Paper Roses (8 page)

“Your home is very pretty,” Sarah said as she took a seat in the parlor. To Sarah’s relief, Thea seemed content to sit on the floor and play with her doll, leaving Sarah to admire her surroundings. Unlike the Bar C, which was a purely masculine abode, this room bore feminine touches. Crocheted antimacassars protected the chairs; a bouquet of dried flowers graced an end table; delicate watercolors hung on two walls.

Mrs. Bramble smiled. “Thank you. It’s too big for just David and me, but it’s our home. Now,” she said, “if’n you wait a moment, I’ll be back with refreshments.”

“Please, don’t bother on our account.”

The older woman shook her head. “Nonsense. I’m glad to have the chance to meet you before you go back East.”

Before Sarah could explain that she and Thea would not be leaving Ladreville, Mrs. Bramble left the room. When she returned, she was carrying a silver tray laden with a pitcher, glasses, and a plate of delicious-smelling cake. How on earth was Thea going to manage such adult fare without making a mess? Seeing Sarah’s worried look, the older woman shook her head. “Don’t you fret none about crumbs. They’ll clean up.”

The coffee cake was as delicious as its aroma promised, the tea cool and refreshing. Though Sarah savored both, what pleased her most was the way Mrs. Bramble regarded Thea. Though she’d provided a tin plate for Thea instead of the delicate china one she’d used for Sarah’s cake, she did not flinch at the inevitable crumbs. Sarah started to relax. It appeared that Mrs. Bramble enjoyed the company of children and that, as Clay had indicated, her days were not filled with work. If she agreed to Sarah’s proposal, Thea would be well cared for here.

Sarah kept the conversation light while they ate. It was only fair to give Mrs. Bramble time to observe Thea before she made any decisions. If anything about her sister’s behavior appeared to annoy the older woman, Sarah would say nothing. This would become a purely social visit.

Once her cake was finished, Sarah cleaned Thea’s hands and encouraged her to play with her doll. That ploy worked for only a few minutes. Obviously bored, Sarah’s sister climbed onto the settee next to Mrs. Bramble.

“Pretty.” She smiled and stretched her hand toward the older woman’s gold locket.

“No, Thea.” Sarah knew from painful experience that Thea would try to pull the necklace off. Shiny objects allured her sister, and the oval pendant with its filigreed surface would be almost irresistible to her. “Your locket is beautiful,” Sarah told Mrs. Bramble as she settled Thea back on the floor where she could do no harm.

The older woman’s smile was bittersweet. “It’s very dear to me, a gift from my late husband. He was killed in the war with Mexico, you know.”

“I’m sorry.” What else could she say? Sarah knew all too well the sense of loss and loneliness caused by the death of a family member.

“If Mr. Bramble had lived, David’s and my lives would have been different.” Mrs. Bramble’s eyes flashed with something Sarah thought was pain. She closed them for a second, as if trying to control her emotions. When she opened her eyes again, Mrs. Bramble shook her head slowly. “Forgive me for speakin’ of death when you just learned of Austin’s.” She reached over to pat Sarah’s hand. “It’s downright dreadful that you come all this way for naught.”

“It wasn’t for naught. I plan to make Ladreville my home and Thea’s.”

Mrs. Bramble’s confusion was obvious. “I don’t understand, unless . . .” She gave Sarah another of those long, appraising looks. “Has Clay offered to marry you?”

“No, ma’am.” This was the opening Sarah needed. It was time to tell Mrs. Bramble her plans and see whether she was willing to be part of them. “I don’t expect to marry, but I do want to stay and make a home for myself and Thea.” Mrs. Bramble raised an eyebrow, encouraging Sarah to continue. “The Rousseaus have offered me a job in their store.”

For a moment the only sound was Thea’s conversation with her doll. At last Mrs. Bramble spoke. “I see.”

Though the words were simple, Sarah thought she detected disapproval. Perhaps the older woman was so opposed to the idea of Sarah’s working that she wouldn’t agree to help her. There was only one way to find out.

