Tomorrow's Garden (21 page)

Ruth’s snort reminded Harriet of Jake. What was happening to this family that everyone was becoming contentious and resorting to crude noises?

“So you say.” Ruth shook her head slowly. “I think you’re wrong about his feelings. I think you’re afraid of love.”

16

It was the oddest town he’d ever seen. Thomas looked around, his lip curling at the sight of half-timbered buildings. Didn’t these folks know that Texans didn’t build houses like this? A house was made of stone or wood. Only foreigners would think you should use both. But that’s what this town was, a bunch of foreigners. He heard them talking, and even the ones who spoke English were almost impossible to understand.

Why on earth had Harriet decided to come here when she could have remained in Fortune as his wife? Surely by now she would have seen the error of her ways. Every other woman would have, but Harriet was stubborn. There was no telling what she was thinking.

Thomas walked slowly, choosing the quietest streets. If Ladreville was like Fortune, there’d be nosy people just waiting to report that a stranger had entered their precious town. He couldn’t let that happen. If he was going to convince Harriet to marry him, he needed surprise on his side. That and his charm would do the trick.

He looked around. It wouldn’t be hard to find the school. And then . . . Thomas grinned in anticipation.

“Women! I’ll never understand them.” Lawrence frowned at his companion, then shrugged as he leaned back in the saddle. He was a churl to even introduce the subject. It wasn’t Sterling’s fault that he was in a rotten mood. It wasn’t even the fault of the cloudy day. The problem was, Lawrence had lain awake most of the night as he had for the past week, reliving his encounter with Harriet. Predictably, by morning his head hurt almost as much as it had the one time he’d had too many whiskeys.

He probably should have declined the minister’s invitation, but he had thought—wrongly, it turned out—that a brisk ride might improve his disposition. Besides, Snip needed the exercise. And so he and Sterling were on the opposite side of the Medina, letting their horses cool down after a gallop.

The air was thick and damp, presaging a storm, but that didn’t appear to faze Sterling. He grinned as he swatted a fly that buzzed around his nose. “Women are definitely one of God’s mysteries. I’m not sure he meant us to understand them, but he did send them to us for a reason.”

“To make our lives miserable?” Lawrence was only half joking. His life had certainly been miserable since that night outside the saloon. At first he’d thought Harriet would calm down in a day or two, but when he’d approached her after church, she’d pretended she didn’t see him, and when he’d addressed her on the street, she had given him a look that would have chilled an August day. How was a man supposed to patch up a quarrel—if that’s what it was—when the other party wouldn’t speak? “I swear, women are creatures from another world.”

Sterling chuckled. “You sound like my father when he and Ma had a row. He’d threaten to leave the farm and never return. The next thing we knew, they were kissing.” As Snip whinnied, almost as if he understood the conversation, Sterling laughed again. “Believe me, when my brothers and I were growing up, we almost preferred the arguments to the kissing. That was mighty embarrassing to young boys.”

For the first time this morning, Lawrence smiled, recalling portions of his childhood. “I know what you mean. When it happened, my sister used to claim that our parents were mushy. I have to confess that for the longest time, I didn’t understand why she thought they resembled cornmeal mush. All I knew was that I didn’t want to watch any show of affection. I would have headed for the hills if there’d been any near us. As it was, I’d hide in the barn until I thought the mushiness was over.”

As a breeze rustled the oak leaves, Sterling stared into the distance. “Still, a man reaches a time when he looks at women differently, especially if a special one catches his eye.”

Lawrence shot his friend an appraising look. It seemed that he wasn’t the only one who was in an odd mood this morning. The tone of Sterling’s voice had changed, humor replaced with something else, something almost wistful. “It sounds as if someone has caught your eye.”

Sterling nodded but kept his eyes fixed on the grove of trees, as if hoping to spot the mockingbird whose cry filled the air. “I didn’t expect it, but I can’t get her out of my thoughts.”

Though Lawrence steeled his face to remain expressionless, he understood what Sterling was saying. Thoughts of a certain schoolmarm cropped up when he least expected them, and they refused to be banished, even though the schoolmarm banished him.

“I didn’t think so at first.” Sterling was still speaking, oblivious to the direction Lawrence’s thoughts had taken. “But now I believe she’d be the perfect helpmeet for me.”

Lawrence glanced down at Snip to hide his confusion. It appeared this was not a passing fancy or a simple case of infatuation. Sterling sounded serious. “Are you going to tell me who the special lady is?”

The minister turned back to Lawrence, a broad smile crossing his face. “You might as well know. It’s Miss Kirk.”

“Harriet?” Lawrence felt the way he had when a bandit had shoved the end of a rifle into his stomach: shocked, sick, and more than slightly foolish. Sterling and Harriet? Lawrence couldn’t picture them together, and yet there was no denying the fatuous look on his friend’s face.

That look turned to mild horror. “Never! It’s the other Miss Kirk I fancy. Ruth.”

Lawrence’s heartbeat returned to normal. “The shy one,” he said softly. It was easier—far easier—to imagine Sterling with Ruth. Still, he wondered how such a timid woman would fare as a parson’s wife.

