Paper Roses (30 page)

Clay’s chuckle turned into a full-fledged laugh. “That’s what I thought. Be ready in five minutes.”

As he strode toward the group of men who’d gathered, their tools at hand, Isabelle touched Sarah’s arm. “Clay Canfield laughing? You truly are a miracle worker.”

The day passed quickly. Though speech-making was not Sarah’s forte, she managed to welcome all the workers and thank them for their gift of time, and soon the air was filled with the sounds of hammers, saws, and busy men. While their labor was less strenuous, the women were no less busy as they supplied cool lemonade, tea, and hearty sandwiches. In less time than Sarah had thought possible the frame was erected, with the walls and roof following quickly. By nightfall, Ladreville had both its first school and a group of very hungry men.

“Don’t forget to vote.” As they entered the food tent, Sarah gave each of the men a ticket and pointed toward the tin cups she’d placed behind the platters. There had been friendly grousing that morning when she’d told the workers of the contest. Some men, she suspected, feared their wives’ wrath if their dishes did not receive the blue ribbon. Though no names accompanied the various cakes and pies, it had not escaped Sarah’s notice that many of the women had left clues, including specially fluted pie crusts and unusual swirls in the cake frosting.

“Which one did you make?”

Sarah shook her head as she handed Clay his ticket. “You know I can’t cook.” There had never been a need to learn, for her family had employed an excellent cook. Mama’s responsibility had been to plan the menus, not translate those menus into delectable dishes. Mrs. Porter had done that. Had she been here, one of her light-as-air, beautifully decorated cakes would have been in contention for the top prize.

A pang of nostalgia swept through Sarah as she remembered the cake Mrs. Porter had made for her last birthday. Though it had been a visual masterpiece, almost too pretty to eat, Sarah, her family, and their guests had devoured it, laughing when the majority of Thea’s piece remained on her face. There would be no cake this August, no wishes for another year of health and happiness.

Giving herself a mental shake, Sarah forced a smile onto her face. “Everyone says this peach pie is delicious.”

“Is something wrong?” Clay lowered his voice. “You looked sad.”

He wasn’t supposed to notice. No one was. Sarah shook her head. “I must be more tired than I realized.” Not wanting to continue that conversation, Sarah gestured toward the workers and their families. “I want to thank everyone personally.”

“Mind if I come with you?”

The offer, though surprising, sent a wave of pleasure through her. “Not at all. This was your project as much as mine.”

They walked slowly through the crowd, stopping to speak to each of the families. It might not qualify as a miracle, but for the first time, Sarah saw only smiles. Though the men were exhausted, their faces radiated pride, a pride shared by their wives. People gestured toward the schoolhouse, talking about the generations that would study there. They complimented Clay on the planning he’d done. They told Sarah their children were eager to attend school. Not once did she hear a disparaging comment. For one day at least, Ladreville was united.

She owed that to the man at her side. He’d arranged work assignments so that men with known enmities were separated, but he’d also placed men of German origin next to French-speaking workers. The result had been remarkably harmonious. While it remained to be seen whether the cooperative spirit would last, Sarah was reveling in the result: a beautiful new school and a seemingly happy town. If only she’d been able to help Clay, her day would have been complete, but the identity of Austin’s killer remained a mystery.

The first weeks in the new schoolhouse were a success by anyone’s standards. Sarah had more pupils than ever before, a significant feat, considering that it was summer and the children were needed to work in the fields. Not only did the pupils attend school, but they appeared eager to learn. It was almost as if the dedicated schoolhouse made them realize that education was important. Sarah was delighted, and that delight grew when she noted the number of mothers who met their children after classes each day and who, while they were waiting for school to end, spoke with other mothers, regardless of their native languages.

Truly, life was good. And yet, Sarah could not dismiss the sense that something was missing. Though she was bothered by her failure to learn anything about Austin’s death, Sarah knew that was not the cause of her malaise. Still, it made little sense. What more could she want? She had created a life for herself and Thea, a life where no one would know their past. Her sister was happy. Thea had friends, and so did Sarah. Isabelle was the truest friend a woman could want, and Clay . . . well, Clay made Sarah feel almost as if she were part of his family. Surely that was enough. Surely there was no reason for the emptiness that sometimes filled her.

If only she could identify the cause, she would be able to resolve it, but the reason was almost as elusive as Austin’s murderer. Sarah wished there were someone she could ask. Though she and Clay discussed everything from the upcoming presidential election to the plight of slaves as depicted in Mrs. Stowe’s
Uncle Tom’s Cabin
, this was not a subject Sarah could raise with him or with any other man, for that matter. As her closest woman friend, Isabelle was the logical confidante, but Sarah already knew what Isabelle would say. She would claim Sarah needed God’s presence in her life. While God might fill Isabelle’s empty places, he was not what Sarah needed. She knew that, and so she resigned herself to living with the void.

“Sarah!” Mary’s face brightened when she stepped onto her porch that afternoon, alerted by the sound of wagon wheels. “I figgered you’d forgotten me.”

Regret that she’d neglected the woman who’d been so kind to her and Thea spiked through Sarah. “I haven’t forgotten you,” she assured Mary. “I’ve just been busy.” She lifted Thea from the wagon, intending to spend more than a few minutes with their neighbor. This visit was well overdue.

