by Amanda Cabot
Oh, Mama! Sarah blinked in a vain attempt to hold back the tears that came as regularly as April rain. Sarah brushed the tears from her cheeks, then closed her eyes briefly, picturing her mother’s garden. Perhaps that was the answer. Though she couldn’t bring her back, perhaps sharing something Mama had enjoyed would ease the pain.
When she walked to the doorway to summon the children, Sarah heard one of her pupils groan. They knew recess was coming to an end. Her tears banished, she smiled, as much at the children’s predictable reaction as from the realization that only a few miles away a garden awaited her. She’d thought about it ever since Mary had mentioned it, but while Clay had been in deep mourning, Sarah hadn’t wanted to speak of anything that would remind him of his wife. Things were different now that he’d shipped Patience’s belongings and moved back into the house. Sarah thought he might agree to let her and Thea work in Patience’s garden. She’d ask him tonight.
For the rest of the afternoon, Sarah was as bad as the children, her mind refusing to concentrate on lessons. While she was teaching the older pupils multiplication tables, she conjured images of sweet peas and daisies. As the youngest children recited the alphabet, she wondered whether Patience had edged her garden with boxwood the way Mama had. By the end of the day, Sarah was as anxious as her pupils for the final bell. As they raced outside, she slid her lesson papers into her satchel and hurried Thea toward the door.
“Good afternoon, Fraulein . . .” The man doffed his hat and shook his head in apparent consternation as they met on the steps. He backed down and waited until Sarah and Thea were on level ground before he spoke again. “I beg your pardon. Good afternoon, Miss Dobbs.” Gunther Lehman emphasized Sarah’s appellation. “Eva has told me you insist they speak English. It is a good plan.”
Thea, clearly bored by the prospect of adult conversation, plunked herself on the bottom step and began to pout. Sarah could hardly blame her. Gunther’s arrival meant their trip home would be delayed.
He looked down at his hat, as if seeking inspiration from it. “I want to thank you for teaching the children. Eva has not been so happy since her mother died.”
“She learns very quickly. So do you.” Sarah had noted that Gunther’s English was only lightly accented and that he avoided telltale German speech patterns. “Your English is excellent.”
Gunther continued to stare at his hat. “I learned from Austin. He was a good teacher.”
Sarah smiled. It appeared Austin had taught more than the children.
Gunther turned his attention from his hat to the sky. “It doesn’t look like it will rain.”
If she hadn’t been impatient to return to the ranch, Sarah might have found the conversation amusing. As it was, she wondered why Eva’s father had come to the school. Other than the first few days when he’d brought Eva in the morning, she’d come alone. Today’s visit must not have been planned, for Eva had already left. But her father stood there, clearly ill at ease and reduced to discussing the weather. Why had he come?
“Would you like to see the schoolroom?” Sarah suggested. Gunther had not been inside. Perhaps he wanted to see where his daughter spent her days.
“Yes, please.”
The palpable relief in his voice told Sarah that hadn’t been his intent but that, for some reason, he appreciated the suggestion. She led the way inside and gestured toward the last row of desks. “Eva always sits here with my sister.”
“Ja. She told me she wants a real sister.” Though the words were innocuous, Gunther’s face reddened. “I had best let you take Thea home,” he said quickly.
As she lifted Thea into the wagon, Sarah mulled the odd conversation, trying to find a reason for Gunther’s visit. She wouldn’t believe Isabelle and Clay were right that Gunther considered her a potential stepmother for Eva. Surely that was not the case. If it was, surely he’d have acted differently. There must be another reason. Mothers came occasionally to inquire about their children’s progress. Gunther had never done that. Relief washed over Sarah as she realized Gunther had heard what other parents did and wanted to ensure that Eva did not feel neglected, simply because she had no mother. He was being a conscientious father. Nothing more.
It was not relief but pure pleasure that Sarah felt when Clay agreed she and Thea could use Patience’s garden.
