Paper Roses

by Amanda Cabot

  “Look, Sarah. Flower!”

  As they did many evenings now that the days were long, Sarah and Thea were working in the garden. Thea’s working, of course, consisted primarily of walking around, poking her fingers into the dirt while Sarah weeded. Today Thea was pointing at the red blossoms of what Mary had told Sarah was a cedar sage.

  Sarah’s eyes widened at the sight of a dozen trumpet-shaped flowers that had opened on a single stem, and she bent down to touch one of the delicate blossoms. It was softer than she’d expected, almost velvety. As her fingers caressed the petals, Sarah pictured another garden. There had been nothing like this in Mama’s plot, and yet she could imagine her mother smiling with pleasure at the sight of a flower in bloom. Sarah closed her eyes, remembering Mama’s smile, and as she did, she felt warmth steal into her heart, chasing away the sorrow. For the first time, thoughts of her mother were not accompanied by tears. Sarah touched the flower again, savoring its soft petals. Perhaps Isabelle was right. Perhaps healing did come with time. Perhaps sorrow did fade.

  “Me bleeding!” Thea rushed to Sarah’s side, holding out the finger she’d pricked on a rosebush. “Hurt!”

  It was only a drop of blood, nothing that should have triggered memories, but it did, transporting Sarah back to the day she’d found her parents’ bodies. She started to shake as the image consumed her. There’d been so much blood, so horribly much blood. And then there was the look of shock frozen on Mama’s face. Why, oh, why had he done it? Sarah bit the inside of her mouth to keep from crying out. Isabelle was wrong. Time did not heal everything. Sorrow might fade, but anger did not. She would never, ever forgive her father.

  As Mary opened the door, Clay caught a glimpse of a dress with too many buttons undone and a flash of gold. Tugging her bodice closed, Mary glared at him. “What are you doing here?”

  Clay looked down at the medical bag in his hand, as if the answer should be obvious. “You summoned a doctor. Since Herman is indisposed today, I came in his place.”

  Her buttons now securely fastened, Mary fisted her hands on her hips. “You can go right back where you came from, Clay Canfield. I ain’t so ill that I’d let a young man I practically raised treat me. Why, it wouldn’t be seemly.” Before Clay could say anything more, she closed the door, leaving him standing on the front porch.

  Clay grinned as he mounted Shadow. If he was correct— and he suspected he was—Mary wasn’t ill at all. The call for a doctor had simply been another ploy to spend more time in Herman’s company, like the visits she’d made to his house. Clay knew that when she set her mind to it, Mary was nothing if not determined, and she appeared to be determined to snag the town’s senior doctor as a husband.

  “C’mon, Shadow. Let’s go home.” Clay was still grinning when he crested a hill, but the grin faded at the sight of the wagon—his wagon—with a horse tied behind it. He tightened his grip on the reins as the details registered. Two girls were playing in the back, while a man and woman occupied the buckboard’s seat. Though Clay wished otherwise, there was no doubt of anyone’s identity. Gunther and his daughter were accompanying Sarah and Thea, and judging by the way Sarah leaned toward him, she was enjoying Gunther’s conversation.

  Two emotions slammed through Clay. He recognized anger, but it was mingled with something else, something that felt equally strong. Surely that something was not jealousy. Clay slowed Shadow as he took a deep breath, trying to conquer the need to send Gunther packing. The way he felt right now, he didn’t trust himself to be near the man.

  Relax, Clay told himself. Think of something else. Something good. There were indeed good things, for much had changed during the past few weeks, in great part because of Zach. If Clay were a praying man, he would have said that Zach was the answer to prayer. Zach had not exaggerated his experience. From the beginning, the men recognized him as a natural leader and no longer approached Clay for anything but the most critical decisions. No doubt about it, the salary Clay paid Zach was small recompense for the burden he’d lifted. Thanks to Zach, Clay no longer had to worry about the Bar C, and that was fortunate, for Herman now relied on him more frequently.

