Scattered Petals

by Amanda Cabot

  “I’m sorry, Mr. . . . Zach. I should have remembered that Texas is not as formal as Boston. Please call me Priscilla.”

  His smile broadened. “Good night, Priscilla. Sleep well.”

  She did. For the first time, there were no nightmares.

  “I saw Martina’s hand.” It was late the next morning, and the family had returned from church. While Sarah and Thea played with her doll in one corner of the room, Clay took a seat across the table from Priscilla as they all waited for Martina to prepare dinner. “I’ve never seen a burn heal so well.”

  Priscilla nodded. “Papa was excited when he discovered the value of using cold water instead of butter or lard. That was one of the things he wanted to discuss with you while he was here.” As she pronounced the words, Priscilla realized that the pain that accompanied every mention of her parents had lost its sharp edge. For the first time, she’d spoken of her father without triggering the anguish of knowing she’d contributed to his death and the horrible, aching sense of emptiness that his and Mama’s absence brought. She took a deep breath, trying to understand what had happened. A second later Priscilla shook herself mentally. Whether it was caused by the realization that she retained sweet memories or by the comfort Zach had tried to provide didn’t matter. What was important was that the healing had begun.

  Oblivious to her thoughts, Clay winked. “Next thing I know, you’ll be taking over my practice.”

  Priscilla shook her head. Though becoming a physician had once been her dream, she no longer dared to dream so boldly. “I don’t think so.”

  Clay nodded. “I could use an assistant, but the truth is, I doubt Ladreville is ready for a lady doctor. The townspeople are still trying to overcome centuries of mistrust between the French and the Germans. I don’t know what they’d do if I brought you with me.”

  That was the argument her father had used when she’d spoken of her aspirations. Priscilla managed a smile. “They’d probably run in the other direction.”

  Clay nodded. “They might.” As the aroma of roast chicken wafted in from the kitchen, announcing that dinner would soon be ready, he reached into his pocket. “The reason I asked to talk to you wasn’t just to discuss Martina’s burn. I want you to have this.”

  When he opened his hand, tears welled in Priscilla’s eyes. Clay was offering her the filigree locket that had once been her sister’s. “Are you certain?”

  Clay nodded. Rather than hand it to her, he placed the locket on the table and let Priscilla pick it up. She blinked back tears at the realization that he was ensuring he did not touch her.

  “It’s yours, Priscilla,” Clay said. “I had planned to return it when I sent back Patience’s fancy dresses, but it was missing for a while.”

  The tone of his voice told Priscilla there was a story about the misplaced locket, but the expression in his eyes warned her not to ask. “I don’t know how to thank you.” She cupped her hand, enjoying the sensation of the metal warming in it. “This is more than a pretty piece of jewelry to me. I feel as if you’ve given me part of my family.” Priscilla looked up at Clay. “Patience probably told you that our parents gave us each a locket on our eighteenth birthday. Hers was oval, mine heart-shaped. What made them special was that Mama and Papa put their pictures on one side, ours on the other.” Priscilla fingered the delicate filigree, remembering how Patience had claimed that her locket was more beautiful than Priscilla’s. It had been Mama who had soothed Priscilla by declaring she had always wanted a heart-shaped pendant. “You know the bandits took all of our jewelry. It may sound strange to you, Clay, but I regret the loss of the miniatures more than the locket itself. And now you’ve given them back to me.” Her hands trembling slightly, Priscilla opened the locket. “They’re gone.”

  “I’m sorry, but I didn’t look inside.” Clay shook his head, as if regretting his omission. “I don’t know where the pictures are. If I had to guess, I would say they were destroyed. Again, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Though he had given her none of the details about the time the locket had been missing, Priscilla knew that Clay was not responsible for the loss of the miniatures. “I’m happy just to have this,” she said, sliding her sister’s remaining piece of jewelry into her pocket. As beautiful as it was, Priscilla would never wear it. Like the potpourri that had provided so much comfort as a child, it would be enough to touch it occasionally.

