by Amanda Cabot
The sound of heavy footsteps startled her, for she’d expected no visitors—especially not a male visitor—today. As she looked up and recognized the man, Sarah’s heart began to pound. Why was Léon here? Not only had he never come to the school, but he was supposed to be working on the Friedrichs’ farm.
“Is something wrong?”
He grinned as he shook his head. “No. Karl gave me some time off.” A wry smile lit Léon’s face. “Much good it’s doing me. Isabelle has turned me into her errand boy. That’s why I’m here.”
As her heart resumed its normal pace, Sarah copied Léon’s playful tone. “You mean you didn’t come to learn multiplication tables?”
“I’m afraid not. Isabelle asked whether you and Thea could stop by the store after school. She said she needs your advice on something.”
But Isabelle seemed in no hurry to seek counsel. When Sarah and her sister arrived, Isabelle settled Thea on the floor with a basket of socks, turning sorting them into a game for her. While Thea played, Isabelle chattered. That was the only way Sarah could describe it. Though her friend spoke of a number of things, they were all inconsequential. Given the frequency with which she looked at the clock, she seemed more concerned about the passage of time than in seeking Sarah’s advice.
At length, Isabelle said, “You’re probably wondering why I asked you to come.” As Sarah nodded, she continued. “I don’t really need your advice, but I do need your help. I know you’ve seen the necklaces Frau Bauer makes out of pinecones.” Sarah had indeed seen them and had admired the woman’s skillful designs. She’d even suggested that the Rousseaus add them to their inventory, but the elderly German woman had insisted she preferred to sell them herself at the town’s open-air market.
“As it turns out, Frau Bauer is at the market this week, and she has some new designs. I wondered if you’d select one for me.” Isabelle wrinkled her nose. “I would have asked Léon, but he has terrible taste.”
Though it was a simple enough request, and Sarah was always willing to help her friend, there was an easier solution. “Why don’t I mind the store so you can go?” After all, Sarah had experience working in the mercantile, and that way Isabelle could choose her favorite design.
Isabelle shook her head. “Maman would be angry. I know she’d say I was taking advantage of you. Please, Sarah. I really want one of those necklaces.” When Sarah looked down at Thea, Isabelle said quickly, “I’ll watch her while you’re gone. Just pick the one you like best.”
The shopping excursion lasted longer than Sarah had anticipated. Apparently expecting her, Frau Bauer had a large selection of necklaces and seemed compelled to describe each one’s advantages. Then when Sarah had finally chosen one, the shopkeeper insisted on wrapping it, even though it required the better part of five minutes to find a piece of cord to tie the package. By the time everything was ready, half an hour had gone by, and Sarah was anxious. If she didn’t hurry, she and Thea would be late for supper. They’d already missed Thea’s riding lesson.
When she rounded the corner, Sarah found the mercantile locked, a note stuck to the door. “Sarah,” the note read, “Thea was fussy, so I took her home—Isabelle.” Sarah shook her head, realizing Isabelle had gotten more than she’d bargained for when she’d volunteered to watch Thea.
As she headed back to the ranch, Sarah flicked the reins, urging the horses to quicken their pace. She could only hope Thea had not developed a full-fledged tantrum. Though increasingly rare, they were alarming and might be beyond Isabelle’s experience. The sense of relief that blossomed as Sarah entered the Bar C’s lane turned to alarm when she saw four wagons, their horses hitched to the front posts. What was wrong? Though she’d expected the Rousseaus’ buggy, she knew of no reason for the others to be here. Had something happened to Thea or Pa? As quickly as she could, Sarah dismounted and entered the house, her heart anxious, her palms moist with fear.
“Happy birthday!” Fear turned to surprise. Sarah froze, astonished by the cries that greeted her. As her eyes adjusted to the lower light, she saw the main room filled with people dressed in their Sunday best.
“Happy birthday!”
There was no doubt about it. Someone had learned that today was her birthday. Sarah’s heart filled with warmth as she looked around the room. There was Thea, happily settled in Clay’s arms, while Zach stood next to Pa’s wheeled chair. Not only was the entire Rousseau family present, but close by were Gunther and Eva, and Mary and David. The Friedrich family completed the gathering.
