Paper Roses

by Amanda Cabot

  When Sarah shuddered, thinking of the scene that awaited them, Clay spoke. “It’s just a little longer. Then we’ll be home.”

  But there would be no home. Sarah knew that. “I’m sorry about Pa. I thought I could save him.”

  “No one could.” Clay’s voice broke. “Maybe this was a blessing. Pa wasn’t happy this past year, trapped in his body. Now he’s with Ma and Austin.”

  Sarah laid her head against Clay’s back, trying to comfort him. “I know, but we’ll miss him.”

  As they approached the Bar C, the smoke lessened, telling them the fire was over. That too was a blessing, for Clay would not have to battle flames as he searched for his father. Sarah tried not to cry when she saw the burned-out shell of what had once been Clay’s home. The roof was gone, leaving only a few charred beams and the stone chimney. His parents’ dream was gone, destroyed along with his father. Sarah bit back tears. Though Clay had gotten his wish and had learned the identity of Austin’s murderer, the price he’d had to pay had been unbearably high.

  She tightened her arms around him, turning her head to the side, and as she did, something moved at the corner of the house. It must be an animal, come to investigate. But as it moved again, Sarah’s heart leapt. No animal moved like that.

  “Clay, look!” She unwrapped one arm and pointed toward the house. “There, in front.”

  “Pa!” An instant later, both Clay and Sarah were on the ground, and he was running toward the figure. “Pa! You’re alive!”

  “It’s strange. In all the times I visited, I was never inside the parlor.” Clay wrapped his arm around Sarah’s shoulders as they entered the Lazy B’s ranch house. The long night with its endless explanations was over, and dawn was painting the sky. Though she doubted anyone had managed to sleep, Zach had taken Pa to the Friedrichs.

  Sarah looked at the place that had been the sight of so much terror, the same place that would be her temporary home. Though she would never forget what had happened here tonight, at least Clay and Pa and Thea had no such memories to haunt them. “It was kind of David to offer us his home.”

  “The poor man.” Clay looked around the parlor. “His world has crumbled. I know he blames himself for not realizing his mother was mad.”

  No one had, for Mary had been careful to hide her illness. “What will happen now?”

  “Mary will be put in an asylum. David’s going with her, but he’s not sure he wants to return to Ladreville.” Clay opened the doors to the two first-floor bedrooms. “Pa can have this one. I’ll take the other.”

  Sarah breathed a sigh of relief that she and Thea would sleep upstairs. Those rooms held no memories.

  “David offered to sell me the ranch,” Clay continued. “I refused, but I told him I’d lease it for a year. That’ll give him a chance to think.”

  Sarah nodded her agreement. “A lot can happen in a year.” It had been little more than that since her parents’ deaths.

  “In another year, Jean-Michel will be back from his exile.” Despite Jean-Michel’s claims to the contrary, his father had not excused his crimes. Michel planned to send him to Houston to work for an empresario, declaring that the hard physical labor was what his son needed. He’d further stipulated that Jean-Michel’s wages would be sent back to Ladreville to repay the people he’d robbed.

  As they entered the room where Mary had threatened her, Clay tipped Sarah’s chin up so that she was looking at him. “In another year, we’ll be living in our own home.” As they’d waited for the sun to rise, Clay and Sarah had made plans, plans that included building a new, larger house on the same site his parents had chosen. Though Sarah nodded, she said nothing. “You’re unusually quiet.” Clay sounded worried. “Is something wrong?”

  She shook her head. Though she had dreaded setting foot in this room, now that she was here, she realized it was a room—nothing more. “Nothing’s wrong. I was thinking how much is right.” Sarah looked around, her eyes resting on the carved wooden box that held Austin’s watch. Silently she opened it and handed the watch to Clay.

  As tears glinted in his eyes, he nodded. “We’ll save this for our first son.”

  Sarah nodded. Taking Clay’s hand, she left the room and closed the door behind her. “Did you ever think about God’s plan for us?” When he shook his head, she said, “I didn’t either. But now I see it. At first I didn’t believe Isabelle when she told me God could make all things work for good, but it’s true. If my parents hadn’t died, I would never have come here. I would never have met you.”

  Clay looked at her, his gaze moving from the top of her head to her toes. “If you hadn’t broken your leg, you would not have known how to help Pa. He would have died in the fire.”

  “It’s only Austin’s death that puzzles me. I don’t see how that brought anything good.”

