Tomorrow's Garden (6 page)

“I’ll get the money,” he promised.

Beady-eyes’s laugh sent chills down Thomas’s spine. “You do that, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll do it fast. Mighty fast.” Beady-eyes pointed at the door. “Now, git out, and don’t you come back till you got Mr. Allen’s money.”

Though the evening air felt cool compared to the saloon, it did nothing to dry the sweat that poured down Thomas’s face. How had he gotten himself into this predicament? Luck had always been with him, and even when it hadn’t started out that way, he’d managed to turn things around. A smile and some glib words worked magic. When had he lost his touch?

Thomas frowned as the image of a slip of a gal flitted before him. Harriet. It was her fault. If she’d married him, he wouldn’t be in this pickle. But snooty Miss Harriet Kirk had refused him. Thomas frowned again as he recalled the day she’d announced that she wouldn’t marry him if he were the last man on Earth, all because he didn’t want to be saddled with her bratty sisters and brothers. Of course, he hadn’t let the town know what she’d said. Instead, he’d told everyone that Harriet wasn’t the woman for him, and they’d believed him. Everyone believed him. Everyone except for Harriet.

He swung his leg over the saddle and spurred his horse. Harriet might have read more books than anyone in Fortune, but book learning didn’t mean a thing. No, sirree. What mattered were the things you couldn’t learn from a book, like how to sweet-talk folks.

A smile crossed Thomas’s face. That was the answer. She’d been riled. That’s all that had happened. She didn’t mean it. He’d get her back, and when he did, his problems would be over. All it would take was a bit of sweet-talking, and the richest gal in Fortune’s money would be his.

“I don’t understand what’s wrong with you.” Harriet looked at the brother who was refusing to climb into the wagon. Jake had been sulking for two days. Now sulking had turned into a mutiny. “I thought you liked Frau Friedrich’s cooking.”

“It’s better than Ruth’s.” Though he muttered the words, he shot a glance at Ruth. Harriet bit back a sigh. Something was definitely wrong if Jake was antagonizing Ruth. Since they’d moved to Ladreville, the two had been allies. Why, then, was Jake goading her?

“You ungrateful beast!” Ruth reached down from the wagon and thumped Jake’s head. “Just for that, I ought to put ipecacuanha in your milk.”

Jake’s lips twisted. “Go ahead, sis. Maybe I’d be too sick to work.”

Harriet had had enough. “Stop squabbling, both of you. Jake, get into this wagon, or you won’t eat anything—not even ipecacuanha—for a week. It was kind of Frau Friedrich to invite us to Sunday dinner, and I expect you to behave.” Though she addressed her last words to all five siblings, she had few worries about Sam, Daniel, and Mary. It was only the older two who had been out of sorts, with Jake surlier than she’d ever seen him and Ruth moping constantly. Whenever she’d asked, they’d both claimed that nothing was wrong. They were lying.

“Oh, how pretty.” Harriet smiled as she guided the wagon toward the Friedrich homestead. Though the boys had spent six days a week here for the past two weeks, this was her first visit. Why hadn’t they told her how extensive the gardens were? Harriet smiled again. Being boys, they probably hadn’t noticed the flowers. The house was an ordinary farmhouse, a two-story timber building that resembled the one on the Lazy B ranch. What made it special was the riot of blossoms that tumbled from window boxes and the immaculately groomed flowerbeds that surrounded the house. Someone—probably Frau Friedrich—spent many hours with those plants.

“I’ve never seen such beautiful flowers,” Harriet told her hostess as soon as she was on the ground. She smiled at the older woman, who was dressed in her Sunday best, a deep blue dress with a white lace collar. Her husband stood at her side, his arm around her shoulders, while Karl beamed from the other side of the wagon. He had greeted Harriet, then insisted on helping her dismount from the wagon. Now he was aiding Ruth. Though the family was accustomed to climbing in and out of the wagon without assistance, Harriet had to admit that Karl’s gallantry and the broad smile that accompanied it were a pleasant change from Jake’s and Ruth’s sour faces.

“Are those petunias?” she asked, pointing at the brilliant red and white blossoms.

Frau Friedrich nodded. “I brought seeds from the Old Country. Not many survived, but I’m enjoying the ones that did.”

Her husband gave her a fond smile. “Greta had the best garden in the Old Country. Everyone wanted to learn how she did it.”

