Paper Roses (15 page)

Sarah leaned on the railing, smiling as she watched her sister pretend to gallop. Had Clay done that as a child? She shook her head, trying to dismiss the image of a miniature Clay prancing like a horse. It was annoying that she couldn’t find the reason why thoughts of Clay were such frequent companions, triggered by the slightest thing. She’d be in the mercantile, helping a woman choose the right color ribbon for her new frock, and simply looking at the shades of blue would remind her of Clay’s eyes. A man would ask for a can of beans, and Sarah would wonder whether Clay ate beans when he rode the range for weeks, searching for stray cattle. Here at the ranch it was more understandable, for she was immersed in his life—his present life, at any rate. But, still, there was no reason—no logical reason, that is—for her thoughts to drift to him as often as they did.

“Papa Clay!” Thea clapped her hands with delight as he rode into the yard. “Horse. Thea wanna ride horse.”

As Clay dismounted, looping Shadow’s reins over a fence post, Sarah kept a firm grip on her sister. She knew from experience that Thea had no fear of horses, not realizing a well-placed kick could maim or even kill her. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but you’re too little to ride a horse.”

“No!” Thea wailed. “Not little. Me big girl.”

Sarah tightened her grip, fearing a full-blown tantrum was imminent. Thea wasn’t getting on a horse, and that was final.

“It appears your sister is turning into a genuine Texan,” Clay said as he strode toward them, his long legs covering the distance in half the time it would have taken Sarah. “She’s old enough to learn to ride.”

“No!” The word came out as little less than a shriek. “It’s too dangerous.”

Clay appeared not to have heard Sarah. “She can have a pony of her own when she’s a little older. Meanwhile, she ought to get used to the feel of a horse. If she’d been born here she’d have already been on one.”

His voice was low and soothing. Was this the way he dealt with difficult patients? Sarah wasn’t being difficult; she was, quite simply, terrified by the prospect of her sister on a horse, even gentle Nora.

Clay nodded as if he understood. “I’ll take her for a ride.”

“Yes, Papa Clay, yes! Thea ride.” Thea stretched her arms toward Clay, entreating him to carry her into the paddock.

“What if she falls?” Though Sarah knew it was irrational, memories of her own accident and the months of excruciating pain flashed through her mind. She couldn’t allow Thea to take such a risk.

“I won’t let her fall.” Clay’s words were matter-of-fact, defying her to challenge them. “C’mon, Sarah. She can’t get hurt while I’m holding her. Don’t let your fears infect her.”

He was right. As much as she hated to admit it, Sarah knew that. If Thea was to grow up in Ladreville, she needed to be comfortable on a horse. More than comfortable, she needed to feel as if the horse were an extension of herself. Sarah had felt that way once and had found riding wonderfully exhilarating. How could she deny her sister that pleasure, simply because she’d been injured by a horse? Slowly, Sarah nodded her agreement.

A minute later, Clay was astride Shadow with Thea in front of him, her tiny hands gripping the reins as she shouted commands to Shadow. Though her heart continued to pound with fear, Sarah couldn’t help smiling at the sight of her sister sitting there, her legs splayed to the side, her face split by the biggest grin Sarah had ever seen.

“Sarah, look!” Thea cried. “Me riding!” And she was. Though Clay kept his arm wrapped around her stomach and was guiding the horse, Thea seemed to believe she was in charge of Shadow. Her squeals of delight echoed across the pasture, leaving no doubt that Thea was having the time of her life.

“Thank you, Clay,” Sarah said ten minutes later when the riders had dismounted and Thea had raced to the house to tell Martina of her adventure. “That’s the happiest I’ve seen Thea in a long time.” Perhaps ever.

Clay uncinched the saddle. “I don’t claim to be an expert on children, but your sister seems happy enough to me.”

“She is when she’s here, but Mary says she cries most of the time she’s there. All she wants to do is come home.”

Shrugging, Clay lifted the saddle off Shadow’s back and laid it on the fence. “Ma used to claim that children went through stages. This is probably one of them. She’ll grow past it.”

