Tomorrow's Garden

by Amanda Cabot

  Sterling chuckled. “You sound like my father when he and Ma had a row. He’d threaten to leave the farm and never return. The next thing we knew, they were kissing.” As Snip whinnied, almost as if he understood the conversation, Sterling laughed again. “Believe me, when my brothers and I were growing up, we almost preferred the arguments to the kissing. That was mighty embarrassing to young boys.”

  For the first time this morning, Lawrence smiled, recalling portions of his childhood. “I know what you mean. When it happened, my sister used to claim that our parents were mushy. I have to confess that for the longest time, I didn’t understand why she thought they resembled cornmeal mush. All I knew was that I didn’t want to watch any show of affection. I would have headed for the hills if there’d been any near us. As it was, I’d hide in the barn until I thought the mushiness was over.”

  As a breeze rustled the oak leaves, Sterling stared into the distance. “Still, a man reaches a time when he looks at women differently, especially if a special one catches his eye.”

  Lawrence shot his friend an appraising look. It seemed that he wasn’t the only one who was in an odd mood this morning. The tone of Sterling’s voice had changed, humor replaced with something else, something almost wistful. “It sounds as if someone has caught your eye.”

  Sterling nodded but kept his eyes fixed on the grove of trees, as if hoping to spot the mockingbird whose cry filled the air. “I didn’t expect it, but I can’t get her out of my thoughts.”

  Though Lawrence steeled his face to remain expressionless, he understood what Sterling was saying. Thoughts of a certain schoolmarm cropped up when he least expected them, and they refused to be banished, even though the schoolmarm banished him.

  “I didn’t think so at first.” Sterling was still speaking, oblivious to the direction Lawrence’s thoughts had taken. “But now I believe she’d be the perfect helpmeet for me.”

  Lawrence glanced down at Snip to hide his confusion. It appeared this was not a passing fancy or a simple case of infatuation. Sterling sounded serious. “Are you going to tell me who the special lady is?”

  The minister turned back to Lawrence, a broad smile crossing his face. “You might as well know. It’s Miss Kirk.”

  “Harriet?” Lawrence felt the way he had when a bandit had shoved the end of a rifle into his stomach: shocked, sick, and more than slightly foolish. Sterling and Harriet? Lawrence couldn’t picture them together, and yet there was no denying the fatuous look on his friend’s face.

  That look turned to mild horror. “Never! It’s the other Miss Kirk I fancy. Ruth.”

  Lawrence’s heartbeat returned to normal. “The shy one,” he said softly. It was easier—far easier—to imagine Sterling with Ruth. Still, he wondered how such a timid woman would fare as a parson’s wife.

  “She’s only shy until you get to know her.” It seemed that Sterling had read his mind. “Last week she took exception to something in my sermon and didn’t hesitate to tell me.”

  “That sounds like Harriet. She’s pretty plainspoken, at least with me.”

  Though Sterling had once again been staring into the distance, he turned and looked at Lawrence, his expression appraising. “Harriet’s a fine woman, but she’s not the one for me.”

  Perhaps it was Sterling’s expression; perhaps it was the tone of his voice, which had altered ever so slightly. Whatever the reason, Lawrence’s hackles rose. “Don’t look at me like that. Harriet’s not the one for me, either. She practically took my head off because I’d had a glass of whiskey, and she hasn’t spoken to me since. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why.”

  Though Snip tossed his head, as if he shared Lawrence’s frustration, Sterling nodded solemnly. “There’s an easy way to learn what’s bothering her.”

  Surely that wasn’t amusement tingeing Sterling’s words. There was nothing amusing about being ignored by Harriet. Though his first instinct was to demand the information from Sterling, Lawrence forced an amiable tone to his voice. “If you know the secret, I’d be much obliged if you’d share it with me.”

  Sterling shook his head. “It’s more entertaining to watch you squirm.”

  “And I thought you were a man of God.”

  “That doesn’t stop me from enjoying a moment of satisfaction watching a big, tough Ranger felled by a slip of a woman.”

