Scattered Petals

by Amanda Cabot

  For a second Isabelle was speechless. “A gift? For me?” It was embarrassing the way her voice squeaked. Gunther would surely realize this was the first time a gentleman had offered her a present.

  He nodded solemnly, though his lips quivered as if he were trying not to smile. “That’s what I said. You needn’t worry, though. It’s not a hog.”

  “I can see that.” Isabelle smiled as she recalled Gunther’s telling her that when he’d courted his wife, he’d given her a hog. Courting? Is that what he was doing? Isabelle’s heart skipped a beat, then sank. Gunther couldn’t be courting her, for he hadn’t asked Papa’s permission. Not that that would have accomplished anything, for Papa would have refused, just as she ought to refuse Gunther’s gift. It wasn’t seemly to accept a present from a man unless he was courting, and even then society dictated which gifts a lady could accept. Isabelle looked at the package, knowing she should not open it. And yet . . .

  “Let’s sit down.” Gunther led the way to one of the empty tents and pulled out a bench. “There. That’s better than standing, isn’t it?”

  It was. No longer separated by the expanse of their umbrellas, Isabelle could feel the warmth of Gunther’s body as he sat next to her. Perhaps it was only chance, although Isabelle doubted that, for Gunther did nothing by chance, but he’d seated them so their backs were to the vendors. Though everyone in Ladreville would soon know that she and Gunther had been seen together, the details of their meeting were hidden.

  Gunther cleared his throat and gestured toward the package she held. “I hope you like it. I told the person who sold it to me that it was a thank-you for teaching Eva, but that was a lie. This has nothing to do with Eva. This is for you, because . . .” Gunther’s voice faltered, and he stared at the ground again. When he raised his eyes to meet hers, color flooded his cheeks. “I like you,” he said. “That’s why I bought this for you.”

  “I like you too.” With fingers that refused her command not to tremble, Isabelle untied the twine and spread the paper, gasping when she saw what was inside. “Oh, Gunther, it’s beautiful!” No wonder he had not wanted her to visit Frau Bauer’s tent. He had given her an exquisitely formed necklace made of seeds glued onto bits of pinecone. It could only be Frau Bauer’s work.

  Isabelle’s heart sank. Maman would never allow her to keep this. It was a personal item, a gift only a husband should offer. She started to refuse it, then shook herself mentally. Gunther would be hurt, deeply hurt, if she did not accept his gift. No matter what Maman said, Isabelle would not hurt Gunther. She fingered the delicate necklace, then looked up at the wonderful man who’d chosen it for her. “How did you know I like these?”

  “I remembered you gave Sarah one for her birthday, but I’ve never seen you wearing one.”

  Isabelle blinked in astonishment that Gunther had noticed her jewelry. Men, she thought, were oblivious to things like that. “This must be the prettiest necklace Frau Bauer has ever made.”

  “She said you’d like it.”

  “Oh, I do.” It wasn’t simply the necklace. What warmed Isabelle’s heart even more than the beautiful creation were the words Gunther had spoken. He liked her! She smiled at him, hoping he could read the happiness in her eyes. “Thank you for such a wonderful gift. I’ll wear it on Easter.”

  As she returned to the mercantile, Isabelle knew she would never again hate rainy days.

  “Are you ready?” Zach’s voice was so close that Priscilla guessed he was standing outside her door.

  “Almost.” She straightened her hat again, wanting everything to be perfect this morning. Though she had let out some seams, her clothing fit a bit more snugly than it had in January, but she doubted anyone would guess that she was with child, especially when she wore this hat. The leghorn was trimmed with a veil and multi-colored ribbons in a style Isabelle had found in Frank Leslie’s Gazette of Fashion. According to Isabelle, it was the latest style and perfectly suited for the occasion. Priscilla thought so too, for it would keep everyone’s attention focused on her head.

  “I’ve never celebrated Easter like this,” she told Zach as they crossed the river. This was the first time she’d left home in darkness.

  “That’s because you’ve never lived in a small town before.”

