Paper Roses

by Amanda Cabot

  But she was afraid he had and that once again she had failed.

  10

  The early June night was cool and clear, with hundreds, thousands, perhaps millions of stars twinkling overhead. Sarah walked slowly, savoring the muted sounds of evening. The crickets’ chirping was slower now, the horses’ whinnying less frequent. It was a time for rest. Perhaps, if she was fortunate, she would find the answers she sought, and then she, too, would be able to rest.

  There had to be a way to resolve the dilemma. Though the older children had left for the summer, Sarah’s class size had increased, for the parents had begun sending younger children to her, perhaps to keep them from being underfoot while their elders worked the crops. Pierre Berthoud was frustrated. She knew it, just as she knew that Anna Menger and Marie Seurrat suffered from the same malady. Those children learned quickly and yearned to attend classes every week. They could not, though, without facing their parents’ disapproval. Pierre had dared to enter the German church one day and had been soundly thrashed for disobeying his father. Anna and Marie hadn’t even tried. Recognizing their need, Sarah had given them assignments to work at home, but that wasn’t enough. The children needed daily coaching, and that was something Sarah could not provide. There simply were not enough hours in a day, for she needed time with Thea and would not give up the hour she spent with Pa, no matter how little she appeared to accomplish with him.

  “I didn’t know you were a stargazer.”

  Sarah stumbled slightly as she turned, startled by the sound of Clay’s voice. He’d moved so quietly that she hadn’t heard him approaching.

  “They seem closer here than in Philadelphia.” That was only one of the many differences between her old and new homes.

  Though there was no moon to light the night, Sarah saw Clay nod as he closed the distance between them. “The Texas sky is one of the few things I missed when I lived in Boston. When I was young, I used to lie on the ground and look at the constellations. I always wondered if there were people on those stars, staring in my direction.”

  “I tried to count them.” Sarah smiled at the memory. Though, like Clay, she’d once lain on the grass to stargaze, today she was leaning on the corral fence. “Needless to say, I fell asleep before I got much past a hundred. Now I’ve given up counting them. I just look and admire. It may sound strange, but I find the sheer number of stars reassuring.” Sarah kept her eyes fixed on Clay. Somehow, though she couldn’t explain why, it was important that he understand. “When I realize how vast the universe is, my problems seem small, and sometimes being outside helps me solve them.” That was one of the reasons she’d ventured to the paddock tonight.

  “What’s bothering you this time?”

  Sarah was silent for a moment. She wouldn’t tell Clay how little progress she’d made helping his father, for he would only be angered by the knowledge that she’d ignored his request. She certainly wouldn’t tell him how often she worried about him and his desire for revenge, for he’d made it clear that nothing would sway him. “The school,” she said, voicing her other problem. “I hate seeing eager children being held back. It’s so unfair.”

  “I agree. Austin and I were fortunate.” Clay’s lips curved upward, and Sarah heard the smile in his voice. “Even though she had no formal training, our mother was a good teacher.”

  “Being in a classroom with other pupils is even better.”

  Clay nodded. “Once again, I agree, but it doesn’t appear that that will happen in Ladreville, at least not with all the children.”

  “The strange thing is that most of the parents don’t seem to object to their children playing together. The problem is using the churches.” A sudden gust of wind loosened one of the hairpins securing her chignon. As a lock blew free, Sarah reached behind her head to push the errant curl back in place.

  As if in response, Clay tugged his hat brim. “What you need is a neutral location.”

  “That’s exactly what I thought. Ladreville should have a school building that both groups helped build.”

  “It’s not a bad idea, and the town has plenty of open land. That big lot on the riverside corner of Rhine and Hochstrasse would be ideal. I’d support you. Of course, what you really need is Michel’s support.”

  And that, Sarah learned the next day, was something Michel was unwilling to provide.

  “It’s a needless expense.” Ladreville’s mayor’s crossed arms underscored his disapproval.

  “I beg to differ.” Sarah would not accept his refusal. Surely Michel would listen to reason. “Yes, there will be a cost to build it, but the school will be used for generations to come.”

  His frown deepened. “I’m not worried about future generations. I’m concerned about what will happen next year when you marry and the town no longer has a teacher. The schoolhouse will sit empty, reminding everyone of the money they squandered.” Unspoken was the fact that the citizens might blame him.

  “If that’s your only concern, you need not worry. I have no intention of marrying.”

  “Bah!” The mayor fairly spat the word. “There are no secrets in this town. I am fully aware that two young men are interested in you. I can’t vouch for David Bramble, but you’d do well to accept my son’s offer.” Before Sarah could protest that no one had proposed marriage, Michel continued, “Jean-Michel is an upstanding young man who knows his duty. Unlike David, he would let you raise your sister in his home.”

  Though Michel meant the words to be magnanimous, it was all Sarah could do to keep herself from shouting her outrage. How noble he made his son sound. Jean-Michel would permit her to raise Thea. Permit! As if she would even consider an offer of marriage given with so much condescension.