“She’s only shy until you get to know her.” It seemed that Sterling had read his mind. “Last week she took exception to something in my sermon and didn’t hesitate to tell me.”

“That sounds like Harriet. She’s pretty plainspoken, at least with me.”

Though Sterling had once again been staring into the distance, he turned and looked at Lawrence, his expression appraising. “Harriet’s a fine woman, but she’s not the one for me.”

Perhaps it was Sterling’s expression; perhaps it was the tone of his voice, which had altered ever so slightly. Whatever the reason, Lawrence’s hackles rose. “Don’t look at me like that. Harriet’s not the one for me, either. She practically took my head off because I’d had a glass of whiskey, and she hasn’t spoken to me since. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why.”

Though Snip tossed his head, as if he shared Lawrence’s frustration, Sterling nodded solemnly. “There’s an easy way to learn what’s bothering her.”

Surely that wasn’t amusement tingeing Sterling’s words. There was nothing amusing about being ignored by Harriet. Though his first instinct was to demand the information from Sterling, Lawrence forced an amiable tone to his voice. “If you know the secret, I’d be much obliged if you’d share it with me.”

Sterling shook his head. “It’s more entertaining to watch you squirm.”

“And I thought you were a man of God.”

“That doesn’t stop me from enjoying a moment of satisfaction watching a big, tough Ranger felled by a slip of a woman.”

“Be careful.” Lawrence tightened his grip on the reins. “This big, tough Ranger is thinking about planting his fist on your face.”

“You’ll have to catch me first.”

Before Lawrence knew what he intended, Sterling leaned over his horse’s neck, and the two were off, racing toward the pecan tree whose blackened trunk was evidence of a long-ago lightning strike. Sterling had only a second’s advantage, but that was enough to make Lawrence unable to catch him.

“Congratulations. It appears that you’ve been practicing,” Lawrence said when they were once more riding side by side.

“I have,” Sterling admitted, “and since you were kind enough not to rearrange my face with your fist, I’ll tell you the secret.” He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly in a deliberate attempt to heighten the suspense. “The secret is . . .” Another pause. “Ask her.”

“Ask her?”

Sterling grinned. “It’s simple enough. You open your mouth and words come out. Of course, considering what you’ve told me about Harriet’s mood, you might want to take a peace offering.”

“What on earth is that?”

“Some little thing to sweeten her disposition. The mercantile’s bound to have something.” Sterling’s lips twisted into a rueful smile. “Here’s another bit of advice for you. You might want to claim that whatever you buy is for your sister. Otherwise, Ladreville’s grapevine will have you married before you even set foot inside the schoolhouse.”

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the little schoolmarm.”

Harriet spun around so quickly that the chalk fell out of her hand. She’d been writing the next day’s lessons on the board, but the sound of a voice she had never thought to hear again had driven every other thought from her brain.

“Thomas! What are you doing here?” There was no mistaking either the voice or the deceptively handsome face. Though he was of only medium height, Thomas Bruckner’s dark brown hair and eyes combined with flawlessly formed features made him a man few women could refuse. Why had he sought out the one who
had
refused him?

He smiled, his lips curving into an expression most people would have described as cherubic. “I came to see you.” He smiled again and took another step toward her. “What I see is that you’ve changed. You’re more beautiful than ever.”

Harriet dismissed the compliment, knowing it to be as false as everything Thomas said. “You’re wrong. I haven’t changed, and I can’t imagine why you wasted your time coming here.”

“Now, Harriet, don’t be hasty. I know we had a misunderstanding when we parted, but . . .”

“There was no misunderstanding. You asked me to marry you. As I recall, you practically ordered me to marry you. I refused. How could there possibly be a misunderstanding about that?”

Though his lips stayed curved in a smile, Thomas’s eyes were cold. “Surely you can’t mean to remain here, teaching foreigners’ children when you could be home in Fortune, living a life of ease as my wife.”

How dare he be so condescending? Harriet straightened her spine and glared at Thomas. “As odd as it may seem to you, remaining here is exactly what I intend to do. This is my home now, and those people you call foreigners are my friends.”

“But I want to marry you.”

“I can’t imagine why. You told me I was stubborn and waspish. Why would you want to marry a woman like that?”

“Because I need . . .” He stopped abruptly, his voice changing subtly as he said, “Because I care about you.”

She shook her head. “You care about only one thing, and that’s yourself.” As she remembered the rumors of Thomas’s gambling debts, she added, “If this is about money, once again you’re wrong. There is no money, and even if there were, I would never give it to you. Go back to Fortune and find yourself someone else. I will never, ever marry you.”

“But you have to.”

“No, Thomas, I do not.” Harriet pointed at the door. “You’re the one who needs to do something. Leave.”

“You haven’t seen the last of me.”

Seconds later, Harriet sank into her chair, her legs weak with relief. It was typical Thomas, insisting on the final word, but at least he was gone.

He felt silly, carrying a bag of candy in his pocket. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing Harriet would appreciate, but Madame Rousseau had assured him that all women—including his purportedly fussy sister—would enjoy a sweet. So, here he was, feeling distinctly awkward as he opened the door to the schoolhouse.