“S’prise, Sarah. Papa Clay made s’prise.” Thea punctuated her words with big grins.
Clay? Sarah’s amazement grew as she tried and failed to picture her father or any of the men she knew planning a party. Yet Clay had done it. The proof was here. “How did you know?”
He shook his head. “Later. Thea tells me it’s time to eat.”
Keeping one arm firmly around Thea, Clay extended his other to escort Sarah to the table. Within minutes, they were all savoring the meal. Though Martina had prepared most of the dishes, each of the guests had brought something. A bowl of Frau Friedrich’s cucumbers and sour cream sat next to a plate of Madame Rousseau’s pâté. When Mary mentioned that she had made the biscuits, Eva proudly presented Sarah with a jar of peach jam that she’d helped make, insisting Sarah be the first to sample it.
Sarah’s heart welled with happiness. Had it been only a few hours ago that she was feeling sorry for herself because no one knew it was her birthday? Now here she was, surrounded by friends, their smiles telling her they were as glad to be here as she was to have them.
“I know this is probably not as fancy as dinners in Philadelphia,” Clay said softly.
She couldn’t let him apologize, not when he’d done so much to make her day special. While it was true there was no crystal or china here, that mattered not a whit. “This is the most wonderful meal I can recall.” The food was delicious, but the true appeal was being with people who accepted her for who she was, not for her last name or the size of her father’s investments. The guests at last year’s birthday celebration, people who had been her parents’ closest friends, had all disappeared when they’d learned of Papa’s disastrous investments. These people would not, for they were true friends. “Thank you, Clay.” Though she whispered the last words, Sarah raised her voice and addressed everyone as she said, “I don’t know how to express my feelings other than to tell you how happy I am to be here with all of you.”
Isabelle leaned across the table, pitching her voice in a stage whisper. “The best is yet to come. We brought presents.”
The gifts were simple but obviously selected with great care. “Winter will come,” Mary said when Sarah opened her package, revealing a lap quilt. Gunther’s face reddened as he handed her a book, telling her he hoped she would enjoy this poet. Though Frau Friedrich dismissed the effort she had put into it, Sarah knew that the older woman’s failing eyesight must have been taxed as she created a beautifully crocheted collar.
“I hope you brought our gift,” Isabelle said when Sarah had opened the others. As Sarah gave her a puzzled look, Isabelle explained. “The necklace. I know it’s unusual to ask someone to pick out her own gift, but I needed a way to delay you long enough that we could all get here.”
Rising to retrieve the package she’d brought with her, Sarah smiled. Everything made sense now. Undoubtedly, one of Léon’s errands had been to talk to Frau Bauer, encouraging her to take her time over the sale.
When she’d shown everyone the necklace, Clay handed her an awkwardly wrapped package. “I hope you’ll like it.”
Whatever was inside must be fragile, Sarah realized as she unwound many layers of paper, revealing a delicate china vase that she guessed was well over fifty years old. Urn-shaped, it boasted gold handles on each side and a slightly worn rose painted on the front.
“It’s beautiful.” Sarah traced the outline of the rose, marveling at the artist’s skill at the same time that she wondered whe
re Clay had bought it. The mercantile carried only new items.
As if he sensed her unspoken question, Clay said, “It was my mother’s and her mother’s before that. I know she’d have wanted you to have it.”
Sarah shook her head, knowing she could not accept the gift. “I can’t keep this. It needs to stay in your family.” If Clay remarried, this would be a gift for his wife, an heirloom for their children.
Clay’s lips tightened ever so slightly as he refused to take the vase from Sarah. “You were supposed to be a Canfield. You should have this. Right, Pa?” Clay turned toward his father and waited until he nodded. “See? We all agree. Happy birthday, Sarah.”
Tears filled her eyes as she smiled at Clay and rose to press a kiss on his father’s cheek. She wasn’t part of their family, and yet they were treating her as if she were. Friends and now an almost-family. What more could she want?
An hour later, after the guests had departed and Sarah had settled Thea in bed, she slipped out of the cabin and walked toward the paddock.
“Stargazing again?”