  Sarah rose and left the mayor’s office with no more than a cursory good-bye, while inside she fumed. An upstanding young man. Duty. The word rankled. How could anyone consider Thea a duty? Sarah clenched her fists, then forced herself to relax them. One thing was certain: she would not marry Jean-Michel Ladre if he were the last man on earth. Thea deserved better than that. She deserved a man who’d care for her, who’d treat her like a father. She deserved a man like . . . Sarah paused as the image rose before her. Thea deserved a man like Clay.

  He hadn’t counted on two other customers being there. Gunther cleared his throat as he entered the mercantile and saw them standing near the counter. Though he wanted nothing more than to vanish, he couldn’t leave without causing comment, and that was the last thing he needed. No one was supposed to know that he’d come here today and certainly not why.

  “May I help you?”

  Though his heart pounded with dread at the conversation that would follow, Gunther managed a smile for the petite brunette behind the counter. Isabelle Rousseau might be shorter than most women, but she made up for her lack of height with the warmth of her smile. A man always felt welcome in the mercantile when she was waiting on customers. That was why he’d come today, when he’d known she would be here. Gunther shook his head in response to her question. “These ladies came first.”

  Five minutes later, when the two women had departed, not, Gunther noted, without sending half a dozen curious glances in his direction, he approached the counter.

  Isabelle smiled again. “What can I get for you, Mr. Lehman?”

  “I didn’t know where else to turn. My parents did everything the last time. You’re her friend. You’re a woman.” The words tumbled out in quick succession.

  Her smile faded and her eyes darkened. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lehman, but you’re not making sense.”

  How inept could one man be? Many had declared him the best miller in Alsace, and he hoped to become the finest in Texas. He knew his trade well, but it was obvious he was a complete failure where women were concerned. “Dummkopf.” As Isabelle flinched, Gunther let out a groan. He’d made yet another mistake. Was there no end to them? “My apologies, Miss Rousseau. I was speaking to myself. I’m the dumb one, not you.” She was, he knew, a smart woman and a pretty one.
What he didn’t understand was why she wasn’t married, but that, Gunther reminded himself, was not his problem. It was his own marriage that concerned him.

  “I need some advice,” he admitted, “and I hope you can provide it. I’ll pay whatever you ask.”

  Though there was nothing remotely amusing about this conversation, Gunther thought he saw a glimmer of a smile in her eyes. “That won’t be necessary,” she assured him. “Advice is one of the few things we don’t charge for.”

  The woman who held his future in her hands leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter, as if she were eager to hear his question. Where should he start? He ought to have rehearsed this, but he hadn’t. Another mistake. Gunther swallowed, trying to compose his thoughts. “Eva needs a mother,” he said at last.

  Nodding solemnly, Isabelle agreed. “Yes, she probably does.”

  Gunther waited. Was that all she was going to say? Surely she’d offer advice, now that she knew his problem. But all she did was sit there, apparently waiting for his next pronouncement. “Miss Dobbs is your friend.”

  Surely she knew what he wanted; surely she’d take the hint. Instead she simply said, “Yes, she is.” Gunther groaned in frustration. Weren’t women supposed to talk all the time? When Frieda had been alive, it had been difficult for him to articulate more than one sentence, or so it seemed. Miss Rousseau was not doing her part.

  “Miss Dobbs would be a good mother for Eva.” There! He’d told her what he needed. Gunther waited for advice to begin pouring from Isabelle’s mouth.

  “Oh!” Though her face flushed slightly, it appeared that the single syllable would be the extent of her reply.

  “Do you agree?” Gunther tried to coax a reaction from her. He needed help, and this woman was his only source.

  Removing her arms from the counter, Isabelle straightened her back. The action widened the distance between them, making Gunther sense her disapproval.

  “It’s not for me to agree or disagree,” she said quietly. “It seems to me that that’s for you and Sarah to decide.”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t know how to ask her. You know how it was done in the Old Country. My parents and Frieda’s decided we should marry and arranged everything. Why, Frieda and I barely saw each other before the wedding. It’s different here.”

  “Yes, it is. American women expect to be courted.”

  Gunther knew that. That was the reason he was here, baring his soul before this pretty young woman. “I’ll do anything to make Eva happy. The problem is, I don’t know what to do.” He knew how to grind corn and wheat and rye to make the best flours in the county. But women? They were an enigma.

  Isabelle slid off her chair and came around the counter. “I’m not sure I can help you, because I’ve never been courted. My parents refused everyone who asked their permission. I think they frightened the others away.” Her words were soft, though there was no one to overhear them, and Gunther sensed she was reluctant to admit her lack of suitors. What was wrong with the French men of Ladreville? Had they no courage? He would not have been so easily discouraged. Though he wished he could reassure her, Gunther reminded himself of his mission.

  “Please!” She had to know what he should do. There was no one else he could trust. “You’re Miss Dobbs’s friend. You must know what she’d like.”

  Isabelle was silent for a moment, her pensive expression telling him she was trying to find a solution. “When Austin courted Sarah, he wrote letters. I know she liked them.”

  Letters! “Why would I write letters? I can speak to her.” If he knew what to say, that is.

