The Scarlet Thread

by Francine Rivers

  And yet, even without the details, the other woman laughed. “Well, we’ll have to correct that. Los Angeles has a great deal of culture to offer.”

  Sierra felt like a country bumpkin.

  While the men talked business, Audra gave Sierra a rundown of the current cultural events. It seemed she had attended every major play and concert in the area and had a critique for each one. She quickly reviewed every theater company and artist currently performing, until Sierra wondered if she was dining with a normal woman or with some odd, sophisticated, upper-class incarnation of Siskel and Ebert.

  Dinner proved spectacular. Any critic of fine cuisine would have given Audra a ten-star rating. She accepted all compliments with an air of casual amusement, skillfully turning the discussion to restaurants. Audra knew all the finest. She also knew where to shop for the highest quality meats, vegetables, and fruit. Prices never came up.

  Sierra glanced at Alex and saw he was impressed with everything—especially with Audra. Was that the kind of wife he wanted now? Depressed, she ate the fluffy spinach soufflé. It melted in her mouth and made her heart sink into her stomach. What on earth was she going to serve these people for a reciprocal dinner? Her specialty was meat loaf and mashed potatoes. Oh, that would go over big! Or perhaps Clanton and Carolyn’s favorite: tuna casserole. There was a meal custom-designed to impress high society!

  “You were pretty quiet tonight,” Alex said on the drive home.

  In her mind, she had been busily packing and moving back to Windsor. She didn’t appreciate his interruption of her daydream.

  He didn’t seem to notice. “Audra was trying to make you feel welcome.”

  “Is that what she was trying to do?” she snapped, surprised herself at the coldness in her tone.

  Mouth tightening, Alex stared straight ahead, the headlights from the oncoming traffic casting a glow over his handsome features. “She was offering to take you under her wing.”

  “I’m not a chicken.”

  “Give it a break, Sierra. She grew up down here. She could show you around.”

  “I’ll remember to thank her properly next time, but I’ll find my own way around, thank you very much. You gave me a map, remember?”

  “A lot of good that did. At least try not to get lost again. I won’t have the time to come find you in the middle of the day.”

  They didn’t say another word to each other for the rest of the drive home. In fact, they said very little to one another over the next week. Alex left early, came home late, and always brought work with him. They shared a perfunctory “How’d your day go?” “Fine. And you?” “Fine”—and then he would settle in front of the television, studying the papers he spread out over the coffee table while she cleaned up the dinner dishes, saw to the children’s baths, read them stories, and tucked them into bed.

  It was a perfect life—for someone who adored misery.

  Ten days and four telephone calls to her mother later, Sierra received a package in the mail.

  “What’s this?” Alex said, picking up a worn leather book from the coffee table before he spread his work across it.

  “It’s a journal. Mom sent it as a housewarming present.”

  He handed it to her.

  “It looks old.”

  “It is,” she said warmly. “It belonged to an ancestor of mine. Mary Kath—”

  “Mm-hm,” he replied absently, cutting her off as he turned to concentrate on the papers spread out in front of him. “That’s nice.”

  Hurt swept over her at his casual dismissal. It shouldn’t have surprised her that he wasn’t listening. He seldom listened anymore. All that mattered to him was his precious work.

  She left the room in bitter silence. She entered the bedroom, not even bothering to turn on the light. Enough light filtered through the window for her to see. Besides, the darkness fit her mood better. She prepared for bed, then slipped between the cool sheets. As she turned on her side, the journal, which she’d laid on the bed stand, caught her eye. She reached for it, fingering the soft leather wistfully.

  At least Mary Kathryn wouldn’t mind spending some time with her.

  Mama says livin in the wildurnes aint no resun to bee ignurant.

  Her papa wuz a larnud man and wud not want fuls in his famlee. The preechur brung buks and jurnals to rite in frum Ant Martha and now with snow up to the windows, we got time. Papa sits by the fire smokin and Mama reeds to us frum her Bible.