  It wasn’t only Clay who’d benefited from Zach’s arrival. Though Clay wasn’t sure how Zach found the time, he spent hours each day with Pa. The change in Pa had been remarkable. He seemed happier; he even slept better. Clay wouldn’t be surprised if Pa were content to remain on the Bar C with Zach, even if Clay returned to Boston. Everything was going smoothly, except, of course, for that confounded Gunther and his courtship of Sarah.

  Other things had contributed to Clay’s newfound contentment. He’d been filled with a sense of relief the day he’d shipped Patience’s trunk to her parents. Though at one time he had not thought it possible, cleaning the room they’d once shared had been the right thing to do. The door now stood open, and though Clay refused to sleep there, preferring instead to stretch out on the floor in the main room, the pain was gone, replaced by bittersweet memories. Clay knew he would always love Patience. He would treasure the months they’d spent together, and for the rest of his days, he would regret her life being cut short. But he had also accepted that Patience was part of his past. It was time for the future.

  And that was the problem. The future that had once seemed so clear was now filled with ambiguity. Where would he go once he found Austin’s killer? It disturbed Clay more than he wanted to admit that he was asking that question. When he’d left Boston, he had assured Daniel Morton that he would return to resume his practice there. But somehow the prospect of Boston and catering to the imaginary ailments of its wealthiest residents no longer held much appeal. Instead Clay pictured Leah Dunn and the child whose arm he’d splinted this morning. Instead of the large redbrick house he’d once shared with Patience, Clay’s mind conjured images of the small cabin Austin had built for Sarah.

  Something had changed, something fundamental deep inside him. Clay knew that. What he didn’t know was why so much had changed. Surely it was not because of Sarah. Oh, it was true that he thought of her far too often, but that could be easily explained. It was proximity, nothing more. He saw her several times each day; that was why thoughts of her slid into his mind with alarming frequency. But that meant nothing. Sarah and her minx of a sister were not the reason Clay was suddenly reluctant to leave Ladreville. Only a fool would think that, and Clay Canfield was not a fool.

  12

  “All right, children. It’s almost time. Quiet, now.” Silence, Sarah knew, was an impossible dream, but she had to make the effort. She and her pupils had assembled on the Rue du Marché, directly across from the market that had given the street its name, waiting to take their place in Ladreville’s Independence Day parade. Despite her admonitions, her students laughed, giggled, and shouted as they jumped up and down, barely able to contain their excitement. Though Sarah had no intention of jumping, she was almost as excited as they. The children’s glee was easy to understand, for this was the first time they’d marched in the parade. In their minds, being included in the annual celebration made them adults, or so they’d told Sarah. Her own pleasure came from the fact that they would be walking as part of a single group with no regard for their last names.

  “Quiet.” This time she placed her finger over her lips, trying not to smile when the gesture accomplished what her words had not. Sarah had other reasons to smile. Conducting classes outdoors had been more successful than she’d dared hope. Each week more pupils came to the unusual schoolroom, possibly drawn by the novelty of lessons that included identification of birds and butterflies. At first, the children had sat in two distinct groups, separated by a large space. But as the weeks passed, the space had shrunk. Now anyone looking at the Ladreville students seated under the big oak trees would have seen nothing amiss, for there was only a single group of pupils. Though the parents had not changed their minds about building a school, and seemed unaware that their children studied in such close proximity, Sarah took comfort in the fact that her pupils’
education was no longer being curtailed.

  “All right, boys and girls. It’s time.” Time to march and time to prove she had not made a mistake. The youngsters would be walking three abreast, arranged by height with the shortest first. Though Clay had warned her she was playing with fire, having children of French descent walking next to Germans, Sarah had been adamant. Now she could only hope she’d not been wrong.

  As the parade turned right onto Potomac Street, Sarah kept a smile fixed on her face. This was the children’s moment. Surely no one would dare spoil it. No one other than participants had been allowed in the staging area, but anxious parents seemed to have crowded the first block of Potomac, eager for a glimpse of their offspring. Would they object to the marching order? Even worse, would someone pull a child out of the formation?

