Tomorrow's Garden (19 page)

Isabelle took a bite of the gingerbread, frowning ever so slightly. “It needs more cloves,” she said. When Harriet demurred, Isabelle simply smiled. “You can be honest. I’m being honest with you when I tell you that Eva was so excited the day she found those sprouts that she would hardly eat supper, and it was her favorite chicken stew. She kept telling Gunther and me how wonderful it was to have a garden and how special you made her feel when she was the first to spot the seedlings.”

“They were all excited the first day. It was afterward that they became discouraged. Now I have to listen to Henri Fayette grousing that a garden is stupid.”

“Oh, Henri.” Isabelle shrugged again. “He was born complaining. Eva doesn’t think it’s stupid. She listened when you told the class about seeds getting ready to sprout.” Isabelle laughed as she poured herself another glass of milk. “I have to admit that it was a bit awkward. Eva asked me if the seeds were like a baby growing in its mother’s stomach.”

It wasn’t a bad analogy, even though it was not one Harriet would have used. She gave her friend an appraising look. “Is there any special reason why that thought might have come to Eva’s mind?” Isabelle’s pallor at the fall festival was gone, replaced by a glow that reminded Harriet of Sarah holding her newborn son.

Isabelle shrugged again. “She might have heard Gunther and me talking about a new baby,” she admitted.

The pieces all fit. First the pallor, now the glow. Harriet remembered the changes when her mother had been increasing. “Is that why you’ve been queasy?”

“I’m not sure yet, but it might be. I’m praying it is.”

“Oh, Isabelle.” Harriet rose and hugged her. “I’m happy for you.”

The lovely Frenchwoman frowned. “It would be wonderful, if only Gunther were happier. The whole idea of childbirth scares him.”

“Isn’t that true of most men? My father fled the house at the first sign and didn’t return for days.”

Blood drained from Isabelle’s face. “Your mother’s confinements lasted that long?”

“No, but Father wanted to be sure.” The truth was, he’d felt the need to celebrate the impending birth with strong drink and had been too drunk to walk home. Harriet had insisted her mother deserved a bouquet, and she and her grandmother had been picking flowers when they found him sleeping underneath a tree after Ruth’s birth. That had been the first time Grandma had admonished Harriet not to tell anyone what she’d seen. When the boys and Mary were born, Harriet hadn’t bothered looking for her father. Mother hadn’t asked for him, and Harriet had learned that disturbing her father meant a cuff on the head.

“Gunther had better not do that.”

He won’t hit Eva
. Harriet almost blurted out the words before she realized that Isabelle was worried about her husband’s deserting her. “I’ll have Lawrence arrest Gunther if he tries to escape,” Harriet said lightly.

Isabelle grinned. “It’s a good idea, if Lawrence is here. No one knows whether he’ll stay past January. Gunther’s tried to convince him to remain, but he said he wasn’t sure he would.”

“Oh. I’d forgotten.” While she and Lawrence talked about everything from the financial panic to books to wallpaper for his house, they had not discussed his plans for the future. Harriet took a sip of milk, trying to mask her confusion. Though Isabelle’s gingerbread was delicious and had assuaged her hunger pangs, an emptiness settled deep inside as she thought of Lawrence’s leaving and what it would mean to her. Ladreville wouldn’t be the same without him. It would be as empty and colorless as she felt right now.

She took another sip of milk. She couldn’t stop him; she wouldn’t even try, for he deserved to follow his dreams, wherever they led him. And yet, the prospect of life in Ladreville without Lawrence seemed bleak. He was her friend, and she would miss him. More than she had dreamt possible.

