Paper Roses (32 page)

She couldn’t let him apologize, not when he’d done so much to make her day special. While it was true there was no crystal or china here, that mattered not a whit. “This is the most wonderful meal I can recall.” The food was delicious, but the true appeal was being with people who accepted her for who she was, not for her last name or the size of her father’s investments. The guests at last year’s birthday celebration, people who had been her parents’ closest friends, had all disappeared when they’d learned of Papa’s disastrous investments. These people would not, for they were true friends. “Thank you, Clay.” Though she whispered the last words, Sarah raised her voice and addressed everyone as she said, “I don’t know how to express my feelings other than to tell you how happy I am to be here with all of you.”

Isabelle leaned across the table, pitching her voice in a stage whisper. “The best is yet to come. We brought presents.”

The gifts were simple but obviously selected with great care. “Winter will come,” Mary said when Sarah opened her package, revealing a lap quilt. Gunther’s face reddened as he handed her a book, telling her he hoped she would enjoy this poet. Though Frau Friedrich dismissed the effort she had put into it, Sarah knew that the older woman’s failing eyesight must have been taxed as she created a beautifully crocheted collar.

“I hope you brought our gift,” Isabelle said when Sarah had opened the others. As Sarah gave her a puzzled look, Isabelle explained. “The necklace. I know it’s unusual to ask someone to pick out her own gift, but I needed a way to delay you long enough that we could all get here.”

Rising to retrieve the package she’d brought with her, Sarah smiled. Everything made sense now. Undoubtedly, one of Léon’s errands had been to talk to Frau Bauer, encouraging her to take her time over the sale.

When she’d shown everyone the necklace, Clay handed her an awkwardly wrapped package. “I hope you’ll like it.”

Whatever was inside must be fragile, Sarah realized as she unwound many layers of paper, revealing a delicate china vase that she guessed was well over fifty years old. Urn-shaped, it boasted gold handles on each side and a slightly worn rose painted on the front.

“It’s beautiful.” Sarah traced the outline of the rose, marveling at the artist’s skill at the same time that she wondered where Clay had bought it. The mercantile carried only new items.

As if he sensed her unspoken question, Clay said, “It was my mother’s and her mother’s before that. I know she’d have wanted you to have it.”

Sarah shook her head, knowing she could not accept the gift. “I can’t keep this. It needs to stay in your family.” If Clay remarried, this would be a gift for his wife, an heirloom for their children.

Clay’s lips tightened ever so slightly as he refused to take the vase from Sarah. “You were supposed to be a Canfield. You should have this. Right, Pa?” Clay turned toward his father and waited until he nodded. “See? We all agree. Happy birthday, Sarah.”

Tears filled her eyes as she smiled at Clay and rose to press a kiss on his father’s cheek. She wasn’t part of their family, and yet they were treating her as if she were. Friends and now an almost-family. What more could she want?

An hour later, after the guests had departed and Sarah had settled Thea in bed, she slipped out of the cabin and walked toward the paddock.

“Stargazing again?”

She turned at the sound of Clay’s voice, the pounding of her heart telling her what she hadn’t wanted to admit: that she’d hoped he would be here, that she had longed for a few private moments with this man who’d proved to be such a special friend.

“I am stargazing,” she said, “but tonight I’m not trying to find answers. I came outside because I’m too excited to sleep.” Her heartbeat accelerated as Clay came closer. This was what she wanted, a chance to tell him how wonderful he had made the day. Sarah stretched her hand toward him, reveling in the warmth of his palm as he clasped her hand. “I don’t know how I can possibly thank you. This was the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

“I’m glad.” His voice was husky as he tightened his grip. “I wanted it to be a special day.”

The crescent moon cast little light, yet there was enough to see him smile. Sarah wasn’t sure how long they stood there, gazing at each other. She couldn’t say who took the first step. All she knew was that she found herself in Clay’s arms with his lips pressed to hers. It was the perfect ending to a perfect day.

14

He regretted it. She knew that from the moment the kiss ended. He’d looked at her for a long moment, his eyes so full of sorrow that Sarah wanted to cry, and then when she’d thought she could not bear the silence any longer, he’d said simply, “Good night, Sarah.” The three words had echoed through the darkness, leaving her alone and feeling oddly bereft.

She frowned as she removed Pa’s slipper and began to massage his foot. It was almost as if the older man understood that something had happened between her and his son, for he refused to answer her greeting. Perhaps this was where Clay had learned the art of silence. Sarah hadn’t seen him at breakfast. That was not unusual, for he often left early either to work on the ranch or to visit a patient. What was unusual was the silence she’d encountered when she brought Thea for her riding lesson. Clay had given Sarah no more than a cursory greeting, then turned his attention to Thea, making it clear that Sarah was the only one he wanted to ignore. The reason wasn’t hard to guess: Clay regretted the kiss.

She did not.

Sarah fisted her hand, using the knuckles to massage Pa’s leg. Surely it wasn’t her imagination that his muscles were stronger. She could feel the sinews contract as she pressed them. They hadn’t done that a month ago. Though he might resist her, his leg was responding.

She closed her eyes briefly, recalling those moments in Clay’s arms. Her first kiss had been as wonderful as Mama had promised. Sarah knew she’d never forget the day she’d entered the parlor unannounced and had seen her parents kissing. When they’d broken apart, Mama’s face had been flushed, and she’d looked prettier than Sarah had ever seen her—even prettier than the picture of a princess in one of her storybooks. Afterward, Mama had explained that when a man and a woman love each other, they kiss and that kissing was so wonderful it made a woman feel beautiful.

