Chapter 8 Claire
Claire stood with Jenny in her arms, anticipation warring with anxiety as she watched the passengers disembark from the Greyhound bus outside the Depot. Red stood beside her, as silent as a statue and just as stone-faced.
Red had barely spoken to her since she sold Marigold.
Claire had met him outside when he came home from work on Rosie. “We had to get the truck fixed, and the telephone,” she told him as he slid off Rosie and looked with disbelief at Bess alone in the pasture.
Red followed her into the house, cleaned from top to bottom and smelling of vinegar and scrubbing powder.
She held out Bridget’s letter as proof. “We needed groceries, and money for gas and to make things nice.” Red ignored the letter, his gaze on the braided throw rug she’d bought to cover a hole in the linoleum floor, the new curtains on the front window, a used table and lamp beside the couch.
“Red,” Claire said, her throat thickening and alarm rising in her. “Say something.”
“You sold your wedding present . . . to make things nice?” he said. It wasn’t anger in his voice but something worse. Hurt. Betrayal.
He’d got it wrong, but she couldn’t tell him that.
She’d sold Marigold for Red’s sake, so that her dad wouldn’t come out here and humiliate him.
But they never talked about Dad or how he’d treated Red at the wedding.
“You told me to do what I thought best,” she said finally.
Claire waited for him to tell her he understood.
He had to know it broke her heart to let Marigold go.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his throat working like he was going to say something. He shook his head and swallowed. “I’m going for a ride.”
“Red, wait—”
Claire watched him leave, her chest tight. Couldn’t Red understand she’d done the only thing she could?
When he came in from his ride after dark, she took his dinner out of the oven and sat with him while he ate.
He helped her with the dishes like he did every night, and she tried to ask him questions about his day at Sunnyslope, but his one-word answers only made the divide between them wider.
“Are you coming to bed?” she asked him at ten o’clock when she turned off the radio.
“I’ll stay up for a while,” he said, not meeting her gaze.
Now, as they watched the passengers come off the bus at the Depot, Claire’s mouth went dry and her stomach flipped.
How was she supposed to prove to Bridget that they were perfectly happy, with Red glowering beside her?
And how was she supposed to repair the hurt she’d caused her husband under Bridget’s sharp gaze?
When Bridget stepped off the bus and into the late-afternoon sun, Claire stood on her tiptoes and waved. “It’s your auntie Bridget,” she told Jenny.
Bridget made a beeline toward them through the crowded Depot. She looked like she’d just stepped out of Reilly’s summer catalogue in a pink linen traveling suit that hugged her hourglass figure. When she reached them, she threw her arms around Claire and Jenny and squeezed. “I missed you so much.”
Claire squeezed her sister back. “It’s wonderful to see you,” she choked out.
Bridget stepped back, her hands on Claire’s shoulders. “You look terrific.” She glanced to where Red stood with Jenny. “Hello, Red.” She passed him her handbag and held out her hands for Jenny. “Give me that sweet baby girl.”
Claire had dressed Jenny in an outfit Bridget had sent, and she looked adorable in the blue taffeta dress and shiny Mary Janes.
“She is perfectly gorgeous.” Bridget kissed Jenny’s pink cheek and gave her hair an assessing look. “Is she going to be a redhead, too?”
“I hope so,” Claire said, and meant it. She hoped every one of their children had Red’s copper hair. She sent Red a smile and hoped he’d smile back.
Instead, his brows came together in a puzzled frown as his attention went back to the bus. Claire followed Red’s gaze to where a group of young men and women shouldered backpacks and yelled insults at each other. A familiar face separated from the group.
“Frannie?” Was Claire imagining things? When she’d left home, Frannie had long, blonde waves pulled back from her face with barrettes, and wore full skirts and saddle shoes.
The girl walking toward them had a short pixie cut and wore teal pedal pushers and a form-fitting sleeveless blouse.
It was Frannie, but she looked less like Claire’s little sister and more like she’d just stepped out of a teen magazine.