  “It did. It brought you to me. I can’t think of anything more wonderful than having you as my wife.” Clay was silent for a moment, as if he were weighing his words. When he spoke, those words surprised Sarah. “I suspect that’s what Austin had in mind from the beginning.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Clay led her back to the porch. It was only when they were both seated on the swing that he continued. “There are things I haven’t told you about my brother, but tonight has convinced me there should be no secrets between us.” Sarah remembered the night she had said something similar, the night her revelations had helped Clay find his Savior.

  His eyes darkened. “The truth is, Austin wasn’t ready to marry. When Pa was stricken with apoplexy, we both searched for something that would give him a reason to live. We knew how much Pa wanted a grandchild, so it seemed like the answer to Austin’s prayers that Patience was with child. You know what happened.”

  Clay looked into the distance for a moment. “After Patience died and I was in mourning, Austin wouldn’t give up the idea of grandchildren. That’s why he decided to look for a bride. I tried to talk him out of it, but he was adamant.” Clay threaded his fingers through Sarah’s, the warmth of his palm reassuring her, though his expression was solemn. “When he read your first letter, Austin told me you were the woman God meant to be the Canfield bride. I disagreed, but once again he would not be swayed. I didn’t recognize it at the time, but when Austin talked about you, you were always the Canfield bride. It was almost as if he didn’t believe he would marry you, for he never once referred to you as his bride.”

  Sarah shook her head. She couldn’t let Clay believe his brother had had a premonition of his death. “Yes, he did. Austin’s letters called me his bride-to-be.” Though the letters had burned with everything else in the house and cabin, Sarah knew she’d never forget the wonderful words she’d memorized.

  She’d hoped to comfort Clay, but it appeared she’d had the opposite effect. Clay shifted his weight and looked into the distance as if he were seeking an answer. Surprised by his reaction, Sarah saw indecision on his face, then a tightening of his jaw. He took a deep breath before he said, “Austin didn’t write those letters.”

  The words were spoken so softly that for a second Sarah thought she’d imagined them. “Then who . . . ?” Shock turned to certainty. Of course. It was no wonder that so many things Clay had said reminded her of the letters. It was no wonder that when she dreamt of a man inscribing the words that had touched her heart, that man was Clay. “You did.” She looked at the man she loved so dearly. “You wrote them. You’re the man who gave me my paper roses.”

  “I’m also the man who loves you with all his heart.” Though love shone from Clay’s eyes, she also saw regret. “I was wrong. I should have told you sooner. Oh, Sarah, can you forgive me for deceiving you?”

  Sarah leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. “There’s nothing to forgive. Don’t you see, Clay? It was all part of God’s plan.”

  Author’s Letter

  Dear Reader,

  More than any book I’ve written, Paper Roses was a journey. Normally, once I have the idea for a
story, it becomes reality within a year or two. Not so with this one. I started it more than ten years ago. As I think back on all that happened, I’m reminded of the parable of the sower (Matt. 13:3–8). There were definitely thorns along the way, in the form of other books that competed for my attention and choked the seedlings. I suspect some birds consumed the early ideas too. But the biggest problem was that when I first started, I was sowing in shallow ground.

  From the beginning, I knew that Sarah would be a mail-order bride and that Clay was the author of the letters. I even referred to this as my mail-order-bride-meets-Cyranode-Bergerac book. The problem was, as much as I loved that premise, the story didn’t feel right to me. The characters were simply that—characters. They weren’t real people with real problems. They weren’t characters I cared about enough to finish writing the book, and they certainly weren’t characters you would have fallen in love with.

  The change came the summer that a dear friend from college entered the final stages of leukemia. Though we were separated by thousands of miles, that summer brought us closer than we’d ever been. Knowing we had only a few months left together, we spoke of many things. For the first time in the more than thirty-five years we’d known each other, we spoke of what was truly important: faith, love, and hope. In our lighter moments, we spoke of the final gift she had for me. Though she was referring to a piece of French porcelain, what she gave me was of far greater value, for her last months on Earth brought me a stronger faith and the realization that it was time for me to write about God’s love.

  By the end of the summer, I had changed and so had my writing. I’d found the deep soil where seeds could take root and flourish. Sarah and Clay had become real people.

  I hope you enjoyed their story and that, like me, you’re eager to return to Ladreville. The second book in the trilogy will be available in January 2010. As it continues the story of Texas dreams, it will give you a chance to reconnect with old friends like Zach, Isabelle, and Gunther as well as to meet some new people—people whose stories I hope will touch your heart.

  Until we meet again, I send you blessings.

  Amanda Cabot