  Clay rose and walked to the window, then returned to his chair. If she hadn’t known that he was not a man given to nerves, Priscilla would have thought he was nervous. He cleared his throat, another uncharacteristic action, before he said, “I don’t want you to think I’m rushing you, but I want you to know that whenever you decide you’re ready to return to Boston, I’ll accompany you. You don’t need to fear traveling alone.”

  For a moment Priscilla was so startled by the notion of traveling East that she could only stare at her former brother-in-law. “That’s a very generous offer, Clay,” she said when she could once again form words. And it was, for the trip would take him away from Ladreville and his patients for far too long. “Thank you, but I won’t be returning to Boston.” As odd as it would probably seem to Clay, until he had raised the subject, Priscilla had not thought of going back to Massachusetts. She had been living her life one hour at a time, not thinking beyond the next. But the decision, though it might appear hasty, felt right to her.

  Clay’s eyes widened with surprise. “What will you do?”

  “Ask my father’s attorney to sell the house and do whatever is necessary to turn the practice over to Papa’s assistant.” The words came out with confidence, as if she’d always known them.

  “Will you stay in Ladreville?”

  For the first time since Clay had initiated the conversation, Priscilla faltered. “I’m not sure.” It would be difficult, living here where everyone knew what had happened to her. Perhaps she should make a clean break and move somewhere else. The question was, where. “I don’t know. All I know is there’s nothing for me in Boston.”

  Clay nodded slowly. “Sarah felt the same way when she came here.” But, unlike Sarah, who had been destitute when she arrived, Priscilla would have no financial worries. The sale of her parents’ home and possessions would provide enough money for her to live comfortably for the rest of her life.

  “This is your home for as long as you want to stay.” Clay gestured around the spacious house. “You know we have plenty of room for you here, but if you’d prefer a house of your own, we can build one.” He rose and looked out the window again, as if considering a site. “There used to be a cabin out there. We could rebuild it.”

  Once again, he was overwhelming her with his generosity. Though Zach had claimed that she was family, the ties no longer existed now that Patience was gone. Yet Clay was treating her like a true sister, not merely a former sister-by-marriage. “That’s very kind of you. I would like to stay here a while longer.” Once again the decision felt right. “Some days my thoughts whirl faster than a cyclone, and I can’t make sense of any of them.” It was not a comfortable feeling. “I’d like to stay until I feel more like myself.”

  Clay settled back into the chair opposite her. “That’s a common reaction. I’m telling you that as a physician, not just a friend,” he said with a small smile. “Even though you’re not a patient, I’ll give you the same advice I give them. Don’t try to force yourself to make a decision. Give yourself time.”

  “What do you want?”

  Gunther Lehman practically snarled the words. The tall, blond man was in a foul mood. Zach had known it from the minute he set foot inside the mill and saw the miller stomping the floor as if his feet were meant to crush the grain.

  “I have some rye to be ground, but I’ll come back later.” Much later, when he’d given Gunther’s mood a chance to improve. Normally the miller was even-tempered, more given to joking than grousing, but today, it appeared, was not a normal day.

  “Hand it over. You’re
here, aren’t you? You might as well stay.”

  Though Zach could think of far more pleasant things to do, he surrendered the sack of rye, watching while Gunther poured it into the hopper, his movements uncharacteristically jerky. “You might as well spit it out,” Zach told the man who’d become his friend.

  “What are you talking about?” When that friend wheeled around, he looked decidedly unfriendly with his face flushed, his fists clenched as if he intended to punch someone.

  Zach hoped he wasn’t that someone. “Whatever’s sticking in your craw,” he said in his most conciliatory tone. “Something’s got you madder than a scalded boar.”

  Gunther ran a hand through his hair. Judging from the spikes, Zach guessed this was not the first time he’d done that. “A man’s got a job to do. You’d think the others would help.”

  “You’re looking for a helper?” Gunther hadn’t mentioned being overworked, and the mill didn’t appear busy.

  “Nein. The mill is easy. Everything’s easy compared to raising a child.”

  So that was the problem: Gunther’s daughter. The miller had been raising Eva alone since his wife had died in childbirth a few years earlier. Unwilling to offer advice when he had no experience with children, Zach kept his mouth shut. Eventually when the silence grew uncomfortable, he asked, “Is something wrong with Eva?”