  Nodding slowly, Isabelle acknowledged the truth of his protest. “Women like pretty words, but there must be something else.” She tilted her head to one side, considering. “I’ve heard of men picking flowers for their sweethearts, and sometimes there are gifts.”

  At last she’d suggested something he could do. “A gift.

  That’s a good idea. I gave Frieda a hog when we were betrothed.”

  Though she tried to control it, Gunther saw Isabelle’s lips twitch. “You might want to start with something . . .” She paused, choosing the word. “Smaller.”

  Gunther looked around the store. Surely there was something here that Miss Dobbs would like. He spotted a display in a glass-topped cabinet and pointed toward it. “Frieda favored lace collars.”

  The amusement on Isabelle’s face was replaced by horror. “Oh no, Gunther.” She flushed before correcting herself. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Lehman.”

  “I would be honored if you would call me by my given name.”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “All right, Gunther. But you must not give Sarah any item of clothing. It would be most unseemly.”

  He shook his head, trying to understand why a lace collar was less acceptable than a hog. “There are so many rules. It was easier in the Old Country.”

  “But we’re not in the Old Country any longer.”

  That was true. Gunther took a deep breath, considering everything Isabelle had said. It was true he would have to learn new things, but if Eva could do that, so could he. After all, she was the reason he was enduring this ordeal.

  “Thank you, Miss Rousseau.” He now knew where to start. Words, flowers, trinkets. Life had certainly been easier in the Old World.

  “I need your help, Wilhelm,” Gunther said as he entered his friend’s shop.

  The blond carpenter looked up from the board he was planing. “You’ll have better luck if you remember my name’s William.”

  “Sorry.” This was definitely Gunther’s day for mistakes. Soon after they’d arrived in Texas, Wilhelm Goetz had announced that he would henceforth be known by the American version of his name. “I wondered if we could trade services. I know you’ve got some corn you need ground.”

  “Are you looking for a new table or a chest?”

  “Neither, right now. I need some pretty words.”

  William laid the plane on the bench and stared. “Pretty words? For what?”

  There was no way around it. He’d have to tell his friend. At least he knew that William could keep a secret. “I need to convince a lady to marry me,” he said, lowering his voice. “Everyone in town knows you read those fancy poets. I figured you could teach me some of the verses.”

  With two strides, William reached his side and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re fixing to court a lady.” It was a statement, not a question. “Good for you. Who is she?”

  Gunther shook his head.

  “No name, no verses.”

  Why did this have to be so difficult? Who’d have thought normally affable William would drive such a hard bargain? “You can’t tell anyone,” Gunther said before he whispered a name.

  “What brings you here today?” the town’s barber asked the next morning when Gunther entered his shop. “It’s not Saturday.”

  “I need a haircut and shave.” He settled into the chair.

  “You goin’ somewhere?”

  “Nope.”

  The barber said nothing as he wrung out the hot towels, but as he laid one on Gunther’s face, he was grinning. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

  Gunther flinched. “How’d you guess?”

  “There’s only one reason a man gets himself cleaned up in the middle of the week. So, who is she?”

  The shop was empty, save for him. Lowering his voice again, Gunther said, “You can’t tell anyone.”

  Sarah dipped the rag into the pail and began to wash the chalkboard. Though it was a task she normally delegated to one of the older students, today she’d dismissed class early and insisted she could straighten the schoolroom. The truth was, she needed time to think.

  The first day, she’d believed him. He’d said he had an errand in town, and as long as he was close by, he thought he’d visit the school. It wasn’t difficult to guess what the errand had been, for there was no mistaking the smell of fresh hair oil. As if that weren’t enough, a few errant snips of hair on his shoulder
confirmed that Gunther had visited the barber. Sarah had welcomed him and had tried to enlist him in her campaign for a new school. Though his statement that Eva had needs besides the school had raised concerns, Sarah had tried to dismiss them.

  But then, in the space of little more than a week, Gunther had come three more times. Once he’d been clutching a bunch of flowers, claiming the classroom would be prettier with them. Another time he’d quoted Keats and Shelley. That had surprised her, for she hadn’t realized he was interested in the romantic poets. Today she’d heard the sound of raised voices outside the school and had seen him apparently confronting David and Jean-Michel. Though she could not distinguish the words, she’d seen the two young men stalking away, their posture leaving no doubt of their anger. And then there was the note from Isabelle, inviting her to come for a cup of coffee. Something strange was going on, and Sarah feared she knew what it was.

  “Come upstairs.” Isabelle gave Thea a quick hug, then nodded at her mother. “Maman will watch Thea. She baked brioches.”

  “My favorite!” At least one thing was going well today. While Isabelle heated milk and coffee for café au lait, Sarah leaned back in the chair and tried to relax. She failed. “I don’t know what to do,” she told her friend. “I thought a separate school building was the answer, but every time I talk to the parents, they insist it’s not a good idea.”

  Isabelle carried the two steaming pots to the table and began what Sarah considered the dangerous process of pouring coffee and milk simultaneously. “Perhaps it isn’t a good idea,” Isabelle said as she pushed the cup toward Sarah.