“I never understood why she chose the location,” he said after they’d finished supper. Though he’d been amenable to her working in it, Clay had insisted he would take Sarah to the garden while Thea remained at the ranch house, “helping” Martina wash dishes. Clay shook his head slowly, as if still trying to fathom Patience’s motives. “There are other places on the ranch that are easier to reach.”
Sarah had to agree. The path they were following was little more than an animal’s track, almost overgrown with mesquite, and it had taken them a full ten minutes to get this far. Part of the reason for the slow progress was Sarah’s unsteadiness. Clay preceded her and held the branches aside so she could pass. Though it was a gentlemanly gesture that any woman would have appreciated, for Sarah, it was more than a courtesy, for it gave her the opportunity to concentrate on her footsteps. The path was rough, pocked with piles of dirt and holes that bore witness to the presence of small rodents. An able-bodied woman might not worry, but Sarah knew that a fall could damage her leg unbearably. Unless there was something special about Patience’s garden, she would look for a spot closer to the house.
“Be careful.” Clay stopped as the path began a gentle decline. “It’s slippery here.” Though the change in elevation was only a few feet, it was enough that the lower area was still wet from last night’s rain. He gave Sarah an appraising look, then before she knew what he intended, Clay covered the distance between them and swept her into his arms.
It lasted only seconds. Sarah knew it was nothing more than an attempt to keep her from falling, and yet her pulse began to race as she rested her head against his chest, inhaling the scents of soap and leather and something else, something that was uniquely Clay. For a moment, with his arms wrapped around her, Sarah felt safe. More than that, she felt cherished. It was silly, of course, and yet she could not stop the feelings from rushing through her.
“Thank you,” she said when she was once more standing on dry ground. To Sarah’s dismay, her voice sounded shaky. Oh, how she hoped Clay didn’t notice.
It appeared he saw nothing amiss, for his voice was tinged with a bit of amusement as he said, “I’m afraid my gallantry was self-serving. With everything that’s going on at the ranch, I don’t need another patient.”
Sarah seized the new subject gratefully. She was on firm ground here, both literally and figuratively. “The mothers are glad you’re helping Dr. Adler. They said he suffers from frequent headaches.”
The path had widened enough that they could walk side-by-side. Clay slowed his pace and looked at Sarah, his expression devoid of amusement. “It’s more serious than that. Herman’s going blind.”
“Oh!” Sarah’s eyes widened as she looked at the countryside, marveling at the tiny green leaves, the almost unbelievably blue sky with a few fluffy white cumulus clouds floating across it. What would it be like to know that one day she would no longer see them? Her heart reached out to both the doctor and the people of Ladreville who would be deprived of his services. “It’s fortunate you’re here,” she said softly.
Clay shook his head again, and this time she thought she saw discomfort in his expression. “Only for a while.” His lips tightened as he pronounced the words and quickened his pace, as if anxious to reach their destination. “We’re almost there.”
Though the path seemed to end at a dense thicket, Sarah saw a narrow opening. Holding her skirts close, she followed Clay through it, then stopped in amazement. “Oh, Clay!” Even though the space was badly overgrown, Sarah understood why Patience had chosen the location. The mesquite bushes formed natural walls, keeping the outside world away, turning the garden into a magical place. With the wild bushes su
rrounding them and providing a vivid contrast, the cultivated plants seemed even more special than they had in Mama’s garden. And, though weeds had overtaken most of the beds, Sarah could visualize the flowers in bloom. “Oh, Clay, this is wonderful! Thea will love the secret garden.”
And she did.
School had been open for a month now, and nothing had changed. The German parents would not permit their children to enter the French church, and the French parents were equally adamant that their children not attend German classes.
“Surely you can see how this hurts the children.” In desperation Sarah had approached Michel Ladre, reasoning that he was the one person in the town who could influence the others. “They’re receiving only half the education they should.”
Michel leaned back in his chair, as if distancing himself from her plea. “Half is better than none.”
“But it could be so much better.” Sarah folded her hands to keep from wringing them. “The townspeople respect you. Can’t you persuade them?”