The church was fuller than Harriet had ever seen it, the pews packed with French citizens as well as Germans. It appeared the whole town had come to pay its last respects to Pastor Sempert, who had died the previous morning. It was now Saturday afternoon, and the church was crowded beyond capacity. Twelve people sat in pews designed for ten, while still others stood in the narthex. A few late-blooming flowers graced the altar, but the predominant odors were hair oil and ladies’ toilet water. In honor of the town’s elderly minister, it appeared that Ladreville’s citizens had bathed earlier than normal this week. Harriet, squashed between Ruth and Daniel, was thankful for that.

More than the scents and the sounds of soft murmurs, Harriet felt as if she was surrounded by sorrow. The people she had met as she’d entered the sanctuary grieved, and Ruth sobbed audibly. No one, it seemed, was unaffected. The elderly minister had been loved by his congregation and respected by the entire community.

Without a doubt, his death was a milestone in the town’s history, the end of an era. What would the future bring? Would his death unify or further divide the German-speaking population? Though church attendance had grown a bit since Frau Friedrich had instituted her campaign to bring others back, it was still only half what it had been when Pastor Sempert had conducted services. Yesterday when Harriet had ridden to the Friedrich farm to deliver the sad news, Frau Friedrich had admitted she feared there would be backsliding and that Pastor Russell would be left with only a shell of a congregation. Her eyes red-rimmed from tears, Ruth had expressed the same concern. Harriet wondered whether her sister’s tears were for the town’s former pastor or its new one, for Ruth’s conversations were peppered with Sterling’s name, and though she would not admit it, Harriet suspected that her visits to the two ministers had become the highlight of her sister’s life.

The music ended and a hush filled the church as Pastor Russell took his place in front of the altar. “We are gathered together to lay to rest the man who guided this congregation for many years. Though I knew him for a far shorter time than most of you, I know that, as much as he loved this life, Pastor Sempert longed for the moment when he would be taken home to his heavenly Father. That moment has come. He is now at rest, and it is for us who remain to continue the work he began.”

The only sounds were a few soft sobs and the shuffling of pages as several children searched for the next hymn.

Though Harriet expected Sterling to continue with the funeral service, to her surprise, Père Tellier, the minister of the French church, rose from his seat in the first pew and joined Sterling. Short of stature and slender, he was not an imposing figure, and yet when he spoke, all eyes were on him.

“Pastor Russell has graciously granted my wish to speak of my friend. This will not be a eulogy. What I want to share with you today is the last conversation I had with Pastor Sempert. It was the day Pastor Russell was expected to arrive.”

As Ruth wiped her eyes, Harriet squeezed her hand, wishing there were some way to comfort her. Perhaps Père Tellier’s words would accomplish that.

The French minister leaned forward, as if seeking a physical contact with the congregation. “My friend spoke of the man who was coming to replace him. I must admit that I was surprised when he confessed to being disappointed when he learned that the church was sending a man from Pennsylvania. You see, he had expected someone from the Old Country, a man who spoke German far better than any Pennsylvanian could, a man who understood your customs.”

Harriet heard feet shuffling and a few embarrassed coughs as at least some members of the congregation realized that they shared the same sentiments.

“You all know that when Pastor Sempert was displeased, everyone knew it. The day he learned the new minister’s identity he was convinced that our Lord had made a mistake, and he wasted no time telling him exactly that. I’ll leave you to imagine that conversation. Fortunately, there was no fire and brimstone.” The coughs turned to chuckles.

“Unfortunately, there was also no response, and that made Pastor Sempert angry. He told me he spent a week being angry with our Lord for refusing to understand that he, Pastor Sempert, knew what was best for his congregation. That week, he confessed, was the loneliest of his life, for he had distanced himself from God. Finally, in desperation, he prayed. And this time, instead of praying that God would do what he wanted, he prayed for understanding. It was only then when Pastor Sempert truly meant the words ‘thy will be done’ that he learned what God had in store for him . . . and for us. It was then that he realized God wanted Ladreville to become an American town, one that looks forward to the future and not only back to old ties. That was why Pastor Russell was sent here. It was God’s will.”