“I surely wanted to be part of that school raising,” Mary told her when they were seated in the front porch rocking chairs, a tray with buttermilk and cookies between them. Thea had already consumed two cookies and was racing back and forth in front of the porch. “I reckon it woulda shocked everyone,” Mary continued, “if’n I grabbed a hammer and nails and helped put on that roof.” She laughed at Sarah’s raised eyebrows. “Us Western women are different from you Eastern ladies. We had to be. There weren’t no one ’ceptin’ Mr. Bramble and me when it came time to build that barn, so I climbed right up on the roof with him.”

Sarah nodded. She’d heard tales of pioneer women’s strength, but she hadn’t realized just how literal that strength was.

“Can you shoot a gun?” Mary asked. “I reckon you oughta learn, if you’re fixin’ to stay here. When my husband was off fighting, if it hadn’t been for my shotgun, David and I wouldn’t have had meat for dinner most nights.”

Though Sarah could not picture herself killing anything, even to eat, she forbore saying that. “I can’t even cook,” she admitted.

Mary gave her a long, appraising look. “We’ll have to change that. Next time you come, I’ll show you how to fix biscuits. Now, tell me about the school. It’s a nice building you got there.”

“I have everything I need.”

Mary flashed her an arch smile. “Not everything. You need a husband.” When Sarah started to protest, Mary shook her finger at her. “You gotta excuse an old woman’s meddling, but I know what I’m talkin’ about. Gunther Lehman ain’t the man for you. My David would make a much better husband.”

What could she say? Sarah swallowed as she tried to formulate her words. “I’m certain they’d both be good husbands . . . for someone else.”

“Balderdash! You can pretend, but you cain’t fool me. I know you want a husband and a father for Thea.”

“Someday, maybe.” Where had those words come from? As Sarah shook herself mentally, another thought assailed her. Was that what was missing from her life? Did she secretly long for a husband?

“What do you know about Clay’s new foreman?”

Mary’s abrupt change of subject brought Sarah back to the present. “Zach? He doesn’t talk about himself very much, but I know he fought in the war with Clay’s father.”

As she refilled Sarah’s glass, Mary pursed her lips. “I wonder if he was treated as poorly as my Greg was. My husband sacrificed his life for his country, and what did they give him in return? Nothing!” She didn’t try to hide her bitterness. “David ought to have the same inheritance that Austin did. His pa fought just the same as Robert Canfield. It ain’t fair.”

Sarah couldn’t disagree. “It seems to me, life isn’t fair.”

Clay strode toward the barn. He hadn’t meant to pry, but when he’d seen Sarah’s Bible on the table, he’d picked it up, intending to return it to the cabin she and Thea shared, and as he did, it had fallen open to the family pages. That’s when he’d learned she would soon celebrate her birthday. Clay frowned, almost wishing he hadn’t seen the entry. What did he know about birthdays other than that Patience had insisted they were important? Clay had never cared about his, and he couldn’t recall Austin or Pa making a fuss about the day they were born. According to Patience, women were different. Clay certainly couldn’t dispute that. He could pretend he didn’t know, but his conscience would plague him. There was no way around it. He had to do something for Sarah.

“Hey, Zach.” Thank goodness the man was there. Though he could not have predicted it the day the dusty stranger rode onto the Bar C, Clay had gotten more than a foreman. In just a short time, Zach had become a friend and confidant, a man with surprising depths of wisdom. If anyone would know how to resolve this new problem, it would be Zach. “Do you know anything about women’s birthdays?”

The man who was almost as close to Clay as a brother looked up from the saddle he was cleaning, his lips twisting slightly as he said, “As I recall, they happen once a year.”

“Even I know that.” Clay had no time for humor. “Sarah’s is in two weeks. I think we ought to do something.”

“We?” Zach raised both eyebrows. “I’m a cowboy. Ask me anything about cattle, and I’ll give you an answer. But women? The extent of my knowledge of women is that they don’t think like us. Besides, why are you asking me? You’re the one who was married. How did you celebrate your wife’s birthday?”

That was the problem. “Her mother planned it all. The only thing her father and I had to do was promise to come to dinner on time.”

Zach’s lips twisted again, making Clay think he was trying to control a laugh. Surely he could see that this was no laughing matter. “All right,” Zach said. “We’re making progress. It appears dinner is involved. Martina can take care of that.”

Clay thought about the fancy dinners his mother-in-law had arranged. Nothing Martina did could compare to that. She was a good cook, but meals tended to be plain, and Clay would bet she’d never considered cooking, much less eating, a snail. So much for gourmet food.

Clay tried to remember what else Prudence Morton had done for her daughter’s party. They’d had a dozen guests . . . He frowned again. “I guess we need to invite some other people.” Sarah didn’t know the ranch hands, so they were not a good choice. Clay fixed his eyes on Zach. “You need to come.” The man could provide support for Clay. It was becoming obvious he would need a lot of that. “I’ll ask Mary and David and the Rousseaus.” As Clay counted the guests, an unpleasant thought assailed him. “I suppose I have to invite Gunther and Eva too.”