In her usual concise manner, Bridget wrote that Mammoth Hospital had advertised an opening for a nurse and she’d been hired there for the rest of the summer. She couldn’t wait to see Claire, meet Jenny, and visit the magnificent national park Claire bragged so much about. That part was wonderful.
It was the last line that had Claire shaking her head in disbelief.
Claire flipped over the envelope and frowned at the postmark. Bridget had mailed this letter two days ago, and yet she said she’d be in West Yellowstone at three o’clock... on Friday.
Tomorrow? Claire stared at the words. How could she be coming tomorrow?
Bridget was the opposite of impulsive. Her sister planned everything from her weekly hair appointments to what books she would read next. This was not a spur-of-the-moment trip. She had a job and a place to live that must have taken weeks to set up. So why hadn’t she given Claire more time to prepare?
When the Reillys had houseguests—Grandma Reilly or Dad’s sisters—they were treated like royalty. The week before a visit would be a flurry of activity. Flo would rope Claire and Bridget into making the house spotless. She’d plan elaborate meals and everyone would wear their very best clothes. How was Claire supposed to get ready for a visitor in one day?
When Claire arrived in Riverside as a new bride, Red had carried her over the threshold and put her down in the little house with a long kiss. “It’s not what you’re used to,” he said as she caught her breath. “Ilove it,” she told him without a qualm. Who needed fancy appliances and matching furniture when you had the rushing river and mountains that drew your gaze upwards like a prayer? “It’s our sanctuary,” she told him, and it was all they needed.
Now Claire stood and walked through that sanctuary, seeing it with Bridget’s eyes.
The little house had been a holiday cabin for fishermen several decades ago and consisted of a large main room that was both living room and kitchen. Claire didn’t worry about how to arrange the furniture, because all they had was a tattered sofa covered in a wool blanket where she and Red cuddled up on cold evenings.
The kitchen was scrubbed and tidy, with an aged Frigidaire, a gas range with two burners, and a chipped enamel sink. A pine table and four chairs served both for eating and as a desk where she paid bills and wrote letters. The window treatments were curtains made from the white kitchen towels she’d received as wedding gifts, and the floor was a scuffed and scarred linoleum.
Would Bridget see how perfectly happy they were here? Or would she only see what was lacking—the wing chairs and wallpaper, the throw rugs and draperies?
There was more to consider than Bridget’s opinion on her home decorating. Claire would have to cook something other than elk stew—Red’s favorite and the only dish she could make with any skill. For goodness’ sake, they didn’t even have a working telephone, which Bridget would consider utter privation and highly unsafe living this far from civilization. Not to mention they absolutely must take her sister to see the sights of Yellowstone, and they could hardly do that in a truck held together with baling wire and a prayer.
If Dad had been ready to jump on a train because a bear was on the porch, what would he do once Bridget reported back? And report back she would. Claire loved her sister, but she was a terrible tattletale. Claire looked at the letter again, this time parsing the words with a growing suspicion. Perhaps Bridget hadn’t merely forgotten to let her know of her plans. Could she be dropping in unannounced on Dad’s orders?
Good gracious, she wouldn’t put anything past him.
As much as she loved her father, she knew he wasn’t an easy man. The clerks at the store lived in fear of his disapproval, and whenever he ate a meal at a restaurant, he had a complaint for the manager. His idea of the perfect husbands for his daughters were men who lived in Willmar and had the wherewithal to purchase big houses, new-model cars, and closets full of nice dresses from Reilly’s Department Store. Men like Luke Charpentier.
If Dad really was behind this ploy of Bridget’s, it wouldn’t take much for him to decide Red wasn’t taking good care of his daughter and granddaughter. She could see it now, Daniel Reilly showing up on their doorstep with his checkbook, more than willing to humiliate her husband by outfitting Claire with new appliances and a matching sofa and love seat.
Claire couldn’t let that happen. She’d simply have to show Bridget—and therefore her father—that Red was taking good care of his family. Not by the beauty of the river or the freezer full of elk and trout, but in a way that would convince her sister.
Jenny’s happy yelp pulled her from her thoughts. Claire poured her cold coffee down the drain and went to the bedroom. Jenny smiled and cooed, always at her most adorable right after her nap. Claire put a rubber mat on the bed and laid Jenny on it, tickling Jenny’s cheeks with her eyelashes until she giggled. “Let’s change your diaper, sweet pea.” She wet a washcloth in the bathroom sink and grabbed a folded diaper and the powder.
As Claire unpinned the wet diaper, she considered what she must do before tomorrow. “We’ll need groceries,” she told Jenny as she kicked and cooed. Claire washed Jenny with the washcloth, and applied powder. “And we absolutely must get the truck fixed.” They couldn’t take a tour of the park if they had to whack the carburetor at every stop.
With Jenny’s dry diaper in place, Claire pulled her rubber pants back on. The wet diaper went in the diaper pail and she propped Jenny on the couch, a pillow on each side to keep her upright. As Jenny’sbottle warmed, Claire pulled open the drawer of bills. Most married women she knew were given an allowance, but Red was happy to put her in charge of the entire household budget. “Do whatever you think is best,” he said. She checked the account book and saw the balance was zero, as she knew it would be.
She got out her pen and started writing a list.
Don, of Don’s Auto in West Yellowstone, had told her it would be thirty dollars to fix the carburetor, and she’d need another twenty to pay the overdue phone bill and get hooked back up to the party line. She added twenty more dollars for gas and ten for groceries. Several other bills were woefully overdue, including the feed for Marigold and Rosie. How could she get more than a hundred dollars? Red would get paid tomorrow, but they needed most of that money for rent. She stared at the list as if the answer would jump out at her.
Claire took Jenny’s bottle from the pan and checked the temperature of the formula on her wrist. She sat back down at the kitchen table with Jenny in her lap. Her thoughts jumped from one scenario to another as Jenny ate, all of them ending with Red being humiliated. When Jenny had taken her whole bottle and was milk drunk and drowsy, she put her on her shoulder and walked outside. “What are we going to do?”
Jenny burped in response.
Claire surveyed the small domain as she patted Jenny’s back. A shed full of hay and horse tack. A watering pump and trough. Marigold at the far end of the pasture, the sun gleaming off her golden coat, and Red’s pack mule, Bess, dozing beside her. Claire didn’t know anyone well enough to borrow from—except for Bucky and he never had any money—and the bank was out of the question. The only assets they owned were the truck and the horses. Bess didn’t count, as she was old and blind in one eye.
Claire stopped mid-pat. The horses.
Marigold.
As if she heard Claire’s thoughts, Marigold lumbered across the pasture, her ears twitching. Jenny squealed and held out a plump hand to Marigold’s searching nose. Claire let Jenny tangle her fingersin Marigold’s mane. Marigold was worth at least a hundred dollars, and Claire had the bill of ownership in her name.
Claire walked back into the house. She sat down and looked again at the list, then again at Bridget’s letter. Her throat constricted.
Dad had been horrible to Red at their wedding. The look on Red’s face as her father made one last effort to stop Claire from walking down the aisle... She never wanted to put Red through something like that again. She walked to the kitchen window and looked out at Marigold.
