Paper Roses (21 page)

“Horsey!” Sarah gripped her sister’s hand to restrain her.

“Good afternoon, Sarah.” David strode quickly toward her and Thea.

“I got here before you,” Jean-Michel complained. “You should let me speak first.” He doffed his hat, then glared at David, who had not repeated the polite gesture.

David returned the glare. “I reckon I can do whatever I want. I came to invite her to supper with my mother.”

“My mother would like her to join us for Sunday dinner.”

Sarah tried to hide her amusement. Not only were they acting as if she were not present, but the two men were facing each other, their belligerent posture reminding her of her youngest pupils.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Sarah said in the soft voice that frequently diffused the children’s arguments. “Did you come to visit the school?” Since they’d not addressed their invitations to her, she would ignore them.

“I can’t speak for David.” Jean-Michel punctuated his words with another glare. “I came for the pleasure of your company.”

“And I came to tell you Ma’s mighty lonely without you and Thea.”

Sarah felt a pang of guilt that she hadn’t visited the older woman since school had begun. Though she’d been tired by the end of each day, that was no excuse for ignoring a friend. “We’ll stop by on our way home tomorrow,” she told David.

“Will you stay for supper?”

Sarah nodded. “If you’re certain it will be no trouble for Mary.”

“Ma enjoys your visits.”

“As does my mother.” Jean-Michel raised his voice, perhaps to compensate for the fact that he’d been excluded from the conversation. “That’s why she hopes you’ll join us for Sunday dinner.”

“I’d be honored.” Sarah knew it was a custom in many communities for families to invite the schoolteacher to Sunday dinner. She also knew that the order of invitations was prescribed by social rank. Michel Ladre, as the mayor and town founder, would be the first.

“Horsey!” Thea tugged on Sarah’s hand as the livery owner brought their wagon to the front of the church.

“I need to take my sister home.” Sarah bade the men farewell. She was lifting Thea into the wagon when she overheard Jean-Michel.

“It’s a pity Sarah limps. She’d be a pretty woman otherwise.”

“The way I see it, the child’s more of a problem,” David countered. “I reckon I never will understand why Austin wanted to saddle himself with one. Who’d be dumb enough to want to raise someone else’s brat?”

Sarah’s pleasure in the day evaporated.

Frieda had always said he wouldn’t notice a fire until it singed his hands. Though Gunther had to admit that his wife had been right about many things, he wasn’t as oblivious to the world as she used to claim. Take today, for example. He knew there was something different about Eva. It was simply that he couldn’t pinpoint it.

He stared at his daughter as she wrestled with the spaetzle, refusing to accept that the tender noodles were not readily speared with a fork. Her tenacity, which others might call stubbornness, was something she had inherited from him. Frieda had been the easygoing parent, far more amenable to spur-of-the-moment changes than he. But Frieda was no longer here. Now it was Gunther’s responsibility to be both mother and father to their daughter. That was a heavy burden for a man who couldn’t even figure out what was different about his child’s appearance.

He chewed another bite of Wiener schnitzel, swallowing hastily when he realized what she’d done. “What happened to your hair?” he demanded. Eva had pinned her long braids into loops that coiled around her ears, a style more suited to a grown woman than a six-year-old child.

Uncowed by his brusque tone, his daughter grinned. “Olga Kaltheimer fixed it. Isn’t it pretty,
Vati
? It’s almost as pretty as Miss Dobbs’s hair.” Eva’s rush of words reminded him of the water that ran his mill. On one side of the dam, the water was deceptively still, but once it tumbled over the dam, its power was released, and it became a thundering torrent.

“Oh,
Vati
, Miss Dobbs is such a good teacher. Everybody likes her, even Wilbur Menge, and he doesn’t like nobody.” Eva flushed. “Anybody,” she corrected herself. “Miss Dobbs says that’s the proper word. She says it’s important to use the right words.”

Eva’s enthusiasm, so like her mother’s, sent a pang of longing through Gunther. A man wasn’t meant to live alone. Even the animals on Noah’s ark came in pairs. He cleared his throat, then managed to say, “So, you like school?”

“Oh yes. It’s
wunderbar
. Wonderful,” Eva amended. “Miss Dobbs says we’re Americans now, and we need to speak English.” His daughter had made that announcement after the first day of school and appeared to have taken it to heart. To Gunther’s surprise, she’d even begun to say her bedtime prayers in English.

As Eva recounted the day’s lessons, the words barely registered. Instead, Gunther watched his daughter’s face, observing the gleam in her eyes and the frequent smiles, while he tried to recall the last time he’d seen her so happy. His own smile was bittersweet when he realized it had been the last summer of Frieda’s life, when they’d eagerly awaited the birth of their second child. Though Eva had been only four, she’d been part of the planning, learning to care for a doll the way her mother would soon care for an infant. And then one hot night, the dreams had turned into a nightmare, taking both Frieda and their son, leaving Gunther with a void deep inside.

Though the townspeople thought otherwise, he hadn’t even tried to find a substitute. Oh, it was true he’d spent time— perhaps more time than was wise—with each of the single German women in Ladreville. He’d hoped that one would make a good mother for Eva. As for himself, he knew no one could ever take Frieda’s place in his heart. It appeared no one could take Frieda’s place in Eva’s life, either. Each time, when it had become clear that his daughter did not care for the woman, he’d abandoned the idea of courtship. Eva was what mattered. That was why Gunther had devoted his life to keeping Eva safe and fed and clothed. He’d succeeded, or he thought he had. His one continuing worry was his daughter’s solemnity. When Frieda had been alive, Eva had been a smiling, laughing child. Without her mother, she’d become silent and withdrawn, and as much as he’d tried, Gunther hadn’t been able to restore her sunny disposition. Now it appeared someone else had accomplished what he had failed to do. Eva was once again happy, a child apparently without cares.
Gott sei dank. Thank you, God.
Gunther translated his silent prayer of thanksgiving. His prayers had been answered.