  Sarah murmured words of encouragement to the youngest pupils, reminding them how important it was to smile. What they needed, she soon realized, was not encouragement but an admonition not to skip and jump, for the sight of an audience appeared to fuel their excitement.

  “Mutti!” one little girl shrieked.

  As she started to run toward her mother, the boy next to her tugged her hand. “We’re marching now,” he reminded her.

  “Good girl, Heidi,” a woman with a heavy German accent called out. “Stay with your friend.”

  “That’s my Jacques,” the well-dressed woman standing next to Heidi’s mother announced.

  “Sehr gut. He’s a good boy.”

  “Yes, he is.” Jacques’s mother smiled. “And your Heidi is quite pretty.”

  Perhaps she shouldn’t have listened so intently, but Sarah couldn’t help it, and her heart swelled with happiness at the sight of two women who, to the best of her knowledge, had never exchanged a civil word, and were now smiling at each other.

  The scene was repeated several times as the procession made its way along Potomac, turning to travel the length of Hochstrasse and ending in the large field across the street from her makeshift outdoor school, and with each repetition Sarah’s spirits rose. This was what she’d hoped for. Her pupils, from Olga Kaltheimer down to Thea, had had a wonderful time. Now they could enjoy the rest of the festivities.

  Sarah looked across the field that would be the scene for most of the celebration. A platform had been erected for the speakers; everyone else brought quilts and blankets, which they’d spread on the ground. As the parade disbanded and the children raced to their parents, Sarah and Thea headed toward the Canfield quilt. Though Gunther had invited them to join him and Eva, Sarah had refused. It was one thing to realize the man was courting her, a far different thing to do something that would announce to the town that she favored his suit. For she did not. Marriage was not something Sarah wanted to think about, at least not anytime soon, and so she sat with the family that had given her a home.

  The quilt would be crowded today. Though Sarah had assumed Pa would remain at the ranch, he’d insisted Clay and Zach carry him to the wagon. Now he was ensconced in the center of the blanket, flanked by Zach and Herman Adler. The doctor, Sarah noted with amusement, was studiously refusing to look to his left, lest he catch the eye of Mary Bramble and be forced to converse with her.

  When she and Thea arrived, Thea flung herself into Clay’s arms, acting as if they’d been separated for days rather than the space of an hour.

  “No, Thea, you can’t sit on Clay’s lap.” But neither her sister nor the man in question appeared to listen to Sarah’s admonition. Instead, Clay wrapped one arm around Thea and patted the spot next to him, encouraging Sarah to sit there. “The parade was nice,” he said softly. “I’ve never heard so many proud parents.”

  As she arranged her skirts, Sarah nodded. If only she could convince those parents to take the next step and build a schoolhouse. But convincing them, she feared, was beyond her abilities. She had exhausted every argument, and none had worked. Though the townspeople were unfailingly polite, they were also adamant in their refusal. It would take a miracle or at least Michel Ladre’s support to change their minds, and neither of those was likely to occur.

  As the mayor and the other dignitaries climbed onto the platform, Sarah took a deep breath. An instant later she realized she’d made a mistake, for instead of fresh air, she inhaled the scent of the man who sat so close she could almost hear his heart beat. Hair tonic mingled with soap and starch. The scents were all prosaic, and yet when Clay wore them, they seemed anything but ordinary, becoming positively delightful and far too distracting.

  Sarah wanted to shift away from him, but if she did, she’d be on the Brambles’ quilt, seated close to David. Since he and Jean-Michel were also reported to be courting her, Sarah couldn’t do that, any more than she could sit with Gunther. And so she remained next to Clay, trying desperately not to notice how strong his arms were, how long and straight his legs were, or how right Thea looked sitting on his lap.

