Scattered Petals

by Amanda Cabot

  That night as she knelt next to her bed, Priscilla tried to form the words, but they would not come. Instead, images of Zach filled her mind. When he’d told her how he’d forgiven the jailers, his eyes had shone with peace, but soon afterwards, the pain that never seemed too distant returned. There was more to Zach’s story than he’d told, more pain to be resolved.

  “Dear Lord,” she prayed, “heal Zach. Take away the pain he’s feeling and give him peace.”

  11

  Priscilla wakened to the sound of birds trilling, their songs so loud that for a moment she thought they were in the house, but the flap of wings against a hard surface told her one was simply sitting on the window ledge. She swung her legs off the bed and padded to the window, eager to see if she could identify it. Like the trees and flowers, many birds here differed from those in Boston, and this one had an unfamiliar song. As carefully as she could, Priscilla drew the curtain aside, but the motion was too much. The bird flew to a nearby tree, then faced the house and squawked, as if scolding her for disturbing it. Priscilla couldn’t help smiling. Though it had interrupted her sleep, birdsong was a pleasant way to begin the day.

  Her smile broadened when she spotted half a dozen dandelions blooming. Yesterday, there’d been nothing more than heavy, yellow-green heads on the plants. This morning, the flowers had emerged, unmistakable proof of spring’s arrival. Priscilla gazed at the yard for a long moment, savoring the feeling of well-being that swept through her. Spring had always been her favorite season, for it brought with it Easter and the promise of new beginnings. What a joyous thought!

  She touched her abdomen. Though it was too soon to feel the baby stirring, she knew there was life inside her. Each morning’s queasiness was proof of that. Priscilla’s smile turned into a grin as she realized that her stomach was settled. It had happened! Granny Menger had promised it would, and it had. Her morning sickness was gone. Priscilla thrust her arms into her dressing gown, unwilling to wait another minute to tell Zach the news. He would be as pleased as she. When she reached the doorway, Priscilla’s smile faded as she remembered that Zach had already left. Last night he’d said he had to visit the far end of the ranch and, rather than be gone overnight, he’d decided to leave before dawn. It was silly to feel so disappointed. Zach would return for supper, and she could tell him then. In the meantime, she had Isabelle and Yvonne’s visit to look forward to.

  When the two women arrived, Priscilla was waiting for them on the porch. Both were smiling as they climbed down from the wagon, but though Yvonne was bubbling with happiness, Isabelle’s smile appeared strained.

  “I can’t wait. I can’t wait to tell you.” Yvonne sounded younger than her twenty-two years as she giggled. She looked from one woman to the other, then took a deep breath. When Priscilla did that, it was to calm herself. If that was the goal, it had failed Yvonne, for when she spoke, her words came out in a rush. “I know I told you I suspected it, but I wanted you two to be the first to know—after Neville, of course. I told him last night. I couldn’t even wait until he’d had dinner, and once he heard, he was so excited, I could hardly get him to eat. All he wanted to do was tell the world. There’s no doubt about it. Granny Menger confirmed that Neville and I are going to have a baby. Oh, ladies, I’m so happy!”

  Priscilla hugged her friend. “I’m happy for you.” Though not unexpected, the news was as welcome as the bird’s trilling and the sight of spring flowers.

  “Me too.” It wasn’t Priscilla’s imagination. Something was bothering Isabelle. Though her words were delivered with a smile, her eyes lacked their normal sparkle. “When’s the blessed event?” Isabelle asked.

  As Priscilla escorted her guests into the parlor, Yvonne continued her explanation. “Early September. Granny Menger warned me, though, that first babies arrive on their own schedule. Mine might be two weeks early or late. Oh, I hope it’s not late. I don’t think I’ll be able to wait.”

  Though Priscilla wondered whether the baby would be as talkative as its mother, she asked only, “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Oh yes.” Yvonne patted her slightly rounded stomach, as though she were caressing her unborn child. Priscilla tried not to smile at the gesture, even though the reason for the plumpness was a fondness for bread. “Fortunately, so far I haven’t been sick at all. I heard some ladies are not so lucky.”

