by Amanda Cabot
As she plodded down Hochstrasse toward the miller’s small house, she realized she should have come sooner. The last time she had been here was before “the night,” as Harriet referred to Jake’s imprisonment. The weeks had passed more quickly than she had expected. Although she had not thought it possible, her brother seemed to have settled into life behind bars. There’d been no more talk of hating her and Karl. Instead, seemingly chastened, Jake had told Harriet he knew he’d done wrong and had agreed to apologize to Karl and his parents. Though the scene had been awkward, with Frau Friedrich keeping a tight grip on her son’s arm as if she feared he would try to break into the cell and pummel Jake, Karl had accepted the apology and had resumed his visits to the Kirk house.
He came almost every evening, occasionally bringing his mother. The visits verged on boring, for he spoke of things as mundane as the weather and the crops he planned to plant. The one topic Karl studiously avoided was Jake. That was fine with Harriet. She had no need to relive the embarrassment of seeing her brother in jail, of knowing that the town was talking about him and that several parents had questioned her ability to teach their children. That echo of life in Fortune was painful enough without resurrecting it during Karl’s visits.
Harriet still wasn’t certain why he came so often. Despite Ruth’s comments and Jake’s concerns, she did not believe Karl was courting her. He said nothing that could be construed as personal, but the fact that Karl, who had good reason to shun the Kirk family, did not had not gone unnoticed by the town’s grapevine. It was, Harriet suspected, the primary reason she had not faced more disapproval, and for that reason she did not discourage Karl’s visits.
The biggest surprise was Daniel and Sam. Though their initial reaction had made Harriet fear they would lionize their brother’s exploits, they had not. Instead, when they had realized that Jake could not leave the cell to roll a hoop down the street, that he had no toys to while away the day, and that friends were not permitted to visit, they had both become unusually docile, declaring they would not misbehave, because they feared winding up in jail. If that continued, at least one good thing would have resulted from Jake’s incarceration.
And, Harriet reminded herself, today’s rain meant spring was approaching. Spring had always been her favorite season, a time for delighting in the smell of new grass, the chirps and twitters of baby birds, and the sight of bluebonnets carpeting the countryside. She ought to be happy, and yet she wasn’t. Though she could blame it on Jake, her brother’s absence was not the cause of Harriet’s malaise. As much as it pained her to admit it, the problem was Lawrence. She missed his visits to the schoolhouse, their arguments over books, the quiet comfort of walking down the street, her hand on his arm. She missed him—the old Lawrence. But that Lawrence was gone forever. In his place was the stern stranger who insisted that Jake remain in jail. Now that Harriet no longer had Lawrence’s visits to look forward to, her days felt gray, even when the Texas sky was its normal faultless blue.
Harriet collapsed her umbrella as Isabelle ushered her into the house with a warm smile. This was what she needed, time with her friend.
“I’m glad you came.” As they took seats at the kitchen table, Isabelle laid her hand on her stomach. “It’s difficult for me to get out much. Gunther insists I stay inside when it rains.” She wrinkled her nose. “He’s worried that I’ll slip and fall. And then there are the babies. They seem to take turns sleeping so I can’t ever rest.”
Though the complaints might be valid, Isabelle did not appear to be suffering. “You look wonderful,” Harriet told her. “Your face is glowing, and your eyes—I’ve seen stars that sparkle less.”
“Maybe so, but I’ll be glad when I can hold the little darlings in my arms.” Isabelle poured a cup of coffee for Harriet, her eyes darkening as she handed it to her. “If I’m overstepping, blame it on friendship, but no one would say you were glowing. What’s wrong?”
Harriet debated what to say. She wanted to talk about Lawrence, about the hole their estrangement left in her life, but at the same time she didn’t want anyone to know how foolish she had been, believing that the kind, thoughtful Lawrence was the real one. She settled for saying, “It’s the rain. I never did like rainy days.” That was not a lie. Soggy skirts and boots were no fun, and the mud the younger children invariably dragged into the house only added to her dislike of precipitation.