Père Tellier looked out at the congregation, his eyes moving slowly from pew to pew. “Our friend and pastor found his peace that day, just as he is at peace now. I know that he would want you to share that peace. The question is, can you? Are you ready to take the step that he did? For I caution you that the only real peace is found when we accept God’s will.”

The French minister paused, his head bowed in silent prayer. When he raised it, he looked directly at the parishioners. “You have come here today to honor Pastor Sempert with your presence. That is as it should be, but I ask you to honor his memory in another way, one that may be more difficult. Will you honor him and, more importantly, our God, by welcoming the new shepherd our Lord has sent us?”

The murmurs turned into a single sound, the sound of hundreds of voices saying amen. Harriet smiled, and when she looked to her side, she saw that Ruth’s tears had dried, and she too was smiling. It had taken a man’s death and another’s eloquence to convince them, but the congregation finally had a new pastor.

15

Harriet took a deep breath as she walked around the classroom, straightening desks and checking that the ink bottles were closed. She did not need an encore of yesterday, when Marie Seurat had bumped into Pierre Berthoud’s desk, overturning a full bottle of ink and destroying the pages he’d so carefully copied. Though it had been an accident, Pierre had refused to accept Marie’s apology and had sulked all afternoon while Marie had shed copious tears, convinced that she had ruined her life, not simply Pierre’s composition.

A quick glance outside confirmed Harriet’s suspicions. Yesterday the two children had been sworn enemies. Today, with the mercurial emotions so characteristic of youngsters, they were playing peacefully in the schoolyard, the contretemps apparently forgotten.

Harriet’s smile faded as she looked at the garden, now ignored by her students. Perhaps Lawrence and Isabelle were correct, and the garden wasn’t a bad idea. When spring came, everyone would enjoy it. The problem was, it wasn’t accomplishing Harriet’s goal of teaching the children patience. They had deplorably small quantities of that particular virtue at any time, and it was worse now. With the cooler weather, they were less anxious to go outdoors, especially to check on a plot of ground where nothing appeared to be happening. Soon she would have to find new activities to amuse them during their recesses. Soon she would have to light the stove. Harriet shuddered. She’d postpone that as long as she could. In the meantime, there had to be something to keep her pupils occupied.

Her eyes lit on the calendar that hung next to the chalkboard. November was more than half over. In less than a fortnight, it would be December, and then . . . Harriet’s pensive expression turned to a grin as she pictured the last page of the calendar. That was it. Clutching the prospect of a new activity to her the way a sassy squirrel does acorns, Harriet returned to her desk and started making lists of questions. She glanced at the clock again, counting the hours until she could dismiss school and talk to Isabelle. Her friend would have the answers.

Two hours later, class was over and Harriet was gathering her papers when she heard the door open. “Isabelle!” Harriet rose and hurried toward the pretty brunette. Dressed in a forest green frock with pale gold trim, Isabelle could have graced the pages of
Godey’s Lady’s Book
or Frank Leslie’s
Gazette of Fashion
. “Did you read my mind? I was planning to visit you this afternoon.”

Isabelle shook her head. “No mind reading. I was just so excited that I couldn’t wait to tell you the news.” Her brown eyes sparkled, and a becoming flush colored her cheeks. “Do you want to guess?”

There was only one thing Harriet could imagine that would cause so much happiness, but she didn’t want to be the one to pronounce the words. It was far better to let Isabelle make her joyful announcement. “I’m not good at guessing,” Harriet prevaricated. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Isabelle clasped her hands, then flung them wide and pirouetted. “I’m expecting!” she cried. “Priscilla confirmed it.”

Though not unexpected, this was joyous news indeed. “Oh, Isabelle, I’m so happy for you.”

“There’s more.” Isabelle’s lips twitched, as if she were trying to control her smile. “She thinks I may be carrying twins.”

“Oh, my!”

