Paper Roses (17 page)

What would he think? Sarah looked across the supper table, trying to imagine his reaction. She wouldn’t ask until the meal was finished and Pa was settled in the corner with Thea playing at his feet. That was at least half an hour from now, for both Pa and Thea ate slowly. Sarah tried not to count the minutes. She’d waited half a day; thirty minutes more wouldn’t matter. Perhaps she was foolish, waiting to talk to Clay first. She could have asked Isabelle and her family what they thought. In fact, she probably should have broached the subject with them, but from the moment the idea had popped into her mind, embedding itself in her thoughts more deeply than the sand burr had in Thea’s heel, she had wanted Clay to be the first to hear.

Sarah took a sip of cool tea as she tried to focus her attention on Clay, who was telling his father about the heifer he planned to buy to supplement their milk supply. On another day, she might have been interested, but today was not another day. Today she was anxious for the meal to end so she would have a chance to speak to Clay privately.

She couldn’t explain why his opinion was so important. Perhaps it was because she knew he would be honest. He had nothing to gain or lose. The Rousseaus might not approve of the idea, because if she implemented it, Sarah would no longer work at the store. That might hurt their business. Then, too, they were partisan. They saw only the French settlers’ side of any matter, while Clay would consider the entire town’s needs.

Those were plausible reasons for consulting Clay, but if Sarah were to be honest with herself, she would have to admit they were not the only ones. So much had changed since the day Clay had lifted Thea onto Shadow’s back. At first Sarah had thought it was her imagination, but it wasn’t. Clay no longer regarded Thea as if she were a poisonous snake, coiled to strike. Now he returned to the ranch early enough to take her for a ride each day. The difference in Thea was unmistakable. Like a flower blessed with abundant rain and sunshine, she flourished under the newfound attention. Thea smiled more, and Mary said she cried less frequently. Though Mary attributed the change to the work they were doing in her garden, Sarah knew otherwise.

The change in Clay was almost as dramatic. He seemed less tense than before, and he even smiled once. Sarah smiled, recalling her surprise the day that had happened. She hadn’t realized his lips knew how to curve upward, but oh! what a difference it made. Though he was handsome even when he scowled, the sight of Clay smiling literally took her breath away.

It was easy to find the reason for Thea’s contentment; the changes in Clay were more difficult to diagnose. Perhaps they started the day he told Sarah his feelings about the ranch. If he’d been keeping his resentment bottled inside himself, it could have been like a boil, festering, needing to be lanced. Perhaps the change had nothing to do with that day but was merely the effect of time lessening his sorrow by healing the empty spaces inside him. Whatever the cause, Sarah wouldn’t argue with the results. Life at the ranch was decidedly more pleasant now.

At last the meal was over, and Sarah was alone at the table with Clay. Before she could speak, he smiled again. “If my mother were alive, she would say you look like the cat who swallowed the canary.” Clay’s smile widened. “Austin and I never understood why she’d say that. As far as we knew, she’d never seen a canary, much less a cat who’d swallowed one, but she persisted in using the phrase.”

A sound from the other side of the room caught Sarah’s attention. She turned and was surprised to see Pa with what appeared to be a smile. Though she hadn’t realized he’d been listening, it appeared he was enjoying memories of his wife.

“Tell me, Miss Dobbs, was the canary tasty?” Clay laced his words with mirth.

“Why, yes, Mr. Canfield.” She imitated his faux formality and lightly teasing tone. “Those were the best feathers in the State of Texas.”

“They must have been, to make you look so excited. Now, tell me the truth, what happened?”

“I may have found the answer to my problem.” To ensure there was no misunderstanding, Sarah nodded toward Thea.

“I’d like your opinion.”

“Should I be flattered?”

“Indeed you should.” Oh, this bantering was fun. It was almost as exhilarating as the idea that had taken residence in her thoughts earlier today. She paused and gave a dramatic sigh. “Gunther Lehman and his daughter came to the store this morning.”

“And he asked you to marry him.” Clay made it a statement, not a question.

“No!” The word came out more forcefully than necessary, causing Pa to look in their direction. “I hadn’t met the man before today.”