  “Be careful.” Lawrence tightened his grip on the reins. “This big, tough Ranger is thinking about planting his fist on your face.”

  “You’ll have to catch me first.”

  Before Lawrence knew what he intended, Sterling leaned over his horse’s neck, and the two were off, racing toward the pecan tree whose blackened trunk was evidence of a long-ago lightning strike. Sterling had only a second’s advantage, but that was enough to make Lawrence unable to catch him.

  “Congratulations. It appears that you’ve been practicing,” Lawrence said when they were once more riding side by side.

  “I have,” Sterling admitted, “and since you were kind enough not to rearrange my face with your fist, I’ll tell you the secret.” He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly in a deliberate attempt to heighten the suspense. “The secret is . . .” Another pause. “Ask her.”

  “Ask her?”

  Sterling grinned. “It’s simple enough. You open your mouth and words come out. Of course, considering what you’ve told me about Harriet’s mood, you might want to take a peace offering.”

  “What on earth is that?”

  “Some little thing to sweeten her disposition. The mercantile’s bound to have something.” Sterling’s lips twisted into a rueful smile. “Here’s another bit of advice for you. You might want to claim that whatever you buy is for your sister. Otherwise, Ladreville’s grapevine will have you married before you even set foot inside the schoolhouse.”

  “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the little schoolmarm.”

  Harriet spun around so quickly that the chalk fell out of her hand. She’d been writing the next day’s lessons on the board, but the sound of a voice she had never thought to hear again had driven every other thought from her brain.

  “Thomas! What are you doing here?” There was no mistaking either the voice or the deceptively handsome face. Though he was of only medium height, Thomas Bruckner’s dark brown hair and eyes combined with flawlessly formed features made him a man few women could refuse. Why had he sought out the one who had refused him?

  He smiled, his lips curving into an expression most people would have described as cherubic. “I came to see you.” He smiled again and took another step toward her. “What I see is that you’ve changed. You’re more beautiful than ever.”

  Harriet dismissed the compliment, knowing it to be as false as everything Thomas said. “You’re wrong. I haven’t changed, and I can’t imagine why you wasted your time coming here.”

  “Now, Harriet, don’t be hasty. I know we had a misunderstanding when we parted, but . . .”

  “There was no misunderstanding. You asked me to marry you. As I recall, you practically ordered me to marry you. I refused. How could there possibly be a misunderstanding about that?”

  Though his lips stayed curved in a smile, Thomas’s eyes were cold. “Surely you can’t mean to remain here, teaching foreigners’ children when you could be home in Fortune, living a life of ease as my wife.”

  How dare he be so condescending? Harriet straightened her spine and glared at Thomas. “As odd as it may seem to you, remaining here is exactly what I intend to do. This is my home now, and those people you call foreigners are my friends.”

  “But I want to marry you.”

  “I can’t imagine why. You told me I was stubborn and waspish. Why would you want to marry a woman like that?”

  “Because I need . . .” He stopped abruptly, his voice changing subtly as he said, “Because I care about you.”

  She shook her head. “You care about only one thing, and that’s yourself.” As she remembered the rumors of Thomas’s gambling
debts, she added, “If this is about money, once again you’re wrong. There is no money, and even if there were, I would never give it to you. Go back to Fortune and find yourself someone else. I will never, ever marry you.”

  “But you have to.”

  “No, Thomas, I do not.” Harriet pointed at the door. “You’re the one who needs to do something. Leave.”

  “You haven’t seen the last of me.”

  Seconds later, Harriet sank into her chair, her legs weak with relief. It was typical Thomas, insisting on the final word, but at least he was gone.

  He felt silly, carrying a bag of candy in his pocket. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing Harriet would appreciate, but Madame Rousseau had assured him that all women—including his purportedly fussy sister—would enjoy a sweet. So, here he was, feeling distinctly awkward as he opened the door to the schoolhouse.