  “Herr Kaltheimer sent Olga to Fredericksburg to live with his brother,” Gunther said as if that explained his dilemma. “He claims they need her to help with the new baby. Bah! The truth is, he doesn’t want her to marry me.”

  Gunther’s words were starting to make sense. Like everyone else in Ladreville, Zach knew the widower was looking for a new mother for his daughter and that Olga was the latest candidate for that position. If Olga had been sent away, Gunther’s plan would have hit a snag or perhaps an impenetrable barrier. The question was, why? Zach had heard of no problem. Instead, the rumor mill had been speculating on the date of Gunther and Olga’s nuptials.

  “Did you talk to Herr Kaltheimer before you started courting his daughter?” Though Gunther was not an impetuous man, he had started courting Olga soon after Sarah had refused him. Perhaps he’d been so eager that he’d neglected important formalities.

  “Ja. I’m not a Dummkopf. He agreed then, but now he says I have to wait, that Olga’s too young to marry.” Gunther raked his fingers through his hair again. “I don’t understand. I know Herr Kaltheimer wouldn’t want his daughter to marry a Frenchman, but I’m German. What could the problem be? Eva’s a good girl, and I’m a good provider. It’s true I work long hours, but Olga would have a fine house. She could order anything she wanted from the mercantile.”

  As he pronounced the last word, Gunther flushed and turned his back, as if he didn’t want anyone to read his expression. How strange. But then, this whole conversation was strange. Though Zach was hardly an expert on matrimony, he couldn’t help noting that Gunther made marriage sound like a business arrangement. Unlike Clay and Sarah, who were visibly in love with each other, not once had Gunther mentioned his feelings toward Olga Kaltheimer or hers toward him. It appeared that he wanted to continue the Old Country tradition of marrying for economic or other practical reasons rather than love.

  “I don’t see that you have any choice,” Zach said at last. “You’ll have to wait until Herr Kaltheimer gives his approval.”

  “That’s the problem. I can’t afford to wait. Eva needs a mother now.” Gunther scooped the rye flour into a sack and handed it to Zach. “It’s not right for a child to be raised by only one parent.”

  Zach frowned as he counted out the coins for the miller. Thanks to him, it was possible that two children had no father and that two women were raising their children alone. He couldn’t dwell on that, for the past could not be changed. What mattered now was the future. It might not be much, but Zach had resolved he would do what he could to ensure that he caused no more pain. If that meant leaving Ladreville and a life he enjoyed so that Miss Morton could live in peace, so be it.

  Forcing his lips into a smile, Zach mounted Charcoal and rode into town, intending to stop at the post office. With the wedding less than a month away, Sarah and Clay received parcels almost every day, some of them too large for Sarah to carry. That was why Zach checked the post office frequently. That and the fact that it gave him an excuse to wander through the town that had come to feel like home.

  He was looping the reins around a post when Michel Ladre emerged from his house. Though the mayor took pride in the fact that he owned the largest and most elaborate house in town, centrally located between the town’s attorney and the post office and across the street from Ladreville’s two churches, today his jaunty, almost arrogant step was missing. Judging from Michel’s slumped shoulders, his day was not going any better than Gunther’s.

  “Good morning, Mayor.” Zach knew that the man who’d founded the town responded well when addressed formally. Perhaps a reminder of his position would improve his mood. Michel hadn’t seemed this despondent the night Zach had brought his son home with proof of his crimes. Though Jean-Michel had screamed obscenities and vowed revenge, Michel had been oddly silent that night, almost as if he had expected the revelation of his son’s perfidy. Today was different. Today the mayor appeared to be carrying a heavy burden. His dark hair seemed to have sprouted more gray strands almost overnight, and his brown eyes were dull with pain.

  “Name one thing that’s good about it.” Michel’s scowl told Zach it would take more than a friendly greeting to please him.