“But I wouldn’t tell, any more than Otto would share the secret of his wheat and corn crops.”

Harriet stared at the two older Friedrichs, amazed by the visible love flowing between them. Though she’d read about it, she had never seen people her parents’ age behaving this way. Love, she had thought, ended as soon as the marriage was official. At least that’s what she imagined had happened to her parents.

Harriet blinked and forced her thoughts back to the present. Flowers and crops. That’s what they were discussing, not marriage. “What is the secret?” she asked.

“Do you think they’ll tell you?” Karl had appeared at Harriet’s side. Though he was standing a proper distance away, her nostrils twitched at the scent of hay, horse, and bay rum, and she found herself remembering Lawrence’s clean scent the day he’d escorted them to the Bar C and how it seemed tantalizing, not cloying. Harriet shook herself mentally. It was absurd to be thinking of Lawrence. He was the mayor, the sheriff, nothing more.

“Manure.”

For the second time in less than a minute, Harriet stared at Frau Friedrich, embarrassed that her thoughts had wandered. That wasn’t like her. “I beg your pardon?”

The older woman smiled. “Manure’s the secret. Otto and I used more fertilizer than our neighbors. That’s why our crops grew better.”

Of course.

Frau Friedrich led them into the house. The interior was far different from the homes Harriet had lived in in Fortune. Even her grandparents’ house, small as it was, boasted separate rooms for each major function. Here, the kitchen was small and dominated by a large stove, and there was no separate dining room, simply a table sitting in a corner of the large front room. Though functional, the furniture was devoid of the intricate carvings that had characterized her parents’ and grandparents’ homes. But, though simple, this house was spotless. The windows gleamed, and not a speck of dust was visible. Frau Friedrich spent her days cleaning, not . . .

Harriet forced those thoughts aside as she and her sisters carried platters and bowls of food to the table. At the other side of the front room, Sam and Daniel were engrossed in a game of checkers, while Otto and Karl appeared to be coaching them. If it hadn’t been for Jake staring out the window and obviously choosing not to be involved in his brothers’ pastime, it would have been a scene of familial peace. Harriet took a deep breath and let the warmth flow through her. This was what she had sought for so long, a normal family.

When she returned to the kitchen, Frau Friedrich handed her a pitcher of buttermilk. “Would you fill the children’s glasses?”

“Certainly. What about the rest of us?”

“We’ll have beer.”

As the blood drained from Harriet’s face, she managed to say, “No!” before memories blotted out the present.

“Pour me another one.” Father glared at Mother as he plunked the empty glass onto the table.

“No, Jacob, I won’t. You’ve got to stop this. It’s bad enough that you spend your days at the saloon. I don’t want you drinking here where the children can see you.” Somehow, she managed to ignore baby Mary, who squalled in the corner. Mother had insisted that Mary could sleep in a basket, claiming that was what the other children had done. But Mary was larger and more active than Sam and Daniel had been, and she cried when she was left alone.

“It’s my house, and I’ll do what I want.” Father picked up the bottle and stared at it. “Don’t need a glass. Whiskey tastes fine straight from the bottle.” To prove his point, he took a long swig.

As her husband emptied the bottle and reached for another, Mother picked up her skirts and ran to her room, oblivious to Mary’s frantic cries.

All pretense of a normal family life had fled. What mattered was the whiskey. Father couldn’t live without it, and Mother, unable to stop him, spent most of the day staring into the distance, lost in her own private world. Each morning, Father would be remorseful, promising that today would be different, but it never was. By the time Harriet brought her siblings home from school, Father was on his way to oblivion, and Mother lay sleeping in their room.

Harriet had hidden it as long as she could. First, she swore the younger children to secrecy. That had been easy, for none of them wanted to admit that they no longer had functioning parents, that Harriet was the one who cooked their meals and mended their clothing once Mother began spending her days in her room, unable to cope with Father and the fact that the money was running out. Somehow Father had managed to squander most of his inheritance. Though no one in Fortune would admit it, Harriet suspected that more than drinking took place in the saloon and that Father had been gambling.

Once Grandma and Grandpa died, it had become harder to pretend that they were still the wealthy Kirks, the pride of Fortune. Harriet had learned to make do with little, but it had been difficult to care for baby Mary. Eventually, though she’d protested, Harriet had managed to coax her into drinking cow’s milk. Then, knowing that neither parent would care for her during the day but unwilling to remain at home and forfeit her own education, fifteen-year-old Harriet had started taking her youngest sister to school with her, claiming her mother was suffering from female ailments. As she had expected, the schoolmaster did not question her explanation.

