by Lucy Inglis
Hope turned from the dishwasher, turning her palms against each other one way and the other. ‘Thanks for breakfast. It was really good.’
‘Glad you liked it.’
They both hesitated. ‘OK, see you later.’ She trotted up the stairs. When she looked down from the landing, he was gone.
In her room, Hope retrieved the black book from where she had left it on the desk and went out on to the balcony. The bluff fell away before her, clean-cut and dramatic in the morning light. She sat down on one of the silvery old wooden chairs and turned to where she had left off. It was then that I saw you . . .
Only a couple of pages later, Hope’s laptop pinged a notification and she ended up in an IM chat with Lauren, who was up late trying to finish an essay. Then she came back downstairs to the smell of coffee slipping through the cool expanse of the Crow house. Hope explored, walking through the games room with its pool table, another TV and easy chairs, into a room lined with books looking out over the meadow at the back of the house. Hearing noises in the kitchen, she peeped from the edge of the living room, and saw Caleb Crow helping himself to coffee.
‘Hey there, Miss Hope. How you doing?’
‘Good, thank you, Mr Crow.’
‘We don’t stand on ceremony on these parts, Hope. Caleb is just fine. Deal?’
‘Deal.’
‘Good girl. Help yourself to any type of breakfast you want. There’s all kinds of cereals in that cupboard there, or eggs.’ He paused. ‘Do vegetarians eat eggs?’
Hope smiled. ‘This one quite likes them. But I already ate, thanks. Cal made me breakfast.’
‘Ah, great. I’d tell him to take some time to keep you entertained some more but he’s got to go upcountry now, to my sister’s in Kalispell. Won’t be back for a few days.’
‘Oh.’ Hope’s spirits fell.
Caleb poured himself a drop more coffee. ‘Elizabeth – that’s my wife – called, said my sister’s a whole lot better now, and so he’s going to collect her and bring back two of his aunt’s horses too, take the load off her some. It’s a way away. And he likes to go up through the national park.’ He cocked his head to one side, looking remarkably like his son. ‘Why don’t you go along with him?’
‘Oh . . . I’m not . . . I don’t think I’d be much help.’
Caleb waved his hand. ‘He doesn’t need help, but he might like company.’ He glanced towards the window at the front of the house. ‘He’s there now – why don’t we ask him?’ He strode out of the kitchen straight away, to the open front door. ‘Cal!’
Cal was loading a coil of rope into the back of the 250. ‘Yep?’
‘How’s about taking Miss Hope here on your trip?’ He turned to Hope. ‘He’ll be cutting straight through the Glacier National Park. It’s some beautiful countryside.’
Cal straightened up slowly, looking at them both.
Hope squirmed. You don’t have to, she mouthed.
‘Are you sure she wants to come?’
‘Sure she would!’
Cal resumed shifting things around in the flatbed. ‘We’ll be sleeping rough, in the back of here.’
Caleb put a hand on Hope’s shoulder. ‘I bet she’s tougher than she looks. And she doesn’t want to see our finest scenery from some red tourist bus. You can take her up to Polebridge Mercantile for a lookaround. Get me some of those huckleberry bear claws they make up there.’
‘Dad, that’ll add on half a day.’
‘But it’s a fun trip, and you aren’t in a hurry.’
‘What about your mom?’ Cal asked Hope without looking at her.
Hope was getting more and more embarrassed. None of it had been her idea anyway.
‘I’ll square it away with Ms West.’
Cal put his hands on his hips and looked at his father for a long time. ‘You’re sure this is a good idea, Dad?’
Something unspoken passed between them, then Caleb patted Hope’s shoulder. ‘Sure I’m sure! It’ll be an adventure.’
Cal glanced up at the sky. ‘Can you be ready in an hour?’
An hour later, Hope brought her bag down the stairs, then thought she should probably take the opportunity to use the bathroom one last time. As she came out she heard voices out on the decking. It was Cal and his father. Cal was rubbing a hand through his chaotic hair.
‘Jesus Christ. Can you imagine what people would say? What her mother would say if she knew?’
Hope crept closer to the doors.
