Paper Roses (16 page)

“Fine. Frau Berger agreed to sew whatever we buy.”

“Oh,
Vati
, thank you.” Eva gave her father a hug, her gratitude telling Sarah she hadn’t expected more than one dress. Sarah suspected that Gunther had not considered pantaloons, petticoats, and pinafores, not to mention the layers of undergarments females of the species wore. She made a mental note to select fabric for a nightdress too.

When Gunther shuffled, clearly ill at ease in what he considered a feminine environment, Sarah suggested he wait on the bench outside. Madame Rousseau had told her it was a popular spot for the town’s gentlemen, particularly when their wives were selecting corsets and chemises. “Eva and I will choose everything she needs. Won’t we, Eva?”

“Oh yes.” Her slump disappeared as the girl scampered toward the back of the store where the bolts of fabric were displayed and began to finger one. “This is pretty.”

It was, though the silk was better suited to an adult. Gently Sarah steered Eva toward the calicos. When they’d selected three different fabrics, Sarah reached for a spool of soutache braid and held it against the navy blue poplin they’d chosen for Eva’s Sunday dress. “I think this would be pretty around the sleeves and hem.” When the girl hesitated, eyeing Sarah’s unadorned gown, she added, “It’s very grown up. When I’m out of mourning, I plan to get some for myself. Now, would you like some?”

Eva’s eyes sparkled. “Oh yes, please. Let’s buy it.”

Sarah heard Isabelle’s chuckle and suspected she would regale the family with tales of how Sarah had persuaded yet another customer. “All right. Now let’s figure out how much you’ll need.” Sarah did a quick calculation. “Half a yard for each sleeve. That’s one yard for both of them. And three for the hem.” Sarah gave Eva an expectant look. “How many does that make altogether?”

The girl shook her head as the sparkle faded from her eyes. “I don’t know,” she mumbled, clearly ill at ease.

“One plus three,” Sarah coached, certain that Eva would be able to do the arithmetic. The girl’s eyes gleamed with intelligence. Surely she could count to ten and add simple numbers.

But Eva’s expression remained bleak. “I don’t know.” Once again her shoulders slumped and her head drooped with shame. It wrenched Sarah’s heart to know she’d been the one to destroy this child’s fragile self-confidence. There must be something she could do.

“Look at me, Eva.” When the girl complied, Sarah raised her hand with the fingers fisted. Slowly, she elevated her index finger. “That’s one for the sleeves,” she said. Lifting the other three, she held them slightly apart from the first one. “We have three more for the hem. Can you count them?”

Eva nodded. “One, two, three, four.”

Sarah gave her a bright smile. “That’s right. The answer is four. Three plus one is four.”

Her smile once more restored, Eva raced to the front porch and dragged her father back inside to pay for her new dress materials. When they’d left, Sarah climbed onto one of the stools behind the counter, glad there were no customers. Though thankful for the opportunity to rest her leg, Sarah also wanted a chance to ask Isabelle about the problem she’d seen.

Her friend grinned. “I’m surprised it took Gunther this long to come here,” she said before Sarah could raise her question.

“What do you mean?”

Isabelle gave Sarah an arch smile. “Gunther’s wife died two years ago, and he’s been looking for a new mother for Eva ever since. I thought he’d be here the first day you started work.”

Sarah bristled. Gunther might be seeking a wife, but she was most definitely not interested in a husband. Not today. Probably not ever. Her dreams of marriage and happily-ever-after had died along with Austin. Now all that mattered was keeping Thea safe and happy. Though that had seemed impossible yesterday, hope glimmered today. If what Sarah thought was true, she might have a solution. “Eva seems bright. It’s odd she can’t do simple arithmetic.”

Isabelle shrugged, as if the reason should be apparent. “How would she learn? Ladreville has no school. The mothers teach their children as much as they can. What’s Eva to do? She has no mother, and she spends most of the day with Gunther.” Isabelle stopped to greet a customer, then said, “I can’t recall how much I’ve told you, but Gunther owns the grist mill, and that means he works longer hours than most anyone else. He’s a good, hard-working man with no time for a child. That’s why Eva needs a new mother.”

Or something else. Though she kept her face impassive, inwardly Sarah was smiling. Gunther and Eva’s predicament was anything but amusing, but maybe—just maybe—solving it would help more than them. For the rest of the day, Sarah served customers. She must have said the right things and calculated the bills properly, for no one complained, but if she’d been asked who had entered the store and what they’d bought, she would have been unable to answer, for her thoughts continued to whirl. Gunther. Eva. Problem. Solution. It might be crazy. It might not work. But if it did, this could be the answer to Sarah’s greatest concern.

“Yeah, you’re right, Shadow. I’m aggravated.” Though there was no shortage of things to do around the ranch, Clay had wakened feeling more out of sorts than normal. His foul mood was not due to Daniel Morton’s latest letter, asking when Clay intended to return to Boston. Though his father-in-law— his former father-in-law, Clay corrected himself—had not pressed the issue, it was clear that the older man needed someone to lighten his workload. When Clay had been in Boston, though he’d been the junior partner, he’d seen more than half the patients.

Even with the temporary assistance of a young doctor, Daniel found the practice a heavy burden. But the heaviest burden, Clay knew, was the realization that he and Prudence would never again see their elder daughter. Now they feared they were losing the man whom they’d always treated as a son, not merely a son by marriage.

Clay had responded to Daniel’s letter, reassuring him and Prudence with the truth: that he would return to Boston as soon as he’d brought Austin’s killer to justice. The correspondence had not disturbed his sleep. What had disturbed it had been far more insidious and dangerous.

