Easter In Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad

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СКАЧАТЬ wouldn’t mind spending a couple of nights in her rental room before he headed back to prison. He had sold enough pencil portraits to other prisoners over the years to have a tidy sum in a savings account. He could pay for the room easily.

      “Mrs. Hargrove?” Allie asked, frowning. “I’m sure the parole board doesn’t want you speaking out and giving good people like her a hard time. She’s having trouble with her feet these days.”

      “The parole board sent me here.” Clay felt guilty that he hadn’t known about the aches in the older woman’s feet. “They had to figure I’d talk to someone. Besides, I can even help Mrs. Hargrove out some if I’m at her place. It could be a good thing. She probably needs logs for that woodstove of hers. The winter is going on long this year. I could get her all set with more firewood. Some kindling, too. She’d like that.”

      “The board probably doesn’t realize the harm you could do here.” Allie turned to face her father again, and Clay couldn’t see her expression. “But we know.”

      Mr. Nelson cleared his throat, eyeing his daughter. “Don’t look at me that way. We’re not sending him away.”

      “Why not?” Clay asked softly. Father and daughter both turned to him in concern. He had to admit he was a little taken aback himself, but nothing was ever gained by dodging the truth. He spoke to Mr. Nelson. “When I saw you last, you were determined to make me suffer for what happened. I remember what you said. ‘Let him rot in that black hole of a place. We don’t want him back here.’ So I’m asking straight out, what’s changed?”

      The rancher paled at Clay’s words. “I suppose you want an apology from me, too, now?”

      Clay shook his head impatiently. “I just want a plainspoken answer. Why am I here?”

      Mr. Nelson stood there thinking for a minute.

      “For what it’s worth, I am sorry,” the older man finally said. “I said awful things to you and about you. No Christian should say such things.”

      “People say a lot of things they shouldn’t,” Clay said. “Christian or not.”

      Allie started to say something, but her father held up a hand to stop her. “He has a right to ask what’s going on.”

      Everyone was silent. Clay watched as the older man debated something.

      “I’m doing this for Mark,” Mr. Nelson finally admitted, his voice thick with emotion. The rancher continued speaking, his eyes on Clay. “I didn’t want to ask you, but I finally realized we need you. There’s no one else.”

      Clay saw defeat in the other man’s eyes. Clay had been in prison long enough to recognize the look on a man’s face when he had no choice except the bitter one in front of him. The man was finally being honest.

      “But you still blame me?” Clay asked. He wanted things to be clear.

      The older man didn’t answer.

      “Will you help us anyway?” Mr. Nelson finally asked.

      “I don’t see how I—” Clay began to politely refuse the request. There were worse things than being locked up in a cell. Being around people who didn’t trust him was one of them. He’d be free on his own terms in two years. He could wait.

      Allie had been silent, but now she sputtered indignantly a moment until she found words. “Mark would be the last person to want him here to help.”

      Anger scorched the air.

      Clay tried not to wince. “I should leave.”

      He decided he’d call Sheriff Wall himself if he had to. If it warmed up outside, he could hitchhike back to prison. He had more sketches to do there anyway.

      Clay waited for Allie to turn around, but she kept facing her father with her back stiff enough to make her displeasure clear.

      “Please don’t look at me that way,” Mr. Nelson said to her. “We have no choice. Mark wants to see Clay. Mark has always looked on him as a brother.”

      * * *

      Allie jerked sideways. She could barely believe her ears. “What?”

      Allie turned to look, and Clay seemed as stunned as she was. His eyes were wide and his jaw slack.

      “They’re not brothers,” Allie swiveled and told her father crisply, ignoring Clay’s question. She needed to put a stop to this nonsense. She hadn’t been to see Mark for several months, but she hadn’t heard him mention Clay before that. Of course, it was only recently that her brother was able to speak very complicated thoughts. And her father said Mark had improved since she’d seen him last.

      Finally, she turned back to Clay. “Sorry, but that’s the way it is. I don’t know what went on between the two of you, but a brother doesn’t do their brother harm.”

      Clay smiled grimly. “Believe me, I wish I’d tried to stop things. But I didn’t know what he was planning to do that night. I certainly never meant for him to end up like he did. I worry about him just like you do.”

      Allie had watched Clay as he spoke. He wasn’t lying. It didn’t mean he was telling the complete truth, though. Maybe that was the way he thought it had happened, she told herself. He could have set everything in motion and then wished later that he had pulled back.

      “I know you didn’t mean for Mark to end up in a coma.” Allie could give him that much. And she knew Mark liked Clay; her brother had spent many of his evenings out in the bunkhouse since that was where Clay slept. They’d sit at one of the tables and play checkers. Their father hadn’t liked it, but no one had stopped it.

      Allie supposed it was money that had prompted Clay to plan that robbery. She had always thought that when he turned eighteen, he’d just stay on as a regular ranch hand. But maybe he was worried about his future. Then again maybe all he wanted was more beer to drink and he hadn’t known how else to get it.

      Clay hadn’t responded to her, and she looked up at him. Lord, what do I do? she prayed.

      Her father was right. She needed to be kinder to Clay. She wished she had known he needed more money; she could have turned over her allowance. After all, he hadn’t had the advantage of having parents to raise him as she had. If the parole board was sending him back to where the crime had been committed, they must have their reasons.

      Clay met her eyes, but his expression didn’t soften. He certainly didn’t act like someone who needed her charity.

      “I still don’t see what I can do for Mark, though,” Clay finally said. She could hear the skepticism in his voice as he eyed her father. “I’m not a doctor. I don’t know what to do about a coma. I don’t believe in miracles, and I don’t pray. God would never grant a request from me. I’m not a faith healer. There’s not one thing I can do but say I am sorry that Mark is hurting.”

      Allie couldn’t believe he was not going to at least pretend to help them. Not when it meant he’d be out of prison. She remembered now how stubborn he’d always been.

      In the silence, her father spoke to her. “Mark told me a few weeks ago that he asked Clay to help him with the Easter sunrise processional.”

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