The Scarlet Thread

by Francine Rivers

  Sierra laughed. “I may have to take you up on that offer.” She reached over the seat and tapped each of them. “Come on, sleepyheads. We’re home.”

  As she unlocked the front door, she heard the children thanking Ron for taking them sailing. Clanton asked if they could go again. “Sure,” Ron said, a hand on his shoulder. “I’m out as often as I can be when the weather’s like this.”

  As the children shouldered their tote bags and headed down the hallway to their rooms, Ron turned to her again. His mouth tipped slightly as he reached out and lightly brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “You got a little color today.”

  Ron always knew what to say to make her feel better about herself. “Maybe I’ll actually look like a Southern Californian one of these days.” She smiled, drawn to him.

  “You look just fine the way you are, Sierra.”

  He couldn’t have said anything kinder. Bruised and battered by Alex’s desertion, she believed herself a complete failure as a wife, as a mother, and as a woman. Looking into Ron’s eyes, she saw he valued her. She wanted to thank him for everything—for taking them sailing, for sharing so much of himself with her, for listening, for caring. She felt closer to him than she had felt to anyone in a long, long time.

  An inexplicable shiver of alarm raced along her nerve endings at the realization.

  His eyes flickered, and the warmth that stirred within her had little to do with sunburn.

  He took a slow step back. “I’ll see you Monday morning,” he said, his smile both casual and tender. He closed the door behind him as he went out.

  Disturbed, Sierra frowned, perplexed by her feelings. What had just happened? Was she so desperate to feel like a woman again that she could imagine a man like Ronal Peirozo was attracted to her? Ridiculous! The poor man had only been acting out of kindness and friendship. There was no reason to read anything more into it.

  Stepping to the door, she opened it. “Ron!”

  He paused halfway down the pathway.

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling.

  “Any time.”

  Feeling a little better, she stood in the doorway until he got into his Mercedes. He gave her a wave as he pulled away from the curb.

  Closing the door, she set the dead bolt. Gathering her things, she headed down the hallway to say good night to the children before she took a shower and went to bed.

  Deborah is feverish and complaining of stomach pain.

  I asked if she had eaten anything along the way and she says no. She has suffered often of stomach aches when she eats too many berries. The pain seems worse on her right side. I have bedded her down in the wagon where it is less dusty and am sitting with her until the fever lets up. Reese Murphy is looking in on her again in a little while.

  I am so afraid and I do not know what I fear most. In the beginning, I thought it was just anger plaguing me. I was wrong. It was fear underneath. I knew what I had back home. I knew the face of my enemy. Out here, I do not know from one day to the next where the danger lies. It could be a fall from a wagon seat or a snake. It could be Indians or sickness. Or being tired unto death.

  As tired as I am I know the men have the worst of it. They are the ones hauling the wagons across the rivers. They were the ones lowering the wagons down that dreadful hill. They are the ones digging the graves. But it is the men too who dream of Oregon. It is as though Heaven itself beckons them and we must all cross hell to get to it.

  Aphie McKenzie. Harlan Doane. Paul Colvigne. Three gone already. I think of the hard trail and how many wagons will pass over these fine people and never know of their existence. How many more will we bury before we reach our destination?

  I am afraid for my baby.

  I dreamed of Aunt Martha last night. She seemed so close. We talked as we used to do. I wept when I awakened. Has she died? Is that why I dreamed about her? Is that why she seemed so near to me? Oh, that she were here with me now. The thought of never seeing her again makes my heart ache and my throat close up. When my father turned me out, she took me in and loved me. When I jilted Thomas, she loved me still. Even when I said I did not believe in God anymore, she did not forsake me. She cried but she did not turn me out. She said she loved me no matter what. I have never known anyone so good and kind and constant.

  She said she would pray for me every day. I know she is a woman of her word. I think of her every day and feel perhaps in thoughts at least we are still connected.

  I wish I could ask her right now to send up prayers to heaven on behalf of my little Deborah. God would listen to her.