As he buttered a piece of bread, he watched Eva’s animated expression, trying to understand what was responsible for the change. Intuitively, he knew school was part of the reason. Eva enjoyed being with other children and learning to read and cipher. But that could not fully account for the change, for Sunday school had not had the same effect. Gunther suspected that Eva’s teacher, whose name seemed to be part of every sentence, was the real reason for his daughter’s newfound happiness. In her eyes, Miss Dobbs was perfect. That was why Eva had convinced one of the older girls to fix her hair in the same style. That was why she quoted her teacher so often.

His thoughts raced as he chewed another bite of veal. Pastor Sempert claimed that God used ordinary people to do his will. Was this the answer to Gunther’s prayers? He looked at his daughter happily babbling about something. Had God sent Miss Dobbs to Ladreville to fill the hole in their lives? Gunther closed his eyes for a second, then nodded. It was possible. He had no doubt that Miss Dobbs would be a good mother. The way she cared for her sister was proof of that. And she’d been kind—more than kind—to Eva each time they’d been together.

Gunther took a long swallow of milk, nodding again as he pushed his plate aside. God had spoken; it was time for him to take a wife. The problem was, he had no idea how to do that.

Dead ends. That’s all he’d found. Clay waited until they’d crossed the river before he urged Shadow to gallop. Speed didn’t solve anything, but it might ease his frustration. Once again he’d spoken to everyone who’d seen Austin that last day. Once again no one admitted knowing anything. Once again he’d learned nothing about Austin’s pocket watch. Everyone claimed the killer must have been a stranger and that Austin had lost his watch. Both allegations were patently absurd. Clay knew that someone in Ladreville was responsible as well as he knew that the sun would rise each morning. The problem was, he could find no clues. Whoever had killed Austin had been clever. Very clever. He would have to be twice as clever to unmask his brother’s murderer, but he’d do it, for the alternative was unthinkable. The man could not go free.

Clay leaned over Shadow’s neck, hoping the wind would clear away his turbulent thoughts, and for a moment it did. For a moment, he remembered Austin alive, not slumped lifeless over Nora’s back. When he saw another rider approaching, Clay slowed his horse to a walk. Common courtesy demanded he speak to Léon Rousseau, particularly now that he was working on the Friedrich farm.

“You look tired.” The man’s clothing was stained with sweat, his shoulders slightly slumped with weariness. This was a far cry from the man who favored impeccable tailoring and flashy one-of-a-kind buttons on his jackets.

“It’s hard work,” Léon admitted. “Austin was right when he told me farming was harder than ranching.”

“Then, why are you doing it?” Clay had been surprised when he’d heard that Léon had approached Karl Friedrich, looking for work. It seemed an odd choice for the son of a merchant. The Rousseaus were a traditional old-world family, raised with the expectation that sons followed in the family business.

Léon straightened his shoulders as he said, “Anything is better than working inside. Besides, I like seeing things grow.”

Clay nodded. Though that wasn’t one of the things that he enjoyed, Patience had claimed working in a garden brought her closer to God than almost anything else. “I imagine Karl is glad to have a helper.”

A wrinkled nose accented Léon’s reply. “Most days. Today Karl’s downright ornery. I wouldn’t go near him if I were you. He’s out for blood, and Canfield blood is first on his list.”

Though Karl was not as phlegmatic as most of the German immigrants, that sounded extreme, even for him. “Why?”

“After another fence was cut last night, your cattle ate most of the corn.”

“Karl thinks I was responsible?” First dead ends. Now this. What else could go wrong today? Clay and Karl had already discussed cut fences. Surely his neighbor realized Clay had no reason to resort to such tactics.

Léon stared into the distance rather than meet Clay’s gaze. “Karl claims you’re just like your brother. You know Austin was pretty vocal in saying this side of the river wasn’t a place for farmers. He never did approve of the Prebles selling their ranch to Karl. That’s why Karl’s convinced Austin was responsible for the first fence cutting. He keeps muttering things about retribution and that Austin deserved what happened to him.”

“Austin did not deserve to die!” Clay spat the words.

“I know that, and so does Karl.” Léon’s voice was conciliatory, as if he regretted having repeated Karl’s accusation. “You know Karl. He can be hotheaded.”

But was he a murderer? That was the question. Clay took a deep breath, trying to let his own anger subside. As much as he wanted to find clues to Austin’s killer, he had trouble believing Karl was the man he sought. Perhaps the timing would prove otherwise. Perhaps the fence had been cut months before Austin died. Perhaps Karl’s words had been nothing more than a frustrated man’s ranting. “When was the first fence cut?”

“Two days before Austin was killed.”

Unfortunately, the timing fit. Unlike Austin, whose temper died as quickly as it flared, Karl was known for holding grudges. He was also known for demanding punishments that far outweighed the crime. But death? Surely that was extreme, even for Karl. Still, Clay could not ignore what he’d learned. As farfetched as it seemed, Karl might have had a motive for wanting Austin dead. The problem was, the other poker players claimed he was in the barn at the time Austin was killed. Either they’d all lied, or Karl had hired someone to do the actual killing. If so, who?