Paper Roses (27 page)

Having Zachary Webster at the Bar C had changed so much. Though the man did not take meals with the family, declining Clay’s invitation on the grounds that his place was with the men he was expected to lead, his presence affected everyone. The lines of worry and fatigue that had marred Clay’s face had lessened, probably because he’d been relieved of much ranch work. He smiled more often and lingered longer at the supper table, watching Thea play at Pa’s feet while Zach and the older man conversed.

As for Thea, she regarded Zach as a new playmate, a dubious honor for him and the cause of concern for Sarah. Despite numerous reprimands, Thea refused to stay inside the house when either Clay or Zach was working with the horses. In desperation, Sarah had threatened to harness her sister like a horse and tie her to a chair. One afternoon of confinement had ensured Thea’s obedience.

But the biggest change had been in Pa. He seemed more content and at the same time more frustrated. Though he still complained when she attempted to strengthen his legs, more than once Sarah had caught him trying to rise, only to fall back into his chair, his face contorted with frustration. The man wanted to walk. It was simply that he didn’t want Sarah’s assistance.

“If I’m smiling,” she told Clay, “it’s because I’ve decided to try something different with the school.”

When she finished her explanation, he nodded. “Brilliant.”

“It won’t work on rainy days, but I’m hoping it’ll help the parents realize how much their children gain by having classes every week.”

Clay looked around the classroom, as if trying to envision how she’d teach outdoors. “Folks are still opposed to building a school. I heard that again today.”

Sarah wasn’t surprised. She met resistance everywhere. “I don’t know what more I can do. The Rousseaus have tried to convince their French customers, and Gunther has approached many of the Germans.”

A frown crossed Clay’s face. “I heard Gunther was spending a lot of time here.”

“Yes.” She could no longer deny that he was courting her. What was more surprising was that he also appeared to be courting Thea. He came to the school almost every day, and when he did, he spent time talking to Thea. Her sister liked him. So did Sarah. The problem was, Gunther ignited no spark in her heart. He was a friend, nothing more.

“Gunther’s doing what he can to convince people that the school is a good idea,” she told Clay. “Only a few seem to listen. The rest act as if their children will somehow be contaminated if they study together.”

“They speak of others’ imperfections as if they had no blemishes of their own.”

Sarah felt the blood drain from her face. It wasn’t the sentiment Clay had expressed that startled her, but the words. They were almost identical to one of Austin’s letters. She gripped a chair, trying to regain her equilibrium, trying to understand why Clay had used that particular phrase. Had he read her paper roses? Of course not. She would have known if anyone had disturbed them. It had to be coincidence, the result of being Austin’s brother. Since they had grown up together, it was logical that they’d share many things, including more than one turn of a phrase.

“What a polite way to describe hypocrisy,” Sarah said when she could once again breathe normally.

Clay reached for the satchel she’d filled with supplies. “I’m not certain hypocrisy’s the problem. I suspect fear. Many people are afraid of those who are different.”

Sarah was thankful they were walking toward the door and that he could not see her face, for his words raised unhappy memories. “Believe me, I know that. I wasn’t exactly shunned by society because of my leg.” The overt shunning came later, when her father’s crimes were revealed. “But I had few invitations to parties and other social events. No one wanted to invite a girl who couldn’t play all the games.”

Clay placed his hand on Sarah’s arm, turning her to face him. “In being so small-minded, they cheated themselves of the pleasure of your company.” His eyes were dark with emotion.

“Unfortunately, they weren’t the only ones who lost.” Sarah wouldn’t dwell on the years of loneliness and the times she’d cried when she heard other children playing outside. Those were all in the past, and nothing she could do would change them. “I’m determined that Thea will never be shunned.”

“She won’t. And I suspect that by the time you’re done, neither will any of Ladreville’s children.”

Sarah wished she were that confident.

“Look, Sarah. Flower!”

As they did many evenings now that the days were long, Sarah and Thea were working in the garden. Thea’s working, of course, consisted primarily of walking around, poking her fingers into the dirt while Sarah weeded. Today Thea was pointing at the red blossoms of what Mary had told Sarah was a cedar sage.

Sarah’s eyes widened at the sight of a dozen trumpet-shaped flowers that had opened on a single stem, and she bent down to touch one of the delicate blossoms. It was softer than she’d expected, almost velvety. As her fingers caressed the petals, Sarah pictured another garden. There had been nothing like this in Mama’s plot, and yet she could imagine her mother smiling with pleasure at the sight of a flower in bloom. Sarah closed her eyes, remembering Mama’s smile, and as she did, she felt warmth steal into her heart, chasing away the sorrow. For the first time, thoughts of her mother were not accompanied by tears. Sarah touched the flower again, savoring its soft petals. Perhaps Isabelle was right. Perhaps healing did come with time. Perhaps sorrow did fade.

“Me bleeding!” Thea rushed to Sarah’s side, holding out the finger she’d pricked on a rosebush. “Hurt!”

It was only a drop of blood, nothing that should have triggered memories, but it did, transporting Sarah back to the day she’d found her parents’ bodies. She started to shake as the image consumed her. There’d been so much blood, so horribly much blood. And then there was the look of shock frozen on Mama’s face. Why, oh, why had he done it? Sarah bit the inside of her mouth to keep from crying out. Isabelle was wrong. Time did not heal everything. Sorrow might fade, but anger did not. She would never, ever forgive her father.

As Mary opened the door, Clay caught a glimpse of a dress with too many buttons undone and a flash of gold. Tugging her bodice closed, Mary glared at him. “What are you doing here?”

