Scattered Petals (21 page)

“And what did you get?”

“I’m not sure. Neither of my parents craved adventure the way I do.”

Zach slowed the horses as the track worsened. “It appears to me, Mrs. Webster,” he said, giving the formal address a joking tone, “that you’re on an adventure right now. You’re headed for parts unknown.”

“Thank you kindly, Mr. Webster, for indulging my fancy.”

“I hope you like where we’re going.” A serious note crept into his voice, as if he were uncertain of her reaction. They’d entered a heavily wooded section of the ranch. Though she found the shade and the cool air refreshing, Pricilla was thankful she was not driving the team. It was clear only a skilled driver could maneuver a wagon between the trees.

“Should we walk?” she suggested.

“Patience, Mrs. Webster. Patience. We’re almost there.”

A minute later the wagon emerged into a meadow so carpeted with flowers that it appeared blue.

Priscilla caught her breath. “Oh, Zach. It’s beautiful!”

He grinned. “They’re bluebonnets. You can find patches almost everywhere this time of the year, but this is the biggest one I’ve seen.”

“It’s magnificent.” When he stopped the wagon, Priscilla climbed out and touched the delicate flowers. “Look. From a distance, I thought they were solid blue, but there are bits of white and yellow on the petals too. And look.” She knelt on the ground and pointed to a vibrant red flower. “What’s this?”

“Indian paintbrush. I can never decide which one is prettier.”

“Luckily you don’t need to decide. They’re both here, and they’re both beautiful.” Though Priscilla had seen magnificent gardens in Boston, their beauty paled against this.

Zach nodded as if he’d heard her thoughts. “Sarah and Mrs. Bramble made pretty gardens, but to my mind, nothing compares to this. This is God’s garden. And now, Mrs. Webster, it’s time for the picnic you promised me.” He pulled an old quilt and the basket from the back of the wagon.

Priscilla eyed the quilt and the masses of wildflowers. “I don’t want to spread it on the ground. We might hurt the flowers. Maybe we should eat in the wagon.”

Zach shook his head. “That’s not a picnic. Don’t worry. The flowers are sturdier than you think. Besides, the way I figure it, God put them here for us to enjoy.”

She couldn’t argue with that, and so she helped Zach spread the quilt. As she served the food, Priscilla watched the man she’d married. Perhaps it was the setting, but today he seemed happier than she’d ever seen him. Though his eyes still held sorrow, it seemed to have diminished. “This is a wonderful place,” Priscilla said softly. “It’s so peaceful here.” The only sounds were their breathing, a bird’s trilling, and a rodent scurrying through the grass.

“I saw it for the first time last fall when Clay took over the Lazy B. It may sound strange, but I felt at home here.”

Priscilla looked around and smiled. “That doesn’t sound strange to me. This would be the perfect location for a house.” She wondered why the Brambles hadn’t chosen it. The meadow was large enough to hold a house, a few outbuildings, and a garden, and if the house were located near the trees, they’d provide shade from the summer sun.

“That’s what I thought. At the time I didn’t think I’d be staying in Ladreville, but I told myself that if I ever did settle down, it would be in a place like this.”

“And now you’re going to own it.”

A smile creased Zach’s face. “God has a way of working things out for us, doesn’t he? If he hadn’t sent you here, I wouldn’t have a house of my own and a family to make that house a home.”

He was venturing into dangerous waters. Though they’d spoken of many things, they had not revisited the reason for their marriage. Priscilla knew that she had changed, that her feelings had altered. Had his? There was only one way to know. “Then you’re content with our arrangement?”

“Yes.” He answered without hesitation, but his eyes darkened and his expression was solemn as he turned to her. “And you?”

Priscilla nodded. She had sought reassurance, and so, it appeared, did Zach. “Four months ago I would not have dreamt that I’d be saying this, but yes, I am content. I’ve come to love Ladreville. Somehow it feels more like home than Boston ever did.” She paused, then laid her hand on her stomach. It was time to tell Zach how she felt. She wouldn’t embarrass him with words like love, for she wasn’t certain that was what she felt, but she could talk to him about the baby. “Thank you for marrying me and accepting my child. If it weren’t for you, I know I wouldn’t be able to say this, but I’m looking forward to the baby . . . our baby.”

12

If there was one thing Isabelle did not like, it was rainy days. There were fewer customers when it rained, and those who came were almost invariably grumpy, acting as if she were somehow to blame for the inclement weather. To make things worse, Karl Friedrich, the farmer who had hired her brother Léon to help with his crops, had no work for Léon today, and so her brother was stomping around the store, muttering that the shelves weren’t stocked properly and that she hadn’t displayed the ribbons to their advantage. As if he knew anything about ribbons. He was simply grousing because he hated being indoors. Today, so did she.