“That’s what Mary and I thought, but she’s getting worse.” And, if it was true that Thea was being influenced by Mary’s moods, her sadness would not end as long as she was at the Lazy B. Even working in the garden might not be enough.

Clay wiped his hands on his chaps. “It seems to me there’s an easy solution to your problem. You could spend your days here with Thea. And, before you argue, that’s what you’d have done if you’d married Austin.”

“But I didn’t marry Austin. Everything is different now.” Sarah wasn’t a wife. She and Thea were not part of the family. At best, they were guests. At worst, interlopers. “It’s very kind of you to let us stay on the ranch, but I don’t want to be beholden to you any more than we already are. I told you I’d find a way to pay for our keep, and I’m doing that.”

Sarah thought she heard him sigh, but when he spoke, Clay’s words were even and betrayed no exasperation. “You wouldn’t be a burden. Someone might as well enjoy the ranch.” Frowning, he looked at the paddock where Shadow and Nora were grazing. Though it was a peaceful scene, it appeared to bring him no comfort. “It’s for certain, I don’t like being here. This place holds nothing but bad memories for me.”

Sarah had no doubt about what had caused those memories. Still, it wasn’t fair to blame a place for what had happened there. “It’s a beautiful ranch.”

“That’s what Pa and Austin used to say. I never could see that. To me, it’s just a lot of work.” Clay turned toward the house, waiting until Sarah moved before he started walking. “Pa loves this place, but that’s because he and Ma were the original Anglo settlers. They came here when they were first married. According to Ma, they thought this was the promised land. It probably seemed like that at the beginning, until the promise turned into a curse.”

Clay scowled as he looked at the house his parents had built. “I don’t know how much you know about Texas history, but it seems as if we’re always fighting the Mexicans. I was fourteen when Pa went to war. Naturally, Austin and I wanted to go with him.” The furrows between Clay’s eyes bore witness to remembered pain. “I think that was my first real fight with Austin. He didn’t take too kindly to my telling him he was too young to go to war. When Pa broke up the scuffle, he announced neither one of us was stepping one foot off the Bar C. Later he took me aside and told me I had to stay, because someone had to be in charge of the ranch.” Clay’s lips tightened. “He probably said that to make me feel important, but it turned out to be the truth. Ma died soon after he left, leaving Austin and me with a few ranch hands. Instead of fighting the enemy, I was stuck herding cattle.”

Though he gave his words an ironic twist, Sarah heard the pain behind them and tried to imagine what it must have been like for Clay, faced with his mother’s death at the same time that he tried to run a ranch.

“It’s ironic. When Pa returned home, the State of Texas called him a war hero and rewarded him with a grant of more land. Lots of land. That was what he and Ma had dreamt of, having a huge spread. The sad thing is, their dream had come true, but Ma wasn’t alive to enjoy it.” Clay frowned again. “The only good thing that came out of that war was enough money for me to attend school in Boston.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow, uncertain how war had translated into dollars.

“When he heard Michel Ladre wanted to establish a town, Pa offered to sell him a piece of land. My share paid for college and let me escape this miserable place. Austin made an agreement with Pa that the Bar C would be his when Pa died and put his share back into the ranch.”

“Now it’s yours.” Though his father was still alive, Clay had full responsibility.

He nodded. “This isn’t a birthright. It’s a burden I never wanted. That’s why, as soon as I can, I plan to sell everything and move back East where I belong.”

Though Sarah had come to love Texas and the Bar C in the short time she’d lived there, she understood Clay’s feelings. Hadn’t she chosen to leave Philadelphia and its painful memories? There was only one problem with Clay’s plans. “What about your father?”

He appeared startled by the question. “I’ll take him with me, of course. He can’t stay here alone.”

Sarah hadn’t doubted that Clay planned to move his father. What she questioned was the effect on Pa. “Will he be happy away from here?” She had seen how the pain drained from Pa’s face when he sat next to the window and gazed at the front yard, his eyes focused on the small stand of live oaks. Though she’d only visited it once, Sarah knew the trees sheltered the Canfield burial ground. It was there that Pa’s wife and son, as well as Clay’s wife and unborn child, were buried. Pa found peace, looking at the final resting place of his loved ones. How could a city, no matter how beautiful, have the same effect?