Clay looked down at the medical bag in his hand, as if the answer should be obvious. “You summoned a doctor. Since Herman is indisposed today, I came in his place.”

Her buttons now securely fastened, Mary fisted her hands on her hips. “You can go right back where you came from, Clay Canfield. I ain’t so ill that I’d let a young man I practically raised treat me. Why, it wouldn’t be seemly.” Before Clay could say anything more, she closed the door, leaving him standing on the front porch.

Clay grinned as he mounted Shadow. If he was correct— and he suspected he was—Mary wasn’t ill at all. The call for a doctor had simply been another ploy to spend more time in Herman’s company, like the visits she’d made to his house. Clay knew that when she set her mind to it, Mary was nothing if not determined, and she appeared to be determined to snag the town’s senior doctor as a husband.

“C’mon, Shadow. Let’s go home.” Clay was still grinning when he crested a hill, but the grin faded at the sight of the wagon—his wagon—with a horse tied behind it. He tightened his grip on the reins as the details registered. Two girls were playing in the back, while a man and woman occupied the buckboard’s seat. Though Clay wished otherwise, there was no doubt of anyone’s identity. Gunther and his daughter were accompanying Sarah and Thea, and judging by the way Sarah leaned toward him, she was enjoying Gunther’s conversation.

Two emotions slammed through Clay. He recognized anger, but it was mingled with something else, something that felt equally strong. Surely that something was not jealousy. Clay slowed Shadow as he took a deep breath, trying to conquer the need to send Gunther packing. The way he felt right now, he didn’t trust himself to be near the man.

Relax
, Clay told himself.
Think of something else
.
Something
good.
There were indeed good things, for much had changed during the past few weeks, in great part because of Zach. If Clay were a praying man, he would have said that Zach was the answer to prayer. Zach had not exaggerated his experience. From the beginning, the men recognized him as a natural leader and no longer approached Clay for anything but the most critical decisions. No doubt about it, the salary Clay paid Zach was small recompense for the burden he’d lifted. Thanks to Zach, Clay no longer had to worry about the Bar C, and that was fortunate, for Herman now relied on him more frequently.

It wasn’t only Clay who’d benefited from Zach’s arrival. Though Clay wasn’t sure how Zach found the time, he spent hours each day with Pa. The change in Pa had been remarkable. He seemed happier; he even slept better. Clay wouldn’t be surprised if Pa were content to remain on the Bar C with Zach, even if Clay returned to Boston. Everything was going smoothly, except, of course, for that confounded Gunther and his courtship of Sarah.

Other things had contributed to Clay’s newfound contentment. He’d been filled with a sense of relief the day he’d shipped Patience’s trunk to her parents. Though at one time he had not thought it possible, cleaning the room they’d once shared had been the right thing to do. The door now stood open, and though Clay refused to sleep there, preferring instead to stretch out on the floor in the main room, the pain was gone, replaced by bittersweet memories. Clay knew he would always love Patience. He would treasure the months they’d spent together, and for the rest of his days, he would regret her life being cut short. But he had also accepted that Patience was part of his past. It was time for the future.

And that was the problem. The future that had once seemed so clear was now filled with ambiguity. Where would he go once he found Austin’s killer? It disturbed Clay more than he wanted to admit that he was asking that question. When he’d left Boston, he had assured Daniel Morton that he would return to resume his practice there. But somehow the prospect of Boston and catering to the imaginary ailments of its wealthiest residents no longer held much appeal. Instead Clay pictured Leah Dunn and the child whose arm he’d splinted this morning. Instead of the large redbrick house he’d once shared with Patience, Clay’s mind conjured images of the small cabin Austin had built for Sarah.

Something had changed, something fundamental deep inside him. Clay knew that. What he didn’t know was why so much had changed. Surely it was not because of Sarah. Oh, it was true that he thought of her far too often, but that could be easily explained. It was proximity, nothing more. He saw her several times each day; that was why thoughts of her slid into his mind with alarming frequency. But that meant nothing. Sarah and her minx of a sister were not the reason Clay was suddenly reluctant to leave Ladreville. Only a fool would think that, and Clay Canfield was not a fool.

12

“All right, children. It’s almost time. Quiet, now.” Silence, Sarah knew, was an impossible dream, but she had to make the effort. She and her pupils had assembled on the Rue du Marché, directly across from the market that had given the street its name, waiting to take their place in Ladreville’s Independence Day parade. Despite her admonitions, her students laughed, giggled, and shouted as they jumped up and down, barely able to contain their excitement. Though Sarah had no intention of jumping, she was almost as excited as they. The children’s glee was easy to understand, for this was the first time they’d marched in the parade. In their minds, being included in the annual celebration made them adults, or so they’d told Sarah. Her own pleasure came from the fact that they would be walking as part of a single group with no regard for their last names.

“Quiet.” This time she placed her finger over her lips, trying not to smile when the gesture accomplished what her words had not. Sarah had other reasons to smile. Conducting classes outdoors had been more successful than she’d dared hope. Each week more pupils came to the unusual schoolroom, possibly drawn by the novelty of lessons that included identification of birds and butterflies. At first, the children had sat in two distinct groups, separated by a large space. But as the weeks passed, the space had shrunk. Now anyone looking at the Ladreville students seated under the big oak trees would have seen nothing amiss, for there was only a single group of pupils. Though the parents had not changed their minds about building a school, and seemed unaware that their children studied in such close proximity, Sarah took comfort in the fact that her pupils’ education was no longer being curtailed.