Isabelle set her cup down and stared at Harriet, her expression filled with skepticism. “I think it’s more than that.”
That was the problem with friends. They saw too much. Harriet wouldn’t mention Lawrence, but she could ask Isabelle about Jake. More than anyone in Ladreville, Isabelle knew what it was like to have a brother in trouble. “I’m concerned about Jake,” Harriet admitted. “You may have heard that the judge is scheduled to be here next week. I suppose you’ll tell me that worrying doesn’t accomplish anything, but I wish I knew what kind of sentence he’ll impose.”
“Isabelle, everything’s fine,” Gunther’s voice boomed as he opened the door. “The dam will hold.” He shook the rain from his clothes, then turned, his face reddening when he saw Harriet.
“Entschuldigen Sie mich.” It was a measure of his embarrassment that he had reverted to his native German. “Excuse me, Harriet. I didn’t realize Isabelle had a visitor.”
“My husband worries about everything,” Isabelle said with a fond smile for Gunther. “Every day he worries about me, about our babies. Today he’s added the dam, which is perfectly fine, as are the babies and I.” She shook her finger at Gunther in playful reproof. “I told you there was no cause to worry, didn’t I?”
“You were right,” he admitted. “I just wanted you to know. Now I’ll leave you alone.”
When Gunther returned to the mill, Isabelle smiled. “Even if he does worry, I love him dearly.”
And Gunther loved her. Even a blind man would have known that, simply from the way Gunther’s voice changed when he spoke to or about his wife. It was difficult to believe he’d courted two other women, including Olga Kaltheimer.
“You need to find a man like Gunther,” Isabelle said, placing her hand on her midsection, “someone who will love you, even when you’re as big as the mill.”
As Lawrence’s image flashed before her, Harriet frowned. “I’m more worried about Jake and what the judge will say.”
The twinkle in her eyes said Isabelle recognized Harriet’s deliberate change of subject and was amused by it. “I can’t imagine that the punishment will be serious. Maman heard some of the townspeople say they’d testify on Jake’s behalf.”
What? Harriet swallowed her coffee so quickly that she began to choke. “Truly?” she asked when she could breathe again. She hadn’t been able to ignore the speculative looks she received each time she entered a public building. Church services were the worst. It might have been her imagination, but she felt as if disapproving eyes were boring into her back throughout the sermon.
“Don’t misunderstand.” Isabelle’s brown eyes sobered. “Everyone believes that what Jake did was very wrong, but they think he’s paid for his crime. A month in jail when you’re Jake’s age is an eternity.”
“It feels like that to me too.” Only a month, but it seemed much longer since her life had changed. While it had once been filled with anticipation, now it seemed empty, devoid of Jake and Lawrence.
“It will get better. I know it.” Isabelle reached across the table and laid her hand on Harriet’s, squeezing it slightly.
“I wish I shared your optimism.”
Lawrence stared at the papers on his desk, laying the judge’s telegram on top, trying to ignore the fact that he had a prisoner in his jail. He would be thankful when the judge arrived and he could put the whole incident behind him. Things certainly hadn’t turned out the way he’d expected. Instead of telling Harriet he loved her and wanted to court her, Lawrence had wound up angering her.
He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the desk. From
Harriet’s reaction, it appeared that he’d done more than anger her. Though he’d been too tired to recognize it at the time, there had been fear on her face—stark, undeniable terror. It was only afterward, when he’d replayed the scene for what seemed like the hundredth time, that he’d realized what he had seen. If he’d been less tired and frustrated and more aware, he might have acted differently. He couldn’t have agreed not to jail Jake, but he might have provided Harriet with some reassurance.
As it was, no matter what Lawrence wished, it appeared he could not undo the damage. Harriet refused to listen to him. This was worse than the time she’d seen him leaving the saloon. Then she treated him like a stranger. Now it was as if he’d become invisible. When they were together, she somehow managed to look right through him, even though her eyes reflected so much pain that he knew her fears had not subsided.
