Scattered Petals

by Amanda Cabot

  Jean-Michel nodded as he took another spoonful of beans. They weren’t fancy food like his mother made, but they were a sight better than rock-hard biscuits and jerked beef. “Where are you headed next?” While he’d chewed the morsels of pork, Jean-Michel had looked at the peddler’s wagon. Unless he was mistaken, a peddler—or at least this one—earned a good living.

  Luck was definitely with him.

  Zach waited an hour before he approached Priscilla. He wasn’t certain whether she’d seen him and Clay talking, and he didn’t want her to think he’d been coerced, or even persuaded, to make his offer. Besides, he’d needed time to outline his strategy. “There’s still some sunlight left,” he said when he found her sitting with Clay’s father in the main room. Robert had dozed and Priscilla held a book, though the fact that she had turned no pages in the minutes he’d watched her told Zach she wasn’t reading. She was so beautiful, so innocent, and so very sad. Marriage might not have been his plan, but Zach did not regret the decision he’d made, for it was the only way he knew to help Priscilla.

  “Would you like to go for a ride?” Riding was one of the things she enjoyed. It was also something that relaxed her, and today of all days, Priscilla needed to relax.

  “I’m not feeling too well.”

  Though she was unnaturally pale, he wouldn’t make the mistake of telling her that. “All the more reason to go. Dr. Zach is convinced of the therapeutic effect of contact with members of the equine family, preferably contact achieved by mounting one.”

  As he’d hoped, his deliberately pompous tone made Priscilla smile. “Far be it from me to dispute Dr. Zach’s wisdom.”

  A quarter of an hour later, they were headed away from the house with Zach leading the way toward their destination: a small grove of trees near an equally small pond. He slowed his horse and gestured toward the pond. “Would you like to walk a bit?” Before she could demur, he added, “That rock is big enough that you could use it for mounting.” He’d seen the way she shied from contact with men and knew she would refuse to leave the horse unless she could remount without assistance. The rock was one of the reasons he’d chosen this particular spot.

  “All right.” When they reached the pond, Priscilla dipped her hand into the water, then pulled it out and shook it vigorously. “It’s cold.”

  “That’s what you get when you’re two days away from January. That’s our coldest month.” Zach took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he mustered his courage. It was time to begin. “I didn’t bring you here to talk about the weather.” Priscilla raised an eyebrow. “I heard about your situation.” He would not refer to it as a problem, for that would only distress her. It was bad enough that what he’d said so far had caused her to blanch. “I’d like to help you, Priscilla. I don’t imagine this is the way you thought it would be, but if you’re willing, I would be honored to have you as my wife.”

  Zach hadn’t thought her pallor could increase, but it did. “You want to marry me?” She took a step backward, as if she felt the need to distance herself from him.

  “I want to protect you and your baby.” He wouldn’t claim that this was an ordinary proposal of marriage, for it was not. “As I see it, the best way—perhaps the only way—to do that is for me to marry you and be a father to your child.” Priscilla backed up until she was touching one of the trees. This was not going the way he’d expected. He had thought she would either agree or refuse. He hadn’t expected the palpable fear now etched on her face. Zach wished he knew whether the fear was caused by the thought of marriage or of marriage to him.

  “I know you must have had scores of beaux in Boston, people of your social standing. I’m sure that when you imagined marrying, it was to one of them, not an uneducated ranch foreman.” Zach wasn’t going to pretend that he was the ideal husband. Though he wanted to believe he’d matured since he left Haven, the simple fact was, he knew nothing about being married. What he did know was that Priscilla needed the protection a wedding ring would provide. “I’m sure you have other suitors. The problem is, all those men are in Boston. They can’t help you. I’m here, and I can. So, yes, I want to marry you.”

  Priscilla took another step backward, stopping only when she bumped into a tree. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say yes.”

  Her eyes darkened, and she gripped the tree trunk as if for support. “I can’t. I can’t marry you or anyone.”