But one day she could hide the problem no longer. Father must have been smoking, and something—perhaps a match, perhaps his cheroot—had set the house on fire. By the time Harriet arrived home, the house was a smoldering mass and her parents were dead.

“Are you all right?” Frau Friedrich’s voice brought her back to the present. “You look so pale.”

Harriet stared at the tall German woman. She looked so normal, but Father had looked normal too, before he reached for the whiskey bottle. Her hands shaking with dread, Harriet forced herself to take a deep breath. She knew what would happen. There would be one drink, then another, then still another. And then . . .

As if she sensed her fear, Ruth put her arm around Harriet’s waist and hugged her. “We don’t drink spirits,” Ruth said calmly.

Frau Friedrich laughed. “Nor do we. This is root beer.”

5

Harriet tried not to smile as the children filed into the room, grousing about the fact that they had to come to school. It had been the same in Fortune. No one seemed to welcome the first day of classes. Today, Ladreville’s students had even more cause to complain. Though Harriet found the weather perfect, their grumbles announced that they did not appreciate the steady rain. Harriet did, for even though the rain had spattered her spectacles as she’d walked to school, it meant there would be less temptation to go outside, and that would make her job easier. Almost as good, the day was cooler than normal for September. That would translate into less drowsiness. Fortunately, though it was downright chilly outside, the warmth the children radiated meant they would not need the stove. That was truly a blessing, for the thought of having to one day light a fire in this wooden structure made Harriet shudder.

She glanced at her watch. Five more minutes. Then she would call the class to order. In the meantime, she studied the children as they entered the schoolhouse, knowing they were eyeing her with curiosity and, in some cases, concern. A new teacher, she knew from experience, was cause for anxiety.

She recognized a few of the pupils, including Eva Lehman, Isabelle’s stepdaughter. In the three weeks since they’d moved to Ladreville, the little girl had become Mary’s closest friend and was undoubtedly one of the reasons Mary was happy here. The boys were a different story. Her brothers stood in the back of the schoolhouse, as far away from Harriet as they could manage. She bit back another smile, realizing that some things would never change.

Jake, Daniel, and Sam had hated the fact that she was their teacher in Fortune and couldn’t understand why she had to work outside their home. Perhaps it had been a mistake, but she hadn’t wanted them to know that most of the family fortune was gone, and so she had pretended that she had accepted the position as schoolmarm simply to ensure that they received a good education. Desperate for a new teacher when Mr. Harrod ran off with the mayor’s daughter, the town council had agreed to hire Harriet, and—as far as she knew—no one suspected that her salary was the Kirk family’s primary source of income. Fortunately, the small stash of gold coins she’d found when they’d moved into her grandparents’ house had helped maintain the illusion of wealth.

When she had decided that they would move to another town, the younger children had thought it an adventure until they’d learned she would once again be their teacher. Then they’d begun to complain. Harriet wouldn’t dwell on that. Living in Ladreville had brought good things. Though Ruth remained reclusive, both Mary and Harriet had a new friend. Furthermore, Chet wasn’t here. Though Harriet had never been certain whether he or Jake was the instigator, one thing was clear: those two were trouble when they were together.

“Good morning, children.” It was time for school to begin. As a few titters greeted her, two of the older boys stalked to the front.

“You the teacher?” the first demanded. He stood at least eight inches taller than Harriet and seemed to take pride in his height, for he made a point of looking down at her, ignoring the fact that his dark hair tumbled onto his face when he did. His companion, whose resemblance announced that they were brothers, stood next to him, forming a human wall between Harriet and the rest of the class. The two were big and brawny, and judging from the vacant expression in their eyes, blessed with fewer than normal brains.

“Indeed, I am.” Harriet kept her voice firm, knowing there was only one way to deal with bullies like these. Though the challenge had come sooner than she had expected, she had known there would be one and that how she handled it would set the tenor for the school year. “Kindly take seats in the back row.”

“What if we don’t?” The second boy sneered at her, his brown eyes filled with scorn.

“You will do as Miss Kirk says.”

