Paper Roses (28 page)

“All right, boys and girls. It’s time.” Time to march and time to prove she had not made a mistake. The youngsters would be walking three abreast, arranged by height with the shortest first. Though Clay had warned her she was playing with fire, having children of French descent walking next to Germans, Sarah had been adamant. Now she could only hope she’d not been wrong.

As the parade turned right onto Potomac Street, Sarah kept a smile fixed on her face. This was the children’s moment. Surely no one would dare spoil it. No one other than participants had been allowed in the staging area, but anxious parents seemed to have crowded the first block of Potomac, eager for a glimpse of their offspring. Would they object to the marching order? Even worse, would someone pull a child out of the formation?

Sarah murmured words of encouragement to the youngest pupils, reminding them how important it was to smile. What they needed, she soon realized, was not encouragement but an admonition not to skip and jump, for the sight of an audience appeared to fuel their excitement.

“
Mutti!
” one little girl shrieked.

As she started to run toward her mother, the boy next to her tugged her hand. “We’re marching now,” he reminded her.

“Good girl, Heidi,” a woman with a heavy German accent called out. “Stay with your friend.”

“That’s my Jacques,” the well-dressed woman standing next to Heidi’s mother announced.

“
Sehr gut
. He’s a good boy.”

“Yes, he is.” Jacques’s mother smiled. “And your Heidi is quite pretty.”

Perhaps she shouldn’t have listened so intently, but Sarah couldn’t help it, and her heart swelled with happiness at the sight of two women who, to the best of her knowledge, had never exchanged a civil word, and were now smiling at each other.

The scene was repeated several times as the procession made its way along Potomac, turning to travel the length of Hochstrasse and ending in the large field across the street from her makeshift outdoor school, and with each repetition Sarah’s spirits rose. This was what she’d hoped for. Her pupils, from Olga Kaltheimer down to Thea, had had a wonderful time. Now they could enjoy the rest of the festivities.

Sarah looked across the field that would be the scene for most of the celebration. A platform had been erected for the speakers; everyone else brought quilts and blankets, which they’d spread on the ground. As the parade disbanded and the children raced to their parents, Sarah and Thea headed toward the Canfield quilt. Though Gunther had invited them to join him and Eva, Sarah had refused. It was one thing to realize the man was courting her, a far different thing to do something that would announce to the town that she favored his suit. For she did not. Marriage was not something Sarah wanted to think about, at least not anytime soon, and so she sat with the family that had given her a home.

The quilt would be crowded today. Though Sarah had assumed Pa would remain at the ranch, he’d insisted Clay and Zach carry him to the wagon. Now he was ensconced in the center of the blanket, flanked by Zach and Herman Adler. The doctor, Sarah noted with amusement, was studiously refusing to look to his left, lest he catch the eye of Mary Bramble and be forced to converse with her.

When she and Thea arrived, Thea flung herself into Clay’s arms, acting as if they’d been separated for days rather than the space of an hour.

“No, Thea, you can’t sit on Clay’s lap.” But neither her sister nor the man in question appeared to listen to Sarah’s admonition. Instead, Clay wrapped one arm around Thea and patted the spot next to him, encouraging Sarah to sit there. “The parade was nice,” he said softly. “I’ve never heard so many proud parents.”

As she arranged her skirts, Sarah nodded. If only she could convince those parents to take the next step and build a schoolhouse. But convincing them, she feared, was beyond her abilities. She had exhausted every argument, and none had worked. Though the townspeople were unfailingly polite, they were also adamant in their refusal. It would take a miracle or at least Michel Ladre’s support to change their minds, and neither of those was likely to occur.

As the mayor and the other dignitaries climbed onto the platform, Sarah took a deep breath. An instant later she realized she’d made a mistake, for instead of fresh air, she inhaled the scent of the man who sat so close she could almost hear his heart beat. Hair tonic mingled with soap and starch. The scents were all prosaic, and yet when Clay wore them, they seemed anything but ordinary, becoming positively delightful and far too distracting.

