Tomorrow's Garden (29 page)

Mutter stared at him the way she used to when he was a child and had told a lie, making him as uncomfortable as she had all those years ago. It was silly to feel that way, for he wasn’t a boy any longer, and he hadn’t lied.

At last she nodded as if she’d heard his thoughts. “Have you spoken to Harriet? Does she know how you feel?”

“Nein. That’s why I’m here. I don’t know where to start.”

The cuckoo clock chimed 10:00, reminding him he should be in the barn repairing tack.

“You need to court her.”

Karl tried to bite back his annoyance. “You told me that before, but you didn’t tell me how to do it.”

His mother sighed, and once again he felt as if he were ten years old and had somehow disappointed her. “The first thing you need to do is visit Harriet. That will let her know you care about her.”

“But what do I say when I get there?” That was a problem. Karl could talk about crops and farm animals, but those weren’t things that interested women.

Mutter sighed again. “All right, son. If you’re sure this is what you want, I’ll go with you the first couple times.”

“Mutter sent this.” Karl held out a bowl filled with what appeared to be a soft pudding. “She said it would not hurt your throat.”

“Oh, Karl, I feel as if I’m being spoiled.” This was the third consecutive night that he’d brought gifts of food from his mother. The first two times, he’d been accompanied by his mother, but tonight he was alone. Harriet accepted the bowl before leading him into the parlor. Though the boys had been playing there when Karl rapped on the front door, the room was now empty, the thumps overhead telling Harriet they’d moved their game to their bedroom.

“Would you like to sit?” She offered Karl a chair and nodded to Ruth to take another. As was true the last two days, he wore clean overalls and a sheepish expression. Ruth claimed he had come courting, but Harriet didn’t believe that. If Karl were courting a woman, he’d simply declare his intentions. He wasn’t a man for subtleties like flowers, books, or lemon drops. Besides, a man didn’t bring his mother if he was courting. Still, Harriet had to admit that it was unusual for Karl to visit three days in a row.

“You deserve to be spoiled,” he said. “Mutter and I want to spoil you.” Karl’s face reddened, as if the subject embarrassed him, and he added abruptly, “I heard Olga Kaltheimer is coming back to Ladreville.”

“I don’t believe I know her.” Harriet wondered why Karl was speaking of someone she had never met. Though she had been introduced to the elder Kaltheimers, there had been no mention of a daughter.

Karl stroked his beard. “Olga was supposed to be the teacher when Sarah left. I heard it was all set; then one day she left town to visit cousins. That’s when Michel Ladre advertised for a new teacher. But now Olga’s coming back.”

That was, Harriet realized, the longest speech she had heard Karl deliver, although why it concerned her was not apparent. “That’s good,” she said idly. Perhaps Karl was simply searching for a topic of discussion. Or perhaps he thought she needed an assistant, and that was why he mentioned a woman who wanted to teach.

But Harriet was mistaken. Karl shook his head. “Don’t you see, Harriet? If Olga returns, you don’t have to teach anymore. You could marry and have a family of your own.”

Harriet blanched. Was it possible Ruth was right?

A rejected suitor. Lawrence had chased and apprehended more criminals than he could count in his years as a Ranger, but this was the first time he’d sought a rejected suitor. Of course, it was also the first time he’d heard of a man setting a fire because a woman refused to marry him.

“It was Bruckner,” he said when he entered Harriet’s parlor.

“Thomas?” Blood drained from her face so quickly Lawrence feared she would swoon. Was it possible that she still had feelings for her first suitor?

“I’m afraid so,” he said more brusquely than he had intended. “A couple of people reported seeing a stranger in town the morning of the fire. Their description matches the one you gave of him.”

Harriet shuddered. “I knew Thomas didn’t love me, but I never realized he harbored so much hatred. Even if he was still angry at me, why would he endanger the children?”

Lawrence shrugged. “It’s almost impossible to tell what’s inside another person’s heart.” His own for example. What would Harriet say if she knew what he was thinking? Would she be shocked to know that he was remembering how soft her lips had been against his and how good it had felt to hold her in his arms?
Business, Lawrence
, he reminded himself.
You’re here on business. There will be time to tell her how you feel once you’ve caught Bruckner.

“Don’t worry,” Lawrence said firmly. “I’ll catch him. Rangers always get their men.” His lips twitched as he added, “Even ex-Rangers.”

“He’s courting you, you know,” Ruth said as they cleared the table.

Harriet blinked. “He’s not even here.” Lawrence had been gone for four days now, searching for Thomas. “How could he . . .” She broke off abruptly. “Oh, you meant Karl.”

Ruth’s lips twitched as if she were trying not to smile. “Who else did you think I meant?” When Harriet refused to answer, she said, “It’s not just Jake who’s concerned. The town has noticed Karl’s frequent visits. They’re speculating about whether you’ll finish your contract or turn the school over to Olga Kaltheimer this month.”