  Priscilla nodded. Though she was close to admitting that she, too, was expecting a child, she would not do that today. Today was Yvonne’s day. Priscilla would do nothing to spoil it or to detract from her friend’s joyous announcement. “You are fortunate. My sister was ill every morning for several months.”

  Though Yvonne grimaced, Isabelle did not. Other than her initial congratulations, she had been uncharacteristically quiet, her eyebrows furrowed, as if her thoughts were elsewhere. When she caught Isabelle’s eye, Priscilla raised one of her brows in a silent question. Isabelle gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Whatever was wrong, she did not want to discuss it.

  “Our meal is almost ready,” Priscilla told her friends. “If you just relax, I’ll get the food.”

  She was in the kitchen, pulling the tray of rolls from the oven, when she heard footsteps. Priscilla looked up, surprised to see Isabelle. “Where’s Yvonne?”

  “Visiting the necessary. All that talk of morning sickness made her a little green.” Isabelle leaned against the table. “I shouldn’t be glad, but I am, because I wanted to talk to you without her hearing.” The way Isabelle twisted her hands told Priscilla the topic was not a pleasant one. If she was right, she would soon know why Isabelle seemed so preoccupied. The petite brunette’s eyes were serious as she added, “I know what Yvonne would say, but I’m not sure how you’ll feel.”

  “Is something wrong?” It was almost a rhetorical question.

  “According to my parents, yes, but I don’t think so.” Isabelle’s face crumpled, and Priscilla saw that she was struggling not to weep. “I’m confused. I love my parents and I want to obey them, but I don’t think what we’re doing is wrong.”

  “We?” Though Priscilla thought she knew what was coming, she needed to be sure.

  “Gunther and me.” Isabelle’s words confirmed Priscilla’s fears. “You know he asked me to help his daughter. How could I refuse? Eva’s the sweetest child in Ladreville. She deserves a good life, and if I can help by teaching her to embroider and crochet and speak a few words of French, what’s wrong with that?”

  Priscilla covered the dinner rolls with a towel to keep them warm while she listened to Isabelle. “Nothing’s wrong with that.” How could she claim otherwise, when it was her idea? “It seems to me you’re being a good neighbor. Surely your parents don’t disapprove of that.”

  “Not exactly. They like Eva. It’s Gunther they don’t like.”

  “Everyone likes Gunther.” Zach had told her that Gunther was one of the most popular men in Ladreville, and not simply because he was a first-rate miller. Even the town’s curmudgeon had nothing bad to say about him.

  “Not my parents. They don’t like Gunther anymore. You see, when Eva’s lesson is over, he comes to the store and we . . .” Isabelle’s face flushed, though whether from remembered pleasure or embarrassment wasn’t clear. “We talk,” she said at last.

  Priscilla removed the potatoes from the stove. “And you enjoy those conversations.”

  “Oh yes.” The sparkle returned to Isabelle’s eyes, and her lips curved in a sweet smile. “I could talk to him night and day and never run out of things to say. Gunther’s got an opinion on everything. We don’t always agree, but it’s always fun.”

  “But your parents disapprove.” Priscilla wasn’t surprised. The older Rousseaus had not seemed pleased by Gunther’s attention to their daughter at Priscilla and Zach’s wedding supper.

  “They think he’s courting me. They think all he wants is a new mother for Eva.”

  “What do you think?” Sarah claimed that the looks Gunther gave Isabelle were not th
ose of a man thinking only of his daughter’s well-being.

  “I think Gunther wants a friend.”

  According to Sarah, Gunther wanted more than that, and so did Isabelle. “What if your parents are right? If he were courting you, how would you feel?”

  Once again the color rose to Isabelle’s cheeks. “I don’t know.”

  “I think you do.”

  Isabelle bit her lip, as if considering what to say. “I like Gunther,” she admitted. “He’s the most handsome, most exciting man I’ve ever met, but . . .”

  Priscilla schooled her face to show no emotion. Handsome and exciting were not words she would have applied to Gunther Lehman. However, if that was how Isabelle viewed him, Sarah was right to encourage this match.

  Isabelle’s smile faded as she finished her sentence, “Everyone knows that if you’re a Frenchwoman, you marry a Frenchman.”