“She’s afraid we’ll be separated,” Jake said one day when Harriet had left. Though Lawrence had asked no questions, not wanting to take advantage of Jake’s vulnerability, the boy had begun speaking of his family. “I wasn’t supposed to be listening,” Jake admitted, “but I heard her and Ruth talking one day. It seems when our parents died, folks in Fortune thought she was too young to care for us. They were going to send each of us to a different family. Harriet must have fought like a cat to stop that.” Jake frowned. “And then there was Thomas.” Lawrence was tempted to smile at the way Jake spat the name. It appeared he and Harriet’s brother shared at least one thing: contempt for Thomas Bruckner.
“Thomas wanted to marry her,” Jake said, “but he didn’t want us. He said Ruth was old enough to be in charge. Harriet didn’t like that.”
And now she probably feared that the judge would send Jake away. It was in the man’s power. Lawrence knew that, just as he knew he couldn’t let it happen. Fortunately, his word as Ladreville’s sheriff and a former Ranger would hold weight in the sentence, as would the private, informal conversation he planned to have with the judge. One way or another, Lawrence would ensure that the Kirk family remained together. Then he’d do what he could to rebuild Harriet’s trust in him.
“What do you think the judge will say?” Jake asked when Lawrence brought him his midday meal.
“I don’t know.” Lawrence knew what Jake wanted him to say, but he could guarantee nothing. Drawing up a stool, he reached for his own plate. Other sheriffs might frown on it, but he’d taken to eating one meal a day with his prisoner. For a boy Jake’s age to be kept in what was close to solitary confinement had to be difficult. Lawrence would not release him, but there was no statute against a lawman eating with his prisoner, especially when the prisoner had begun to evidence remorse.
As painful as it had been for Jake, it appeared that the stay in jail had changed him. Gone were the defiance and sullen mien. At his own request, Jake spent an hour each day with Sterling, reading the Bible and praying. Though it might have been a ploy for mercy, Sterling believed the changes he and Lawrence observed were real. While it was true that Jake’s feelings toward Karl hadn’t softened, the way he acted on those feelings had.
“I wish I hadn’t done it.” Jake shoveled the stew into his mouth as if he were starving, when it had been only a few hours since he’d eaten a hearty breakfast. “I caused everyone a lot of pain. Harriet, Karl, you.”
Lawrence chewed carefully as he tried to find the right words. Though Jake had admitted his wrongdoing and apologized to Karl, this was the first time he’d recognized the pain he had inflicted. It was a major step forward. Sterling would claim that God was softening Jake’s heart.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it, how one act affects so many and how even the simplest thing can have unplanned repercussions?” Lawrence asked as casually as he could. “My mother used to warn my sister and me to be careful what we said and did. She claimed it was like casting a stone into water. The ripples spread across the pond. They even touch the shores.”
Jake’s eyes darkened. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“I know.”
“Miss Kirk! Miss Kirk! You’ve gotta come.” Eva burst through the door to the makeshift classroom, her face red with exertion and excitement. Every day since school had moved to the French church hall, she had been the last to arrive back from the midday recess. Though Harriet suspected she knew what delayed Eva, today was her first confirmation. “The garden’s sprouted.”
Harriet smiled at the knowledge that Eva was inspecting the garden each day. Though she had expected that the rain earlier in the week would hasten the flowers’ emergence, Harriet hadn’t thought it would be so soon. Today was supposed to be Texas history day, but looking at the children’s faces, she knew there was no point in trying to teach this afternoon. All thoughts would be on the germinating seeds.
“All right, children. Let’s go to the garden.”
“Yeah!” The pupils leapt to their feet.
“It’s a miracle.” Marie Seurat stared at the tiny shoots. “They were dead, and now they’re growing.”
“They weren’t really dead,” Harriet explained. “They were dormant.” When the children gave her puzzled looks, she added, “That means sleeping. Now they’re awake.”
Marie shook her head vehemently. “I still think it’s a miracle.”