  “The country’s elected a new president, and I got my rye ground.” Zach accompanied his words with a playful grin. He knew Michel had backed James Buchanan in his campaign against Californian John Frémont and former President Millard Fillmore and had expected him to be pleased with the results of the voting.

  The mayor was not impressed. “You’re a lucky man if that makes you happy. I need more than that.” He glared at Zach, as if whatever was wrong was his fault. “Women! If you ask me, the world would be an easier place if God hadn’t made Eve.”

  Though there were times when Zach might have agreed, telling Michel that would accomplish nothing. Instead he kept his tone light. “It sure would be lonelier.”

  “Perhaps, but today I’d take loneliness over problems.” Michel thrust his hands into his pockets as he said, “I should never have agreed to build that school.”

  Zach frowned at the apparent non sequitur as he tried to find a connection between women, Michel, and the school. “What’s the problem? Everyone thinks the school is good for the community.” Though the French and German immigrants agreed on very few things, it appeared that the school pleased both groups.

  “The school needs a teacher.” Michel gave Zach a look that seemed to say only an idiot would not realize that. “Once Sarah marries, she can no longer teach.”

  Zach was starting to understand the problem. The mayor had supported the idea of a school. In fact, he had claimed it as his own inspiration. If the school closed for lack of a teacher, he would lose face. “I thought Olga Kaltheimer wanted to replace Sarah.”

  “So did I. But then Gunther got it into his head to marry her.” Michel looked both ways, as if ensuring that no one was close enough to overhear his next words. “What’s a man to do? I couldn’t let that happen, because then I’d be in the same pickle I am now, so I talked to Olga’s father.” Zach understood the mayor’s desire for secrecy. If Gunther learned this part of the story, fists might fly.

  “Herr Kaltheimer said he’d take care of the problem,” Michel continued, “but what does he do? Does he simply forbid her to marry Gunther? No. He sends her away. I ask you, Zach, how does that solve my problem? At the end of this month, Ladreville will no longer have a teacher. What do I tell the townspeople? They expect me to find answers.”

  There was one solution, but Zach suspected Michel wouldn’t like it. “You could let Sarah continue teaching.”

  “Nonsense!” The mayor’s
reaction was the one Zach had expected. “Everyone knows a married woman’s place is at home. Even my wife knows that,” he muttered. “Her problem is she thinks our home ought to be somewhere other than Ladreville.”

  Zach whistled softly, suspecting that marital discord, not the school dilemma, was the root cause of Michel’s ill humor this morning. “This is your town. You founded it. You’re the mayor, the sheriff, and the arbiter of most disputes. I’m not saying this to flatter you, Michel, but you’re the one indispensable person in Ladreville.” Although Zach knew the man craved flattery the way Charcoal did sugar lumps, that was the simple truth.

  Michel’s scowl faded for an instant, then reappeared. “Jeannette says it’s time for us to leave. She claims I spend too much time on the town’s business and not enough with her.”

  Judging from everything he’d heard, Zach couldn’t contradict that opinion. There was, however, no point in further riling the mayor. “As a bachelor, I can’t claim to know anything about wives, but I might be able to help with the school.”

  “Are you proposing to teach?”

  Zach grinned. The idea was preposterous, and he suspected Michel knew it. “Afraid not. About all I know is horses and ranching. But I also know that Ladreville is a progressive town.” As Zach had hoped, Michel’s eyes lit with interest, and he straightened his shoulders. “We’ve got French and Germans living and working together. If that’s not progressive, I don’t know what is.” Michel nodded, a monarch accepting his tribute. “Why couldn’t the town’s mayor step outside tradition to make his home a better place? It would take a courageous man, but you’ve already proven you’re exactly that.” Judicious flattery, Zach told himself, had a place.

  “What are you proposing?”

  Zach raised his hat to greet two women as they emerged from the post office. He wouldn’t venture his proposal until they were out of earshot. When the women were safely inside the mercantile, he turned back to Michel. “I think you should let Sarah continue to teach until summer. That way the children won’t suffer, and you would have time to advertise for a new schoolmarm.” He gave Michel an appraising look. “I know it’s unconventional, but it would be a bold step, one that the rest of Texas would notice.”