Mama had been right. When Clay had held her close, Sarah had forgotten her limp. She’d forgotten how the boys had called her a scrawny chicken. She’d forgotten every cruel taunt. For the first time in her life, she felt beautiful. Though Clay had turned away, the glow had lasted. As she studied Pa’s leg, Sarah’s mind whirled. For weeks now, she had felt as if something were missing from her life. Perhaps Mary had been right when she said Sarah needed a husband. Perhaps she’d been wrong to believe Austin’s death meant she’d never marry. Perhaps Clay’s kiss was the key, unlocking the door to her heart.

She’d had difficulty falling asleep, for she kept remembering her birthday and all that Clay had done to make it special, culminating with his kiss. When at last she’d slept, Sarah had dreamt of a man sitting at a desk, writing a letter. In the manner of dreams, one second she’d been standing in the doorway, in the next, she was at his side, with no memory of having crossed the room. As he continued to write, oblivious to her presence, she’d looked over his shoulder. She’d heard the rasp of the nib on paper; her nostrils had been filled with the scent of hair tonic; and her eyes had widened as she read the words he penned. This man, who seemed so strange and yet so familiar at the same time, was composing one of her paper roses.

In her dream, Sarah had stood for what seemed like hours, fascinated by the simple act of putting words on paper. She’d smiled, knowing this was the man she loved, the one who’d wooed her with his eloquence. And then he’d turned to face her, his blue eyes shining as his lips curved into a smile. Afterward, she knew she should have been surprised, and yet somehow she wasn’t. Somehow it seemed right that the man at the desk was not Austin but Clay. After that, Sarah had slept dreamlessly, wakening with a smile on her face.

Morning’s light had changed everything, for it brought the realization that her dream had been nothing more than a dream. The epistles she cherished had been written by a man with scrawling handwriting, the letters big with barely controlled loops. Clay’s penmanship was far different, each letter small and carefully formed. No matter what Sarah’s mind had conjured in the dream, Clay was not the man who’d written the paper roses.

Morning brought with it the reality that, though she cherished the memory, the kiss had meant nothing to Clay. Afternoon brought another, equally unpleasant reality: Pa did not want her to help him walk.

“C’mon, Pa,” she said, trying to extend his leg. “I know it hurts, but you can do it. You can flex your foot. Try.” His response was the same as it had been the previous four times: nothing. Tears of frustration filled Sarah’s eyes.

“Will you let me try?”

Sarah’s hand flew to her throat as she turned, startled by the unexpected voice. “I didn’t hear you.” Somehow, though he wore boots and spurs and the floor bore no rugs, she had been unaware of Zach’s approach.

He shrugged and took a few steps further into the room. “Being silent was something we learned in prison.”

For the first time that afternoon, Pa spoke. Sarah couldn’t understand his words, but she knew they were directed at Zach.

“It was best if the jailors didn’t notice us.” Again Pa made a guttural sound. Zach gestured toward the door, then waited until Sarah rose. When they were out of hearing, he spoke. “What were you doing?”

There was no point in dissembling. “I know Pa wants to walk. To do that, he needs to strengthen his leg muscles, so I’ve been trying to show him how I learned to walk again. The problem is, he won’t cooperate.” Sarah looked at the tall man whom Clay’s father seemed to respect. “Oh, Zach, it’s so frustrating. I know how Pa feels, trapped in that chair, and I know he could escape it, if only he’d try.”

Zach was silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “Perhaps he has trouble accepting help from a woman.” When Sarah started to protest, he continued. “We’re raised to believe we should care for women—not the other way around.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I won’t argue with you. All I’m saying is that a man’s pride is a powerful thing. It can even keep him from accepting gifts like the one you’ve been offering. Now, will you show me what you were doing and let me try?”

Reluctantly, Sarah nodded. It would be foolish to refuse help, especially if Zach could make a difference. What was important was getting Pa to use his legs again, not who accomplished that. Still, she couldn’t help wishing she didn’t feel like such a failure.

She knew what he was going to ask. She knew what she would answer. It was Sunday afternoon, and he’d invited her to take a drive with him. Though his nervousness had been apparent from the way he held the reins, he said little while they were in the wagon. Instead, he waited until they reached a pretty spot where trees lined the riverbank. It was only when they’d left the wagon and stood at the water that he cleared his throat.

“I heard that ladies like flowery words.” Gunther’s voice quavered ever so slightly. “I tried to learn some, but they flew out of my head, so I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for plain speaking.” He cleared his throat again, then reached for Sarah’s hand. When he’d captured it between both of his, he said, “I would be honored if you would become my wife.”

It was what she’d expected, what she had in her darkest moments hoped he’d ask. Marriage to Gunther would solve so many problems. Isabelle kept reminding Sarah that Thea needed a father as much as Eva needed a mother, and that since Thea and Eva were friends and Sarah cared for Gunther’s daughter, the marriage would be ideal for both children. Sarah knew that. She also knew that wedding Gunther would help her. It would give her one of the things she’d sought when she came to Ladreville: her own home.

There was no ignoring the fact that Sarah was no longer needed at the Bar C. Clay continued to avoid her, and Zach had taken over with Pa. She had no reason to remain and every reason to leave, for it was awkward sharing meals with Clay, realizing he did not want her there and that she provided nothing in return for her and Thea’s room and board. If she married Gunther, Sarah would be needed. She would be the one who ran the household and raised both Thea and Eva. She would be useful, and she believed that would fill the empty spaces deep inside her. It was one thing to be needed at the school, something quite different to be part of a family. Though she hated the thought of giving up teaching, Sarah knew that with only a little more training, Olga Kaltheimer would be ready to replace her. The school did not need her the way Gunther and Eva did.

She looked down at her hand clasped between Gunther’s. His hands were broad and strong. They would keep her and Thea safe; they would provide a good life for them. There was no reason—absolutely no reason—to remember another pair of hands, the fingers long and slender, and the shivers that touching them had sent up Sarah’s arm.