  Matt dont like to rite much. He draws wulfs with big bludy dripin fangs that giv me nitmars. He drew me a hair once. I stil got it hung up over my bed. It iz nis. I wish he wud draw birds and flouerz stead of wulfs. He only seen one wulf his hol lif and it was ded. Magots wuz eting it.

  Lucas does not draw nor rede nor rite. He says Papa dont no how an he dont need to neether. Papa tuk him to the wud shed fur sasing Mama, but he wernt no better wen he cum bak. So Papa giv him the gun and told him to go huntin. He wuz gon three daz. Mama wuz sure he got kilt by injuns or a bar, but he cum bak dragin a dear on a palot fixt up. Papa laft and gav him a cup of rum. Mama was mad as a wet hornet, but she dont tel Lucas to rede or rite no more.

  Dearest Mary Kathryn,

  Please practice spelling the following words and then write an essay using them. I love you and have grand hopes for you.

  Mama

  living journal life whole read choice

  dead learned wolf/wolves come journal

  back flower

  If you want to be learned, you got no choice. You got to read and write your whole life until you are dead. You can not be a wolf or a flower who jest enjoys living. You got to come back to the table and werk in your journal until yer fingers is crampt and aking.

  just cramped your are work aching

  just cramped your are work aching

  just cramped your are work aching

  just cramped your are work aching

  Stubbornness is unbecoming to a lady.

  Stubbornness is unbecoming to a lady.

  Stubbornness is unbecoming to a lady.

  Stubbornness is unbecoming to a lady.

  Stubbornness is unbecoming to a lady.

  “Spring”

  Spring is the time when snow melts and flowers come up. Papa and Matthew plow them under and I have got to go to the wuds to pik some. I like to pik flowers in the wuds but Mama worrees I mit get took by injuns. One come to the house once askin fur food. Mama give him sum and I aint seen him since. I gues he didnot think much of her cookin.

  Spring is also wen Matt turns the dirt in Mama’s vechtable gardin. Every wurm he turns up I put in a kan fur fishin. I like catchin fish but I hate eatin em. Lucas told me he new a boy who chokt to deth on a fish bone. Mama said he wuz foolin me but I aint et fish since.

  Papa says spring is a time for courtin. I askt him wat courtin wuz and he said it is when a yung mans blud comes up like sap in a tree. Wen I askt him what he ment, Mama giv him her look and he laft and wud not tell me. I askt Matt later but he turned red and wud not say. Lucas said courtin was wen Papa took the cow over to Graysons bull. Matt told him to shut his dirty mouth and Lucas hit him in his and Papa come runnin to stop them before they kilt each other. I am more and more interested in what courtin is.

  Spring is wen the preecher comes and stands on a stump and screeems holy murder at us. He yells about GAWD and SALVATION and the BLOOD OF CHRIST. Peepull come from all rownd to see him. He gits so wurkt up his face turns red as fire. Frum up or down I aint sure witch. Mama says he is zelus for the Lord. Papa says he is plum crazy. But every tim he comes we go and watch with every one else. He is the best entertanmunt a rownd.

  We always end up at the river with the preecher washin peepul clean of sin and buryin them and razing them up with Jesus. Mama says amen and creyes every time someone gets dunkt and Papa comes bak from the wuds smellin of whiskey and tobako.

  Mama and I plant corn and squash and turnups and carots. Mama gave me a handful of seeds and askt me what I saw and I said seed
s. She askt if they looked alive and I said they looked like stones. She said that is rit but when we bury them they will grow and bar frut. I said they will bar squash. She said when you plant a seed, God will soften it and water it and make it grow. She said people are like that.

  Old Schmidt died last summer and they planted him but nothing come up that I can see cepting weeds. Lucas said worms ate him. So I reckon that is why.