‘I don’t give a rat’s ass for what people say. It’ll be good for both of you. I can see you like her, even with your grampa’s poker face on.’
‘Doesn’t make a difference if I like her or not, does it?’
‘Take a tip from your pa, you don’t meet so many women in your life that make you sit up and take real notice the way you’ve noticed her.’ Hope’s ears pricked up even further. ‘And she shines fit to light a room when you’re in it. Should have seen her pretty face when I told her you were going away.’
Hope cringed. I’m that obvious?
‘She’s sixteen. And British.’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Three years and four thousand miles?’
‘All horseshit if you like each other. Look at me and your mother. The truth? We were crazy about each other, but I didn’t know her from a hole in the ground when we got married. That’s worked out pretty well.’
‘For the love of God, Dad—’
Hope’s heart sank. He really didn’t want her along. She picked up the diary, intending to sit and read until Cal was gone. Then she heard the single wail of a police siren.
The two policemen they had met in Fort Shaw had pulled up to the front of the house and were getting out of the car. Father and son were already walking forward to meet them.
‘What can I do for you, John?’ Caleb Crow’s voice was harder than Hope had heard it. His relaxed posture had stiffened and suddenly he looked very tall and imposing.
Officer Jones spoke first. ‘We’ve had a report you’re employing illegals here.’
Cal stepped forward. ‘Says who?’
His father shot him a warning look.
‘Now, son, you keep your temper,’ the police chief advised.
‘How many workers do you have here at the moment, Mr Crow?’ the officer asked.
‘Twenty-four. All legitimate. As you know.’
‘What about that little Mexican I seen in town?’
Caleb Crow rolled his eyes. ‘Jesus has been here for four years. He’s brought in his papers twice.’
‘Yeah, well, maybe he should bring them in again, just to be sure. And that big black fella too, that maintains your vehicles. He’s been in the bar some, I’d like to see his credentials. There’s a whole raft of illegals coming in here just now for the summer work. Gotta keep on top of it.’
‘Cal, go to the office and get the photocopies for Jesus and Sebastian.’
Cal turned on his heel and went off to the far wing of the house, banging into the offices.
‘Elizabeth well?’ Chief Hart asked, a sly note in his voice.
‘As well as ever,’ Caleb Crow replied curtly.
‘Fine woman.’
‘Of that, I am certainly aware.’
‘Shame to keep a woman like that hidden away out here, I’ve always thought.’
Caleb Crow’s jaw flickered. ‘As opposed to keeping her in a cage and selling tickets? Or what?’
Cal returned with a sheaf of papers in his hand and passed them to the chief. The big man didn’t look at them, just carried on looking at Caleb Crow.
‘Guess I’ll keep these on file at the station. Being as how your men will have the originals, naturally. Tell them to bring them in next time they come to town. Just to be sure.’
Caleb Crow folded his arms and shifted his weight on to one hip, a gesture Hope recognized from Cal.
The two policemen made no effort to move away. ‘So you got two English women guesting with you. Mother and a prett
y daughter, about sixteen I’d say.’
‘That’s right,’ Caleb said.
Hope realized they all knew she was there in the doorway.
‘Maybe we’ll drop by now and again, just to see if she’s OK.’ The chief turned, pretending to see Hope for the first time. ‘Hey, Freckles. How you finding Crow hospitality?’
‘I . . . perfect, thank you.’
He saluted with the sheaf of papers. ‘Well, you take care now, honeypie, y’hear?’
Freckles? Honeypie? Gross. The two men got back into the police car and it turned in a wide circle, making Cal shift out of the way. Father and son watched it go, then moved towards each other, conducting a low, tense conversation as they walked to the corral, down to where Cal’s pick-up was parked.
Hope, feeling awkward, started to walk over to them. Cal was leaning against the side, arms crossed and one ankle over the other, his brown leather workboots dusty. Caleb was standing there with him. They were deep in conversation and Cal looked agitated. Buddy was pressed against his leg as usual.
‘Hart is a real curly wolf. Always has been, like his daddy before him, and that son of his.’
Cal took a breath. ‘Dan and Steve were in town when we came through on our way back from the airport. They drove by and threw a half-full pop cup at the rig, frightened Hope.’