  Our precious little Deborah is gone from this life. Doc Murphy did no good at all. Neither could Kavanaugh with his Indian medicines. I hope the next life is better. She passed away last night as the sun was setting on the bluffs above us. They look like the ancient ruins of a once wondrous city. I will think of her playing up there with the angels.

  I cannot cry. I cannot let myself. If I do, I will never stop.

  Chapter 16

  The telephone rang on Sierra’s desk. Flipping over the page on her notebook, she picked it up. “Good afternoon, Los Angeles Outreach,” she said pleasantly, hoping Arlene would return from her dentist appointment soon. The telephone hadn’t stopped ringing since she left, and Ron was champing at the bit to get some dictation done.

  “Sierra, it’s Audra.”

  Startled, she stammered an innocuous hello, irritation quickly following. What did she want?

  “How are you?”

  How was she? “About as well as can be expected.”

  “Can we have lunch?”

  “I don’t think so,” Sierra said stiffly, surprised that the woman would even ask. What were they going to talk about? Shopping? Audra’s charities or the plays she’d seen? Beyond Tomorrow? Alex and Elizabeth Longford?

  “Are you really going to throw in the towel?” Audra said.

  Sierra’s body went hot. “I beg your pardon?” Of all the nerve!

  “Your marriage. Are you just going to quit?”

  “I don’t think it’s any of your business.”

  “Steve asked me to call you.”

  “Should I care?”

  “So much for having any kind of reasonable conversation with you!” There was enough anger in Audra’s tone to keep Sierra from hanging up. “Do you think any of us are happy with this situation? It makes me sick! It makes Steve and Matt sick. It’s the worst thing that can happen in an office.”

  So that was it! “What’s the matter? Is the work suffering?”

  “You could say that. Everyone’s suffering.”

  “Maybe you should talk to Elizabeth about that.”

  “Elizabeth isn’t the problem!”

  “Good-bye.” Sierra slammed the telephone down, shaking with fury. It rang again in less than ten seconds. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to be calm and businesslike. “Good afternoon, Los Angeles Outreach.”

  “Well, that was childish,” Audra said. “But then, that’s where you excel, isn’t it, Sierra?”

  Sierra’s heart pounded like a war drum. She wanted to hang up on her again, but that was what Audra was expecting. The last thing Sierra intended to do was what Audra expected or wanted. Picking up her pencil, she tapped it on the notepad, trying to calm down, determined to wait her out.

  Audra let out her breath. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t listen. I told Steve there was no use in trying to talk to you. You’ve been hostile from the first second I met you. Every overture I ever made to be your friend was met with a cold shoulder. You always acted as though I was beneath contempt. You’ve done nothing but criticize me and everyone else at Beyond Tomorrow from the day you arrived. And why? Because you were so determined to stay in your narrow little comfort zone!

  “Three years I’ve watched you wallow in self-pity and keep up your temper tantrum. And it’s been something to watch, Sierra. A real show! I can’t even count the number of times I’ve wanted to shake you until your teeth r
attled!

  “You’ve made Alex feel guilty over everything, especially the crime of using his talents. God forbid that he should be happy in his work! Not once did you ever think to congratulate him for what he’s accomplished. He buys you a house. He buys you a car. Were you ever grateful for anything he did? Did you ever once notice how desperate he was to make you happy? You resented anything he did that didn’t put you in the center spotlight. You even resent who he is. And you’re surprised the man turns to another woman!”

  Sierra felt cold with shock over Audra’s diatribe. She couldn’t even think of one word to say in her own defense.

  Audra let out a deep breath. “I swore I wasn’t going to lose my temper, and now I have. Well, so be it. I called to give you some advice, Sierra. Here’s a piece of it. Grow up!” Sierra heard the click as Audra hung up. Stunned, she put the receiver quietly back in the cradle. Ron was standing in the doorway. He looked as upset as she felt.

  “Why do you keep holding on?” he said softly.