  Though Priscilla suspected that Ladreville, with its mixture of settlers, was different from other small Texas towns, that mattered not a whit. What mattered was that she was looking forward to the day. Easter had always been her favorite holiday, and this day was extra special, for this was her first Easter as a married woman, a Texan, and—most importantly—a mother-to be. The message of rebirth that was such a vital part of Easter held more poignancy than normal as Priscilla reflected on God’s gift to her. He had known how she had dreamt of holding a child of her own, even when she had been convinced she would never find the man God had intended for her husband. Despite the circumstances of the baby’s conception, God was making her dream come true.

  “You’ll like our celebration,” Zach had predicted when he had explained that a sunrise service and breakfast for the entire community would be held in the open field where the Independence Day celebrations took place each July. Following that, the townspeople would enter their individual churches for another hour of worship. While Sarah and Clay went to the German church, Priscilla and Zach would attend the French service. Afterwards, they were invited to the Bar C for dinner and what Sarah apologetically called an afternoon of Thea’s antics.

  Though the sun had not yet risen when they reached the field, the pre-dawn sky was light enough for Priscilla to identify people. The scene was almost eerie, with hundreds of people gathered in silence. Even the children seemed to understand and stood quietly at their parents’ side. While the congregation of Priscilla’s church in Boston had greeted each other with the traditional “He is risen” on Easter morning, Zach explained that the people of Ladreville did not speak until after the sunrise service. They came together in quiet contemplation, remembering the sorrow that had brought Mary and the other women to the tomb that first Easter Sunday. It was only after the minister proclaimed the angel’s words that they would speak.

  Priscilla looked around. Though she knew few of the townspeople by name, she recognized many faces from the times she and Zach had attended church. Yvonne and Neville were on the opposite side of the field, flanked by Granny Menger and Frau Bauer. It appeared that Zach was right and the town’s differences were forgotten, at least momentarily.

  Isabelle and her family stood a few feet away from Priscilla and Zach, their posture announcing that something was wrong, something that Priscilla suspected had nothing to do with the holy day. Isabelle’s face seemed strained, and her parents’ mouths were pursed in disapproval. The reason for the disapproval wasn’t difficult to find, for both of the elder Rousseaus glared at Gunther when he and Eva made their way to Isabelle’s side. Priscilla was certain it was only the tradition of silence that prevented angry words from being exchanged. A moment later, Gunther and Eva moved on, settling on the opposite side. Zach had been wrong. Not all differences were resolved by Easter joy.

  “Dearly beloved, we gather here to celebrate the most wonderful gift we or anyone have ever received.” The two ministers took their place on a small platform and addressed the townspeople. “Today we shall read from the gospel according to Mark.” Alternating verses, the men recounted the story of the first Easter morning, ending with, “And he saith unto them, Be not affrighted: Ye seek Jesus of Nazareth, which was crucified: he is risen; he is not here.”

  As with a single voice, the congregation shouted, “He is risen!” The wondrous words that filled her heart with joy each time she heard them washed over Priscilla, sending shivers down her spine. This truly was a day of miracles.

  The early service concluded with a hymn and a final prayer, leaving the townspeople to make their way to the long tables now laden with breakfast. Perhaps it was in reaction to the silence, but the crowd seemed louder than normal, an
d they jostled each other in their eagerness to reach the food. Priscilla flinched at the unwanted touches and edged her way to the perimeter.

  “I’m sorry, Zach,” she said as he made a path for her. It had been months since she’d been attacked. Surely by now she should have recovered, and yet she had not. Just the thought of a man’s touch made her cringe, and actual contact caused her stomach to roil.

  Zach’s smile was reassuring. “I understand.” He must, for somehow he managed to part the crowds without touching her. Was this how Moses parted the Red Sea?

  They were nearing the edge of the crowd when Priscilla saw Gunther approach Isabelle. His determined gait made Priscilla realize he would not be discouraged by the Rousseaus’ disapproval.

  “You wore it.” The miller’s face was wreathed with happiness, and though Isabelle’s parents were close by, he appeared oblivious to them.

  Isabelle fingered her necklace, a lovely combination of pinecones and seeds. This must be the “it” that had caused Gunther’s happiness. “I promised you I would.” Isabelle returned his smile, but it faded an instant later as her mother grabbed her arm.

  “Isabelle, come here.” Madame Rousseau’s normally pleasant voice was tinged with anger. “Your place is with your family.”