“I have a problem, though. The store is not a good place for a child of Thea’s age.” As Mrs. Bramble nodded, Sarah took a deep breath. “I wondered whether you would consider caring for her during the day. I’d pay you, of course.”

The older woman’s expression was guarded. She looked at Thea and then back at Sarah. “It’s been more than twenty years since I had a child that age.”

She wasn’t going to agree. The tone of her voice told Sarah that. She hoped her own expression didn’t reflect her dismay. There were other women in Ladreville, Sarah reminded herself. But would any of them have the same rapport with Thea that she’d seen here?

Mrs. Bramble stared out the window, her indecision clear. Her left hand covered her mouth, then dropped to touch her locket, and still she said nothing. Sarah clenched her fists. She’d never been good at waiting. At last Mrs. Bramble looked at Thea, then raised her eyes to meet Sarah’s gaze. “I reckon it would be like having a grandchild,” she said with a smile that made Sarah’s worries melt faster than spring snow. “Yes, I’ll do it.” Mrs. Bramble continued. “Thea and I will get along fine, won’t we?” She opened her arms and welcomed Thea into them. “But there won’t be no money involved. Is that clear?”

Sarah felt tears of joy sting her eyes. This was so much more than she’d expected. If she didn’t have to pay Mrs. Bramble, she would be able to buy a house that much sooner. When that happened, not only would she and Thea be truly independent, but they’d no longer be a burden to Clay. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

Mrs. Bramble’s eyes shone. “My pleasure. I figger it’s a neighborly thing to do.”

A clock chimed, and Sarah’s hostess frowned. “I reckoned he’d be here by now.”

As the words registered, Sarah realized her instincts had been accurate. Mrs. Bramble had been expecting someone, but it wasn’t her and Thea. She started to rise. “It’s time for us to go back to the Bar C.”

“Nonsense. The doctor is sometimes late.”

Doctor? Sarah tried not to be alarmed. Though Mrs. Bramble appeared healthy, if she had some ailment, she should not be caring for Thea. It would be too much of a strain. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”

As if she understood Sarah’s concerns, Mrs. Bramble shook her head. “A touch of nerves. It ain’t nothing that would stop me from taking right good care of your sister.”

Sarah let out the breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. “I’m glad to hear that, and not just for selfish reasons. I could find someone else to care for Thea, but I’d hate to lose a friend, especially one I’ve just met.”

Mrs. Bramble started to place the plates and glasses back on the tray. “I hope we will be friends. Out here, a woman cain’t have too many friends.” She looked up at Sarah. “This here’s a bit of advice from a friend. If’n you and Thea ever need a doctor, make sure and call Dr. Adler. You might be tempted to ask Clay, seeing as how he’s right there, but that would be a mistake.”

“Clay?” Sarah didn’t understand.

Mrs. Bramble pursed her lips. “The townspeople are mighty impressed by his degree from the Massachusetts Medical College. To my mind, that ain’t nothing but a piece of paper. What counts is experience. For all his fancy training, Clay ain’t a very good doctor. He cain’t help his father, and he didn’t save his wife when she was dying.”

Clay had been married? His wife had died? Sarah felt the blood drain from her face. No wonder he seemed angry. He had lost almost everyone he loved. The poor, poor man!

Sarah’s mind was still reeling as she tried to swallow the food Martina had put in front of her and Thea. Though her sister was eating with relish, Sarah barely tasted the dishes. Poor Clay! How had he borne the pain? Sarah’s happiness in finding someone to care for Thea during the day was tempered by the knowledge of what Clay had endured. When her parents had died, for the first few days Sarah had blamed herself, believing there must have been something she could have done to stop Papa. Gradually, though, she had realized that nothing she could have said or done would have changed his mind. That was when her sorrow had turned to anger.

Sarah took a sip of water before she broke another piece of cornbread for Thea. The visit with Mrs. Bramble, although brief, had been filled with revelations she was still trying to understand. Clay was a doctor. No wonder he’d been so solicitous when he’d told Sarah of Austin’s death. No wonder he’d been so concerned about Thea’s being bitten by a snake. No wonder his hands weren’t as callused as Sarah had expected.

