Paper Roses

by Amanda Cabot

  Four days had passed since the night his life had changed. They’d been four days of almost constant conversation. He and Sarah and Zach had spent hours talking about their Lord and the plans he had for their lives. Some of those hours had been spent reading his Word and offering prayers of thanksgiving. Others had been hours of quiet contemplation. But the majority had been a joyous sharing of experiences. Clay had recalled amusing moments from his and Austin’s childhood, while Sarah had recounted pleasurable days spent with her parents. Even Zach, who rarely spoke of his life before the war, had contributed an anecdote of growing up in a small East Texas town.

  With each story he told, each recollection he heard, Clay felt the healing continue. As a physician, he knew how healing occurred. The surgeon cleansed the wound in what was often a painful process. Next came the sutures and dressing. That was all that could be done on the outside. The rest was internal. God had been the surgeon. He’d cleansed and sutured. He’d provided Zach and Sarah as sterile dressings to protect the wound. And now he was working inside Clay, healing him, draining away the poison of hatred, growing firm new flesh in place of cancerous sores.

  If he hadn’t experienced it, Clay would not have believed it possible for a man to change so quickly and so completely. But it had happened. Through God’s grace, he no longer felt the need to wreak vengeance. He’d memorized the verses Zach had shown him from Romans 12, admonishing him to overcome evil with good. Each day Clay prayed that, if he did find Austin’s killer, God would give him the strength to repay evil with good. Today, however, his thoughts were focused not on killing or revenge but on love. His love for Sarah.

  Though he hadn’t told Zach what he was planning, he suspected the man knew and that was why he’d concocted a scheme to occupy Thea. While Zach took Thea into town to watch the blacksmith make horseshoes, Clay would have time alone with Sarah. Everything was prepared, except, that is, for Clay himself. Somehow he had to keep his hands from shaking.

  “We haven’t been to the garden in a few days,” he said as casually as he could. “At this time of the year, the weeds may have taken over. Do you think you can walk that far?” Though he would gladly have carried Sarah, he knew she’d refuse. The woman was nothing if not independent.

  “We’d have to go slowly.”

  They did. Somehow Clay managed to speak of inconsequential things, though his heart was pounding and his mouth dry. Nerves could do that to a man. When they reached the spot where Sarah had fallen, he laid a hand on her arm to stop her. Though he’d had the hole filled in, and the men had assured him everything was firmly packed, he wouldn’t let Sarah precede him. It was only when he’d crossed it safely that Clay allowed her to cross.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. “My mind told me everything would be fine, but I’m glad I didn’t come this way alone. I’m not sure my legs would have obeyed my brain. I might have turned around.”

  Clay shook his head. “You’re a brave woman, Sarah. You’d have continued.” Her courage was one of the things he admired about her. Why mince words? It was one of the things he loved about her.

  When they entered the garden, Clay’s heart accelerated. Would she like what he’d done? There was only one way to know. He led her toward the far corner where the roses were planted. As they rounded the final bend in the path, she stopped abruptly.

  “When did this . . . ? Who did . . . ?” Sarah turned to face Clay, her eyes sparkling with warmth. “Oh, Clay, did you do this?” She pointed toward the carved wooden bench that now sat amid the rose bushes, the bench that William Goetz had finished only this afternoon. Though Clay had been pleased with the result, what mattered was Sarah’s reaction.

  “Do you like it?” He countered her question with one of his own.

  “Yes, of course.” She took another step, then reached out to touch the roses carved into the bench back. “This is beautiful.”

  “In that case, I’ll admit I’m responsible.”

  Sarah raised one brow, a skeptical expression crossing her face. “And if I hadn’t liked it . . .”

  “I would have pretended I had no idea how it got here.” Clay accompanied his words with a smile. “I didn’t think I’d have to resort to lies, though. You spend so much time here that I thought you should have a comfortable place to sit.” Though she never complained about sitting on the ground, Clay had noticed how awkward it was for her to rise.