Claire raised her brows at Bridget. Her sister sent her an apologetic look and mouthed Tell you later.
“Hi, sis,” Frannie said in a bored voice. “Hiya, Red.”
Claire stepped forward. “What a lovely surprise.” Because what else could she say? She pulled Frannie into a hug that her little sister quickly shrugged away. Then they bustled to the truck while Red loaded the luggage and Frannie shouted vigorous goodbyes to the group who had come off the bus.
“Why didn’t you tell me she was coming?” Claire whispered as they squeezed into the truck with Claire next to Red, Bridget beside her with Jenny on her lap, and Frannie next to the window.
“If you had a telephone . . .” Bridget whispered back.
Claire leaned past Bridget to smile brightly at Frannie.
“How was the trip? Did you sleep at all?” Frannie mumbled something as Claire’s thoughts raced ahead.
Had she made enough dinner for an extra person?
Where would Frannie sleep? She glanced at Red, who hadn’t said two words since her sisters arrived.
His hands were clenched on the steering wheel and he stared straight ahead.
“You’re going to love it here.” Claire continued to talk to Frannie as if she wasn’t sulking. “We live right on the Madison River. We can go there after dinner.”
“A river,” Frannie retorted. “Whoop-di-doo.”
Claire and Bridget shared a glance. Bridget rolled her eyes as if to say See what I have to deal with?
Jenny chose that moment to let out a squeal and demand Bridget’s attention. “Tell me how this little one is sleeping,” Bridget said. “Is she eating well? I do wish you’d chosen to breastfeed. At least tell me you’re up-to-date on her immunizations?”
“We have doctors here, Bridget.” Claire made herself adopt a teasing tone even as she felt a flash of irritation.
This was exactly why she didn’t let Bridget come out when Jenny was born.
She could manage perfectly well on her own and didn’t need Bridget looking over her shoulder every second.
“And I read the baby book you sent me from cover to cover.” She patted Red’s leg beside her. “We both did.”
Red didn’t say a word, but made the turn to Riverside.
Claire’s stomach fluttered as the home she’d made with Red came into view.
The house looked wonderful, set among the deep green of the trees, the impossibly blue sky above, the late-afternoon sun sparkling off the Madison in the background.
Like a postcard. But would Bridget see it that way?
“Here we are,” Claire said. “Home sweet home.”
She watched Bridget’s face. Her polite expression flickered. Frannie didn’t even try to be mannerly. “Holy moly, Claire, it’s smaller than our garden shed.”
“Frannie,” Bridget scolded. “Don’t be rude.” She forced a smile. “It’s lovely, Claire.”
Red put the truck in park with a jerk.
“Please tell me you have a television,” Frannie grumped.
“We have the great outdoors,” Claire retorted.
Bridget passed Jenny to her, then carefully climbed out in her skirt and heels. “I’m sorry.” She glared at Frannie. “She lost her manners somewhere between Willmar and Livingston.”
“Gosh,” Frannie groused. “Nobody can take a joke around here.”
Inside, Claire gave Bridget and Frannie a tour of all four rooms—the kitchen and the living room, the bathroom, and the bedroom—her smile firmly fixed in place.
“So cozy and cute,” Bridget said with a pasted-on smile.
“Where am I going to sleep?” Frannie asked, looking at the couch with a frown.
Claire bit her tongue, tempted to tell her little sister she could sleep with the mule. She had planned to make up the couch for Bridget, but now didn’t know what to do.
Red came in with an armload of suitcases and spoke for the first time. “Claire and Bridget can share the bedroom,” he said. “Frannie can have the couch.”
Frannie groaned.
Bridget objected. “Where will you sleep, Red?”
“It’s a nice night,” he said, his tone clipped. “I’ll camp outside.”
If Bridget hadn’t noticed Red’s ill temper in the truck, she certainly did now. She gave Claire an uncertain look.
“He’ll be as cozy as a bug,” Claire assured her sister. She had the feeling Red was counting the hours until he could be in the company of Rosie and Bess instead of Bridget and Frannie.