  Though the fear he’d seen on her face had turned to terror, Zach felt relief flow through him. It was marriage she feared, not him. That made sense. If she feared the simple touch of a man’s hand, how terrifying must the thought of marriage and all it entailed be? “You don’t need to worry.” He kept his voice low and soft, the same tone he used when taming a wild horse. “The marriage is to protect you. It will be a marriage in name only.”

  For the first time he saw a glimmer of hope in Priscilla’s eyes. “You mean . . . ? You wouldn’t . . . ?”

  Zach wasn’t sure whether to nod or shake his head. Instead, he kept it steady as he said, “It’s true we’ll share a house, but you’ll have your own room. I promise I will not insist on my marital rights.”

  “House?” She grasped at what Zach believed to be the least important part of his declaration. “Where would we live?”

  That was one of the things he had considered during the hour he’d spent planning this moment. “For the time being, at the Lazy B.” In case she didn’t recognize the name, Zach explained that that was the neighboring ranch Clay had taken over when its owners left Ladreville. “Clay keeps saying it’s a shame that the house is empty, so I know he’d agree that we could live there. You’d have your own house and privacy.”

  He could see that Priscilla was considering the idea. When she spoke, he heard wonder in her voice. “It’s a generous offer, Zach. I don’t know how to thank you for making it.” She managed a small smile. “I understand what I’d gain, but what about you? You said you were planning to leave Ladreville, that you never stayed anywhere for too long. Why would you want to saddle yourself with another man’s child and a wife who isn’t a true wife? What would you be getting?”

  Though he hadn’t expected the question, Zach had no trouble answering. “A home of my own. I’ve never had one. Since I was fifteen, I’ve been on the move, first with the army, then living on other people’s ranches. There comes a time in a man’s life when he wants to settle down. I’ve reached that time. I like Ladreville and want to remain here.” Permanently. “It’s true I thought I would leave, but only because it was obvious that having me around distressed you. Everything’s different now. If you marry me, I’ll try to buy the Lazy B.” Zach felt his lips curve in a smile at the thought of the white frame house. “I can’t imagine that Clay will object. The current owner asked him to sell it, and Clay doesn’t want it. If this works out, for the first time in my life, I’ll have land, a house, and a family to fill that house.”

  Zach paused for a deep breath. “Will you marry me, Priscilla? Will you help make my dreams come true?”

  This time there was no hesitation. The beautiful woman who had invaded his thoughts since the day she’d arrived at the ranch nodded. “I will.”

  Zach closed his eyes for a second, letting relief flow through his veins. It had been such a short time since he’d made his decision that he hadn’t realized how much he wanted Priscilla to accept his proposal, yet now that she had, it felt good. More than good, it felt right.

  “Thank you.” It was time to think about practicalities. “Would you prefer to be married in the French or the German church?”

  “Neither. The judge can marry us.”

  Though the vehemence of Priscilla’s response surprised Zach, it was the content that shocked him. He stared at the woman who would soon become his wife and tried to understand her reaction. “There is no judge in Ladreville,” he said as gently as he could, “but even if there were, I wouldn’t agree. Marriage is a sacrament, a contract between a man, a woman, and
God.” When Priscilla started to shake her head, Zach held up his hand. He wasn’t finished. Realizing that she might fear being married in a public place, he was willing to concede one point. “If you insist, I will agree that we don’t have to be married in one of the churches, but we must have a minister.”

  Priscilla’s eyes widened, and he could see the confusion in them. “Why? The results are the same, regardless of who performs the ceremony.”

  “Not to me, they’re not.” The day he’d given his life to the Lord, he’d vowed that he would live according to his commandments. As much as he wanted to help Priscilla, Zach knew he would be breaking his promise if their marriage were not a religious ceremony. He couldn’t—he wouldn’t—do that. “You need to make a decision, Priscilla. I want to marry you, but the only way I’ll do that is if we say our vows before God.”

  She was silent for a moment, her eyes focused on the distance, and Zach sensed that the decision was a difficult one for her. He forced himself to breathe steadily while he waited for her to speak. It was probably only a minute, but Zach felt as if a lifetime had passed before she turned back to him and nodded. “All right. We’ll do it your way.”