“This was your father’s dream. Do you think he wants to leave it?”

Clay’s lips tightened. “I don’t know. All I do know is that I cannot stay in a place I hate.”

Sarah started to stretch her hand out to him, then drew it back. Who was she to think she could help him? Though her heart ached with the pain he’d endured, she could not assuage Clay’s anguish. She had no words. Even a friendly touch wouldn’t help. Try though she might, Sarah didn’t seem able to help anyone. Thea was unhappy. Pa wouldn’t cooperate when she tried to exercise his legs. Clay was miserable. There was no point in pretending otherwise. Sarah Dobbs was a failure. Those prayers Isabelle had promised to send on her behalf had had no effect. Why had she been so foolish as to think they would?

The man was tall, even taller than Clay. When he entered the store, he ducked his head, then removed his hat, revealing hair a few shades lighter than Clay’s and eyes the same color blue, a blue Sarah thought of as “Texas sky.” Though her mind registered impressions of the man, they were fleeting, for Sarah’s attention was drawn to the girl at his side. This child was unlike the others who had visited the mercantile. She was, Sarah guessed, six or seven years old, though her age was difficult to ascertain, for she kept her shoulders slumped, her head bowed, and her eyes downcast, darting only brief glances at Sarah.

Though she might have been shy, as some children were on their first foray into the store, the looks she gave Sarah were bright and filled with curiosity, dispelling the notion of timidity. Something else was making the girl literally shrink from Sarah. As the child plaited her skirt with nervous fingers, Sarah nodded slowly, realizing she was embarrassed. The reason wasn’t difficult to find. The girl’s blonde braids were uneven and lacked the bows others her age wore; her skirt revealed too many inches of leg; her blouse strained at the seams. In sharp contrast to her outgrown and somewhat shabby clothing, her shoes were perfectly polished and betrayed not a single scuff mark.

“Guten Morgen, Fraulein.”
The man added, “I heard you speak German.”

Before she could respond, Isabelle leaned across the counter, seeming to forget that she was counting spools of thread while Sarah waited on customers. “Shame on you, Gunther Lehman.” She shook her finger at him in a parody of a stern schoolmarm. “I know you speak English.”

The girl’s head jerked up, revealing a sweet smile. The man’s was sheepish. “Miss Rousseau is right,” he said, surprising Sarah with his lightly accented English. Unlike the other immigrants, Gunther Lehman sounded almost American, as if he’d spent a great deal of time listening to the Anglo residents and imitating their accents. “I do speak English, and so does my daughter.” He placed a hand on the child’s shoulder, urging her forward. “Come, Eva, and meet the nice lady.”

“Hello, Eva.” Sarah gave her a warm smile, hoping to ease some of her distress, before she addressed the girl’s father. “Your daughter is lovely.” Other than the coloring of her hair and eyes, there was little resemblance between them. While Gunther Lehman’s face was square and heavily featured, his daughter’s was heart-shaped with delicate features.

“
Ja.
She looks like her mother, God rest her soul.” His words explained his dilemma. Without a mother, the child had no one to dress her or braid her hair. “Eva needs new clothes. I do my best, but I don’t know what a six-year-old would like. Will you help us?”

The girl’s imploring look confirmed what Sarah had surmised, that she was embarrassed by her outgrown clothing.

“Certainly. How many dresses did you have in mind?”

If his daughter hadn’t been there, Sarah might have laughed at the horrified expression on Gunther’s face. A casual observer who hadn’t heard the exchange would have thought Sarah had demanded he perform some impossible task, when all she’d done was ask a seemingly simple question.

“I don’t know. How many should she have?”

Sarah heard a faint twittering and realized Isabelle was enjoying the situation. Though normally she let Sarah handle customers alone, for some reason she was taking an unusual interest in this sale. “At least two complete ensembles for everyday,” Sarah said firmly, “and one for Sunday.”