  “Yes, Maman.”

  When they were far enough away that their words would not be overheard, Priscilla looked up at Zach. “It doesn’t sound as if Isabelle’s parents are happy with Gunther’s courtship.”

  Zach shook his head and gestured toward Gunther, who was now surrounded by a group of men. “Looks like Gunther is being subjected to a harangue.”

  Priscilla’s attention was drawn to his daughter, who stood at his side, her eyes closed as if she were trying not to cry. “Poor Eva. Those men are spoiling what should be the most joyous day of the year.”

  Zach frowned. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  As he strode toward the men, Priscilla made her way to Isabelle. “Are you all right?” she asked, turning so that Madame Rousseau could not read her lips.

  Isabelle shook her head. “No. Maman is angry because I’m wearing this necklace.” Once again she fingered the offending piece of jewelry. “She hates it because Gunther gave it to me.”

  Isabelle’s motion triggered memories of the hundreds of times Priscilla had touched her locket. Never again. Like so much else, that was lost. She swallowed deeply, resolving not to let her own dismay affect her friend. The locket wasn’t important. Isabelle’s happiness was. “I wish I could help you.”

  Isabelle shook her head. “It’s what I was afraid of. No one can help.”

  That evening when she and Zach were back at the Lazy B, Priscilla broached the subject. “There must be something we can do. Isabelle’s parents are making her miserable.”

  Zach’s blue eyes darkened as he accepted the glass of buttermilk Priscilla had poured. “Gunther’s friends are just as bad.”

  Priscilla took her seat across the table from Zach. “You and Sarah warned me about the town’s divisions, but I never thought people would be so cruel. Especially on Easter.” Somehow the fact that the unpleasantness had occurred on this holy day made it seem worse. “Even Yvonne made a nasty comment, and she’s one of Isabelle’s closest friends.”

  Zach emptied his glass before he spoke. “The town’s prejudices are deep-seated. According to Clay, things are improving, but I’m afraid the distrust won’t disappear completely for a long time. It was one thing to allow the children to attend school together, but it’s quite another to sanction a marriage.”

  That might be true, but seeing the way Gunther and Isabelle had looked at each other convinced Priscilla they loved each other. “I still want to help them,” she told Zach.

  “So do I. Let’s pray that God shows us the way.”

  The morning mist had evaporated; the sun was shining; it was a perfect April day. Though Easter Monday, as she’d heard it called, was a holiday in some countries, it was work as usual on the Lazy B. Priscilla smiled and began to hum as she pulled out the ingredients for gingerbread. Supper today would be simple: scalloped potatoes with leftover ham that Martina had sent home with her. But with the still-warm gingerbread, it would be a meal Zach could enjoy. The first time Priscilla had made gingerbread, he’d admitted it was a childhood favorite. That was one of the reasons she was serving it today. If Zach’s stomach was content, perhaps his mind would find a way to help Isabelle and Gunther.

  Priscilla had spent the day pondering the problem and had resolved nothing, yet she knew there must be a way to convince the town—and, more importantly, Isabelle’s parents— to approve the marriage. It should be obvious to anyone who knew them that they belonged together. Priscilla had seen the sparks that flew between them. Furthermore, Sarah claimed that Gunther looked different when he was with Isabelle. She said the smiles he gave her were unlike those he had offered to either her or Olga Kaltheimer. The reason, according to Sarah, was that this time Gunther was in love. He now sought a wife, not simply a mother for Eva.

  Priscilla continued humming, her mind whirling with ideas, as she reached for the molasses. She was measuring the thick sweetener when the pain struck. Gasping at the cramp that literally stole her breath, she doubled over and clutched her stomach. Oh no! Please, God, no! The pain was sharper than anything she had ever experienced, so intense that stars danced before her eyes. No! she cried as another cramp, far stronger than the last, clawed at her insides. Help me! And then she felt it. At first it was a trickle, but as she looked down and saw the pool of red at her feet, it increased. Oh no! The baby! Something was desperately wrong with her baby.