“I have every intention of honoring my contract,” Harriet said firmly, “and no intention of marrying Karl Friedrich.”

“Does he know that?”

“The subject has never come up.”

“It will.”

But it did not. Though Karl came every evening, sometimes accompanied by Pastor Russell, sometimes with his mother, sometimes alone, he never stayed long, and while he sat in the Kirks’ parlor, he spoke of his farm, of the school, of Olga Kaltheimer’s desire to teach. But he never spoke of marriage. And when Harriet spoke of her plans for the coming school year, though he frowned, Karl made no attempt to dissuade her. It appeared that he was simply being neighborly, trying to make her recovery more pleasant. Thank goodness.

Thomas Bruckner wasn’t hard to find. Lawrence grinned as he entered the saloon, realizing that it hadn’t taken a Ranger’s skills to find him. The man hadn’t even bothered to hide his tracks. Instead, he’d left a trail a mile wide, making indelible impressions each time he stopped. No one who encountered Bruckner forgot his cherubic face or his devilish temper. It appeared that whatever had angered him enough to set the school on fire hadn’t faded, for here he was in a small town a few miles west of New Braunfels, arguing with the barkeeper.

“You cheated me,” Bruckner announced as he slammed his fist onto the bar. Harriet hadn’t exaggerated. Thomas Bruckner’s face might not be handsome in the ordinary sense, but there was something angelic about it. If you could ignore the snarling lips, that is. “I already paid you.”

Though it was midday and the saloon was practically empty, the barkeeper wore the faintly harried expression Lawrence associated with men at the end of the night when they’d poured too many drinks and settled too many disputes.

“You paid for the glass you just drank, not this one.” The tall, almost emaciated man behind the bar kept a firm grip on the object of Bruckner’s anger. “If you want it, you’ll pay me. Otherwise, leave.”

“I’ll leave when I’m good and ready.”

As Bruckner reached for his six-shooter, Lawrence put a firm hand on his shoulder. “Let’s take a walk.”

The man who looked like an angel spun around. “Who . . . ?” He narrowed his eyes, as if searching his brain for Lawrence’s identity. “Oh, you . . . the sheriff.” Though Lawrence had never met Bruckner, it appeared that some memory had broken through his alcoholic haze. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for answers about a fire.”

“I don’t know nothing about a fire.” The way his eyes shifted gave lie to his words.

Lawrence tightened his grip on Bruckner’s shoulder. “I heard you paid a visit to my town.”

“So what? You got a law that says I can’t do that?” He leaned forward, reaching for the whiskey bottle. Though the barkeeper still held the glass, he’d placed the bottle back on the bar just outside Bruckner’s reach.

Shifting his weight so he could nudge the whiskey toward the barkeeper, Lawrence said, “No law against visiting, but we sure do have laws against burning down schoolhouses.”

“It’s too bad your schoolhouse burned.” Though Bruckner attempted to feign innocence, the gleam in his eyes left no doubt of his guilt. “That’s a downright shame.”

“Yes,” Lawrence agreed, “it was a shame. More than that, it was a criminal act, and you’re going to pay for it.”

“Me?” Bruckner sneered. “You can’t pin it on me. I was miles away when the window broke.”

“Did I say anything about a broken window?” Lawrence addressed his question to the bartender.

“No, sir.” It was clear that the older man’s ennui had faded, replaced by amusement at the scene unfolding before him.

“All right, Bruckner. Come with me.” Lawrence hauled him to his feet, relieved him of his weapons, and propelled him toward the door. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

Bruckner’s bravado faded in the sunlight. “All I wanted was to scare her.” The man was lying. Lawrence hadn’t spent a decade as a Ranger without learning to read people. This sniveling excuse for a man was lying. “I figured she’d give me some money if I scared her enough.”

Sure. And the sun rose in the west. “Seems to me it’s mighty tough to do anything if you’re dead.”

“Yeah, well . . .” Bruckner’s lips curved into a sneer. “She had it coming to her. She should have married me when I asked her. Then the money would have been mine.”

Though his fists itched to connect with Bruckner’s face, Lawrence forced himself to remain calm. There was nothing to be gained by breaking the man’s nose and splitting his lip. He needed to learn what had driven Harriet’s suitor to attempt murder.

“What money?” Bruckner kept talking about money, as if Harriet were an heiress.

“The money I needed to repay Mr. Allen.”

Now they were making progress. “Herb Allen?”

Though he nodded, there was no mistaking the fear that shadowed Bruckner’s eyes. He wasn’t as stupid as Lawrence had thought. At least he knew enough to fear someone who killed men as easily as cockroaches.