A hairpin turn around the ridge led to more camping sites. The sites on the ridge side were surrounded by trees. The spots on the other side stretched along the fast-flowing Madison.
“What about over there?” Frannie pointed to a grassy area next to the river. A yellow Pontiac and small silver trailer were parked close to the bank, and a couple sat beside the river in lawn chairs. It wasn’t a designated camping site—no picnic table or fire ring—but there was plenty of room for a tent, and the river close by for water.
Paul pulled over and called to the couple. “You mind if we take this spot?”
The man waved him in. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Let’s get set up.” Paul pulled over on the grass and killed the engine.
The young couple were the friendly sort. “Ooh, a baby,” the woman cooed when she saw Jenny in Beth’s arms. “Can I hold her?”
Claire nodded her consent. They introduced themselves as Jeffrey and Dottie Gardner.
“Are you two newlyweds?” Claire asked Dottie.
The young woman’s cheeks went a little pink in the fading light as she nodded. “My uncle gave us the trailer for our honeymoon. We’re heading into the park tomorrow.”
Paul and Frannie, along with their other two friends, pulled a canvas tent and a set of tent poles out of a green canvas bag. With Jenny settled in Dottie’s arms, Claire asked Paul for some matches. She set up a circle of rocks close to the riverbank, then went to find dry wood.
The surface of the Madison glittered as the sun went down, clouds of gnats like a mist over the running water. Across the river, the mountain sloped sharply upward, thick with trees. Claire stood for a moment, her gaze drawn to the massive dolomite ridge jutting heavenward like a cathedral carved of rock. The beauty of the sunset and scenery was a balm after the tense flight from Mammoth and she whispered a thankful prayer that Beth was safe now. When Claire returned to the river with an armful of kindling it was to find Frannie waiting for her. Claire prepared to get an earful about how she’d ruined her sister’s fun.
Frannie crouched down close to her and whispered. “What’s going on, Claire?”
Why was she whispering? Claire laid a handful of kindling on a bed of dry grass. “Just what I said.”
“Claire.” Frannie’s voice was serious. “Are you leaving Red?”
Claire frowned. Frannie had it all wrong. “Of all the things, Frannie. Why would you think that?”
Frannie raised her brows. “You’re acting weird. You and Red were having it out the other night at your house. Then he went away and now here you are with a suitcase and the baby.”
Claire didn’t want to get into the whole business with the Henshaws, and she certainly didn’t want to tell Frannie about Red and how awful everything was. Claire arranged the larger pieces of firewood in a teepeeshape and dug in her pocket for the matches. “Beth has a family emergency. I’m just helping her. Everything is fine.” Claire struck a match on a stone. The tip flared but the wind blew it out.
“Was it my fault?” Frannie blinked and in the dim light looked like she might be fending off tears. “Did you guys fight about me, and then he left?”
Claire stared at her sister. “Of course not.” Was that really what Frannie thought? She let out a huff of breath. “We had a disagreement the other night, but it wasn’t about you. I wrote him a letter and cleared everything up. He’s probably on his way home right now.” She hoped he was. Claire struck another match, shielding the flame from the breeze, and held it to the dry grass.
“You wrote him a letter?” Frannie looked at Claire as if she’d sent Red smoke signals. “That was sure dumb.”
Claire glanced up at her as the dry grass turned black, the tiny flame licking at the kindling. “Why is writing a letter dumb?”
Frannie frowned. “Red’s a swell guy and all, I’m not saying anything against him, but what good will a letter do when he can’t read?”
What? Claire forgot the fire and turned on her sister. “That’s a terrible thing to say, Frannie.” If Frannie thought this was a joke, it wasn’t funny.
“You’re a bigger dope than I thought, Claire.” Frannie was looking at Claire with wide eyes. “I watched him when Dad gave him the newspaper back home, he looked at it but his eyes didn’t move.”
That didn’t prove Frannie’s outlandish claim. Red would have told Claire if he couldn’t read. “That’s ridiculous.” The dry grass was burning in a bright flare, the small kindling catching fire and starting to crackle and pop.
She shrugged. “Have you seen him read?”
Claire struggled for a rebuttal. He read theBetter Homes & Gardens Baby Book. And the hymnal at church on Sundays. Then Claire remembered she was the one who had read the baby book aloud to him, and in church he didn’t sing anything but the choruses. Claire remembered his letters the winter after she left Yellowstone. Shiny rocks andflowers. A hawk’s feather. She’d thought it terribly romantic, but could Frannie be right? But what about the letters Claire wrote him that whole winter—had he not read them?
The campfire was sputtering out. “I’m a teacher,” Claire argued. “I’d know if my own husband couldn’t read.”
But would she? Or was this something else he’d been keeping from her?
Frannie had to be wrong. Because if Red couldn’t read... then he didn’t read the letter that Claire sent to Libby. And if he didn’t read the letter, he wouldn’t know how much she needed him to come home to her.
