Chapter 17 Claire
Claire sat down hard on the kitchen chair and read the note again. Thanks for everything, sis. Don’t worry about me, F.
She’d driven home from the Depot, taking deep breaths and telling herself she couldn’t fall apart.
Lots of men went away to work. They went to logging camps and mines, and even to Oregon to work on the fishing boats.
Red would be back. She was fine. But what would she tell Frannie?
She’d have to give some explanation to both her sisters eventually—and that would get to Dad.
Would he call her, frantic again? Would he tell her I told you so?
She knew for certain that his opinion of Red would go even lower.
But when she walked into the house with Jenny in her arms, Frannie wasn’t asleep on the couch.
Claire’s stomach did a somersault. Then she saw the note on the kitchen table in Frannie’s messy cursive.
Don’t worry about me. Worry? She was furious.
Where could she possibly have gone? Wasn’t it enough Red had left, now Frannie pulled a vanishing act?
Jenny let out a hungry cry. Claire went back to the kitchen and started to prepare her bottle. Should she call Dad? Or maybe the sheriff?
She called Bridget.
“I’m going to wring her scrawny little neck.” Bridget’s voice was rough with sleep.
Claire’s thoughts exactly. She cradled the telephone receiver against her shoulder as she fed Jenny her bottle. “Should we tell Dad?”
“Good grief, no.” Bridget groaned. “We have to find her.”
Claire hung up a few minutes later and finished feeding Jenny. Bridget didn’t have a car and her shift started in an hour. “You go look for her,” Bridget had commanded. “Maybe she’s just pulling a trick on you.”
If she was, Claire would give her a piece of her mind.
By the time Jenny was burped, changed, and dressed, Claire had a plan. She drove to Eagle’s and ran in to ask Helen about Frannie. “She’s eighteen, short blonde hair.”
Helen’s forehead creased with concern but her eyes lit with interest. “I haven’t seen her, dear.” Helen assured her that youngsters did that kind of thing all the time. “She’ll turn up,” she said with a smile.
Helen Eagle’s assurances didn’t ease Claire’s mind.
Claire got back in the truck and drove the short distance to the Depot, which had gone from deserted when she dropped off Red early that morning to thronged with buses and motor coaches, all waiting to bring tourists into Yellowstone.
Had Frannie taken a bus into the park—or one of the trains that went east to Idaho and California?
Alarm raced through her as she parked. At this point, Claire wouldn’t put anything past her idiotic kid sister.
“I don’t remember a girl like that buying a ticket this morning,” the young woman behind the glass answered when Claire described Frannie. “But you could check the dining lodge. We haven’t boarded the buses yet.”
The Union Pacific Dining Lodge was in the midst of the breakfast rush, with an army of waitresses carrying coffee pots and breakfast platters.
Claire walked through the dining room with Jenny on her shoulder, looking for Frannie’s petite frame and short hair.
She was losing hope and wondering what to do next, when she caught sight of a familiar face at a corner table.
“Beth,” Claire said in surprise. She hadn’t seen Beth since that terrible day when she’d gone to the Henshaws’.
Beth looked even worse than she had a week ago.
She was wearing a dress that hadn’t seen an iron, and her light-brown hair was falling out of a ponytail.
A cup of coffee sat on the table in front of her, an oily film on its surface.
“Mrs. Wilder.” Beth blinked at her as her eyes welled with tears.
Claire couldn’t very well walk away when the poor girl looked so distraught.
“May I?” Claire motioned to the chair opposite Beth’s.
Beth nodded, her hands clutched around the handle of a small suitcase on her knees.
“Where are you going?” Claire asked gently.
“Home,” Beth answered in a small voice.
The admission pulled at Claire’s heart. She knew about wishing for the comfort of family.
Wasn’t that why she’d packed her suitcase the other night?
She reached across the table and took Beth’s hand, remembering what Grace Miller had said about Beth’s parents.