‘Yeah, well, they got no manners either,’ Caleb said, his usually calm voice unexpectedly fierce. ‘Which is a well-established fact of public record.’
‘There’s a few other things that are a matter of public record,’ Cal said.
‘Son, you did the right thing and you know you did. I know it wasn’t easy, walking away from school like that, away from the team, but it was the right thing. We’re proud of you.’
‘Didn’t help Tyler, did it?’ Cal muttered bitterly. ‘The chief—’
‘Ignore anything John Hart says.’
Cal stuck his thumbnail between his front teeth for a second. ‘What he says is what everyone else thinks.’ He straightened up suddenly when he saw Hope.
Caleb cast him a final look, then smiled at her. ‘Well, look at you, all ready for the outdoors.’
Hope looked down at herself, unsure if putting on walking boots and a cardigan was quite outdoors enough.
Caleb strode to the front door and picked up her bag and a long raincoat from the peg. ‘Take this slicker, Hope, just in case.’
Hope opened her mouth to say she wasn’t going, but he carried on talking, taking her elbow and steering her towards the pick-up.
‘I’ll tell your mom where you two have gone, and that you’ll be back in a few days. Give you both time to see the wood for the trees, I reckon.’ He put the bag and the slicker inside the cab on the bench seat. ‘Take care of my boy here.’
Hope’s skin coloured. Cal looked away and coughed slightly.
‘Buddy, hup.’ The dog jumped on to the bed of the pick-up.
Caleb embraced his son, and Cal hugged him back. Standing back, Cal opened the passenger door for Hope. Seconds later, he eased himself into the driver’s seat. His long fingers caught the key in the ignition and he cranked the engine into life.
They took a track out through the back of the ranch, climbing into the hills. The pick-up was warm and Hope took the cardigan off. The tinny radio crackled with weather news.
‘You should put your seat belt on.’
‘You haven’t got yours on.’
‘Yeah, but you should wear yours.’ His voice was flat. ‘You’re my responsibility.’
Hope fastened the seat belt. ‘I’m really sorry. Your dad pushed you into this.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You don’t want me here.’
Without taking his eyes from the road, his hand reached out and touched her bare arm very briefly. ‘It’s not that.’
Hope swallowed, hoping he hadn’t noticed the goose-bumps rise instantly on her skin. The woman’s voice on the radio read out the temperatures expected in Butte, Great Falls, Missoula and Kalispell.
‘The policeman. Why was he being like that?’
It was a long time before he answered. ‘Our families have been at odds for generations.’
‘Why?’
He lifted one shoulder. ‘I don’t know. Different folks, I suppose.’ For a while it seemed he would say nothing more. Then, ‘Truth is, the Harts ain’t real nice people. And Chief Hart likes to mess with people’s heads. Particularly mine. But you’ve only got my word on that.’
Hope watched him. ‘I don’t think they’d let it happen in London.’
Cal’s expressive mouth turned down at the corner. ‘Like you said, this is nothing like London.’
She didn’t know what to say to that, so said nothing. After they’d been driving a while, the silence was heavy, broken only by the crackly radio. The weather report came on again.
‘Montana has quite a lot of weather.’
‘It’s that or the church station.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We just might catch the sermon.’ He turned off the gravel track, on to two pale channels in the blowing grass. The trailer clattered behind them.
When I woke a pink-streaked dawn was filling the windows and, somewhere, a cockerel was crowing. The bed was deliciously warm and comfortable, the mattress well stuffed and the coverlet tucked around me; I hadn’t been so comfortable in weeks. I wriggled in a stretch and my naked foot touched something warm. Skin, with a soft crackle of hair. I froze. I could hear breathing, soft and shallow.
I scrambled out of the bed, struggling from the covers and stumbling as my bruised leg protested. You were sprawled on your back on top of the covers, one arm above your head, wearing only a pair of white linen drawers, which ended indecently at mid-thigh, the kind I had seen on camp washing lines. The contours of your stomach were clearly defined above the drawstring tie, the other hand resting on your chest. Your strange pagan necklace hung over the bedpost. A blanket was partly across your hips but your bad leg lay on top of it and I saw then the reason for your lameness: a long, livid scar stretching from just above the knee right down over the top of the foot.