Isabelle’s laugh filled the schoolhouse. “That’s what I said. At least,” she admitted with a sheepish grin, “that’s what I said when I could talk. At first all I could do was stare at Priscilla. I was sure she was wrong.” Isabelle’s eyes sparkled again. “Just think, Harriet. These will be the first twins in Ladreville. Even Gunther is excited about that. But how will I ever take care of two babies? I’ve never even cared for one. I don’t know anything about babies.” Isabelle’s words came out faster than the water over her husband’s waterwheel.

Harriet smiled at her friend. “You’ll have lots of help—maybe more than you want. If I know Eva, she’ll try to adopt one of the babies as her own, and your mother’s close by.” When Isabelle’s expression remained dubious, Harriet added, “So am I. I may not be a mother, but I’ve had lots of experience with children, and I’d be glad to help you.”

Her face once more wreathed in a smile, Isabelle threw her arms around Harriet. “I knew I could count on you. Oh, I’m so glad you came to Ladreville!”

For the next few minutes, Isabelle chattered about her queasiness, the need for two of everything, and possible names for the babies. Then she clapped a hand over her mouth and frowned. “How selfish of me! You said you had planned to visit me today. Was there a special reason?”

“Nothing as special as your announcement, but I did want your advice.” When Isabelle settled into one of the front desks, Harriet pulled out her own chair. “I was considering having the children perform a Christmas pageant. What do you think?”

Isabelle nodded so vigorously that a curl escaped from her chignon. “It’s a wonderful idea. We’ve never had a pageant, but the parents loved it when their children marched in the Independence Day parade, so I’m sure they’d be even more excited about this.” Furrows formed between her eyes, as if she had considered all aspects of the plan and found something missing. “Where will you hold it?”

Harriet didn’t need to consult her list. Finding a suitable location was the first item on it. “That’s one of the things I wanted to discuss with you.” She gestured around her. “The school is obviously too small, and it’s too cold to expect people to sit outside. That only leaves the churches, and they’re uncomfortable when everyone attends one.”

Isabelle nodded. After Pastor Sempert’s funeral, she had lamented the crowded conditions. “So what are you going to do?”

“The only solution I could find was to have two performances, one in each church.”

Isabelle was silent for a moment, as if considering. “That’s a good idea, but don’t be surprised if a lot of parents come to both performances. I know Gunther and I would if Eva were in the pageant. You may wind up with crowded churches, anyway.”

Harriet frowned. “I hadn’t considered that possibility.” She’d have to speak to the ministers about setting up extra chairs. “I’ve also been worrying about costumes. Would you—”

“Of course,” Isabelle interrupted. “I’d be insulted if you didn’t ask me to help. Maman and I will choose some fabric, and as soon as you’ve decided who will play Mary and Joseph and the wise men, we’ll start sewing.”

That was the reaction Harriet had hoped for. Still, she couldn’t let Isabelle underestimate the effort. “It may be more work than you’re expecting. I want all the children to be involved.” That was an important element of Harriet’s plan. She gave Isabelle a wry smile. “We’ll have a lot of shepherds. A lot.”

Isabelle appeared unfazed by the idea. “Then we’ll enlist the mothers. Most of them are accomplished seamstresses.”

“Unlike me.”

Laughing, Isabelle nodded. “I wasn’t going to say that. God gives us all different talents. Yours is teaching, raising children, and planning the pageant.” She flashed an arch smile. “But you’re right. I won’t trust you with a needle and thread.”

Harriet pretended to be annoyed. “I can always count on you to keep me humble. Now, is there anyone whose permission I need?”

“The ministers, of course.” Isabelle tipped her head again, as she was wont to do when she was considering a particularly weighty subject. “You should also ask Lawrence.” Harriet raised an eyebrow, surprised by the suggestion. “When Michel Ladre was here, he insisted on approving everything that affected the town. I don’t think Lawrence is that strict, but it couldn’t hurt to ask him. I can’t imagine that he’ll disapprove.”