  There was no moon tonight. Jean-Michel smiled with pleasure. What he had in mind was best done under the cover of darkness. That was why he’d waited the extra three days. When he’d left the peddler, Jean-Michel’s stomach had been filled with tasty food, his mind with possibilities. The old man had money. Though he thought Jean-Michel had not noticed how his eyes had flickered toward the wooden chest in the far corner of the wagon, Jean-Michel was too smart to be fooled. He’d seen the peddler’s worried glance and had known what it meant. Money. Lots of it. Soon that money would be Jean-Michel’s.

  When he had finished his meal, Jean-Michel had taken his leave, purportedly to rush to his dear mother’s side. Instead he had ridden only a few miles, then concealed himself and the horse in a stand of trees. From there he’d been able to observe the peddler’s approach and confirm that the old man had gone to the town he’d named. The peddler had stayed there for two days as he’d planned, but tonight he was camped by the river. Perfect. There would be no witnesses.

  Jean-Michel waited and watched. When he was certain the old man was asleep, he snuck out from behind the tree. It was time. Moving carefully, he cracked open the back of the wagon, reaching up to silence the bell the peddler had installed, presumably to alert him if anyone tried to break into the wagon. It might work for others, but Jean-Michel was too smart. He’d seen the bell. He knew what to do.

  He climbed inside the wagon and inched forward. There it was! He could feel the leather straps that hinged the top and bottom.

  “Lookin’ for somethin’?”

  Jean-Michel turned and faced the barrel of a shotgun. What was going on? The peddler was supposed to be asleep. “You can put that down.” Jean-Michel doubted the old man planned to fire his weapon, but he wasn’t taking any chances. “I didn’t mean any harm.”

  “Just as you didn’t mean any harm when you stole Albert Monroe’s money and his horse?” The man’s voice sounded different than it had at dinner that day. Tonight he was angry. “I knew somethin’ was wrong the minute I set eyes on you. It didn’t take long to find out who you were. That’s why I figured you’d be paying me a visit one of these days.” He glanced at the chest that Jean-Michel had pulled from the back of the wagon. “I reckon you can’t resist my supply of crocheted antimacassars.”

  “What are you talking about?” The man was bluffing. No one kept silly doodads in a chest. A chest like this was designed for money, nothing else.

  “Open it up.” The peddler’s voice taunted him.

  “All right.” Jean-Michel unbuckled the straps and lifted the lid. Though there was little light, he could see that the old man hadn’t lied. Layer upon layer of fancy white doilies greeted him. Of course! They were a trick, designed to fool men who weren’t as smart as he. The silver and gold were on the bottom. “It’s got to be here.” Jean-Michel dug down, searching for the moneybags he was certain were hidden beneath the crocheted antimacassars. When he reached the bottom and had found nothing but silly doilies, he heard the peddler chuckle.

  It was too much. No one laughed at Jean-Michel Ladre. No one. His blood boiling with rage, Jean-Michel picked up the chest, wheeled around, and flung it at the peddler. Though the chest was surprisingly lightweight, the force was enough that it knocked the old man backward. A second later Jean-Michel heard his body hit the ground.

  He scrambled out of the wagon and stared at the man who’d fed him dinner, the same man who’d laughed at him. It appeared that the fall had knocked him unconscious, for he did not move, though the rise and fall of his chest said he was still alive. Not for long. Jean-Michel smiled at the sight of the peddler’s shotgun lying a few inches from his hand. That was all the invitation he needed. He reached for the gun and pulled the trigger. The peddler would never laugh again.

  It was not the way she had pictured her wedding day. There was no church filled with hundreds of guests, flowers, and sacred music. There had been no months of preparation, no parties celebrating the upcoming nuptials. Most of all, there was no sense of anticipation knowing she was about to marry the man God had intended for her. Instead, there would be a small ceremony at the Bar C, with only Sarah, Clay, Thea, and Mr. Canfield present when Pastor Sempert pronounced Priscilla and Zach man and wife.