  Trembling with fear, Priscilla staggered to a chair. What could she do? The bleeding was faster now, a steady stream. She needed help, but there was no one nearby, no one she could call. Granny Menger or Clay would know what to do, but she had no way to reach them. Priscilla’s legs no longer supported her, her arms were shaking so badly she could not control a horse, and still the bleeding continued.

  Come home, Zach. Come home. She whispered the words as she crawled toward the bedroom. Perhaps if she lay down, the bleeding would stop. Her mind moved as sluggishly as her arms and legs. There was something else, something Papa had told her. What was it? Elevation. The word drifted into her brain. That was it. Papa had said it was important to raise a woman’s legs if she was bleeding. How could she do that? Priscilla touched her forehead, wondering why she was unable to find the answer to a simple question. Had the morning fog returned? Was that the reason everything looked so strange? And why wouldn’t her legs move? She was trying to crawl, but her arms and legs remained limp. Priscilla felt tears trickle down her cheeks. Where was Zach? He could help her.

  “Priscilla, what’s wrong?”

  From a distance she heard a man’s voice. Zach. He’d come home. Why was he here, and why was the room so cold?

  “Priscilla.” She heard his voice again. Priscilla knew she ought to open her eyes, but she couldn’t, for her eyelids were too heavy, and she was cold, so very cold.

  “Priscilla, look at me.” His voice was stronger now. Surely she could do what he asked. Though it took every ounce of strength she possessed, Priscilla forced her eyes open.

  “What’s wrong?”

  His words echoed inside her head, and for a moment she could not answer. Something was wrong, but what? Then memory slammed through her. Pain. Blood. Cold. “I lost the baby.”

  Zach muttered something under his breath. Then he slipped an arm around her. Priscilla moved instinctively, pressing closer to the warmth. “You need a doctor.” Zach was speaking again. “I’ll take you to Clay.”

  She shook her head. “Can’t move. Too much bleeding.”

  “Then I’ll summon Clay.”

  He was leaving. She couldn’t let him leave. He was warm. He could help her. “Don’t go. It’s so dark. Oh, Zach, I’m afraid.”

  “One minute. You can hold on for one more minute. I’ll be right back.”

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nbsp; She heard heavy footsteps and Zach’s voice yelling for their hired hand. A moment later, he was at her side. “Myron will get Clay. He’ll help you. You’ll be fine, Priscilla.”

  But his words were fading, and the darkness was growing thicker. “It’s too late.” Darkness overtook her.

  “Wake up, Priscilla. Wake up.” Zach stared at the woman who lay sprawled on the floor, her skirts bloodied, her face deathly pale. If he lived to be a hundred, he knew he would never forget the way his heart had stopped when he’d entered the house and seen her lying there. Nothing, not even the horrors of Perote or the nightmares that continued to plague him, had prepared him for the sheer terror of seeing his wife on the floor, her lifeblood ebbing away.

  “Priscilla, wake up.” But she wasn’t sleeping. Zach knew that, just as he knew his life would be irrevocably changed if she died. “You can’t leave me. You can’t.” Though he wanted to lift her onto the bed in hopes that she would be more comfortable, he dared not, lest the movement increase her bleeding. Priscilla had said she could not move, and so he would do nothing until Clay arrived. Still, she looked pale and cold, even colder than he was when in the nightmare’s grip. Zach clenched his fists. How he hated being powerless! There must be something he could do to help Priscilla.

  He looked around, his eyes lighting on the bed. Yanking the coverlet off it, he wrapped it around her. It wasn’t much, but it might retain what little warmth she still possessed. There had to be more. As Zach folded his hands to pray, he nodded. There was something he could do. Priscilla hadn’t pulled away in fear when he’d touched her before. Instead, she had snuggled closer to him as if seeking his warmth. He could give her that. Zach lowered himself to the floor and lay next to Priscilla, gathering her into his arms. Perhaps his body heat would help her. It was all he had.

  He closed his eyes, not wanting to think that Clay might be too late. Dear Lord, he prayed, keep her safe.

  Heavy footsteps signaled Clay’s arrival. Zach rose to greet his friend, wincing when he saw Clay’s expression. If he’d had any doubt of the seriousness of Priscilla’s condition, Clay’s frown would have banished it. “I need to examine her.” Clay opened his bag. “I’ll call you when I’m done.”