She took the stairs down to the kitchen, intending to make some eggs and toast to go with the coffee. She glanced out the window and saw that Randy’s brown pickup had been moved from where it was yesterday. She thought she’d heard him drive in last night. He’d be ready for work this morning. The lights were on in the bunkhouse, so she assumed Clay and Randy were getting ready for the day.
While the eggs finished cooking, Allie changed the page on the calendar hanging on the wall. She remembered she’d had to do the same thing the last time she’d been back at the ranch. Her father just let the days flow over him.
Jeremy and her father came into the kitchen, and she dished up breakfast for them.
“We’re going to start working on the hay wagon today,” her father said as he settled himself and Jeremy on their chairs. The table was already set with dishes and silverware. “I’ve talked to Clay. He has some ideas. We’ll make sure the wagon’s ready for Sunday.”
“You’re still set on doing this Easter processional?” Allie asked as she set the platters in the center of the table.
Her father nodded as he held out his hands to Jeremy and to Allie. “Now that Clay is here we should have no problem.”
Allie didn’t answer.
“Well?” her father said.
“I’ll stop at the hardware store in Dry Creek on our way to the nursing home,” Allie said as she took her father’s hand. “We’ll all need new hats this year.”
One of the traditions with the processional was for those riding on the wagon to all wear new white Stetsons. Mark would enjoy having his hat early.
Allie bowed her head as her father started to pray aloud. She let his words of gratefulness speak for her. Her family had endured its share of hard times, but her parents had both believed in being thankful for what God had provided.
They finished eating and she had the table cleared when she heard footsteps on the porch.
She opened the door after the knock and saw Clay standing there. He wore the sheepskin coat and his black Stetson. The temperature outside was low enough that a cloud of white air showed when he spoke.
“Ready to go?” Clay was hunched slightly like he was cold.
“We can take my dad’s SUV,” she said as she stepped out of the door, her purse slung over her shoulder. “I suppose you want to drive?”
The freezing air hit her when she moved past the doorway.
He grinned. “You know I do. But I’d rather take that old pickup if you don’t mind. Your dad should have his vehicle in case he needs to go someplace.”
Allie nodded as she closed the door behind her. “You’re right. My little car isn’t much good on country roads in the winter, so he wouldn’t want to drive that for any distance.”
She remembered how much Clay enjoyed driving that old pickup around. A person would have thought it was a sports car rather than a worn-down ranching vehicle. Clay had volunteered to haul bales out to the horses for the night feeding many times just so he could get behind the wheel. Her father had already mentioned that he’d hired one of the Elkton wranglers to drive the pickup over to the prison in Deer Lodge and leave it there for when Clay was released.
Clay backed up so she could climb into the pickup without having to cross the puddle that had formed beside the cab. Allie’s teeth shivered as they drove off the ranch and headed down the gravel road into Dry Creek.
“I can’t wait to see Mark,” Clay said after a few miles.
Allie nodded. “He will look different. Just so you’re prepared. He’s thinner now. He lost most of his muscles. They have him doing rehab work, but he still looks like a starving man.”
“I wouldn’t expect him to win a beauty contest,” Clay said. “Is he strong, though? Should I shake his hand? Hug him? Or do I keep my distance? I can do whatever is best for him.”
Allie relaxed. Clay was asking the right kind of questions. He knew her brother would need special care. “I’m sure he’d appreciate a handshake.”
They spent the rest of the ride into Dry Creek reminiscing about their days on the ranch with Mark. Allie had forgotten half of the things that Clay remembered. They made her smile. Those had been good times.
“I thought we’d stop at the hardware store,” Allie said when they were at the outskirts of the small town. “We always get—”
“White hats!” Clay finished for her in excitement. “I remember Mark talking about that. He called them the Nelson Easter bonnets.”
“My mom and I got them, too,” Allie said with a grin. “That’s why he used to joke about them. Sometimes Mom would put a flower in the band around her Stetson. We used to wear these pretty Easter dresses, but she said we needed to have a rancher’s hat to show where we came from.”
Allie wished it was that easy now to be sure of where she belonged and what direction her life should take. Ever since Clay had come back, things had seemed unsettled.
* * *
Clay opened the door to the hardware store for Allie and stood to the side while she entered. He could hear the deep-toned chorus of welcome from what he figured was the group of men sitting around that potbelly stove in the middle of the store. Clay had never sat with the men there; Mr. Nelson had invited him once when they were in town, but Clay had preferred to slip over to the café with Allie and get a soda.
When Allie had stepped into the store, he followed her, closing the door behind him. A large store window looked out to the street. A cashier’s counter was on the left, and he saw that the pastor, Matthew Curtis, stood there tallying up something in a ledger. Rows of shelves held the merchandise.
“Good to have you stop by, Clay,” the pastor said with a smile.
Time had passed. Since Clay had been sent to prison, the man’s dark hair had gained a few gray streaks. Laugh lines showed by his eyes. But his welcome was as warm as ever.