Sarah wanted to shift away from him, but if she did, she’d be on the Brambles’ quilt, seated close to David. Since he and Jean-Michel were also reported to be courting her, Sarah couldn’t do that, any more than she could sit with Gunther. And so she remained next to Clay, trying desperately not to notice how strong his arms were, how long and straight his legs were, or how right Thea looked sitting on his lap.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to our Independence Day celebration.” At the sound of Michel Ladre’s deep voice, the crowd fell silent. “Let us begin with a moment of prayer.” First Père Tellier, then Pastor Sempert asked for God’s blessing, reminding the townspeople how much God had already favored them by bringing them to a country filled with bounty and freedoms they’d never known. The prayers were greeted with fervent amens and a few cries of hallelujah. When the ministers had resumed their seats, Michel led the town in a patriotic song before he began his speech, a speech that enumerated the beauties of their new country and reminded the residents of Ladreville that they were now all Americans.

“It’s this way every year,” Clay murmured as everyone rose for another song. “For one day, the town is unified.”

“Why can’t it last longer?” Sarah looked around. This did not appear to be a cease-fire, a temporary lull between hostilities. Instead she sensed a common purpose. Why did that have to end when the sun set? She looked up at Clay. “Michel’s right. We’re all Americans.”

“But we’re also human, and humans aren’t perfect. It’s human nature to hate and to kill.”

Though she suspected Clay was referring to Austin’s murder, his words pierced her, reminding her of her father’s crime, a memory that was sharper than a rapier. Sarah swallowed, trying to repress the painful images, trying to restore the moment of peace she’d found in her garden. She couldn’t let the past destroy her future any more than she could let the townspeople’s historical enmity destroy their children’s chances for success.

Sarah closed her eyes for a second, picturing her mother. “It’s also human nature to love,” she said softly. “I’d like to believe that love will triumph over hatred.”

Though everyone around them was singing, Clay continued their whispered conversation. “You’re an optimist.”

Was she? Sarah wasn’t certain about that. What she did know was that someone had to act, and it appeared she was the only one willing. She wanted to—oh, how she wanted to—change their opinions. The question was, could she? Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders. There would not be another opportunity like this.

“Where are you going?” The singing was so loud that Clay had no need to whisper when Sarah started moving toward the front of the crowd.

“To convince Ladreville that love is important.” She heard murmurs as she picked her way between the quilts, and a few people started to speak to her, but she would not be deterred. This might be her only chance. By the time the song ended, Sarah had reached her destination and was climbing the steps to the platform.

“Miss Dobbs. What do you want?” The mayor hurried to the side of the platform, apparently trying to discourage her from coming further.

“As Ladreville’s schoolteacher, I would like to address the town.” She was on the platform now, and judging from the buzzing in the audience, her presence had been noted.

“That’s highly improper.” Though Michel kept his voice low, there was no ignoring the anger in his eyes.

Sarah took another step toward the center, guessing that he would do nothing that could be construed as ungentlemanly. The man had a reputation to uphold, at least in public. “The town has never had a teacher before, so how can you say it’s improper for one to take a part in the celebration?”

An expletive greeted her words. As if aware of the crowd’s interest, Michel turned so he could not be overheard. “Women aren’t supposed to give speeches. It’s unseemly.”

Though Sarah kept her smile firmly in place, she would not back down. “It would be more unseemly for me to start an argument here with everyone watching. Neither of us would benefit from that.”

His fists clenched, his face red with anger, the town’s mayor stared at her. “You’ll regret this,” he hissed. Then, wiping the anger from his face as easily as if he’d used a cloth to remove a speck of mud, he turned to the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Dobbs has asked for a few minutes of your time.” There was no mistaking the emphasis he placed on the word
few
. With a smile that could only be described as condescending, he added, “I beg you to indulge her fancy.”

Moving to the center of the platform, Sarah flashed the audience a smile. Though she was trembling inwardly, she could not afford any show of weakness. “I know you’re all anxious to open your picnic baskets and sample some of the delicious food you’ve brought. I must tell you, my mouth was watering from the aromas as I walked up here, so I know there are treats in store for you.” A ripple of laughter greeted her words. Excellent. She wanted everyone relaxed as she continued.