  She started to tell him the call wasn’t from Alex, but he came over to the desk. “You’re not in love with him anymore, Sierra.”

  Wasn’t she? Had she stopped loving Alex? She couldn’t fathom the idea. She’d loved him for as long as she could remember.

  Ron leaned down and put one hand firmly over hers. “Give him a divorce, Sierra. You don’t need him.” His eyes were intense, his feelings raw and clear, so clear she couldn’t misunderstand what he was telling her.

  “I’m back,” Arlene said from the doorway to the corridor. Her bright smile died when she saw Ron’s hand over Sierra’s. Arlene’s expression registered shock and embarrassment as she looked between the two of them. “Excuse me,” she said, the disturbing question clear in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. . . .”

  “You didn’t,” Sierra said, snatching her hand from beneath Ron’s. She fumbled, banging the file drawer open. “I just had a disturbing call,” she said, grabbing her purse.

  “Sierra,” Ron said, a wealth of feeling in his tone. “Wait a minute. Let’s talk—”

  “I’ve got to go,” she said, stepping around him. She couldn’t look into his eyes. Arlene stepped back so she could go into the hallway.

  “Can I do anything to help?” Arlene said, following her. “I don’t think you should drive when you’re this upset.”

  “I’ll be fine. Really.” She pushed open the front glass door with the words Los Angeles Outreach printed in bold black letters. Fumbling for her keys, she ran across the parking lot to her car. Alex’s birthday present to her. Audra’s words still rang in her ears as she opened the car door. Sliding in, she slammed it, turned the ignition, threw the car into reverse and then back into drive. She gulped for air, not even bothering to stop to look before she pulled out of the parking lot. Someone blasted their horn just behind her.

  Running the yellow light, she turned onto the main thoroughfare and headed for the freeway entrance. The BMW revved loudly as she sailed up the ramp. Another horn blasted, but she was crying too hard by then to notice. She darted between two cars into the second lane, then moved into the third and pressed down even harder on the gas, shooting into the fast lane.

  “Oh, God,” she said, gripping the wheel. “Oh, God, God! I didn’t mean to make such a mess of things!” Choking on a sob, she slammed on her brakes so she wouldn’t plow into the Mercedes in front of her. She whipped around to the right, passed it, and shot back into the fast lane.

  Where was she going?

  What did it matter?

  She felt like driving straight off a cliff. Where was the closest one? Mulholland Drive? Maybe the canyons on the road to Malibu would be better.

  She wanted her mother, but then she remembered with a sharp pain that her mother was dead. She needed Alex. No, not Alex. He was gone, too.

  “Jesus, oh, Jesus,” she cried, dashing tears out of her eyes. She wanted to dump everything at His feet and give up the fight. But how could she do that? What right did she have to ask God’s help now? “Oh, Jesus, what can I do?”

  She could hear a siren but paid no attention, not until a black-and-white highway patrol car pulled up alongside her, lights flashing. Her heart stopped when the officer jerked his thumb for her to pull over.

  “Great! Just what I need!”

  He slowed, moving in behind her. Traffic gave way as she moved over, lane by lane, until she was driving slowly along the shoulder. She rolled to a stop, put the car in park, and shut off her engine. Then, gripping the steering wheel, she rested her forehead against it and sobbed.

  The officer tapped at her window. She had to turn the key before she could lower it. The roar of freeway traffic was deafening. Only the lane closest to them had slowed at all. Just enough so everybody could get a good look at her as they drove by.

  Could a person die of humiliation?

  Leaning down slightly, the officer looked at her face.

  “I’m sorry I was speeding,” she said, tears running down her face. She hiccuped, making matters worse. He probably thought she was a drunk on a crying jag.

  “Your driver’s license and registration please.”

  Fumbling through her purse, she found her license. The registration was in her glove compartment. As soon as she handed them over, he stepped back, his hand resting almost casually over the handle of his gun. Did he think she was dangerous?

  “Get out of the car, please, Mrs. Madrid.”