“Thanks,” Clay said. He remembered Allie telling him once that the pastor worked part-time in the hardware store so he could put money aside for the college funds for his twin boys. The boys had to be past that stage now, though. Or, close to it.
“We came for hats,” Clay finally said as he glanced over to where Allie was chatting with a half-dozen old, grizzled ranchers. They were sitting in an assortment of hard-backed chairs that were ringed around that potbellied stove. He could tell by the looks on their faces that they adored Allie. She was no doubt talking crops and horses with them like she’d done since she was a kid.
“Easter hats?” the pastor asked as he walked over to a shelf on the back wall.
“Yes,” Clay said as he stood still.
He thought he was doing fine until Allie looked back at him and frowned slightly. “Come on over and say hi to everyone.”
He could spot a phony smile a hundred feet away, and he was much closer than that to those old ranchers. If they tried to smile any harder, he was afraid they’d strain something.
The only sound in the place as Clay walked over was the creak in the ladder as the pastor climbed up to bring down the hats.
Finally, one of the ranchers slowly rose to his feet. “The wife tells me you’re reformed now. Some kind of an artist.”
The man didn’t sound impressed, and he didn’t offer to shake hands.
“I draw a bit,” Clay admitted. He didn’t hold out his hand, either.
“Learn that in the joint?” another man asked. He didn’t show any inclination to stand.
The rest of the men sat there looking at him suspiciously. The smiles were gone. Clay was relieved for that at least.
“I expect you learned more than how to draw when you were in prison,” the man continued. “Or maybe you taught the boys there something, what with your history and all.”
“What do you mean by that?” Clay asked.
The other man didn’t answer, but
Clay noted that Allie’s face had reddened. She was embarrassed. He supposed he shouldn’t blame her. No one liked to hang out with a foster kid turned ex-con.
He could hear the pastor climbing back down the ladder.
“I got an assortment of sizes to try on,” he said cheerfully.
Clay turned and saw the pastor carrying an armload of white Stetson hats over to the counter. He looked like he hadn’t heard the accusation hanging in the air.
“Thank you,” Allie said with relief in her voice as she gestured for Clay to meet her over at the counter. “We’ll be quick about it. We need the smallest one you have for my nephew. Then we’ll take three in a size seven and—” She looked at Clay. “Do you know the size you need? There’s a tag inside the hat you have on that probably says.”
“It’s seven and five-eighths.” Clay didn’t need to remove his hat. When a man didn’t own much, he usually knew what he had.
The pastor pulled a hat off the top of the stack and put it with the others he’d already set aside. Then he put them all in a beige plastic bag with a sales slip.
Clay felt self-conscious because he knew the ranchers were listening to everything he and Allie said. But none of the men voiced any opinions. He supposed they thought even troublemakers were entitled to wear a new hat.
Clay followed Allie’s lead and they were soon out of the hardware store with five brand-new Stetson hats in their possession. The bright white felt in the hats was accented with bands of brass-tipped leather cords.
“They look great,” Clay said when they climbed back into the pickup. He set the bag with the hats on the seat between them. “I’ve never had such a good-looking Stetson.”
He hated to see Allie subdued like this when she’d been looking forward to something as simple as a new Easter bonnet. “You’ll look great in your new hat, too.”
She smiled at him, but it was a halfhearted gesture.
The drive to the nursing home outside Miles City was quiet. The land was flat, and they didn’t see many vehicles on the freeway. The sky had darkened, and Clay suspected it would snow before the day was over.
“They don’t mean to be unfair,” Allie said at one point. “Back at the hardware store.”
“It’s okay,” Clay assured her. He shouldn’t be disappointed. A few people in Dry Creek had been happy to see him. That would have to be enough. “Some people don’t understand.”
“They’re good men usually,” she added.
“I know,” Clay said, and he meant it. Those men would do almost anything for a neighbor in trouble. But he was an outsider to them, and he always had been. They probably didn’t like seeing him with Allie either, and he didn’t blame them. No woman needed to be tagged as a friend to an ex-con.
Of course, saying anything like that to Allie would only get her hackles up. So, he asked Allie about her life in Jackson Hole, and they talked a little of happier things.
Clay had driven through Miles City before he saw the sign for the nursing home. He turned off the freeway and slowed down to enter the lane leading to the long frame building. Clay could tell from the soft gray paint and white trim that someone had tried to make the structure look inviting. There was a large yard at the front of the home, but the grass was dead and patches of snow were scattered around.
“All of the rooms have windows at least,” Allie said as Clay parked the pickup. “Mark is on the west side, so he sees the sun go down every day.”
Clay tried to look positively at everything. He knew from prison how important seeing the sun was, but he also knew that having a view was seldom enough to make up for being confined for whatever reason. He wondered if Mark felt trapped in this place. Or was he so sick that he didn’t care?
Allie brought in one of the size seven Stetsons for Mark. They left the rest of the hats in that bag in the pickup.
Clay stopped when they came to the steps going into the building. He turned to Allie. “Do I look okay?”
She must have known what he was asking because she studied him. “Smile when you see him. You look younger when you do that. And keep your hat on if you can. That hides your eyes a little.”