“What you need is to do something useful.”

“Just what would you suggest?” Léon spat the words at her.

“You can mind the store while I go out.” Isabelle reached for her umbrella.

Her brother stared at her as if she had suddenly lost her mind. “Are you crazy? It’s raining.”

“I am well aware of that.” Maman would fuss about damp shoes and skirts, which she claimed led to the grippe. She would probably echo Léon’s words and claim that Isabelle was crazy to walk in the rain, but at least she wouldn’t be complaining about Gunther. Though Maman had had nothing but kind words for him last summer when he was courting Sarah, now not a meal passed without at least one disparaging comment.

“You’ll catch your death out there.”

Ignoring her brother’s dire predictions, Isabelle opened the door and unfurled her umbrella. The rain, though still a steady downpour, was less intense than it had been half an hour before. Admittedly, it was not the ideal day for a stroll, but she’d be sheltered once she reached her destination: the town’s open air market. All the vendors had tents over their tables. In the summer, the tents provided shade from the hot Texas sun. Today they’d keep the rain off customers as well as their merchandise.

Though water seeped inside her shoes, Isabelle smiled, thinking of the first table she would visit. Frau Bauer’s unique jewelry, consisting of natural materials, had long intrigued her. When she’d come into the mercantile earlier that week, the German matron had mentioned the new style of jewelry she had made. Instead of using pinecones, as she usually did, these were fashioned from dried seeds. “Some of them look almost like pearls,” she had explained. Isabelle smiled again. Admiring Frau Bauer’s craftsmanship and perhaps buying a piece would surely lift her spirits.

As her feet squished and rain sluiced off her umbrella, Isabelle turned onto rue de la Seine, quickly covering the short block to rue du Marché. Though the market that had given the street its name was located directly behind her family’s store, a tall wooden fence separated the lots. As she turned into the market grounds, Isabelle stopped abruptly, astonished by the sight of the man who was striding toward her. Why was he here?

“Isabelle!” Gunther sounded as surprised as she. “What are you doing out in this weather?” Unlike her brother’s, Gunther’s voice held no disdain. Instead, he grinned and his eyes sparkled as he juggled a package and his umbrella so he could doff his hat for her. No man could be more courtly than Gunther Lehman. That was one of the things she loved—she
liked
, Isabelle corrected herself quickly—about him.

“I could ask you the same question.” Though she tried to keep her voice level, Isabelle’s heart was racing, and she could feel blood rush to her face at the silly direction her mind had taken. This was Gunther, her friend, she reminded herself. No matter what hopes she might harbor, he had never crossed the boundaries of friendship.

If he noticed her discomfiture, Gunther gave no sign. Instead, he shrugged and answered her question. “No one wants grain milled today.”

“No one wants to shop at the mercantile, either.” Isabelle looked around the market. Though several of the tents were empty, the majority of tables were as filled with merchandise as on a sunny day. “I’m surprised to see so many vendors.” The weather seemed to have discouraged all but a dozen customers. If she hadn’t been restless, Isabelle would not have come. As for Gunther, she could not imagine what had brought him to the market today. The package he had tucked underneath his arm was too small to be bread or other foodstuffs.

He shrugged again as he looked at the tables laden with goods. “I suppose a few sales are better than none at all.” He paused, as if unsure what to do. Isabelle shared the feeling. Gunther had been headed in the opposite direction, probably going home, when she had arrived. She could hardly expect him to prolong his time in the rain. And yet, though the weather was less than conducive to conversation, she didn’t want him to leave. They had so few opportunities to talk without every word being overheard. Despite the rain and the discomfort it brought, she and Gunther had a modicum of privacy here.

Gunther’s eyes seemed to reflect some of the same ambivalence. “May I accompany you?”

Though her heart leapt with pleasure, Isabelle had to caution him. “You may find it boring.” Léon and her father certainly would. “I came to see Frau Bauer’s new designs.”

Gunther reddened and glanced at his package. “Oh . . . well . . . um . . .” He stared at the ground as if he expected to see the words that eluded him written on it. At last he raised his eyes to meet Isabelle’s. “Perhaps you shouldn’t go there.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because . . . um . . .” Gunther took a deep breath, then looked around. Was he worried that they would be overheard? Though the ten or so vendors who’d brought their wares to the marketplace had undoubtedly noticed Gunther and Isabelle’s arrival, no one was close enough to hear them. Gunther shook his head slowly. “This isn’t the place I would have chosen, but . . .” He pulled out the package that he’d been cradling next to his body and handed it to Isabelle, his face reddening again as he said, “I thought you might like this.”

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.”