What was a miracle was the judge’s decision a week later. When he heard all the evidence, he declared that Jake had spent enough time in jail and that no further punishment was necessary other than restitution. Now Jake was home again, sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for supper as if nothing had happened. But it had, and the younger children stared at him, as if searching for visible signs of his incarceration.
“Are you coming back to school?”
Though Mary posed the question, Jake looked at Harriet before he answered. “I still have work to do,” he reminded her. “I need to finish paying for the buggy seats. And then there’s the barn. I haven’t told the Friedrichs, but I want to paint it when I’ve paid for the damages.”
Harriet wanted to shout with joy at the realization that one of her prayers had been answered. Jake had changed. The judge had not stipulated anything more than payment for the damage done to the barn, but Jake was volunteering to do more. Her brother was growing up.
Keeping her face as neutral as she could, Harriet said, “You can do lessons at night.”
Jake wrinkled his nose. “Aw, Harriet.”
Some things would never change.
Karl looked different tonight. It wasn’t simply the fresh haircut or the carefully trimmed beard. Though normally relaxed, tonight he appeared almost ill at ease. Harriet wondered if that was because he knew that Jake was in the house. Karl alone of the people who had stood in Lawrence’s office as the judge made his decision had appeared unhappy. Though she suspected his spirits—and perhaps his opinion of Jake—would rise if he knew that her brother planned to do more than replace the contents of the barn, she would say nothing. When and how Karl learned that was up to her brother.
“Sit down, Karl.” Harriet motioned him to one of the comfortable chairs, hoping that would ease whatever was bothering him. As usual, as soon as he had knocked on the door, the rest of the family had left. Ruth remained in the far corner of the parlor for propriety’s sake, but the younger children fled upstairs.
Karl looked around, as if assuring himself that they would not be overheard, but instead of relaxing, he gripped the chair arms for a moment, then leaned forward slightly, clasping his hands around one knee. It was a gesture Harriet had never seen him make. Something was different, decidedly different, tonight.
“You must know that I admire you,” Karl said, looking directly at her, his light blue eyes shining with conviction. “You’re a strong woman, Harriet. The way you raised your siblings tells me you would be a fine mother. Mutter says you’re a fast learner and could be a good cook.”
Harriet tried not to frown. Though she hadn’t really believed Karl was courting her, his behavior tonight made her wonder if that was the case.
But what a strange way to start. Why, it sounded as if he were evaluating her the way he would a hog or a cow he was considering purchasing. Surely that was not the prelude to a declaration of tender feelings. Though Harriet had no way of reading what was inside his heart, Karl’s words were not those of a man who cared deeply, and his voice held none of the warmth Gunther’s betrayed when he spoke to Isabelle. Harriet was mistaken. She must be.
Karl cleared his throat, then stroked his beard in his habitual gesture. “What I’m trying to say is, I believe we’re suited to each other. Will you be my wife?”
For a second Harriet could not speak. Once again she had been wrong. Karl was courting her, and now she had to refuse him. If only she’d paid more attention to Ruth and Isabelle, she might have prevented this.
No! she wanted to shriek. I will not marry you. But a blunt refusal would hurt Karl’s feelings. As she recalled the kindness his family had shown her, Harriet knew she could not hurt Karl. Somehow she had to find a way to preserve his dignity. “I’m sorry, Karl,” she said at last. “I’m not ready to marry.”
The frown that crossed his face said he hadn’t expected her refusal. “Why not?”
So many reasons. I don’t love you. You don’t love me. We’re too different to get along together. I have responsibilities to my family. The determination in Karl’s eyes told Harriet he would argue, no matter which of those excuses she cited, and so she seized on the one he could not dispute. “I need to finish my contract.”
“Olga Kaltheimer would take over.”
How often would she be wrong? Karl could dispute even that reason. “I made a commitment to finish this year,” she said, “and I plan to honor that. Besides, I’d like to teach at least one year in the new school.” It would be her school, just as the first one had been Sarah’s.