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to our Independence Day celebration.” At the sound of Michel Ladre’s deep voice, the crowd fell silent. “Let us begin with a moment of prayer.” First Père Tellier, then Pastor Sempert asked for God’s blessing, reminding the townspeople how much God had already favored them by bringing them to a country filled with bounty and freedoms they’d never known. The prayers were greeted with fervent amens and a few cries of hallelujah. When the ministers had resumed their seats, Michel led the town in a patriotic song before he began his speech, a speech that enumerated the beauties of their new country and reminded the residents of Ladreville that they were now all Americans.

  “It’s this way every year,” Clay murmured as everyone rose for another song. “For one day, the town is unified.”

  “Why can’t it last longer?” Sarah looked around. This did not appear to be a cease-fire, a temporary lull between hostilities. Instead she sensed a common purpose. Why did that have to end when the sun set? She looked up at Clay. “Michel’s right. We’re all Americans.”

  “But we’re also human, and humans aren’t perfect. It’s human nature to hate and to kill.”

  Though she suspected Clay was referring to Austin’s murder, his words pierced her, reminding her of her father’s crime, a memory that was sharper than a rapier. Sarah swallowed, trying to repress the painful images, trying to restore the moment of peace she’d found in her garden. She couldn’t let the past destroy her future any more than she could let the townspeople’s historical enmity destroy their children’s chances for success.

  Sarah closed her eyes for a second, picturing her mother. “It’s also human nature to love,” she said softly. “I’d like to believe that love will triumph over hatred.”

  Though everyone around them was singing, Clay continued their whispered conversation. “You’re an optimist.”

  Was she? Sarah wasn’t certain about that. What she did know was that someone had to act, and it appeared she was the only one willing. She wanted to—oh, how she wanted to—change their opinions. The question was, could she? Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders. There would not be another opportunity like this.

  “Where are you going?” The singing was so loud that Clay had no need to whisper when Sarah started moving toward the front of the crowd.

  “To convince Ladreville that love is important.” She heard murmurs as she picked her way between the quilts, and a few people started to speak to her, but she would not be deterred. This might be her only chance. By the time the song ended, Sarah had reached her destination and was climbing the steps to the platform.

  “Miss Dobbs. What do you want?” The mayor hurried to the side of the platform, apparently trying to discourage her from coming further.

  “As Ladreville’s schoolteacher, I would like to address the town.” She was on the platform now, and judging from the buzzing in the audience, her presence had been noted.

  “That’s highly improper.” Though Michel kept his voice low, there was no ignoring the anger in his eyes.

  Sarah
took another step toward the center, guessing that he would do nothing that could be construed as ungentlemanly. The man had a reputation to uphold, at least in public. “The town has never had a teacher before, so how can you say it’s improper for one to take a part in the celebration?”

  An expletive greeted her words. As if aware of the crowd’s interest, Michel turned so he could not be overheard. “Women aren’t supposed to give speeches. It’s unseemly.”

  Though Sarah kept her smile firmly in place, she would not back down. “It would be more unseemly for me to start an argument here with everyone watching. Neither of us would benefit from that.”

  His fists clenched, his face red with anger, the town’s mayor stared at her. “You’ll regret this,” he hissed. Then, wiping the anger from his face as easily as if he’d used a cloth to remove a speck of mud, he turned to the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Dobbs has asked for a few minutes of your time.” There was no mistaking the emphasis he placed on the word few. With a smile that could only be described as condescending, he added, “I beg you to indulge her fancy.”

  Moving to the center of the platform, Sarah flashed the audience a smile. Though she was trembling inwardly, she could not afford any show of weakness. “I know you’re all anxious to open your picnic baskets and sample some of the delicious food you’ve brought. I must tell you, my mouth was watering from the aromas as I walked up here, so I know there are treats in store for you.” A ripple of laughter greeted her words. Excellent. She wanted everyone relaxed as she continued.

  “I don’t want to delay your meal, but what I have to say is important.” The murmurs faded as Sarah’s voice turned serious. “You know I believe it’s important that all the children attend classes every week. I know you have reasons for not wanting to use the fellowship halls. There is a solution, ladies and gentlemen. Ladreville needs a school.”