Harriet blinked in surprise. She had been so intent on staring down the bullies that she had not heard him approach, but her surprise paled compared to the boys’. They wheeled around, their expressions almost comical when they saw Ladreville’s sheriff standing next to them, his hand on his six-shooter. Their earlier bravado vanished, and they seemed to shrink several inches. Harriet would have been amused if she hadn’t been so angry. The man had no cause to interfere. Didn’t he realize that his actions had undermined her authority?

“Mr. Wood, what are you doing here?”

He glared at the boys and pointed to the back of the room, then waited until the two bullies had meekly taken seats there. “As Ladreville’s mayor, it’s my responsibility to begin the school year by welcoming the students.”

Harriet doubted that. She had seen the way he had assessed her each time they had met and knew that he was like Thomas, underestimating her simply because she was short and thin. She might be unable to match Lawrence’s physical strength, but that did not mean she was unable to maintain discipline. She’d show him. Taking a deep breath and willing her voice to remain level, Harriet faced her pupils.

“Boys and girls, please take seats—any seats. I’ll assign your permanent spots later.” The clatter of footsteps was followed by the whisper of clothing as thirty children slid onto the benches. When the room was silent, Harriet gestured toward Lawrence. “We have a special guest today. Please greet Mr. Wood, our mayor. I expect you to listen quietly as he speaks and to afford him the same courtesy you would me.”

Turning toward Lawrence, Harriet saw his lips twitch as if he were amused. Surely she was mistaken. There was nothing even remotely amusing about her words. She must have been mistaken, for when he spoke, his voice betrayed not a hint of a smile.

“Ladreville is fortunate to have a teacher of Miss Kirk’s caliber.” He paused and looked around the room, fixing his gaze on each student in turn. “I expect you to obey her. I do not want to hear of any problems.” He touched his six-shooter, as if reminding the class of its presence and his role as the town’s sheriff. “Just because the jail cell is empty now doesn’t mean it has to remain that way.”

A collective gasp and the sound of bodies shifting nervously on the benches greeted his pronouncement. Harriet steeled her face to remain impassive, though inside she fumed. The threat was as unnecessary as his visit. Now she’d have to deal with its aftermath, but he, of course, had not considered that. Though she had once felt a connection to him, sensing that he had painful secrets, today Lawrence Wood had proven to be like Thomas, needing to establish dominion over everyone he met. The sooner he departed, the better. She waited until the room was once again quiet before she turned to Lawrence. “Thank you, Mr. Wood. I am certain that my pupils are looking forward to a year of learning as much as I am.”

Fortunately he recognized the dismissal and strode from the schoolhouse, pausing only to look down at the two boys who had been harassing her. When the door closed behind him, Harriet picked up a slate and prepared to write. “Now, class, I want you to tell me your names and the grade you were in last spring.” The school year had begun.

The day passed quickly. The older boys—Henri and Jean Fayette—tested her authority several times more, then admitted defeat and sat quietly. As she had expected, the humiliation of having to stand in front of the class and demonstrate their ignorance proved to be an effective incentive to good behavior. There had been no need for Lawrence to threaten them.

With the bullies silent, the class settled down to their lessons, and—to Harriet’s delight—several of the students appeared to be more advanced than she’d expected. The only problem was that the youngest children, especially the little girls, shied from her when she walked through the schoolroom, checking their work. Perhaps they were naturally bashful and feared she would call on them. It was the only reason Harriet could imagine, unless they were still remembering Lawrence’s tale of jail cells.

She looked out the window and nodded when she saw that the rain had stopped. Once again the weather favored her plans. “We have one more lesson before dismissal.” A round of groans greeted her announcement. “We are going to practice leaving the school as quickly as possible but in an orderly fashion.” Groans turned to puzzled expressions. “When I give the command, I want Henri to open the door and hold it open until the last person has left. The rest of you will stand up and leave, one row at a time, starting with the back of the room. Walk; do not run. You are to cross Hochstrasse and meet me in the open field.”

Eva’s hand shot into the air. “Why do we have to do this? Mrs. Canfield never made us do that.”

Harriet nodded. “That’s a good question, Eva. We’re practicing what we would do if there were an emergency. I want to be sure everyone knows how to get out safely.”

Though the youngest students still appeared frightened, they all followed the instructions, and within two minutes were assembled in the field. “You did very well.” Harriet favored them with a smile. “All right, boys and girls; school is dismissed.”

