Tomorrow's Garden (17 page)

He tucked Harriet’s hand into the crook of his elbow and headed toward the water. Nothing would happen. Harriet was an adult, not a child. As for himself, he would focus on the warmth of her hand on his arm, not the deadly depths of the river.

“It’s cooler than I realized,” Harriet said when they’d crossed Hochstrasse.

Lawrence nodded. Perhaps this was the excuse he sought. “Crowds always generate a lot of warmth. We can turn around if you like.”

She shook her head, setting the tendrils to bouncing again. “No. It feels good.”

He should have realized that nothing deflected Harriet from a goal. She wanted to see the river, and nothing would stop her. They were parallel to the school now. Lawrence tried again. “Are you sure you don’t want to check on your garden’s progress? Some of the plants might be night-blooming.”

A peal of laughter greeted his words. “You won’t let me forget that, will you? I know you don’t believe it, but you’ll be sorry next spring when that garden is the showcase of Ladreville.”

“I’m not doubting you. It’s simply fun to see you get riled up.” Besides, watching Harriet pretend to bristle helped him not think about rivers and Lizbeth.

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? My siblings might beg to differ with you. They don’t like to see me riled.”

“That’s because you’re their boss. Lottie still tries to tell me what to do, even though we’re both grown.”

“I hope I won’t do that, but I have to confess that I can’t imagine what it will be like when they’re gone.”

They had reached the riverbank and had turned, walking slowly to the south. This was the part of the river Lawrence would see if he used the back rooms of his house. Though Gunther claimed the mayor’s home had one of the nicest views of the Medina, Lawrence had given it no more than a cursory glance. A river was a river. Some saw it as a source of life-giving water. Gunther regarded it as the energy that drove his mill. Lawrence knew it for what it truly was: a potentially deadly force. But he wouldn’t speak about that. It was safer to confine the discussion to siblings—Harriet’s siblings.

“They’ll be grown before you know it. Ruth’s already a woman, and Mary’s what?—seven?”

“Eight,” Harriet corrected. Lawrence smiled as he thought of the little girl who was turning out to be as feisty as her oldest sister. He had encountered her outside the schoolhouse several times when he’d visited Harriet, and—though he could not explain when it had happened—the sight of her no longer evoked memories of Lizbeth. Instead, he simply saw her as Mary, an appealing child in her own right. Tonight he was fortunate enough to be strolling with her sister, who was far more appealing.

“A few minutes ago I felt as if something was missing from the evening. Now I know what it was: being here, seeing this.” Harriet gestured toward the river. “It’s so beautiful.” Her voice was soft, almost reverent. Though Lawrence would never agree with her about the river, he had to admit that the moment was close to perfect. He was alone with the most fascinating woman he’d ever met.

Removing her hand from his arm, Harriet took another step toward the water. “Oh, look,” she said, leaning forward and gesturing to something floating lazily downstream. “Isn’t that—”

Perhaps the grass was damp. Perhaps her shoes were worn and slippery. Perhaps she simply lost her balance. Lawrence didn’t know. All he knew was that Harriet was tumbling headfirst toward the river.
Oh no!
The image of Lizbeth’s lifeless body flashed before him.
Not again!
For the space of a heartbeat Lawrence stood frozen with horror before he leapt forward. “Harriet,” he shouted as he wrapped his arms around her waist and tugged her against him, catching her before she landed in the water. “Harriet!” Her body was warm; her arms clutched his; he could hear her breathing. She was safe!

Though he could feel her heart pounding with alarm, Harriet’s eyes sparkled as she looked up at him. “Thank you. I hadn’t planned to take another bath today.”

A bath? Lawrence frowned. She acted as if falling into the river would have been a trivial occurrence. Didn’t she realize what could have happened? He tightened his grip on the woman who had managed to irritate him, the same woman who haunted his thoughts and dreams. He had to make her understand.

“A bath is the least that could have happened. You could have drowned like Lizbeth.”

13

At last! There was no one waiting in line for another cup of that all too sweet punch. He didn’t understand why so many people went back for second and third helpings. One had been more than enough for him. He’d rather drink water from the river than that swill. But that wasn’t important. What was important was taking care of that man.

Jake hurried to the table, determined to talk to the sister who for years had been his only ally. “We’ve got to stop him,” he announced without preamble. “That man is turning into a shadow. Every time I look, he’s there.”

Though the night was cool, a flush rose to Ruth’s cheeks as she shook her head. “You’re wrong,” she insisted, sounding more like Harriet than herself. “Sterling came only three times, and he never stayed any longer than was seemly.”