  “The Well”

  The well is very deep and very dark. It is cool when you first go down but if you stay it is cold. The walls are wet and slimy and you can hear dripping. When you look up you can see a circle of blue sky unless Lucas puts the cover over. Then you dont see nothing. You just hear yourself screaming all around you. Lucas took the cover off and called down that I was a bludy coward. I hollared back up I wasnt. He said prove it and put the cover back. I sat in the bucket all day so he’d know.

  Matt found me when he tried to get a bucket of water for Papa. He looked down and said what in hades are you doing down there. Mama is going crazy looking for you. Thinks injuns stole you. He hollared he had found me and Mama come running thinking I wuz drowned. My backside had no feeling and was stuck fast in the buckt. It hurt bad when Papa popped me out. Lucas was leaning against the house laffing. I yelled I aint no coward. No, you are a fool he said.

  Papa took him to the wood shed and Mama cried and took me in the house. She made me sit in the tub of hot water and drink whiskey. I dont see what Papa likes about it. It burns all the way down and then comes right back up.

  Dearest Mary Kathryn,

  Please practice these words on your slate until you are ready for me to test you. Use ten in an essay. And do not ask anyone else about courting.

  I love you,

  Mama

  Go witch/which people worry/worries

  zealous Indians woods garden

  choked liked laughed asked

  death pick when might

  from some/sum wood/would catching

  running washing raising cooking

  God loves zealous people in the woods. He might love some Indians. Mama loves washing, cooking, and raising chikins.

  Mary Kathryn McMurray,

  You will have no supper until you write chickens twenty-five times on your slate, and “A penitent heart is a humble heart” fifty times.

  Mama

  Chapter 5

  “What time do you think you’ll be home?” Sierra said, trying to keep her voice neutral as she clutched the telephone receiver.

  “Five thirty or six,” Alex said, sounding distracted. She could hear him punching the keys of his computer.

  Couldn’t he stop working long enough to talk to her for two minutes? “What would you like for dinner?”

  “Something light. I had a big lunch with Steve.”

  “Where’d you go?” she said, wanting to draw out their conversation.

  “La Serre. It’s a French place. Classy.”

  “Expensive?”

  “Very.” Alex chuckled. “It’s nice when the boss picks up the tab.”

  Must be nice to have a fancy lunch and then ask for something light for dinner. She looked at the breakfast dishes in the sink. She hadn’t even had lunch yet. She opened the refrigerator while talking to him. Maybe she could open a can of peaches and finish off the carton of cottage cheese sitting on the top shelf.

  “We were celebrating.”

  “What?” she asked, feeling left out.

  “Vigilantes went into production today,” he said, clearly proud of the game he had created. “Steve said they’ll be sending out trial copies to game reviewers around the country by the middle of next week.”

  “What if they don’t like it?”

  “They will. Look, honey, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a call coming in, and I’m right in the middle of something important. We’ll talk tonight.”

  He hung up before she could utter a word. She held the silent receiver and felt more bereft than when she’d called. Why had she bothered? He was always busy and it was always important. More important than she was, anyway.

  Celebrating. He hadn’t even bothered to share the news with her. La Serre. Classy. Expensive.

  Angry, she took a package of frozen hamburger from the refrigerator freezer and tossed it on the counter. She’d fix spaghetti again. It was easy, and the children loved it.

  Turning on the television, she set the basket of clean laundry in front of her. She had made a habit of doing the wash right after she dropped the children off for school, then saving the folding for now. At least then she could overcome her feelings of guilt for watching a soap opera. She plunked down on the sofa and began folding T-shirts, towels, and underwear while watching the episode unfolding before her. She used to scorn soap operas. Now she found solace in them. For an hour, she could forget how miserable she was and lose herself in the convoluted lives of television characters. Their problems were more tragic and complex than hers, their passions a lot more exciting. How many times had Erica Kane been married anyway?

  The laundry was folded and set aside well before the third commercial promoting some new feminine hygiene product. She put the towels and clothing away. Sitting down again, she kicked her bare feet up on the coffee table and leaned back into the sofa. She should be doing something. But what?