  “You look lovely.” Had it been only a week since Priscilla had said the same thing to Sarah? Now she was the one dressing for her wedding. “Are you ready?”

  Priscilla looked down at the green dress she’d worn last week. Though Sarah had insisted they had time to make her a new gown, she’d refused. This one was good enough. If the bride was used goods—and she was—why shouldn’t her dress be used too? “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” she told Sarah. Her hands were shaking, her palms sweating. Fortunately, since it was afternoon, her stomach was no longer queasy.

  “Zach’s a good man.”

  Priscilla pinched her cheeks, trying to give them some color. It wouldn’t do to look as if she were on the verge of fainting. Zach might take her arm if she did. Though he knew how much she feared a man’s touch, he was too gentlemanly to let her collapse. It was up to Priscilla to avoid the problem by appearing healthy. “I know he’s a good man. That’s why this is so difficult. Zach could do better than me. He should be marrying a woman he loves.” She still could not believe he’d made such a generous offer. Though she’d known dozens of men in Boston and had even considered marrying several, she could not imagine one of them doing anything so selfless.

  Sarah pursed her lips, giving Priscilla an intimation of how she dealt with unruly pupils. “Zach is thirty years old. If he loved someone else, don’t you think he’d have married her by now?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “No buts. He’s a grown man who does what he wants, and what he wants is to marry you. So, put a smile on your face, Priscilla Morton. Your bridegroom is waiting.”

  He was indeed. When Priscilla entered the main room, she saw him at the far end, smiling at her as if she were the woman he’d waited for all his life. She took a deep breath and tried to return the smile. Zach was a good man. He did not deserve a bride who looked as if she were facing a firing squad.

  Pastor Sempert nodded solemnly as Priscilla and Zach stood before him, then began to speak. “Dearly beloved, forasmuch as marriage is a holy estate . . .” His voice resonated throughout the room as he recited the familiar words.

  “Wilt thou, Priscilla Morton . . .” Though Priscilla had heard wedding vows dozens of times, today she could not have recited a single one. Now she understood why it was customary for the minister to read the vows first, asking the bride and groom to repeat them.

  “And thereto I plight thee my troth,” she recited the final vow.

  Pastor Sempert looked at Clay. “The ring please.”

  A ring! The smile Priscilla had kept on her face
faded. Why hadn’t she remembered that a wedding involved a ring and that the bridegroom placed that ring on his wife’s hand? She flinched.

  Unaware of her distress, the minister handed the simple gold band to Zach, then looked at her expectantly. “Give him your left hand, Priscilla.”

  She couldn’t. Though she tried to force them away, memories of Zeke Dunkler grabbing her hands and twisting them behind her flooded through Priscilla’s mind, and her hand remained frozen at her side.

  “Your hand.” Pastor Sempert repeated the command. It was simple enough, unless you were Priscilla Morton. Desperately, she looked at the man who was about to become her husband. Surely Zach would find a way to help her. His eyes were warm and understanding, and he nodded ever so slightly, as if asking her to trust him.

  You’re strong, Priscilla. You can do this. She heard her father’s admonitions echoing in her head and saw Zach’s steady smile. He was giving up so much for her. Surely she could do her part. The marriage was designed to protect Priscilla and her unborn child. All she had to do was let him put a ring on her finger. That was nothing, compared to all that had come before. Slowly, Priscilla extended her hand. It was only one finger. That’s all he would touch. It would be over in a second. She would survive. But still her hand trembled as Zach slid the circlet of gold onto her finger.

  “With this ring, I thee wed.” It was done. She was Zach’s wife.

  8

  “You’re a sly one.” Though Priscilla winced when Gunther slapped Zach on the back, her new husband didn’t seem to mind. He simply smiled as the miller said, “You’ve gone and gotten yourself married, and you didn’t even tell your friends.”

  Gunther gestured toward the dozen guests who’d been invited to the Bar C for supper, not realizing that the supper was to be a wedding reception. While Sarah and Clay circulated among their friends, making everyone feel welcome, Priscilla and Zach remained at the far end of the room, accepting felicitations, including those of Gunther and his daughter.