He pointed toward the maps on the wall. “These people have fought for centuries,” he said, seeming to forget that he was one of them. “Sometimes I think they look for excuses to quarrel. Why would they change now?”
“Perhaps because this is America, not Alsace. Their children are Americans. They deserve the same education other Americans have.”
The mayor’s frown deepened. “There is nothing I can do.
” Sarah left his office, unconvinced. Michel Ladre was a powerful man. If he’d wanted the children to attend school together, he could have persuaded the parents. She was confident of that. But for some reason he did not support her. She’d have to find another way.
That Sunday, Sarah believed she’d found the way, for Père Tellier’s sermon spoke of loving thy neighbor. It was the perfect introduction.
“Good morning, Madame Berthoud,” Sarah greeted one of the parishioners after the service. “Your son is doing well at school.”
The woman preened. “He’s a smart boy. Takes after his pa.”
“Pierre could learn so much more if he went to class every week.”
Her face flushed, Madame Berthoud stared at Sarah as if she’d uttered heresy. “Go to the German church? Never! It would be a sin to set foot inside there.”
Sarah met the same reaction when she approached two of the German mothers. As she guided the wagon home, she tried not to frown, lest she worry Thea. The people of Ladreville claimed to be Christians. They attended church each Sunday and met for fellowship at least once during the week. The words were there, but the actions did not support them. Ladreville’s citizens didn’t love their neighbors. Even worse, they didn’t seem to care that they were hurting their children. Something had to change. The problem was, Sarah had no idea what she could do to cause that change.
The door was locked. If he hadn’t seen Herman’s buggy in the barn, Clay would have thought his friend was out on rounds, but that was clearly not the case. Why had he locked the house?
Clay rapped on the door.
“Who is it?” Surely it was his imagination that Herman sounded annoyed. Normally the man welcomed visitors.
“It’s Clay.”
“C’mon in.” This time there was no mistaking the relief in Herman’s voice as he slid back the bolt. “What brings you here?” he asked as Clay sank into a comfortable chair.
“Can’t a man visit a friend?” Clay studied the older doctor, noting that while he was as well-groomed as ever, his eyes had begun to cloud over and he moved tentatively, as if he could no longer see the familiar furnishings and feared tripping.
“You’re welcome any time. Any time, my boy. I just wondered if you had a particular reason for coming today.”
Clay did, but he wouldn’t admit it. Herman would hate knowing that he’d come to check on him, as if the doctor were one of Clay’s patients. “How about escaping the ranch?”
“More fence problems?”
Clay shook his head. “No. Just the usual ornery cattle. I tell you, Herman, I hate that ranch and everything associated with it.”
Laughter greeted his words. “That’s because you’re a doctor, not a rancher. Your brother loved the place.”
“Yeah, and we saw what happened to him.” When Herman rubbed his eyes, Clay regretted the choice of words. Even though he’d meant it figuratively, it was cruel to speak of sight when Herman saw less each day. “How are the headaches?” He’d already bumbled into the subject, so there was nothing to be gained by skirting it.
“Less frequent. And, before you ask, my eyes are about the same. Most people don’t know I have trouble seeing, especially since you’ve been handling the difficult cases.” Thankfully, the majority of the calls had been for minor ailments which required Herman to do no more than listen to complaints and prescribe a potion or tincture. Only a few had been serious enough to warrant surgery.
“Do many patients still come here?” Clay had entered the building from the rear where Herman kept his residence rather than the front half which housed his medical office. When the town was first founded, most patients had visited the doctor, waiting in the small vestibule until Herman was able to treat them, but now Herman claimed the townspeople preferred him to travel to their homes.
The older doctor frowned. “More than normal come here, led by Mary.”
“Mary Bramble? What’s wrong with her?” Though he suspected he knew the answer, Clay tried to hide his amusement.
“She suffers from widowhood.” Herman spat the words. “I hate to admit you were right, but it looks like I’m next on Mary’s list of potential husbands. She comes here at least once a week. One time, I even found her snooping around this room, making herself at home.”
