Paper Roses (36 page)

If she didn’t know better, she would have said Clay was courting her. Sarah bent at the waist as she continued brushing her hair, giving it the hundred strokes Mama had claimed were so important. He’d been different ever since that night he’d insisted on taking Thea to the garden. Though in the past he left the house early, almost as if he were avoiding her and Thea, now he joined them for breakfast each morning.

Previously many of the meals they’d shared had been silent, now he talked about everything imaginable. Clay didn’t quote poetry, as Jean-Michel did, or compare her hair to acorns, which had been one of David’s more memorable declarations. Instead, he asked questions, as if he wanted to discover the true Sarah. That was enjoyable, but even more so was the fact that he had begun to confide in her. He’d talked about his unwillingness to disappoint Daniel Morton by not returning to Boston while he explained his growing conviction that a wealthy urban practice no longer appealed to him. Though that was a dilemma Sarah could not solve, she felt honored that Clay had shared his concerns with her.

Memories of their breakfast conversations remained with her all day long, popping into her head whenever there was a lull in the schoolroom. And then there were the evenings. Unless it rained, Clay would accompany Sarah and Thea to the garden each night. They’d settle Thea in her corner, where she was content to pull anything that poked its head through the ground. Slowly, Sarah and Clay would stroll through the garden, pruning and weeding when needed, but mostly talking.

Talking was wonderful; touching was even better. The first time it happened, she had thought it coincidence, but when it was repeated each night, Sarah knew better. It was a deliberate choice. Clay chose to stand so close to her that their hands brushed when they moved. They were casual touches, and yet they sent shivers up Sarah’s arm, making her heart beat faster, making her long for more. She couldn’t forget the touches. The truth was, she didn’t want to forget them, any more than she wanted to forget the kiss they’d once shared.

Sarah stood, beginning the final stage of brushing, restoring her now-crackling hair to its normal smooth state in preparation for its nightly braiding. Braiding her hair was not the only thing she did each night. Once she drifted into sleep, Sarah dreamt of Clay, and each morning she woke with a smile on her face, knowing this was the beginning of another day she would spend with him. Though they were apart for many hours, Clay was never far from her thoughts. Memories, dreams, and daydreams were ready to surface at the slightest provocation.

Sarah smiled. She wasn’t a doctor, but she had no trouble identifying the cause of those feelings. Mama had said Sarah would know when it happened, and Mama had been right. Sarah was in love. She loved Clay, and if she could have her dearest wish, she would spend the rest of her life with him. When she’d refused Gunther’s proposal, Sarah had known she wanted something more. Clay was that something more. He was the man who could make her happy, the one who could make ordinary days special, the one who could give her a love like Mama and Papa had shared. If only . . .

Sarah sank onto the side of the bed, her smile fading as she thought of the barriers that remained. Was she ready? She thought she was. Each night she prayed that God would give her a sign that Clay was the man he had chosen for her. There had been no voice, no lightning bolts, nothing but the conviction that she still had steps to take.

Sarah rose and opened the top drawer of her bureau to finger the letters she’d carried so carefully across the country. When she started to pull them out, intending to read them, her hand paused, and she drew back as if the envelopes were hot. She nodded slowly, knowing this was the first step. It was time to put the letters aside. “Good-bye, Austin,” she whispered. Though she would never forget him or his letters, he was part of her past. Clay was her future. If only . . .

Sarah closed the drawer, knowing she would not open it again. That felt right, as did her love for Clay. But all was not right. She took a deep breath, trying to settle her thoughts. One day when they had been discussing marriage, Isabelle had talked about the need for Christians to be evenly yoked, explaining that that meant they should choose mates who shared their beliefs. At the time Sarah had paid little attention, though it had explained why Isabelle was still single. At the time Sarah had believed the concept had no relevance to her. Now she knew that she had been wrong. The day in Pastor Sempert’s study had changed everything. She could no longer consider marrying a man bent on vengeance, a man who planned to kill, a man who didn’t trust God. All she could do was pray that the man she loved would find his way to God before it was too late.

“Oh, Sarah, they’re lovely. Thank you for thinking of an old woman.” Mary smiled as she arranged the sheaf of flowers Sarah had brought from her garden.

“You’re not an old woman,” Sarah countered. Though Mary was ten years older than Sarah’s mother had been, Sarah never thought of her as elderly. “You’re my friend, and I thought you might enjoy the flowers. After all, you’re the one who told me about Patience’s garden. If it weren’t for you, they’d be growing wild.”

Mary bent her head over the blossoms, studying each of the stems, snipping a few to make the bouquet symmetrical. “You’ll have to forgive a mother for saying this, but I’m mighty disappointed. I had high hopes for you and my David, and now the rumor mill claims you’re fixin’ to marry Clay.”

Marriage was not a subject Sarah wanted to discuss, but the manners Mama had instilled demanded she reply. “He hasn’t asked me.” Nor had David, but saying that would only prolong the discussion.

“Perhaps he won’t.” Though Mary’s tone was conversational, her eyes were unnaturally bright. Surely those were not unshed tears. Sarah knew Mary was encouraging a match with her son, but she’d never acted as if it were of paramount importance. Mary lowered her gaze to her lap as she said, “It ’pears to me Clay’s still mourning his wife.”

