousin. The snow had melted along the road except for a few small white patches. Gray clouds were gathering in the north, and she realized they might have more snow tonight. Spring wasn’t coming to Dry Creek on its regular schedule this year.

  She had to admit that it had felt good to drive into the ranch property and see the horses out in the corral. From a distance, no one would know that any of the Appaloosas were blind. Their coats were beautiful in the afternoon sunlight, muscles rippling as they trotted around the enclosure. She wished she had a camera.