Being a doctor was wonderful. It meant easing pain and saving lives. It also meant accepting responsibility when things went wrong. A doctor’s family wasn’t supposed to die, yet Clay’s had. What had he done? How had he felt? If Sarah had been filled with remorse after her parents’ deaths, believing she should have saved them, how much greater must Clay’s suffering have been? He was trained to preserve life, and he’d failed those closest to him.

Another sip of water did nothing to dissolve the lump in Sarah’s throat. Poor Clay. The thought was becoming an endless refrain. Though the death of his wife and brother was a heavier burden than anyone should have to carry, that was not the full extent of Clay’s suffering. Every day he had to face his father and admit that all his schooling and the fancy diploma that impressed Ladreville’s citizens hadn’t been enough to cure him. It was no wonder Clay was angry.

If only there were something she could do to assuage that suffering. Sarah pushed back her chair and rose, stumbling ever so slightly. As she did, she nodded. Perhaps that was the answer. She couldn’t restore Clay’s wife or Austin. No one could. But maybe, just maybe, she could help his father.

“I want to spend some time with Mr. Canfield,” Sarah told Martina as she wiped her sister’s hands. Clay had not joined them for the meal, but that, Martina had explained, was normal. When he was riding the ranch, Clay was gone from sunup to sundown. That was just as well. Since Sarah doubted Clay would approve of her plans, she was glad she could start without him knowing. Thea’s nap was the ideal time.

“I don’t want to leave Thea alone in the cabin,” Sarah explained. She gestured toward the closed door on the opposite side of the main room. It was, she guessed, a second bedroom. “Can Thea nap there?”

“Oh no, Miss Sarah.” Martina shook her head vigorously, lest Sarah misunderstand her words. “That was Mrs. Canfield’s room. The younger Mrs. Canfield,” she clarified. Sarah nodded, realizing that the housekeeper was speaking of Clay’s wife. “Mr. Clay won’t let anyone go in there, not even to clean. Why, he took to sleeping in the barn loft the day Mrs. Canfield died.”

Martina’s words confirmed what Sarah had feared, that Clay’s grieving continued unabated. If, as she suspected, he blamed himself for his failure to save his wife, it was understandable that he didn’t want to face daily reminders of that failure by entering the room they’d once shared. And so Thea slept on the floor of the main room where Sarah could hear her when she stirred.

Straightening her shoulders, Sarah took a deep breath. The next hour would be a difficult one. She knew that. But she also knew it was something she had to do. She took another deep breath, mustering her courage. It was one thing to dream of helping Clay’s father, another to make those dreams come true.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Canfield.”

Sarah walked briskly to the wheeled chair. Today, since it was daylight, Clay’s father was facing the window. Though the view over the rolling grassland was beautiful, Sarah turned the chair and, wanting no distractions, closed the heavy drapes. Mr. Canfield murmured something that might have been a greeting. Sarah couldn’t distinguish any words, but she did see curiosity reflected in his eyes. That was a good sign. Yesterday when she and Thea had stopped in to see the older man, he’d barely looked at them.

She pulled a chair next to his. “I can’t pretend to know what you’re feeling. My injury was much less severe than your illness.” Sarah gestured toward her right leg, wishing she dared show him how poorly it had healed. “Still,” she continued, “I remember how I hated being confined to bed or a chair. I wanted to walk and could think of little else, even though the doctors told me I’d never be able to.”

The left side of Mr. Canfield’s face twisted, and he mumbled a few words that Sarah took to be agreement. She leaned forward. It was vital that he understood what she was proposing. “I believe you can walk again.” There was no doubt about it. His eyes registered confusion, followed quickly by hope. “It won’t be easy,” Sarah cautioned. “It will be painful, and it will take time, but with your permission, I want to try.”

This time the mumbled words were louder. Though Sarah could not understand them, she chose to believe they signified assent.

“The first thing we have to do is strengthen your legs. They’ve weakened from the months of not being used.” Trying not to wince at the memory, Sarah recalled the first time she had tried to stand. She had expected her right leg to trouble her, but she hadn’t anticipated that her left leg—the uninjured one—would buckle under her weight.