  “Good afternoon, Harriet,” Lawrence said as he walked through the cloakroom. The best approach, he had decided, was to pretend this was a normal visit, that their last encounter had not occurred.

  She rose. Though her lips pursed in disapproval, it was her eyes that caught his attention. Even the glint of light on her spectacles could not disguise the fear. Was this why she had shunned him? But why would she be afraid of him?

  “I didn’t expect to see you. I thought I made myself clear that night.”

  So much for pretense. It appeared that Harriet had not changed her mind or even softened her attitude. The only good thing Lawrence could say was that she was talking to him. Gentleness wasn’t working; he’d have to take a different approach.

  “I beg to differ,” Lawrence said, his voice as firm as if he were dealing with a hardened criminal. “You might have thought you were clear, but I’m confused.”

  She stopped a foot away from him, her gray eyes cold as she said, “How could you misunderstand something as simple as ‘never’?”

  This was definitely not going the way he had hoped. Perhaps he should have started by offering her the candy. It was too late for that now. Harriet would see the gift for what it was, a ploy to sweeten her disposition.

  “I understood the word,” he admitted, “but I hoped you didn’t mean it.”

  “I did.” Her expression changed, fear once again replacing anger. What was it she feared? But when she spoke, Harriet’s words were defiant. “I choose not to associate with drunkards.”

  Not for the first time, Lawrence wished he’d asked Jake about his sister. He had considered doing exactly that but had hesitated because Jake was his employee, albeit not of his own volition. Somehow, it seemed wrong to presume on that relationship and pump him about Harriet. “That seems reasonable enough,” he said, keeping his voice lower than normal. Who would have thought that his years with the Rangers would help him today? One of the things he’d learned was that a calm, almost soft voice could defuse an angry situation. “I would prefer not to associate with drunkards, either. However, I am not a drunkard.”

  Harriet drew herself up to her full height and glared at him. “How can you deny it? I smelled the whiskey on you.”

  He nodded. There was no point in disputing something she knew to be the truth. Still, he wanted to be certain she understood the situation. “One drink does not make a man a drunkard.”

  “But one drink leads to another.”

  “Not always.” He watched her closely. It hadn’t been his imagination. Harriet was fearful. Though she tried to hide it, the very subject of whiskey made her tremble. Lawrence felt a sense of kinship, for he was no stranger to fear. The way his heart raced each time he crossed a river was proof of that. He softened his voice again as he asked, “Why are you so angry with me?”

  Harriet turned and walked toward the window. The tilt of her head and the slight slump of her shoulders told him she was debating whether or not to answer him. He wouldn’t push. With a woman like Harriet, that would accomplish nothing. Nothing positive, that is.

  At last, she turned to face him, though she remained at the window. “I didn’t want anyone to know.”

  “I can keep secrets,” he said firmly. “Whatever it is, I want to understand. I want to be your friend.” The truth was, there were times when he thought he wanted more than that. Friendship was a way to start, and if it led to courtship . . . well, that wasn’t bad, was it?

  Harriet nodded slowly. “All right, but you must promise never to tell anyone—not even Sterling.”

  When he agreed, she made her way to her desk and sank onto the chair, gesturing to Lawrence to take a seat. It was only when he was settled on the dunce stool that she spoke again.

  “My father was a drunkard.” Though the words were shocking, she pronounced them as if she were reciting nothing more important than a multiplication table. “I don’t know when it started, but I can’t ever remember him not drinking, and it got worse once Ruth was born. After that, it seemed to me whiskey was all he cared about. Mother couldn’t stop him, so she spent her days either sleeping or staring into the distance.” Harriet’s eyes darkened, giving Lawrence an idea of the effort it took to reveal her past to anyone. “I learned early on to take care of myself. I remember going to church one Sunday. I was so proud that I had dressed myself that I didn’t visit my grandparents that morning, and so I hadn’t realized that my shoes didn’t match. The other children laughed at me. Even the parents gave me pitying looks.” She gazed toward the window, obviously composing herself. “I didn’t go back until my grandmother taught me to match shoes and comb my hair.”