  Just as everyone knew that if you were a woman, you couldn’t be a doctor. Priscilla took a deep breath. Her one-time dream might not have come true, but that didn’t mean Isabelle should abandon hers. “You’re an American now.”

  The look Isabelle gave Priscilla said she was naïve. “That’s not the way my parents see it. Gunther’s German, and that means they’d never accept him as a son-in-law, no matter how much I love him.”

  They’d reached the crux of the matter. “Do you love him?”

  Isabelle nodded. “I do, but I love my parents too, and I don’t want to hurt them. Maman looks sad, and Papa reminds me of what the Bible says.”

  At least Priscilla’s parents had not quoted Scripture to her. “The commandment tells us we should honor our parents. It seems to me you are honoring them. You’re considering their feelings. That’s important, but it doesn’t mean you have to obey every command they issue. You’re a grown woman, Isabelle. You can make your own decisions.”

  Isabelle bit her lip, and once again Priscilla sensed she was trying to hold back her tears. “I wish that were true, but how can I marry Gunther, knowing it’ll make my parents unhappy?”

  “Has he asked you to marry him?” Gunther did not have the reputation of being rash, and surely it would be rash to have proposed so quickly.

  “Not yet, but . . .”

  “Wait.” Hadn’t Mama always advocated patience? “If Gunther is the man God intends you to marry, he’ll show you the way to satisfy your parents.”

  Isabelle managed a weak smile. “I hope so.”

  He was late. Her heart began to thud with worry, and she felt her palms grow moist as she stared out the window at the empty road. He’d never been so late. Though she hadn’t looked at her watch, her heart told her he was overdue by an hour, maybe more. She’d been waiting for so long, and still there was no sign of him. Something must have happened. Something horrible. Her heartbeat accelerated, and she turned away from the window, unwilling to look at the empty road, proof that he wasn’t coming.

  She knew she should occupy herself with something else, perhaps her needlework. That was what ladies did in these circumstances. But she could not rest. Instead she paced from one end of the room to the other, and each time, though she told herself it was futile, she gazed out the window, hoping against hope that she would see his wagon. At last, in desperation, she opened her watch to check the time. It couldn’t be. She stared at the face, not believing what she saw. The watch must have stopped. She unpinned it and held it to her ear. It was still ticking. Priscilla began to laugh. The evidence was clear. He wasn’t late. There were still five minutes before he had said he would meet her. It was only she who, eager to see him, had been ready far too early.

  She returned to the window, then gazed at the door. She ought to remain indoors. Mama had cautioned her not to appear eager for a man’s attention. But the day was so lovely. Surely there was no harm in sitting on the porch.

  A moment later she was settled in the swing, and still he had not come. She opened her watch again, shaking her head when she realized that only a minute had passed. He wasn’t late. Not yet. And then she heard it, the sound of hoofbeats, the rattle of wagon wheels. Her heart began to beat faster, keeping time with the racing horses. It must be him. It was!

  He jumped from the wagon and ran toward her. “I know I’m early,” he said as he doffed his hat, “but I couldn’t wait to see you.”

  Though Mama would frown, Priscilla saw no reason to lie. “Me too. I’ve been ready for an hour.” As he grinned and took her hand between both of hers, she said softly, “Oh, Zach, I love you.”

  Priscilla wakened, her heart pounding when she remembered the dream. Mama had believed that dreams were powerful portents and had reminded Patience and Priscilla how often God had used them to tell his people about the future. Normally Priscilla woke with little or no memory of having dreamed, but today was different. Today the memory lingered, almost as vivid as the dream itself, and that set her mind to whirling. Could it be possible? Was Granny Menger right in saying that Zach was the man God intended for Priscilla? Was what she felt for Zach more than gratitude or friendship? Was it love?

  Priscilla lay back on the pillow, smiling.

  “If you’re here to tell me I’m crazy, you can walk right back out that door.” To be certain there was no confusion, Gunther pointed at the door Zach had just entered.