Jake stared at his sister, trying to understand. Had Ruth been drinking the other punch, the one that had some sort of spirits in it? That was the only reason he could imagine for her blush and that nonsensical response.

“Sterling?” he demanded. “Who’s Sterling?”

Ruth’s face turned an even deeper pink the way it had the time Harriet caught her reading a book when she should have been cooking dinner. “Pastor Russell. That’s what I meant. Pastor Russell. He just wanted to make sure I was all right.” Ruth was more flustered than Jake had ever seen her. That must be why she wasn’t making much sense. She glared at him as she added, “I don’t know why I’m explaining all this. You’re not my keeper.”

“No, but he plans to be.”

Furrows formed between her eyes. “Who are you talking about?”

Who did she think? The man in the moon? Girls could be so dumb. “Karl, of course. Haven’t you noticed the way he won’t leave Harriet alone?” Surely ladling glasses of punch wasn’t so engrossing that Ruth hadn’t been able to see what was going on practically in front of her. She wasn’t blind without her spectacles like Harriet. “I tell you, Ruth, Karl wants to marry her. We can’t let him do that. He’s a mean man. He’ll turn Harriet and us into his slaves. Don’t you see? We’d have to move out to the farm and work there every day.”

Blanching, Ruth shook her head, but Jake saw the doubt in her eyes. Maybe she wasn’t so dumb. After all, she’d been the first to say she didn’t like Thomas, that his smiles held something sinister. But Ruth’s expression reminded Jake of Harriet and the way she didn’t have to say anything to make him feel like a little boy.

“I’m sure you’re wrong.” Though Ruth’s voice was low, she enunciated each syllable, just like Harriet. What had happened to the old Ruth, the one he could count on in a pinch? “Karl may be courting Harriet, but he doesn’t want us all on the farm.”

Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. She didn’t understand. “You’re the one who’s wrong, Ruth. I tell you that man is looking for free help. A wife and slaves.” When Ruth shook her head again, Jake clenched his fists. He should have known better than to think she would help him. “Someone’s gotta stop him, and I guess it’s gonna be me.”

“Lizbeth?”

“She was my sister.” Though the moonlight glinted off her spectacles, Lawrence saw tears welling in Harriet’s eyes as the past tense registered. He clenched his fists, wishing he had clenched his teeth. He should never have mentioned Lizbeth. He certainly hadn’t planned to, but fear had propelled his words. In the years that he’d been a Ranger, he had learned to hide his feelings, to act based on reason, not emotion. And yet in the space of a second, his training was forgotten, replaced by raw fear. There was no way to retract Lizbeth’s name.

Harriet looked up at him, confusion clouding her eyes. “I thought Lottie was your only sibling.”

“She is now.” Lawrence slipped off his coat and wrapped it around Harriet’s shoulders. He wasn’t certain whether it was the cold or the belated realization that she could have been hurt, but something was causing her to tremble. Perhaps the additional warmth would help. One thing was certain: they needed to leave the riverside.

Lawrence kept his arm around Harriet’s waist, gently leading her back toward the gathering as he started his explanation. “Lizbeth was four years younger than me—three at the time—and it seemed she was always following me. Sometimes I was happy about that. I remember calling her my little puppy, because she trailed after me the way one of the dogs did. But most of the time she seemed like a pest. That’s why I used to hide so she couldn’t find me.”

Harriet laid her hand on his arm and squeezed it. He noticed that the trembling had stopped, and her voice held a hint of amusement. “I remember doing that with Ruth, and the boys still try their best to shake off Mary.”

“You make it sound innocent,” he said. “No one died because you were hiding.”

She stopped and looked up at him, those big gray eyes solemn. “Whatever occurred, it couldn’t have been your fault. You were only seven.”

Lawrence urged her to keep walking. Somehow it was easier to talk while he was moving. “I know that now, but for years I was haunted by the belief that I should have saved her.”

“What happened?”

They had reached Hochstrasse and were moving steadily toward the site of the festivities. Lawrence slowed his pace, not wanting anyone to overhear. “It was the annual Independence Day celebration. There was a parade, speeches, a picnic, and then lots of games.” He stared into the distance as memories of a hot sunny day flooded through him. “I don’t remember where my parents and Lottie were. All I remember is that Lizbeth wanted to be my partner for the sack race, and I refused. I called her a silly little girl. The last time I saw my sister alive, she was crying and telling me I was mean.”

Lawrence swallowed deeply, trying to chase away images that were more than two decades old. “I won the race. Afterward, I was celebrating with my friends when I heard a splash. Somehow Lizbeth had fallen into the river.” His voice was calm, but inside his heart ached with the realization that if he had let Lizbeth race with him, she might still be alive. “There had been a recent rain, so the water was deeper than normal, but it wouldn’t have mattered if it had been only four feet deep. Neither of us could swim.”