“I don’t want to delay your meal, but what I have to say is important.” The murmurs faded as Sarah’s voice turned serious. “You know I believe it’s important that all the children attend classes every week. I know you have reasons for not wanting to use the fellowship halls. There is a solution, ladies and gentlemen. Ladreville needs a school.”

As Sarah paused, the low murmurs crescendoed. One man rose and shouted, “My son’s not going to associate with those Frenchies.”

On the other side of the field, a second man jumped to his feet. “I won’t let my daughter near those Kaiser-lovers.”

Though neither of those men had children old enough to attend school, murmurs of agreement swept through the crowd. It was as Sarah had feared. The town’s one day of unity had lasted less than two hours. Though the parents thought they were protecting their children, their prejudices were depriving them of something important. Somehow, some way, she had to convince them that they were wrong. Sarah clasped her hands together as she tried to find an argument that might break through the centuries of hatred. She bit her lip as she realized there was only one. Could she do it? Could she tell them what she’d endured? She had no choice.

“Please listen to me.” Sarah raised her voice, then waited for the angry comments to subside. When she once again held the townspeople’s attention, she spoke. “You all know that I have a limp. Some of you know that it’s the result of being thrown from a horse when I was nine years old. What no one here knows is how badly I was hurt.” Surely it was a good sign that the crowd remained silent. Surely that meant they were listening to her. “I don’t mean the physical pain. That was bad enough, but there was something worse. Memories of physical pain fade, but other hurts remain. For months I was unable to walk. In fact, the doctors told my parents there was no hope.” Sarah heard a gasp.

“Do you know what happened to me during that time? When they learned the news, my friends disappeared. No one wanted to be with a girl who couldn’t play hopscotch.” Several women looked down at their children, as if assuring themselves that they had suffered no injuries. “Even when I learned to walk again, I had no friends and received no invitations to parties. You see, my limp kept me from doing all the things others my age enjoyed. No one wanted to be with someone who was different, someone who had one leg shorter than the other.”

Somehow she’d managed to keep her voice even, as if the story she was telling was someone else’s. Somehow she’d managed not to reveal just how much she’d suffered during those years when books had replaced children as her companions.

Sarah looked out at the audience. She wouldn’t look at Clay for fear of seeing pity in his eyes. Though Gunther nodded solemnly and Mary’s expression was fierce, as if she understood what Sarah had endured, most of the people remained impassive. That was, Sarah tried to convince herself, better than outright condemnation. Behind her, she heard Michel shuffle his feet and cough, sure signs of his impatience. If she didn’t finish quickly, he would interrupt.

She took a deep breath and continued. “I’m not telling you this because I want your pity. I’m telling you because I want you to understand what it’s like for a child to be shunned or excluded. I thought it was my fault that no one visited me. I was convinced that if only I’d done something different, I would still have friends.” Sarah heard the tremor in her voice as memories assailed her. “Don’t you see? Children don’t understand why they’re excluded. They only feel pain. They think they’re being punished for something they did, and that makes it so much worse.”

When Sarah paused to let her words sink in, for the first time, she saw confusion on some of the faces. The fear of failure that had clutched her heart began to shrink as she realized they were listening. “I know you don’t mean to hurt your children, but that’s what you’re doing. By forbidding them to play and study with others, you’re denying them both friends and the education they deserve. The barriers you’ve created make it seem as if the children are being punished, and they don’t understand why. How could they? The reason has nothing to do with anything they’ve done. They can’t help the fact that their parents speak different languages any more than I could keep my horse from falling on me.”

Though the men’s expressions remained stoic, Sarah saw several women pale, and one lifted her handkerchief to dab the corners of her eyes. “Your children are suffering for things they can’t control.” Sarah paused for a second, gathering her courage. “I ask you. I beg you,” she corrected herself, “to put aside your own feelings. Mayor Ladre reminded us that we’re all Americans. He’s right. This is a new country and a chance for new lives. Please, I beg you, if you love your children, give them the lives they deserve. Let them all attend school together.” Sarah heard Michel rise. Her time was over. “For their sakes, I hope you’ll agree to build a schoolhouse.” She looked at the audience one last time, trying to meet as many eyes as possible. When Michel reached her side, she said simply, “Thank you.”