Clay leaned forward, urging Shadow to run. When he’d been a boy, the one thing that would lighten his mood was a gallop. While there was no guarantee the old remedy would still work, he had to try something—anything—to chase away the memories of his dream.

It had come again. That was the third, maybe the fourth time. Clay had lost count. It was always the same. He’d hear the clip-clop and the gentle neighing of two horses. Then he’d see the wagon. At first he was an onlooker, watching the driver and passengers. But then, in one of those shifts that seemed logical in a dream, he became the driver on the high seat. His right arm was wrapped around a little girl who had a woman at her other side. Gradually, the faces would come into focus and he’d realize it was Thea who nestled close to him, one of her hands clasping the reins, and Sarah who cradled the baby.

The baby. Though he shuddered now at the memory, in his dream, Clay’s heart filled with pride at the sight of the small boy in Sarah’s arms. When he thought no one would notice, he’d sneak glances at the mother and child, feeling a warmth creep into his heart. The infant with Sarah’s sweet features and Clay’s blond hair had a smile that reminded him of Austin.

Each time he glanced, Sarah would catch him in the act, her lips curving into a smile as she said something that made them all laugh. And as she did, the warmth that had lodged in Clay’s heart spread through him, making him feel that for the first time in his life he was complete. He was part of a family. The joy lasted only an instant. As he reached out his hand to touch the baby, the dream would end and Clay would waken, bereft and empty.

That feeling lingered. He was flying down the road now, Shadow’s hooves kicking up swirls of dust as Clay bent forward, urging him to even greater speeds. This was what was important. This was real. The dream was not. Clay patted Shadow’s neck, then recoiled as his fingers registered the familiar texture of horseflesh. How stupid could a man be? He was awake, not dreaming. This was a horse, not his son. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

Clay took a deep breath, trying to settle his roiling thoughts. It was absurd to remember how good it had felt to be with Sarah and their baby. That was a dream, nothing more. Clay didn’t want dreams, and he didn’t want a family, for his dreams had died last summer along with Patience.

When he returned to the Bar C an hour later, Clay was still thinking about the dream. It was annoying how the memories persisted. No matter what he did to chase them away, they were like cobwebs, clinging to the distant corners of his mind, ready to reach out and snare him. As he approached the ranch, Clay’s eyes widened, and sudden fear clenched his heart. Pa. Something had happened to Pa. That was the only reason Herman Adler’s buggy would be here. Someone must have called for the doctor.

“Herman.” Clay leapt off Shadow and ran toward the house. As the doctor climbed down from the buggy, Clay realized he’d just arrived. “What’s wrong with Pa?”

The gray-haired man shook his head. “Nothing as far as I know. How could there be when he has his own private physician in residence?”

The fear receded as quickly as it had surfaced. “Then this is a social visit. C’mon in.” Clay gestured toward the ranch house. Martina would have something cool to offer their guest.

“I’d rather sit out back. I always did like the view.”

Something in Herman’s tone set Clay’s antennae quivering, but he acquiesced, calling to Martina to bring their drinks outside.

“This is not a social visit,” Herman confirmed when he’d taken a long swallow of buttermilk. “I can’t ignore the signs any longer. You can pretend otherwise, but I think you know what I mean.”

Clay nodded, remembering the day he’d found Herman’s buggy stopped along the road and the symptoms his friend had exhibited then. The concern born that day turned to dread. “The headaches are worse?”

As he stared into the distance, as if committing the view to memory, Herman nodded slowly. “The intensity and frequency have increased. It’s only a matter of time until I won’t be able to see anything.”

Herman was a good doctor. Clay suspected that he’d diagnosed his illness when the first symptoms had appeared, just as Clay had when he’d heard about the headaches and halos. Though he might rail at his fate privately, today Herman sounded detached, as if he were discussing a patient’s prognosis, not his own.

“You know there’s nothing I can do for you.” How Clay hated saying that! Herman wasn’t just a good doctor; he was the man who’d inspired Clay’s own love of healing. “There’s no cure.” When he’d studied diseases of the eye, he’d learned that, though the disease might progress at different rates, it was inexorable. Eventually, the patient would be blind.

Herman turned to face Clay, the gray eyes that would one day be clouded and sightless now filled with concern. “It’s true there’s no cure, but there is something you can do for me. You can take over my practice.”

Clay recoiled as if from a blow. As much as he respected Herman, Daniel Morton also needed him, and Daniel’s needs were primary. Besides, assuming Herman’s practice would mean staying here. Some things were unthinkable, and that was one. “I’m sorry, Herman,” Clay said as gently as he could, “but I can’t do that. As soon as I find Austin’s killer, Pa and I are leaving.”

“Why?” The older man appeared genuinely confused. “This is your home.”

“It was my home,” Clay corrected him. “Not any longer. I have no desire to live in a place where murderers go free.”

“Do you honestly believe there are no murderers in Boston?” Herman fixed his gaze on Clay, as if defying him to say yes.

“I’m not that naïve, but at least no one there killed my brother.”

Herman stared into the distance for a long moment, as if marshalling his thoughts. When he spoke, his voice was firm, reminding Clay of his childhood, when the doctor had served as his mentor, showing him how he treated patients. “I’m not trying to excuse anyone. Murder is wrong, but it’s also wrong to let an entire town suffer because of one person’s crime. If you leave, they’ll have no one, and people will die unnecessarily.” He looked at Clay, his eyes bright with emotion. “Stay, Clay. I beg you to stay. You could do so much good here.”

Clay shook his head. “I’m sorry, Herman, but the answer is the same. No.”