Though she said nothing, Harriet tightened the grip on his arm. “I jumped in to save her, and I almost drowned myself.” Oddly, Lawrence had few memories of that. Perhaps they had been obliterated by the horror of Lizbeth’s death.

“Oh, Lawrence.” Harriet’s voice was choked with tears. “I can’t imagine how awful that must have been. It was terrible when my parents died, but a child’s death is worse—much worse.”

He wouldn’t tell her that even now he sometimes dreamt of a small coffin being lowered into the ground, and that each time he would waken shaking. Harriet didn’t need to know that. Instead Lawrence forced a light note into his voice. “I learned to swim, but . . .” He paused for dramatic effect. “I have to admit that I’ve never been comfortable around rivers.”

“And I made it worse by insisting on walking by the river and then slipping.” Harriet stretched her hand up and stroked his cheek. It was nothing more than a simple gesture of comfort, and yet its effect was far from simple. Her hand was soft, her touch as gentle as an autumn breeze, and like the breeze that carried scents across the evening air, her fingers sent warmth flowing through him. Somehow, some way this woman’s touch chased away the darkness and the pain, leaving in their place the realization that while he had been unable to save Lizbeth, what had happened that summer day had shaped his life, leading him first to the Rangers and now to Ladreville. It was all part of God’s plan.

It was farther than he’d thought. Thomas winced as he turned over. This sleeping on the ground was mighty rough on the body, but what was a man to do? He couldn’t spend his last coins on a bed, not that there were any in sight. This part of Texas was more desolate than anything he’d seen, and it was all that farmer’s fault.

Thomas had reckoned it would take no more than three days to reach Ladreville, but here he was on the fifth day, and he still hadn’t gotten there. That cursed farmer had told him to turn right at the crossroads, when he should have turned left. Left. Left. Left. That’s what the old codger should have said. But he hadn’t, and now Thomas was lost somewhere in a land that was fit for nothing more than scorpions and javelinas.

First things first. He had to get to Ladreville and convince Harriet to marry him. Once that was done, he’d find the farmer, and the man would pay. Yes, sirree, he’d pay.

“Where were you?” Karl’s light blue eyes reflected worry and something else, perhaps a bit of anger. “You should have told me you were going away.”

Harriet shivered. Ever since she’d returned Lawrence’s coat, she had felt cold. More than that, she’d had an odd sensation of bereavement, as if she had lost something important. That was absurd. She had looked around the celebration, assuring herself that her siblings were all there. Though she hadn’t seen Jake, the others were safe. Jake was probably sitting on the ground, playing jacks with the other boys. She was fine. It was Lawrence who had suffered the loss. Even though it had been more than twenty years ago, the loss was still shaping his life. No wonder he felt so strongly about constructing a bridge over the Medina. Harriet shivered again. She couldn’t restore Lawrence’s sister, but she could help him convince the townspeople they needed a bridge.

“Where were you?” Karl repeated his question.

“I went for a walk along the river,” Harriet said as calmly as she could. What should have been an ordinary walk had been anything but that. First there was that awkward slip when she’d found herself heading face first into the water, only to be yanked back at the last second. Next came those seconds of unexpected warmth being held by Lawrence. How wonderful it had felt to be in his arms, to be so close that she could hear his heart beat and savor the fragrance that was his alone. Though he had meant nothing more than comfort, Lawrence had chased away the chill and, more than that, he had restored her sense of equilibrium.

Then came his revelation, uncovering the deep facets that made Lawrence so special. Harriet had seen the handsome man, the strong man, the former Ranger, the current mayor and sheriff. Tonight she had discovered the vulnerable boy.

When Harriet was seven, days had been spent with Grandma and Grandpa. Grandma had claimed it was because Mother was busy. At the time Harriet hadn’t understood, for when she and Ruth returned home for supper, Mother was almost always asleep. But Harriet didn’t mind. Days in the stone cottage were exciting as Grandpa introduced her to the magic that could be found between the covers of a book. Those had been happy days when death was only a word. Lawrence had not been so fortunate, and Harriet’s heart ached for the loss he had endured and the guilt that had plagued him for so long. Young as he was, Lawrence had felt responsible for his sister’s death, and though he tried to make light of it, Harriet knew all too well the burden responsibility could place on a child. This, she suspected, was the reason he continued to distance himself from Lottie; he feared losing her.

“You should have told me.” Karl’s words brought Harriet back to the present. She looked around, searching for Lawrence, but he was not in sight. When they’d reached the gathering, he had told her he needed to walk around to ensure that no one was imbibing too heavily.