  Lawrence’s heart went out to the little girl who’d had such a difficult childhood. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and assure her that no one would ever again hurt her, but he couldn’t make that assurance. No one could. Instead, he sat quietly, watching as this brave woman opened the deepest recesses of her heart.

  “Things worsened when Ruth was born. If it hadn’t been for my grandparents, I don’t know what we would have done. They watched over us at first, but Grandma died when I was eleven. After that, there wasn’t much Grandpa could do. By the time Sam arrived, I was used to being in charge.”

  So much was becoming clear. That was what Jake had meant when he’d said Harriet had acted like his mother even before their parents died. Though she had not borne the children, it appeared that she had had almost total responsibility for them. Poor Harriet!

  “I’m sorry.” The words were inadequate. How could mere words express the feelings that surged through him? This wonderful, prickly woman’s story threatened to bring tears to his eyes. But Lawrence did not cry. Not ever. Not since the day Lizbeth had drowned.

  “It can’t have been easy,” he said. Harriet had been a child raising children. When had she had a chance to be a youngster herself? The answer, Lawrence suspected, was never.

  “It wasn’t easy for anyone,” she said quietly, “but it was worse when our parents died. Whiskey killed them.” Again, her words were matter-of-fact, giving no hint of the emotions that must have accompanied the events she was describing. Was this how she dealt with the past, by insulating herself from it?

  “What happened?”

  “You know they died in a fire. What I didn’t tell you is that Father caused it. We’ll never know how it started, but it seems he was so drunk he didn’t notice the house was on fire, and Mother must have been asleep. When I brought the others home from school, there was nothing left but charred ruins and . . .”

  The way her voice trailed off told Lawrence she had found not just charred wood but her parents’ bodies.

  “Oh, Harriet.” It was no wonder that she feared both fire and drunkenness. She had a good reason. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “There’s nothing to say.” She removed her spectacles and began to polish them.

  Without the spectacles, Harriet looked younger, more vulnerable, reminding Lawrence of the child she had once been. It was then that he remembered the candy. Lawrence pulled the bag from his pocket and handed it to her. “I brought this for yo
u.”

  For a moment the only sound was the loud ticking of the clock on the back wall. Harriet stared at the bag, as if trying to decide whether or not to accept it. When she did, Lawrence exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Her lips quirked into a wry smile as she opened the bag and recognized its contents. “Were you hoping to sweeten my disposition?”

  Though that was the intent, he wouldn’t have phrased it that way. “It was meant to be a peace offering.”

  “Thank you.” Harriet waved the bag under her nose, sniffing deeply. “Lemon drops are my favorite.” Holding out the bag, she offered him one. When he refused, she popped one into her mouth. “Delicious,” she murmured.

  “I’m glad you like them.” It had been a lucky choice. Lawrence watched her enjoying the tart candy. “What would happen if you ate them all this afternoon?” he asked as casually as he could.

  Harriet gave him a wry smile. “I’d have one very sore stomach.”

  He nodded. “Would you blame the candy?”

  “Of course not!” Her tone left no doubt that she considered the question preposterous. “It would be my fault. I should know better than to eat a whole bag of sweets.”

  For the first time since he’d arrived, the conversation was going the way Lawrence had hoped. “I agree. You should know not to eat too much candy, and a man should know not to drink a whole bottle of whiskey.”

  Harriet’s face paled and she jumped to her feet, her eyes once again flashing with anger. “You’re wrong, Lawrence. It’s different. Eating too much candy would hurt only me, but whiskey harms others. Look what it did to my family. Father’s drinking killed him and Mother, and . . .”

  Though she didn’t complete the sentence, Lawrence knew she was thinking of the terrible toll it had taken on her and her siblings. Because her father had been unable to control himself, Harriet’s childhood had been almost unbearably difficult, forcing her to adopt an adult’s role when she was still a youngster.

  “I learned the lesson very early,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion, “and it’s one I’ll never forget. That’s why I cannot trust anyone who drinks.”