  Zach stared at his friend, who was pacing the mill floor with uncharacteristic anxiety. “Why would I say you’re crazy?” If anyone was crazy, it was he, for he’d been acting like a schoolboy, so eager to see Priscilla that he rushed through his chores each day. He wasn’t slacking his responsibilities, but he also wasn’t giving them the full attention he had a few months ago. He wasn’t the person whose sanity was in question, though. It was Gunther.

  “Everyone else thinks I’m a fool to be spending time with Isabelle.” Gunther halted in front of Zach, shaking his head as he corrected himself. “That’s not true. Not everyone used the word crazy. Some told me I was desperate. Desperate, crazy, and it’s your fault.”

  Zach suspected it was. The town had been buzzing with the news that Gunther had found a new candidate for the position of Eva’s mother. While that was exactly what Priscilla and Sarah had hoped would happen, Zach wasn’t proud of his role. Why had he ever let himself get involved in a matchmaking scheme?

  “What happened? The last I heard, Isabelle was teaching your daughter to speak French. In my book, that’s neither crazy nor desperate. It seems to me that it’s a practical solution to your problem.”

  “That’s not how everyone else sees it.”

  Zach pretended to ponder the situation. Though he tried not to listen to the rumor mill, he had heard enough to know that Isabelle was doing more than teaching Gunther’s daughter. “Surely no one objects to Eva being tutored. Maybe there’s something you haven’t told me.”

  Though Gunther had been glaring at him, now he dropped his gaze to the floor. “They might be talking about the fact that I see Isabelle most every day, and sometimes we talk a bit.”

  “How much would ‘a bit’ be?” Zach had heard rumors, but rumors were notoriously inaccurate.

  Gunther shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly unwilling to answer. At last he said, “Most days it’s the better part of an hour.”

  Certainly enough to provoke gossip. “There’s no law against that, is there?”

  “Nein.”

  “And friends can talk to friends, can’t they?”

  “Ja, aber . . .” Realizing he was speaking German, Gunther corrected himself, “but . . .” And then he fell silent, as if reluctant to reveal anything more.

  “Spit it out.”

  Gunther raised his head and stared at Zach for a long moment. “Oh, all right. But you can’t tell anyone.”

  “I’m good at keeping secrets.” Including several of his own.

  “The thing is, I care about Isabelle.”

  Priscilla would claim that was good news. Zach wasn’t so certain. “She’s your friend, right?”

  �
�Ja, but . . .” There was another long pause. Zach couldn’t blame the man. He would have been equally uncomfortable discussing his emotions. “What I feel for her is more than friendship,” Gunther admitted. “I’ve never felt like this, not even with Frieda.” Frieda, Zach knew, had been Gunther’s first wife. “Maybe I am crazy, because I want to marry Isabelle.” Gunther ran a hand through his hair. “You don’t need to say anything. I know it’s impossible.”

  This impossible marriage was the one Priscilla and Sarah were promoting. Zach wished he’d refused to become involved, but it was too late. He was involved in the crazy scheme, and since he was, it was his duty to help his friend. “I wouldn’t say impossible. Difficult, perhaps, but not impossible.” When Gunther’s expression brightened, Zach cleared his throat. How could he ask the next question without seeming to pry? Deciding there was no easy way, he blurted it out. “Does she care for you—as more than a friend?”

  Clearly uncomfortable, Gunther stared into the distance. “I think so. We haven’t said the words, but sometimes when she looks at me, I think she feels the way I do.” His voice had softened as he spoke of Isabelle. Now it turned harsh again. “It would never work. Her parents won’t let her marry a German. Everyone knows a Frenchwoman can’t do that.”

  And that, of course, was the problem both Zach and Clay had foreseen when Priscilla and Sarah had hatched their idea. “Maybe not in the Old Country, but this is America. Things are different here.” Zach hoped he wasn’t simply spouting platitudes. “It’s true you’d be the first, and being the first is always difficult.” Hadn’t he said the same thing to Priscilla when she’d spoken of her desire to become a physician? “But if this is something you want, isn’t it worth the effort?” Why hadn’t he said that to Priscilla? It wasn’t too late for her. Oh, it was true that it would be difficult, particularly after the baby was born, but if practicing medicine would bring her happiness, surely she should pursue it.