‘Glad I don’t mind you gawking, English.’ You smiled, propping yourself on your elbows.
I lifted my chin, but didn’t meet your eyes, face flaming. ‘I . . . didn’t realize you’d be sleeping with . . . in here.’
‘It’s my bed.’ Getting up, you were suddenly too close.
‘Don’t touch me,’ I said as strongly as I could, then ruined it with a whispered, ‘please.’
‘You ain’t never been around menfolk, have you?’ You opened the door, looked out at the weather and stretched, the muscles of your back flexing. The day was fine, the blue sky clear. Tara was waiting for you and you limped down the steps to the grass and scratched her neck, speaking to her softly.
Inside, I sat on the chest at the bottom of the bed in despair. What was to become of me in this place where the rules of my life did not apply? I had, unwittingly, shared a bed with a man whilst engaged to another. I put my head in my hands and almost cried again. But the tears did not come. I thought of Papa, and his advice to me before the journey; the coming weeks would be a trial, but to be brave and do my best at all times. He was right, I should be brave. This was the adventure I had wanted, and afterwards, in the drawing room in Larkin Street, I would be able to recount it at parties and perhaps even make a joke about how I was a real frontierswoman. Although my beautiful, quiet Mama hated jokes of any kind amongst gathered groups of women.
Fetching the comb I braided my hair as neatly as I could, for I had never dressed my own hair before, but there was nothing to tie it off with. There was a shadow against the sunlight and I looked up in surprise as you held out a bootlace; I hadn’t heard you come in.
I tied off the braid, but it slipped immediately from the smooth threads of my hair and fell on to the boards of the chest still coiled. You sighed and sat down next to me, still less than half dressed.
‘Won’t work if you do it
like that now, will it?’ With a shake of your head, you threaded the lace through the braid further up, before wrapping it around and around in a thick, neat rope and tying it off. ‘Never saw myself as much of a lady’s maid, but hell.’ You smiled.
My face coloured again. I had heard curses only in the street in London. And once, from Mr Ellis, last year when my staylace snapped in his hand before Papa’s annual Christmas party for the other ambassadors. He had apologized to Mama instantly, but I think she was too upset about how long it was going to take to rethread an eight-yard lace to have even noticed.
‘You want to wash? There’s a place in the stream I can show you. Or I can fill the tub?’
I shook my head, alarmed at the idea of being naked around you again. ‘Not presently. I think I may become chilled. But thank you.’
‘Are you cold now?’
I nodded.
‘It’s warm today, for the time of year.’
‘I feel the cold.’
‘Ain’t surprised. Not enough on your bones.’ You picked up a towel from the peg near the door and disappeared up behind the house towards the stream.
When you came back, I was sitting on the bench, looking at the view. Your hair was wet and droplets of water clung to your chest.
I avoided your gaze. ‘How far are we from where the coach crashed?’
‘Why?’
‘I thought . . . that we might try and see if any of my things are still there. My clothes. Some shoes. Before you take me back.’
You looked at me for a long time. ‘No, it’s too far. And you only had one shoe on when I found you. Didn’t think it was much use, one shoe. And the melt was on us.’
‘But I can’t wear these things. And I have no shoes.’ I looked down at my bare, cold feet.
‘You’ve found your voice this morning, ain’t you? No one will ever find that coach, smashed up like it was, to splinters. Your stuff is long gone.’
‘So . . . well, perhaps that doesn’t matter. How far is it to Helena? Or Fort Shaw?’
Inside, the kettle shrieked on the stove and you disappeared. ‘Helena? About two hundred miles,’ you shouted, clanging about. ‘Fort Shaw is about a hundred and thirty, give or take.’
My heart sank. One hundred and thirty miles? An impossible distance. When you came back out, you were dressed, and carrying two cups of tea, a tin plate of toasted bread, a bone-handled knife and an earthenware jar tucked beneath your arm. You sat down and took off the lid, digging out a chunk of dripping honeycomb, spreading it on to the toasts.