Class might be over, but her work was not. It was time to set a few things straight. Harriet waited until her pupils had dispersed before heading for the mayor’s office, pausing only briefly to admire the three-story stone construction. What a pity this house hadn’t been available for her family.

“Miss Kirk.” Lawrence rose as she opened the door to what appeared to be the main room on the first floor. Furnished with a large desk, two chairs, and several huge maps of Europe, as well as portraits of a number of dour-faced men whom Harriet assumed were the former rulers of Alsace, this was clearly the mayor’s office. “To what do I owe this honor?”

She accepted the chair he offered, knowing that was the only way he would sit. If there was one thing Harriet did not need, it was to have this man looming over her. She was far too aware of him as it was. Throughout the day, though she knew it impossible, she had caught the scent of his soap when she inhaled. And when she’d looked at her German students with their blond hair and blue eyes, she had found herself comparing them to this man. Surely, she had told herself, his hair wasn’t a brighter shade of gold. Surely his eyes were not a deeper blue. But they were. She had not imagined it. Just as she wasn’t imagining the curiosity that now colored those sapphire-hued eyes.

Harriet cleared her throat as she reminded herself of the reason she’d come. It was not to stare at this man, no matter how attractive he might be. Deliberately, she looked around the room, her eyes registering the large window on one wall and the partially open door that revealed Ladreville’s sole jail cell. “That wasn’t necessary, you know.”

His brows rose. “What wasn’t necessary?”

As if he didn’t know. Once again, anger began to simmer, and when she spoke, her voice was laced with asperity. “It wasn’t necessary to visit the school this morning. I’m perfectly capable of handling my pupils. I don’t need you to threaten them. The little ones were frightened for the rest of the day, probably imagining themselves in your jail cell.”

Lawrence’s brows lowered as suddenly as they’d risen. “Let’s get a few things straight.”

Harriet nodded. That was precisely the reason she was here. But her momentary agreement with the town’s mayor ended as he continued. “First of all, I came because it was my duty. The townspeople expect me to keep everything running smoothly, including the school. I needed to be certain that was happening.” He paused, and his face softened ever so slightly. “Although you didn’t appreciate it, I also came as a courtesy to you. I thought you might like both adult companionship and a show of support. Obviously, I was wrong.” Before Harriet could reply, he said, “Thirdly, if your pupils are afraid, have you considered they might be afraid of you?”

That was preposterous. Harriet stiffened her spine and glared at the man who had made such an absurd allegation. “Me? Why?”

Though the corners of his mouth twitched as if he wanted to laugh, Lawrence’s voice was serious as he said, “You can be rather forbidding, especially when you frown. Unfortunately, that seems to be most of the time.”

Just like a man. He was in the wrong, but rather than admit it, he was trying to shift the blame to her. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? You haven’t smiled once since you came in here.”

“If I haven’t smiled”—and she wasn’t certain that was the case—“it’s because this is not a frivolous conversation.”

“Perhaps not, but there are always reasons to smile.”

“Like the fact that, no matter what I do or say, Jake is belligerent and Ruth mopes around the house?” Harriet clapped her hand over her mouth. Had those words really come from her? What on earth was the matter with her that she was confiding personal affairs to a man who was practically a stranger? “I’m sorry. I never should have said that. My family is not your concern.”

As he nodded slowly, his eyes met hers and she saw sincerity reflected in their blue depths. “Perhaps not directly,” he agreed, “but I was serious when I said I came to the school to offer adult companionship. I won’t claim that I know anything about raising or teaching children. I don’t.”

Though his tone remained even, Harriet saw the flash of pain in Lawrence’s eyes. It was gone almost as quickly as it appeared, replaced by something that looked like sympathy. Not pity, but sympathy. Harriet relaxed as she recognized the difference.

“Sometimes it helps to talk about problems,” Lawrence continued. “You don’t have to solve them all yourself.”

“Thank you, but . . .”

“I know.” He nodded again, and this time there was no doubt about it. He was forcing himself not to smile. “I know you’re used to being self-sufficient. I’m not trying to change that. All I’m saying is that I’m here if you need a friendly ear.”

Harriet could feel her eyes widen in astonishment as she considered the day from a new perspective. Had she been wrong in thinking Lawrence wanted to interfere? What if he really was offering friendship? No one had ever made such an offer; certainly not a man. Even Thomas, who had professed undying love, had not been a friend. “I don’t know what to say.”