He grinned. “What’s wrong with my eyes?”
“They’ve seen a lot of life,” Allie replied. “It shows.”
“I’d seen a lot of things before I met Mark, too.” Clay turned and opened the main door to the place. “My eyes have always looked like this.”
Clay noticed it was not silent as they walked down the corridors. People were talking in hushed tones, but it all added up to a medium hum that didn’t stop.
“Here it is,” Allie said when they came to one of the small rooms. She looked up at Clay. “I’ll go in first and let him know you’re with me.”
“That’s probably best.” Clay tried to rein in his excitement. He knew Mark wouldn’t be able to handle an exuberant greeting from him so, regardless of the joy he felt inside, he took a deep breath and told himself to calm down.
Clay heard the surprised cry inside the room as Mark realized Allie was there.
After a couple of minutes, Allie came back to the door. She had a huge grin on her face and tears falling down her cheeks. “Come in.”
Clay stepped inside and saw his old friend. “Mark.”
Despite the warnings he’d had, Clay was shocked. His friend was gaunt. He looked worse than men who’d been in solitary confinement for a month. Mark had grown a few inches taller since Clay had seen him last, but he probably weighed forty pounds less. His skin was slightly yellow. His black hair was poorly cut, and he’d nicked himself shaving. He wore blue-and-white-striped pajamas. His brown eyes were shining, though, as he looked at Clay.
“It’s about time,” Mark said as he took a feeble step toward Clay. “I’m not contagious, you know. People don’t need to worry about seeing me. I just had a—” Mark got a confused look on his face as he hesitated “—an accident, I guess.”
“You’ve had a hard time,” Clay agreed softly as he walked farther into the room.
Mark stared at Clay for a few seconds. “I need to lie back down.”
Clay nodded.
“Come sit and talk to me, though,” Mark said as he lay down on the hospital bed. “I want you to tell me how everyone is.” He paused and then grinned. “Especially Hannah. I guess she’s still mad at me.”
Clay took his time walking over to the one chair beside the bed. He didn’t know what to say.
It was silent for a moment and then Mark turned to Allie, who stood by the door. “Can you get us some sodas from the machine at the end of the hall?”
She looked at Clay before nodding and leaving.
“You can tell me about it now,” Mark said after Allie was gone. “Hannah hasn’t come by. I tried to call her number, and the phone was disconnected. I know Sammy Yates would like to ask her out, so I don’t want him making moves on her while I am laid up in here. I want to take her to the prom, and I haven’t had a chance to even ask her.”
Clay swallowed. “There’s no hurry. You’ve got time.”
“You haven’t seen them together?” Mark asked anxiously.
“No.” Clay was glad he could answer that at least.
Mark seemed worn out from the conversation and lay on his bed for some time just looking over at Clay.
“Have you been working out?” Mark finally asked, studying Clay.
“Just hanging out,” Clay said as he tried to look a little less bulky in the heavy coat he wore.
Mark kept eyeing him, though.
“You’re different,” he said quietly. “You look—” Mark seemed to search for the word “—settled.”
Clay sat up at that. “What do you mean?”
“Have you finished reading the Gospel of Luke?” Mark asked. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you a
bout it. I keep going over it again and again. It was a good challenge from the church. I think it’s true, you know.”
“I read it yesterday.” Clay had lain on the mattress on the kitchen floor in the bunkhouse last night and couldn’t sleep, so he pulled the Bible off the low shelf. The account of Jesus had drawn him in, and he hadn’t been able to stop reading until he finished.
“I’m glad we’re doing the Easter processional,” Mark said. His voice was getting weaker, and he had to pause between the words. “You’re still in on that, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I’m in,” Clay said.
“It’s important to me to be there,” Mark said, slower yet. Each word seemed an effort now. “I never understood about Easter until now.”
Clay saw the truth on his friend’s face. Mark knew something about the Easter story that he didn’t. “I’ll see that you get there.”
Allie came back then with three cans of cola.
“I need to take a nap now,” Mark whispered. “But I’ll see you early on Sunday. Real early. We have to be there for the Resurrection.”
Clay nodded, and Allie quietly set one of the cans of soda on Mark’s nightstand. He’d already closed his eyes.
“See that Hannah doesn’t go out with anyone else,” Mark whispered as Clay walked to the door.
Clay turned around, and Mark had opened his eyes again.
“You just rest now,” Clay said softly. “Don’t worry about a thing.”
Clay left the room with Allie.
They were silent as they walked through the corridors and exited the building. Snow began to fall as Clay started to drive back to Dry Creek.
“Are you okay?” he asked Allie after a few miles. She’d been quiet.
She nodded. “He’s come so far, but he has a long way still to go. I just feel bad for him.”
“Is there a reason the doctors don’t tell him how long he’s been out of it?” Clay asked.
“They say it’s better for him if he figures it out for himself,” Allie said. “They keep him away from mirrors and calendars. They say that when he’s ready to absorb the information, his mind will let him know it.”
Easter in Dry Creek Page 14