  “I haven’t been drinking. I swear. I’m not smuggling drugs or firearms—”

  “Get out of the car, Mrs. Madrid.”

  She obeyed, trying to get hold of herself as she did so. She couldn’t stop crying. When the officer put his hand firmly beneath her elbow as he closed her car door, she wondered what he thought she was going to do. Try to run away? Where could she go? Into the ice plant? Or was it ivy growing alongside the freeway? She couldn’t tell through her tears. It was green whatever it was.

  Sierra could just see the headlines: “Woman Has Nervous Breakdown on Hollywood Freeway.”

  She could see herself being hauled away in cuffs.

  She cried harder.

  Opening the back door of the squad car, the patrolman told her to get in. She had thought things couldn’t get worse, but now, on top of everything, she was getting arrested and hauled off to jail for reckless driving! She did think of running into traffic then and putting an end to everything. The officer’s fingers tightened slightly as though he read her thoughts and had no intention of letting her get off that easily. “Get in the car, ma’am.”

  Her thoughts went ballistic as soon as she was in the backseat. Who’d bail her out? She couldn’t call Ron. Who’d take care of the children while she was moldering in jail? Alex? Oh, not Elizabeth Longford!

  Hunching over, she covered her face and hiccuped more sobs as the officer got into the front seat and reached for his radio. He said her name and several numbers and then put the speaker back. While he waited for a response, he had her take an alcohol breath test.

  “I clocked you at ninety-five,” he said, making a note of the test results on his clipboard.

  “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’ve had a very bad day.”

  The officer pushed his sunglasses down and looked at her over the rims.

  “I know,” she moaned. “You’ve probably heard that excuse a million times, but it’s true.” She let everything pour out. She told him about nursing her mother through her last weeks of cancer and how much she missed her. She told him about Alex leaving her for another woman the day she got back from northern California. She told him about Clanton getting into fights at school and Carolyn turning into a basket case over her grades. She told him about Audra calling to say it was all her fault.

  “Ron was the last straw,” she said, sniffling.

  He didn’t ask who Ron was. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all. He just looked at her and listened with that frown on his face.

  What was the use? The highway pa
trolman knew she wasn’t drunk, but she’d convinced him she was crazy.

  Would he call an ambulance and have her taken away in a straitjacket? Where would they take her? Bellevue? Where was Bellevue? His radio crackled. He picked up the speaker. She felt some relief hearing the information given. At least he knew now she had no prior tickets or outstanding warrants for her arrest. She wasn’t armed or dangerous, unless flooding his patrol car could be held against her.

  Rummaging through her purse, she tried to find a Kleenex, muttering under her breath when she couldn’t find one. Her nose was running. Her eyes were running. Her face was a watery mess. Desperate, she took her notepad out, tore out a page, and blew her nose into it.

  Grimacing, the patrolman pulled a clean handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it over the seat to her.

  “Thanks,” she muttered, dabbed her eyes, and blew her nose. She started to hand the handkerchief back.

  His mouth tipped up on one side. “You can keep it.”

  She blushed. “I’ll wash it and return it to you.” Maybe she’d be working in the laundry section of the jail. Or would she be making license plates? She felt better for having purged herself of everything that’d happened over the past few months, but she doubted that was going to change the consequences of barreling down the highway like a bat out of Hades. She could’ve killed somebody, not to mention herself. “You can take me in now.”

  He tipped his sunglasses down again. “Take you in?”

  “To the slammer.”

  His mouth twitched. “I’m not taking you in to the slammer, Mrs. Madrid. I just thought it’d be wise to calm you down before turning you loose on the freeway again.”

  “But you are giving me a ticket.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I am giving you a ticket.” He handed the pad to her and gave her a pen. Sighing heavily, she signed her name at the bottom and handed it back. He tore off the yellow copy and gave it to her. “Sorry to add to your grief.”

  She sighed. “My first ticket,” she said, looking at it dismally. And it was going to cost her plenty. Folding it, she tucked it into her purse.