“Your parents will be glad to see you,” she reassured the girl.
What kind of parents wouldn’t take back a grieving child?
The waitress put a cup of coffee in front of her.
Jenny wiggled in her lap, reaching for the cup.
Claire let go of Beth’s hand and gave Jenny the spoon to play with.
If Beth was leaving, Claire might never see her again.
This might be her only chance to find out what Beth knew about Dell and Red.
“Beth,” Claire said, hoping that talking about Dell wouldn’t be too much for the fragile girl.
“What did you mean, when you said you were sorry about Red and Dell?”
Beth’s pale brows notched. “Don’t you know?”
Claire didn’t relish confessing that Red had kept something from her that was obviously important. “Red told me he and Dell had a falling-out.”
Beth fiddled with her coffee cup but didn’t take a drink. “It was after you left to go back to Minnesota.” She glanced up and the corners of her mouth lifted. “Red was miserable. We all knew why.”
Claire had been miserable, too, after that beautiful summer in Yellowstone. With Bridget working long hours, it was up to her to play peacemaker again between Dad and Frannie while she tried to forget Red and fit back into a life she didn’t want anymore—a life without Red.
“My uncle Walt fired Dell when we got engaged. My dad was so angry. He told me he . . .” her voice broke.
“Beth, you don’t have to talk about it.” Claire felt terrible making Beth relive something so painful. Dad hadn’t been happy when Claire married Red, but at least he hadn’t disowned her.
“No, I want to tell you.” She straightened her shoulders and met Claire’s eyes. “It was a couple days before our wedding, Dell told me—”
“There you are, Beth.” The harsh voice made Beth jerk in surprise, upsetting her coffee cup. Pete Henshaw suddenly loomed over them both. “Iris and I have been worried.”
“Mr. Henshaw,” Claire said, her heart tripping up a notch and her grip on Jenny tightening.
Pete Henshaw ignored her and took Beth’s suitcase from her lap. “Come on home, Beth.”
Beth pressed her lips together, her glance flitting from her father-in-law to Claire, her face pale. Was she asking for Claire’s help? It almost seemed like it, with the look in her eyes.
If Beth didn’t want to go with Pete Henshaw, she shouldn’t have to do so. “Mr. Henshaw,” Claire spoke up, straightening in her chair. “Beth tells me she’s going home to her parents.”
Pete Henshaw’s jaw clenched but his voice remained reasonable. “Beth’s not well, Mrs. Wilder.” He put a hand under Beth’s elbow and helped her to her feet. “She needs to come home with me.”
Something wasn’t right about Pete Henshaw’s possessive grip on Beth or the defeated look on Beth’s face.
Claire’s pulse pounded in her throat. She glanced around the dining room, but the waitresses were paying no attention and the patrons were busy with their meals.
No one seemed to see anything amiss between Pete Henshaw and his daughter-in-law.
Jenny let out a stuttering cry and Claire adjusted her in her arms. It was past time for Jenny’s nap, but she had to try to help the young woman. “Beth,” she said as if Pete Henshaw wasn’t glaring at her. “Would you like me to call your parents for you? Let them know you’re on your way?”
“Mind your own business, Mrs. Wilder.” Pete Henshaw’s voice rose. “Iris and I are taking good care of Beth.”
Jenny’s cries escalated to a rhythmic bawl. An older couple at the nearest table looked up from their breakfast with irritated expressions. Claire patted Jenny’s back.
Beth’s shoulders drooped and she glanced at Jenny’s reddening face. “Don’t worry about me, Mrs. Wilder. You take care of your baby.”
Claire watched Pete Henshaw walk Beth through the crowded restaurant. Was she really unwell, like Pete said? Despite Beth’s assurance, Claire was worried about her—she just didn’t know what to do. Claire put a dime on the table for her coffee and stood with her crying baby.
As Beth and Pete reached the door, Beth looked over her shoulder and Claire could have sworn she saw tears in the young woman’s eyes.