  Sarah traced the carving one more time, then settled onto the bench. “This is wonderful,” she said, placing one hand on the wooden arm. “You should try it.” She patted the spot next to her.

  Clay shook his head. The time had come. In a few minutes, he would have his answer, but first he had to ask the question. “I prefer to stand. This way I can watch you.” He had to see her face, to be certain she was not acting from pity or even compassion. Though she said nothing, a furrow appeared between Sarah’s eyes as she tried to make sense of his words. “I brought you out here for a reason,” he told her.

  “To show me the bench.”

  “That was one reason, but not the only one.” Clay took a deep breath as he tried to compose his thoughts. “When Patience died, I believed my heart had died too. I never thought I would love again.” Sarah nodded, her gesture telling him she understood. “This is one time when I’m glad to say I was wrong.”

  Clay bent one knee in the classic posture. As he did, he realized that his eyes were level with Sarah’s. Those eyes were widening, as if she recognized the significance of his bended knee but didn’t understand why he was doing it. Surely she had to know how deeply he cared for her. “I love you, Sarah. I think I loved you from the moment I saw you standing in front of the cabildo. I love your strength, your determination, your faith. I love all of you, and I want you and Thea to be part of my life.”

  Her eyes widened again, and as Clay saw the glint of tears, his heart began to thud. It appeared he had been wrong in thinking she returned his love. “I’m not asking you to forget Austin,” he said quickly. “I know you’ll always love him, and I won’t try to change that. I can accept being second in your heart, even though you are first in mine. I love you, Sarah, and I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me?”

  Sarah shook her head, nodded, then brushed a tear from her cheek. “Oh, Clay, I’m sorry.”

  It was what he had feared. She didn’t love him. She wouldn’t marry him. Clay’s face must have reflected his dismay, for she said quickly, “I’m not as confused as I seem. It’s just, you’re right and you’re wrong.”

  “I don’t understand. How can I be both right and wrong?”

  “You’re right that I’ll never forget Austin. He was the first man I loved. You know how I fell in love with his letters. But I know now that Austin was not the man God intended me to marry.” Sarah laid her hand on Clay’s arm. “You’re that man. You’re the one God chose for me.”

  Clay believed that too. These past four days had shown him the rightness of loving Sarah. Before that, he’d wanted her as his wife. Now he knew she would be more than that. She would be his soul mate.

  “How am I wrong?”

  She smiled, a smile so full of love that Clay’s heart skipped a beat. “You’re wrong to think you’ll ever be in second place. I love you, Clay. I always will.”

  Sarah’s words erased the doubt that had encased his heart. “Will you marry me?”

  Her smile widened, and her eyes brimmed with love. “If only you knew how often I dreamt of being your wife and how I feared that day would never come. Now my dream is coming true. Yes, Clay, I will marry you.”

  19

  “But, Clay, this would be the perfect opportunity.” Sarah gripped his hand, hoping that if her words did not convince him, her touch would. A light rain was falling, keeping them from their nightly walk to the paddock. Instead, they were seated on the porch of Sarah’s cabin, nestled close to each other on the courting swing.

  “I’m close to finding the answer. I know I am.” She and Clay had agreed tha
t the questions she’d been asking about Austin were the likely reason for someone trying to harm her. “Our engagement will give me another reason to talk to people. Someone will say something important. I feel certain of that.”

  “No.” Clay’s eyes darkened as he pronounced the word. “I won’t let you risk your life to learn who killed Austin. God will take care of that.”

  “But, Clay.” That phrase seemed to be becoming a refrain. Though Sarah was happy that he no longer sought vengeance, she knew that until the killer was unmasked, Clay would always be searching. He might deny it, but the doubts and worries would remain, coloring even the most casual encounter with suspicion. “I can help. I know I can.”

  “The answer is still no.” Though he tried to soften his words by threading his fingers through hers, she saw the anguish in his eyes. “I’ve already lost two people I love. I can’t let you risk your life.”