She turned at the sound of Clay’s voice, the pounding of her heart telling her what she hadn’t wanted to admit: that she’d hoped he would be here, that she had longed for a few private moments with this man who’d proved to be such a special friend.
“I am stargazing,” she said, “but tonight I’m not trying to find answers. I came outside because I’m too excited to sleep.” Her heartbeat accelerated as Clay came closer. This was what she wanted, a chance to tell him how wonderful he had made the day. Sarah stretched her hand toward him, reveling in the warmth of his palm as he clasped her hand. “I don’t know how I can possibly thank you. This was the best birthday I’ve ever had.”
“I’m glad.” His voice was husky as he tightened his grip. “I wanted it to be a special day.”
The crescent moon cast little light, yet there was enough to see him smile. Sarah wasn’t sure how long they stood there, gazing at each other. She couldn’t say who took the first step. All she knew was that she found herself in Clay’s arms with his lips pressed to hers. It was the perfect ending to a perfect day.
14
He regretted it. She knew that from the moment the kiss ended. He’d looked at her for a long moment, his eyes so full of sorrow that Sarah wanted to cry, and then when she’d thought she could not bear the silence any longer, he’d said simply, “Good night, Sarah.” The three words had echoed through the darkness, leaving her alone and feeling oddly bereft.
She frowned as she removed Pa’s slipper and began to massage his foot. It was almost as if the older man understood that something had happened between her and his son, for he refused to answer her greeting. Perhaps this was where Clay had learned the art of silence. Sarah hadn’t seen him at breakfast. That was not unusual, for he often left early either to work on the ranch or to visit a patient. What was unusual was the silence she’d encountered when she brought Thea for her riding lesson. Clay had given Sarah no more than a cursory greeting, then turned his attention to Thea, making it clear that Sarah was the only one he wanted to ignore. The reason wasn’t hard to guess: Clay regretted the kiss.
She did not.
Sarah fisted her hand, using the knuckles to massage Pa’s leg. Surely it wasn’t her imagination that his muscles were stronger. She could feel the sinews contract as she pressed them. They hadn’t done that a month ago. Though he might resist her, his leg was responding.
She closed her eyes briefly, recalling those moments in Clay’s arms. Her first kiss had been as wonderful as Mama had promised. Sarah knew she’d never forget the day she’d entered the parlor unannounced and had seen her parents kissing. When they’d broken apart, Mama’s face had been flushed, and she’d looked prettier than Sarah had ever seen her—even prettier than the picture of a princess in one of her storybooks. Afterward, Mama had explained that when a man and a woman love each other, they kiss and that kissing was so wonderful it made a woman feel beautiful.
Mama had been right. When Clay had held her close, Sarah had forgotten her limp. She’d forgotten how the boys had called her a scrawny chicken. She’d forgotten every cruel taunt. For the first time in her life, she felt beautiful. Though Clay had turned away, the glow had lasted. As she studied Pa’s leg, Sarah’s mind whirled. For weeks now, she had felt as if something were missing from her life. Perhaps Mary had been right when she said Sarah needed a husband. Perhaps she’d been wrong to believe Austin’s death meant she’d never marry. Perhaps Clay’s kiss was the key, unlocking the door to her heart.
She’d had difficulty falling asleep, for she kept remembering her birthday and all that Clay had done to make it special, culminating with his kiss. When at last she’d slept, Sarah had dreamt of a man sitting at a desk, writing a letter. In the manner of dreams, one second she’d been standing in the doorway, in the next, she was at his side, with no memory of having crossed the room. As he continued to write, oblivious to her presence, she’d looked over his shoulder. She’d heard the rasp of the nib on paper; her nostrils had been filled with the scent of hair tonic; and her eyes had widened as she read the words he penned. This man, who seemed so strange and yet so familiar at the same time, was composing one of her paper roses.
In her dream, Sarah had stood for what seemed like hours, fascinated by the simple act of putting words on paper. She’d smiled, knowing this was the man she loved, the one who’d wooed her with his eloquence. And then he’d turned to face her, his blue eyes shining as his lips curved into a smile. Afterward, she knew she should have been surprised, and yet somehow she wasn’t. Somehow it seemed right that the man at the desk was not Austin but Clay. After that, Sarah had slept dreamlessly, wakening with a smile on her face.