Clay smiled as the reason for the locked door became apparent. “Don’t laugh, my boy. It’s not amusing.” The doctor’s protests, so like his own father’s when Mary had set her cap for him, made Clay laugh out loud.
Herman’s frown deepened. “When I asked her what she was doing, she told me she would need to find a new home when David married Sarah.”
Clay’s amusement faded. Herman was right. That was no laughing matter.
He was still not laughing that evening as he made his way to the garden. While they’d eaten supper, Thea had begged him to accompany them, and though Clay had declined, the memory of the little girl’s disappointment tugged at him. That was the reason—the only reason—why he found himself striding toward what Sarah called the secret garden.
“Papa Clay!” Thea shrieked with delight when he entered the small plot. “Me grow flowers! Look!”
Kneeling, Clay admired the tiny green sprouts that he suspected were weeds. “It appears to me that you two are enjoying digging in the dirt,” he said as he rose and approached Sarah. Unlike her sister, she was carefully mounding soil around a plant rather than wriggling her fingers through the dirt.
“It’s more than digging. We’re coaxing plants into blooming.” Sarah slid her trowel into the freshly turned soil. “I never realized how rewarding it could be to see seeds sprout.”
Clay looked around, amazed at the changes she’d wrought in only a few weeks. “You’ve done more than plant seeds.” She’d cleared the mesquite that had started encroaching on the flower beds, dug weeds, and pruned the rose bushes. He pointed toward the roses. “If they bloom, they’ll be pink.”
“Don’t touch, Papa Clay. Horns!” Thea inserted herself between Clay and the bush, apparently believing he needed protection.
He smiled at his young guardian. “I think you mean thorns.”
“That’s what me said. Torns.”
Sarah exchanged a conspiratorial smile with him. “I hope we get more than thorns. This is the first time I’ve worked with roses.”
“They’ll bloom.” Martina had told him that the bushes had been covered with flowers last year. “When they do, they’ll smell sweeter than paper.” Clay clenched his fists. Today was his day for saying stupid things. First he reminde
d Herman of his failing sight. Now he was raising memories of Austin and all that Sarah had lost.
Apparently unperturbed, Sarah said, “They may smell sweet, but I doubt they’ll make my heart sing the way Austin’s epistles do.” She dusted her hands before rising. “Your brother should have been a poet. Every time I read his letters, I feel he’s so close that I expect him to walk through the door.”
Clay felt as if someone had punched him in the solar plexus. Those letters. Those infernal letters. It was clear they meant far more to her than he and Austin had intended. They were supposed to be part of a courtship, not a shrine to something she’d never have.
Clay shifted, staring into the distance. What would Sarah do if she knew he’d been the one who’d authored those missives? Would she tell him he was a poet? He wasn’t. He was a doctor, a brother, and a man who’d poured his own longing onto paper. He was also a man who would never tell her the truth. He’d already made that decision.
“Have you thought any more about riding?” It was time to change the subject to something less painful.
But once again he failed. The blood drained from Sarah’s face as she said, “I’m a coward, Clay. Every time I think about getting on a horse, my stomach knots and my hands shake. I can’t do it.”
And he was a heel to have even suggested riding. Would he ever learn?
Today would be different, Sarah told herself. Today he would cooperate.
“Good afternoon, Pa.” Now that she was confident Clay would keep her sister safe, Sarah no longer watched while they rode. Instead, she spent the extra time with Clay’s father.
“How are you feeling?” Her question was greeted with a shrug. Though Sarah knew that Pa would speak to both Clay and Martina, he was careful not to utter a sound when she was in the room.
“Are you ready to beat me at chess?” As she’d hoped, he had proven capable of moving the pieces and seemed to enjoy their matches. “We’ll play as soon as we finish your exercises.” When Sarah reached for his right slipper, he shook his head. It was what she expected, the same reaction she got every day. Refusing to be discouraged, she began to massage Pa’s foot. “I know you don’t like this. I didn’t, either.” Stretching the muscles hurt. “You need to do this if you’re going to walk again. You do want to walk, don’t you?” He made no answer. “You can’t give up.”