  He wouldn’t change his mind, and Sarah wouldn’t cause him additional worry. She leaned back, lulled by the soft plunk of raindrops on the steps and the clean scent of moist soil. On a night so filled with peace, it was difficult to believe that a murderer still roamed free. She had prayed that she could help Clay. Though it wasn’t what she’d envisioned, perhaps the help she could provide was to abandon her search.

  “All right. I promise I won’t ask any more questions about Austin.” The look of relief on Clay’s face told Sarah her decision was the right one. “There is something else, though. I want to help Isabelle and her family. There must be a way to discover who’s responsible for all the thefts.”

  Clay shook his head, but this time Sarah sensed he wasn’t disagreeing, simply trying to clear it. “I’ve never felt like this before,” he admitted. “My head and my heart are at war, and I don’t know who’s winning. I know how you feel about the Rousseaus, but at the same time, I want to wrap you in cotton and keep you safe until we’re married.” Clay’s lips curved in a wry smile. “I suspect you wouldn’t like that.”

  “Your suspicions are correct.” Sarah chuckled at the image. “Three months is a long time to be wrapped. I’d probably suffocate.” Figuratively, if not literally. After the initial giddiness of admitting their love, she and Clay had turned to practicalities and had decided to be married three days after Christmas. Though Sarah had no family other than Thea, Clay wanted Patience’s parents at his side. Three months would allow enough time for them to travel from Boston to Texas.

  Clay smiled and raised Sarah’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss on her fingertips. “You wouldn’t be the woman I love if you weren’t worried about your friends.” He stared into the distance for a moment. “I’d like to find the thief too. Maybe then the town can get back to normal. For a while I thought the school was uniting the town, but the suspicion of Léon has undone most of the good.”

  Sarah nodded. “The unpleasantness has hurt the Rousseaus in so many ways. It’s not just the lost business that bothers them. Worse than that is the fear that they may have to move. They don’t want to think about uprooting themselves again.”

  “And they shouldn’t have to.”

  Sarah wondered how Clay—loving, protective Clay— would react to her next words. “I want to do more than ask questions. I need to find a way to force the thief into the open.”

  “You’re talking about a trap.” When Sarah nodded, Clay began to protest.

  “It may not be the only way, but it’s the quickest,” Sarah told him. “And this way, we’d control everything.”

  “We?” Clay gave her a stern look. “We will plan it, but I’ll be the one who catches him. Don’t even try to argue, Sarah. I told you before that I can’t bear the thought of losing you. Besides, you don’t know how to shoot a gun, do you?”

  It was only when Sarah conceded the point that Clay agreed to help her. “We need the right location.” He thought for a moment. “Gunther hasn’t been robbed, and his house is far enough out of town to be perfect. I’ll ask him tomorrow.”

  Gunther agreed. In fact, Clay reported, his only regret was that he wouldn’t be present for the unmasking of the thief. They’d chosen the location; now it was time to set the bait.

  Clay arrived at the mercantile at the busiest time of the day and made sure that several of the town’s women overheard him asking Madame Rousseau to order a cut glass bowl for Sarah’s wedding present.

  “I want one about the same size as Frieda Lehman’s,” Clay explained. “Eight inches in diameter.” He shrugged his shoulders in a self-deprecating gesture. “Patience never had much use for fancy glass, but Gunther told me the bowl was his wife’s favorite gift. That’s why he’s saving it for Eva.”

  The story was pure fabrication. Frieda Lehman had never owned a cut glass bowl, and the one that was now displayed in Gunther’s house was an inexpensive piece Martina had found in the back of a cupboard. Clay and Sarah were betting that the thief knew nothing about crystal and would not notice the difference, particularly in the dark. They were also betting that the story of Clay’s gift and the reason for it would spread quickly, attracting the thief’s attention. All that remained was to provide him with the ideal time to steal the bowl.

  After church the next Sunday, Sarah approached Gunther, drawing him away from a group of men.