Though Clay’s first wife was not the barrier to remarriage, that was another topic Sarah preferred to avoid. Instead, she stated the truth. “Clay is focused on discovering who killed Austin. I’ve tried to help him, but no one seems to have any idea who the murderer might be.”

Apparently satisfied with the arrangement, Mary placed the bouquet on the table. “Some mysteries are never solved. That’s just the way it is. Life ain’t fair. If it was . . .” She broke off, then shook her head. When she spoke again, she surprised Sarah by the change of subject. “I hope Michel arrests Léon soon. Them thefts gotta stop.” Mary reached inside her collar and fingered a gold chain. “We ain’t been robbed yet, but I ain’t taking no chances. I keep my valuables close to me.”

Sarah guessed that the gold chain held the locket Mary’s husband had given her. The older woman treasured it the way Sarah did her earrings. Instinctively, she touched her ears.

“Them are mighty pretty earbobs you’ve got.” Mary leaned closer to admire them. “You’d better be careful with ’em.”

“I’d hate to have anything happen to them. They were a gift from my parents on my eighteenth birthday.”

“Then don’t take them off,” Mary advised. “Now, tell me what Thea’s been up to. I surely miss having her here. You be sure and bring her the next time you come.”

She was later than usual. Both David and Jean-Michel had been waiting outside school, insisting they needed to speak with her. Short of being rude, there was nothing Sarah could do but listen as they extolled the beauty of her hair and eyes, each one trying to outdo the other. When David had handed her a packet of seeds, saying his mother thought she might like them for her garden, Jean-Michel had announced that his mother had a cutting from a rosebush for Sarah. It seemed that everyone in Ladreville knew of Sarah’s garden and how much time she and Thea spent there. The place she’d named the secret garden was anything but secret.

David and Jean-Michel continued their litany of praises. Although she’d tried to discourage both of them, they were immune to subtlety, and Sarah was loath to hurt them with a blunt dismissal. Today she wished she had, for she had planned to stop at the Lazy B on her way home, giving Mary a chance to visit with Thea. Now there was no time. She would barely be able to reach the ranch and get Thea’s hands washed before Martina served supper.

“Sing, Sarah. Me wanna sing with you.” Oblivious to Sarah’s mood, Thea bounced on the wagon seat and tugged on her sister’s arm.

“What do you want to sing?”

“Pretty song.”

That didn’t narrow the field too much. Sarah thought for a moment, then began to sing one of the tunes her mother had taught her, a silly song about flowers in a garden. Thea didn’t mind that the lyrics didn’t rhyme well or that Sarah sang off-key. She grinned and began to clap and sing.

Sarah tightened her grip on the reins. This was a particularly bumpy part of the road, with huge potholes from the last downpour. She ought to slow the horses, but if she did, they would be late. She and Thea would simply have to endure the jolting.

Crack!
Without warning, the wagon lurched to the side, sending Thea tumbling into Sarah. Instinctively, Sarah grabbed her sister at the same time that she gripped the side of the wagon to steady herself.

“It’s all right, sweetie,” she said, trying to calm Thea’s sobs. “We’re all right.” But they were not, for when Sarah looked down, all she could do was gasp. The wagon wheel was gone.

17

It was an accident. Clay knew that accidents happened and that it wasn’t always possible to determine what had caused them. Still, he had to check. That was why, once he assured himself that Sarah had suffered nothing more than blisters from walking home, he had questioned Miguel and why he was now in town, talking to the man who ran the livery. As he’d expected, Klaus reiterated what Miguel had said, that the wagon had been in perfect shape. Klaus added that he would have noticed if one of the wheels were loose, because he checked the wagon each afternoon before he hitched the horses for Miss Sarah. “A man cain’t be too careful when there’s young’uns,” he told Clay. It was Klaus’s theory that the rough road had somehow loosened the bolts.

Clay leaned against the livery door, feeling relief wash through him. If the wheel had had to fall off, it was fortunate that the accident happened where it did. Sarah had been less than a mile from home. More importantly, she’d been on dry land. If she’d lost the wheel in the middle of the river, there was no telling how long she and Thea would have been stranded there. Though there would have been little danger of drowning, with the river as high as it was after the recent rain, Sarah would not have been able to climb out and carry Thea through the water, and they would have been forced to wait until someone noticed their predicament and rescued them. Indeed, they’d been lucky.

“Thanks, Klaus. You’re a good man.”

Though the comment required no response, Klaus’s lips twitched, as if he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how to begin. That was odd, for the livery owner’s taciturnity was legendary in Ladreville. Clay counted himself fortunate that Klaus had even postulated a theory. Perhaps he had another explanation for the loose wheel.

“You fixin’ to marry Miss Sarah?”

Instinctively, Clay straightened and fisted his hands, then relaxed as he reminded himself this was not a fighting matter. It was ridiculous for him to be so touchy where Sarah was concerned. Still, marriage was the last topic Clay would have expected Klaus to introduce. “What makes you think that?”

“Folks been talkin’. They figure something’s up, cuz she keeps asking questions about Austin.” The livery owner gave Clay a long look. “I reckon you both want the past settled afore you start a new life.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?” It appeared there was no point in denying he wanted to marry Sarah. A protest would only fuel more rumors.

Klaus weighed the question. “Cain’t say it’s wrong. I just know what I hear.” He scuffed the floor with his boot toe. “Folks get nervous over questions. I reckon they don’t like being reminded of a killing.”