Morning’s light had changed everything, for it brought the realization that her dream had been nothing more than a dream. The epistles she cherished had been written by a man with scrawling handwriting, the letters big with barely controlled loops. Clay’s penmanship was far different, each letter small and carefully formed. No matter what Sarah’s mind had conjured in the dream, Clay was not the man who’d written the paper roses.
Morning brought with it the reality that, though she cherished the memory, the kiss had meant nothing to Clay. Afternoon brought another, equally unpleasant reality: Pa did not want her to help him walk.
“C’mon, Pa,” she said, trying to extend his leg. “I know it hurts, but you can do it. You can flex your foot. Try.” His response was the same as it had been the previous four times: nothing. Tears of frustration filled Sarah’s eyes.
“Will you let me try?”
Sarah’s hand flew to her throat as she turned, startled by the unexpected voice. “I didn’t hear you.” Somehow, though he wore boots and spurs and the floor bore no rugs, she had been unaware of Zach’s approach.
He shrugged and took a few steps further into the room. “Being silent was something we learned in prison.”
For the first time that afternoon, Pa spoke. Sarah couldn’t understand his words, but she knew they were directed at Zach.
“It was best if the jailors didn’t notice us.” Again Pa made a guttural sound. Zach gestured toward the door, then waited until Sarah rose. When they were out of hearing, he spoke. “What were you doing?”
There was no point in dissembling. “I know Pa wants to walk. To do that, he needs to strengthen his leg muscles, so I’ve been trying to show him how I learned to walk again. The problem is, he won’t cooperate.” Sarah looked at the tall man whom Clay’s father seemed to respect. “Oh, Zach, it’s so frustrating. I know how Pa feels, trapped in that chair, and I know he could escape it, if only he’d try.”
Zach was silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “Perhaps he has trouble accepting help from a woman.” When Sarah started to protest, he continued. “We’re raised to believe we should care for women—not the other way around.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I won’t argue with you. All I’
m saying is that a man’s pride is a powerful thing. It can even keep him from accepting gifts like the one you’ve been offering. Now, will you show me what you were doing and let me try?”
Reluctantly, Sarah nodded. It would be foolish to refuse help, especially if Zach could make a difference. What was important was getting Pa to use his legs again, not who accomplished that. Still, she couldn’t help wishing she didn’t feel like such a failure.
She knew what he was going to ask. She knew what she would answer. It was Sunday afternoon, and he’d invited her to take a drive with him. Though his nervousness had been apparent from the way he held the reins, he said little while they were in the wagon. Instead, he waited until they reached a pretty spot where trees lined the riverbank. It was only when they’d left the wagon and stood at the water that he cleared his throat.
“I heard that ladies like flowery words.” Gunther’s voice quavered ever so slightly. “I tried to learn some, but they flew out of my head, so I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for plain speaking.” He cleared his throat again, then reached for Sarah’s hand. When he’d captured it between both of his, he said, “I would be honored if you would become my wife.”
It was what she’d expected, what she had in her darkest moments hoped he’d ask. Marriage to Gunther would solve so many problems. Isabelle kept reminding Sarah that Thea needed a father as much as Eva needed a mother, and that since Thea and Eva were friends and Sarah cared for Gunther’s daughter, the marriage would be ideal for both children. Sarah knew that. She also knew that wedding Gunther would help her. It would give her one of the things she’d sought when she came to Ladreville: her own home.
There was no ignoring the fact that Sarah was no longer needed at the Bar C. Clay continued to avoid her, and Zach had taken over with Pa. She had no reason to remain and every reason to leave, for it was awkward sharing meals with Clay, realizing he did not want her there and that she provided nothing in return for her and Thea’s room and board. If she married Gunther, Sarah would be needed. She would be the one who ran the household and raised both Thea and Eva. She would be useful, and she believed that would fill the empty spaces deep inside her. It was one thing to be needed at the school, something quite different to be part of a family. Though she hated the thought of giving up teaching, Sarah knew that with only a little more training, Olga Kaltheimer would be ready to replace her. The school did not need her the way Gunther and Eva did.