  “I’m still nervous about it,” she said, pitching her voice so it could be easily overheard. “This will be the first time Thea’s been separated from me, but it’s such a good opportunity for her. So, if you’re still willing, I agree that Thea can go with Eva when you visit her cousins.”

  Gunther grinned. “Eva will be mighty pleased. You know how she dotes on that sister of yours.”

  They spoke for a few minutes longer, confirming the details of the overnight trip that would leave the Lehman house empty.

  “Do you think it will work?” Sarah asked Clay as the day approached.

  He nodded. “I doubt the thief will be able to resist the bait. A prized possession in an empty house.” Clay shook his head slowly. “The only thing that worries me is that we may have made it too easy for him. I hope that’s not the case.”

  “I wish Thea didn’t have to go away.” Though they’d tried to devise other schemes, Sarah and Clay had realized it was important for Sarah to have a reason to be talking about Gunther’s trip.

  “She’ll be fine. Besides, she needs to get used to being away from you occasionally.” Clay pressed a playful kiss on Sarah’s nose. “As much as I love your sister, I don’t want to take her on our wedding trip.”

  “You know I don’t need a wedding trip.”

  “It’s not a matter of needing anything. I’m selfish. I want a few weeks alone with you. Besides, I think you’ll like New Orleans.”

  “I know I will. It’s just . . .”

  “You worry about everyone.” Clay completed her sentence.

  “That’s right. I’m worried about you being at Gunther’s house.”

  “Don’t worry.” Clay punctuated his words with a kiss. “I won’t be alone.”

  But he was restless. Clay shifted, doing his best to make no sound as he wondered how long he would have to wait. Perhaps this was part of God’s plan to teach him patience. That was one virtue he had in deplorably small quantities. Though he’d entered the house three hours earlier, slipping in the back door while Gunther and Eva made a noisy exit through the front, Clay knew the thief was unlikely to come before dark. Since the sun had set only an hour ago, it was unrealistic to have expected a visitor before now. Perhaps the man lived with others and could sneak out of his house only in the middle of the night. It didn’t matter. Whenever he came, Clay would be waiting. The Lehman house was completely dark now, with Clay stationed in Eva’s room, the door ajar. This way, he could watch the man, unseen until the time was right.

  At last! Clay heard the front door open and footsteps cross the main room. The man made no attempt at stealth. Why would he? Gunther had no close neighbors. There was no one to see or hear an intruder. A shaft of light told Clay t
he man had uncovered the lantern he’d been carrying and had begun his search. The sound of drawers being opened and closed was accompanied by low mutters. Look at the table, Clay urged silently. They’d left the bowl in plain sight.

  “Well, what do you know? It was here all along.”

  There was no mistaking the voice. Clay realized he shouldn’t have been surprised, for all the signs had been there.

  “Find what you want, Jean-Michel?” Pulling his six-shooter from the holster, Clay moved into the room.

  If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Clay might have been amused by the thief’s shocked expression. “Clay? What are you doing here?” Jean-Michel stared at the gun.

  “That should be obvious. I’ve been waiting for you.” Clay gestured toward the bowl in Jean-Michel’s hand. “I suspect your father will be surprised when he learns who’s been robbing the townspeople.”

  Jean-Michel’s eyes shifted from Clay’s gun to his face. “You have no proof.” Surprise had changed to belligerence.

  “What would you call the bowl in your hand?”

  “I’ll break it. Then you’ll have nothing.”

  Clay shrugged, as if unconcerned by the loss of a supposedly priceless bowl. “That won’t change anything.” He looked at the man who’d created such havoc in the town, trying to imagine why he’d chosen to steal. It couldn’t be because he needed money, for he did not. Though he wanted for nothing, Jean-Michel had stolen from his neighbors and then tried to cast the blame on someone else.

  “What’s this?” A piece of white cloth hung from Jean-Michel’s pocket. Clay tugged the handkerchief loose and inspected it. Like the other “evidence” Jean-Michel had planted, the handkerchief bore Léon’s initials.

  “I don’t know how it got there.”