“That was a jest, Sarah,” Clay said, his voice once more serious, “but everyone in Ladreville knows Gunther is looking for a new wife. Correction: he’s looking for a new mother for Eva. The poor man has a hard life. He can’t even play poker at night, because he needs to be home with her.”

“A truly dreadful existence.” Sarah decided to keep her tone light, at least for the moment. There’d been too much sorrow and gloom in this house. Each laugh, no matter how brief, was a gift. “The truth is, Clay, Gunther’s plight isn’t what bothers me. I’m concerned about his daughter. The child is practically ignorant.”

Clay nodded. “I’m not surprised. That’s another reason Gunther needs a wife.”

“Maybe.” Sarah made a show of licking her lips. “My, but that was a tasty canary.” When Clay chuckled, she said, “I think there’s another solution and a better one. Ladreville needs a school.” She paused, waiting for Clay’s reaction, and was disappointed when he kept his face impassive. Had she been wrong in thinking this would solve so many problems? It had seemed like such a good idea. “If all the children went to school, they’d learn more,” Sarah continued, “and their mothers would be less harried. A school would be good for everyone.”

“I agree. The town would definitely benefit.” Though a moment earlier Clay’s eyes had sparkled with mirth, now they reflected confusion. “What I don’t understand is how that would solve your problem.”

Relief washed over Sarah at the realization that he approved of the plan. She wasn’t deluding herself. It was a good idea. “If I were the teacher, Thea could go to school. I wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not she was happy. I know she would be, because she’d be surrounded by other children and would be close to me.”

Clay lowered his voice, perhaps to keep Pa from overhearing. “I know you want to help your sister, and this seems like one way to do it. The question is, are you qualified to teach? It’s not as simple as working at the mercantile.”

“I don’t have formal training, if that’s what you’re asking.” Sarah wouldn’t lie. “But I spent a lot of years at a fancy school. When I was bored by most of the classes, the teachers let me help with the younger pupils.” Sarah leaned forward, hoping to convince him. “I can do this, Clay. I know I can.”

He nodded slowly, his expression serious as he appeared to consider everything she’d said. “There’s no question that it’s a good idea. Other towns this size have schools; Ladreville probably should too.” He was silent for a moment before he asked, “Have you thought about where you’d hold classes?”

That had been one of Sarah’s first concerns. Though she’d heard of some rural schools being held in barns, she knew there were no empty barns or sheds or buildings of any kind in Ladreville. “There aren’t too many choices. I drove around town this afternoon, just in case I’d missed any, but it seems to me the churches are the only buildings with enough space. At least they each have a fellowship hall.”

Clay reached for the coffee Martina had left on the table and offered to refill Sarah’s cup. When she shook her head, he emptied the pot into his cup. “So, which church would you use?”

“Both.” That was another thing Sarah had considered this afternoon between helping customers. Ladreville’s politics created its own set of problems. “If I picked one, the other’s parishioners would be insulted, and they might not let their children attend.” She couldn’t let that happen, for one thing Sarah had realized was that the school might be a way to unify the town. “I know it’ll be more work, moving things back and forth, but I think I need to alternate—one week in one church, the next week at the other.”

The look Clay gave her was approving, and it sent a tingle of warmth through her veins. “No wonder you had the canary look. It seems as if you’ve thought it all out. Or, should I say, you’ve eaten every last feather?”

Sarah shook her head. “I’ve just begun. My head is so full of ideas, sometimes I think it’ll burst.” When his lips twitched, she said, “Don’t laugh, Clay. I’m serious. I know what I want to do, but I don’t know how to start.”

His expression sobered, and he drained his cup before responding. “You’ll need to get Michel Ladre’s approval. Nothing happens in this town without that. I have to warn you, though, that he may refuse out of spite.”

Sarah blinked, startled by the thought of the town’s charismatic leader refusing to support something as valuable as a school. “I’ve done nothing to alienate him. Why would he refuse?”

“You were Austin’s fiancée.” Pain darkened Clay’s eyes. “It’s no secret that my brother didn’t trust Michel. Austin didn’t bother to hide his opinion that the mayor had appropriated public funds for his own use. I’m sorry, Sarah. What Austin said shouldn’t matter, but it might.”