  They’d been living in this apartment house for three months, and she didn’t even know the family next door. She knew they had children. The little boy ran along the corridor right outside the living room window a dozen times every day, even when it was raining. And there was that woman down on the first floor who peered out her curtains all the time and then ducked back in when someone chanced to notice her. What was her problem anyway?

  Sierra didn’t want to find out. There were twenty apartments in this complex, and she didn’t know a single soul living in one of them. Everyone protected their privacy. They probably had guns in their side tables. She remembered having a phone conversation with her mother, in which her mother said, “Reach out, Sierra. You can never tell who God has just waiting for you to say hello.” So she’d said hello to one woman who came into the laundry room, and the woman had barely acknowledged her attempt at friendliness. She just dumped diapers into one of the washing machines, poured in soap, twirled the controls, and left.

  Rebuffed, Sierra didn’t make the attempt again. If God had someone waiting for her, He’d have to tell them to make the first move.

  She didn’t leave the sofa until the credits were rolling, and then she clicked off the television. Collecting her things, she went out the door. She had it all perfectly timed. If she left immediately after the soap opera, she’d pull into Carolyn and Clanton’s school just as the other children were boarding school buses.

  The kids pleaded for McDonald’s on the way home, and Sierra gave in. She didn’t feel like making spaghetti anyway, and Alex had already said he wouldn’t be hungry. Something light. Fine. She’d stop by the grocery store and pick up packaged salad fixings and dressing.

  She straightened up the kitchen while the children settled at the table to do their homework and talk about their day at school. At least they were making new friends.

  Clanton dug through his backpack and produced a fistful of school announcements, sign-up sheets, and graded homework. “Can I sign up for Little League, Mom?”

  “You’ll have to talk to your father about it,” Sierra said, putting the last rinsed dish into the washer.

  “You think Dad’ll coach again this year?”

  “I don’t know, Clanton. You’ll have to ask him.”

  Clanton did the minute Alex walked through the door. “Not this year, champ,” Alex said, ruffling his hair. “I’m not going to have the time.” He leaned down to kiss Carolyn hello.

  Flipping the kitchen towel over her shoulder, she approached as he stood loosening his tie. “Did you have a good day?”

  “Great.” He gave her a firm kiss and pulled his tie free. Unbuttoning the collar of his shirt, he hea
ded toward the bedroom. “I’m going to change and take a quick run.”

  Jogging was another new thing in Alex’s life. Steve and Matt jogged; they claimed it was great as a stress reliever. So, of course, Alex had followed suit.

  By the time Alex returned, Clanton and Carolyn had taken their baths and were dressed for bed. She read to them while Alex showered and put on his worn Levi’s and UCB sweatshirt. When she came out to straighten the living room, he went in to say good night to the children. She supposed she should be thankful he spent the next half hour talking with them.

  “Jack called me just before I left the office,” he said when he came out.

  Jack and his pregnant wife had rented their Windsor home. “Problems?”

  “On the contrary. He’s got enough for a down payment on the house.”

  “They’re buying it?” she said weakly. As long as they still owned the Windsor home, she held out the hope that they’d return. Alex’s words tore the crumbling foundations right out from beneath her.

  “That was their hope when they moved in. I told him what the house was worth before we left. He said today his parents decided to give him a portion of his inheritance early. He’s contacting your father’s old partner to take care of the paperwork. They shouldn’t have any problem qualifying for a mortgage. We’ll have the money in our hands by the end of May.”

  He cupped her face. “I know how much that little place meant to you.”

  That little place. He said it so casually, as though it had been a shack or a hole in the wall. He couldn’t have any idea what it meant to her, or he wouldn’t be so quick to sell it.

  “Matt gave me the name of a good Realtor. I want you to start looking at houses. Four bedrooms, three baths, with a pool. Get together with Audra. She knows all the best areas. I want us in a good neighborhood.”

  “We were in a good neighborhood.”

  He let his hands slide away. “We’ll be in a better one. Steve gave me a raise today. A big raise. He’s that sure Vigilantes is going to be big.”