He did not.

“It’s a good idea.” Lawrence settled into the chair next to Harriet. “Do you need any props?”

Harriet looked around his office, impressed with the difference the fresh coat of paint Jake had given it made. Even with the pale sunlight of late autumn, the walls seemed to glow. “We have all the shepherds’ crooks we need, so all that’s left is a manger. I thought I could borrow one.”

Lawrence wrinkled his nose. “Not a good idea. The farmers are always using theirs, and—more importantly—you won’t like the smell.” To emphasize his words, he held his nose in mock horror.

“I don’t need a stable, but I can’t imagine the pageant without a manger.”

“I wasn’t suggesting you try to do without one. I think you should have both a manger and a stable, and I have just the person to build them for you.”

Harriet didn’t try to hide her surprise. “I was afraid William Goetz would be too busy.” When they had discussed the pageant, Isabelle had told her he was the only carpenter in Ladreville and that his services were in great demand as Christmas approached.

“William won’t be too busy if someone else does the work and all he has to do is supervise.”

“That sounds logical, but who would that someone else be?”

“Your brother.”

Her boot heels made little sound as she strode down rue du Marché. That was one of the advantages of strolling on this street rather than on Hochstrasse’s wooden boardwalks. Though the latter kept her skirts from becoming splattered with mud after a rain, Harriet found it more satisfying to walk briskly on the packed earth. That was why she chose this street for her almost-nightly peregrinations. That and the privacy. There were few houses on this stretch of the road, and none of the commercial establishments remained open past dark.

She smiled as she increased her pace, enjoying the acceleration of her heartbeat. Everything was going well with the pageant. The children were excited; the parents were pleased; even Jake was in a better mood. Harriet knew that the credit for the last went to Lawrence. Though she would not have dreamt it possible, Jake had become a different person since he started working off his debt. He certainly complained less frequently. That might be because he was tired—Lawrence hadn’t exaggerated when he’d warned Jake that he would work hard—but Harriet suspected her brother’s newfound serenity came at least in part from the fact that he was learning new skills.

Jake seemed to enjoy that. While he’d grumbled about being sold into slavery when he’d started working at the livery, the complaints had ceased after the first day. Instead, Jake had begun regaling the younger children with tales of the horses. In the past, Harriet might have cautioned him about the blatant hyperbole, but she was so pleased by his improved mood that she’d bit her tongue. What harm could there be in letting him pretend to be a hero? Perhaps that was what Jake needed. Perhaps his fascination with horses would lead to a vocation. Now she hoped he would find carpentry equally rewarding.

Harriet smiled again. One thing was certain: Lawrence kept her brother too busy to get into trouble. Jake might be missing school, but it appeared that he was learning more valuable lessons than her books could offer him. Working for Lawrence was giving him an education in life.

Lawrence. Harriet’s smile softened as she realized how he dominated her thoughts. This wasn’t like those first few weeks when Thomas had come to live with his uncle and Harriet had been overwhelmed by the fact that an almost unbelievably handsome young man was paying attention to her. She had soon discovered that Thomas’s sweet words were false, that he didn’t love her, and that he felt nothing but contempt for her family. Lawrence wasn’t like that. He’d never indulged in sweet words, had never claimed to love her. Instead, his actions had demonstrated that he cared about her and her siblings. Lawrence had been a true friend, honest and reliable, a fine example for Jake. It was no wonder she thought of him so often.

When she reached the end of rue du Marché, Harriet paused, debating whether to follow her normal pattern and turn around or proceed onto Potomac and return home via Hochstrasse. Though the latter route provided more variety, it forced her to pass the saloon. Unlike the stores on rue du Marché, the saloon would be open, welcoming men who indulged in strong spirits, men who might spill out the door, their unsteady gait and slurred words testament to the whiskey they’d consumed. While that had happened only once, it had been enough to convince Harriet to take an alternate course.