Surely Michel would not let personal animosity affect the town. “I’ll have to be my most charming.” Sarah gave Clay a mockingly sweet smile, eliciting a chuckle.

“If you do that, the man will have no defense.”

“I hope not.”

Clay stared into the distance for a moment. When he returned his gaze to Sarah, his eyes were dark with an emotion she could not identify. “Michel may raise another concern. You probably know teachers cannot be married. He may not want to found a school, only to be forced to abandon it in a few months.”

That would not be a problem. “I’ll tell Michel the same thing I’m telling you. He should have no worries, because I have no intention of marrying.”

Clay raised an eyebrow. “Not even if Gunther courts you?”

“Not even.” Sarah paused, unsure how much she should say. Would she be reopening wounds that were only beginning to heal if she spoke of Austin? Perhaps it would be kinder to say nothing, and yet the way Clay gripped his cup told Sarah that for some reason he needed reassurance. She swallowed, waiting until he met her gaze before she said, “I can’t imagine finding anyone as wonderful as the man who wrote my paper roses, and I don’t plan to settle for second best.”

Surely it was Sarah’s imagination that Clay began to relax.

7

It was Sarah and Thea’s week to attend the German church. Though they’d been there before and were no longer strangers to the simple whitewashed building whose two tall, elaborately carved silver candelabra seemed unusual companions to the rough-hewn cross, Sarah had dressed herself and Thea with more care than normal. If all went as planned, they would both be subject to more scrutiny than usual.

She settled Thea on the pew next to her, letting her hold Mama’s Bible while the rest of the congregation rose for a hymn. Her sister seemed to take comfort from the pages that held the family history. Though she was too young to read Mama’s writing, she invariably turned to the page that recorded her own birth, as if she somehow sensed that was her last connection to their mother. Thea rarely glanced at the previous page where Sarah had made the final entries for their parents, her hand shaking so badly the dates were scarcely legible. That was a page Sarah herself preferred not to read, for it served as a reminder of what she’d lost. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that Mama and Papa were part of the past, but this morning could be the beginning of the future.

When the congregation was once again seated, shifting in the pews to find a comfortable position for the sermon, Pastor Sempert climbed the steps to the pulpit. “The cross is empty,” he said, gesturing toward the chancel. “Those of you who carried it know how heavy a burden it was.” He looked around the congregation, nodding slightly in acknowledgment of the parishioners who had felled the live oak, fashioned a crude cross from its trunk, and borne it to the church.

It was a story Sarah had heard several times, how the congregation had chosen to take only the silver candlesticks from their church in Alsace, deciding that everything else would be made of materials they found in their new home. On Ash Wednesday of their first year in Ladreville they had gathered in the forest, choosing and cutting the tree and letting it dry until Good Friday, when they’d split the trunk and created two massive beams, lashing them together to form a cross. One by one, the men had taken turns carrying it, staggering under the immense weight, trying to envision how someone who’d been scourged could have borne it for even a few feet. That day the French settlers had joined the Germans, watching with pride as the cross was hoisted into place, a lasting reminder of the enormous sacrifice that had been made for them and all mankind.

The tale of how the townspeople had banded together that day, putting aside their differences to accomplish something that would benefit only one group, was part of the reason Sarah believed the school would succeed. The town, she had told Clay, simply needed a reason to unite.

“Three weeks ago we sat here, rejoicing in the miracle of the empty tomb.” The minister continued his sermon. “Our mission today and every day is to not forget the promises our Father made. Each year, Easter morning raises hope in our hearts. We are filled with God’s love, and we know that he has prepared a home for us. Let us remember that message of hope and love every day of our lives. Let us keep Easter in our hearts year round.”

As Sarah bowed her head in prayer, she found herself smiling at the realization that she once again felt hope. The eager anticipation she’d experienced when she’d received Austin’s letters and had agreed to marry him had been destroyed by the reality of his death. Now that optimism was rekindled. Isabelle would probably use one of her favorite phrases and say it had been reborn. Sarah smiled again. Perhaps reborn was a better description than rekindled, for her hope had taken a new form. When she’d envisioned her life with Austin, the future had seemed nebulous. Now it was clear.