Paper Roses (37 page)

“Or maybe someone has a guilty conscience.”

Lines of strain etched Isabelle’s face. “It’s getting worse,” she told Sarah a few days later. “It was only words before, but now I’m afraid they’ll do something awful.”

They were speaking of Léon. Sarah knew that without asking. “Surely not. There’s no proof.” Unfortunately, Sarah knew that mobs needed no proof. Allegations were often sufficient to incite them to anger, and angry men were unpredictable.

Thea tugged on Sarah’s skirt in a play for attention. “Just a few minutes longer,” Sarah told her. “I need to talk to Isabelle.” Surely there was a way to comfort her friend. Sarah had prayed that God would reveal the thief, but so far he had not. Last Sunday Père Tellier had spoken of God’s timing, reminding the congregation that it was perfect, at the same time that he urged patience. The advice might be sound, but it was difficult to be patient when loved ones were threatened.

“Evidence or proof—I’m not sure anyone in Ladreville thinks there’s a difference.” Bitterness colored Isabelle’s words. “The evidence keeps mounting. The button was bad enough, but there’s more. Yesterday Monsieur Ferrand discovered his new saddle was missing. He also found Léon’s glove in the barn.”

As Thea continued to fuss, Isabelle handed her an empty spool, showing her how to roll it along the floor. “This morning I overheard two women talking. They weren’t whispering, so I’m sure they wanted me to hear what they were saying. They claimed it was time the town took matters into its own hands.” Isabelle’s face crumpled. “Oh, Sarah, they want to lynch my brother.”

“But he’s innocent.” Sarah knew that with every fiber of her being. Léon had put his past behind him; he would not steal.

“Not in their eyes. Whoever’s doing this has convinced everyone Léon’s guilty.”

There was only one solution. “We have to find the real thief.”

“How?”

Sarah wished she knew. It was easy to pronounce the words; turning them into actions was far more difficult. The last few months had proven that. When she’d enlisted Clay’s help to build the school, Sarah had been certain she’d be able to learn something about Austin’s death. She had not. Subtle questions had elicited no information, and so she’d changed her tactics, asking directly. That had accomplished nothing, save annoying some of the townspeople. They’d regarded her questions as personal affronts rather than what they were: an attempt to glean the truth. Sarah had believed she would harvest something, at least a few grains of truth among the chaff, but she had nothing, not even chaff. She had failed miserably in her efforts to help Clay. What made her think she would succeed this time?

Before she had a chance to say anything more, the doorbell tinkled, announcing the arrival of a customer. Isabelle struggled to fix a smile on her face.

“Good afternoon.” Jean-Michel fairly strutted as he entered the store. Sarah watched, surprised by both his jaunty walk and the bright smile he wore. This was not the same Jean-Michel who’d spent so much time with her this summer. That Jean-Michel had been courtly but more subdued, and he’d never smiled at her the way he did at Isabelle.

“How fortunate I am, to have two of the most beautiful ladies in Ladreville in the same room.”

Though the fulsome compliment startled Sarah, Isabelle simply raised her eyebrows. “You see, Sarah,” she said in apparent response to Jean-Michel’s words, “I told you you and Thea were beautiful.”

Jean-Michel feigned chagrin. “I stand corrected. The three most beautiful ladies in Ladreville are here.” He looked down at Thea. “I can’t ignore the little one.” Unbidden, the memory of Jean-Michel’s father telling Sarah his son knew his duty and would care for Thea flashed through her mind. She tried not to frown, then noticed that Isabelle seemed equally ill at ease.

“Can I help you find anything?” Isabelle kept her voice polite but distant, the tone she used with new customers.

“Not today.” Jean-Michel leaned on the counter, directing his attention to Isabelle. “I came to offer my assistance.” Though his pause said he expected Isabelle to respond, she remained silent. Jean-Michel cleared his throat before he said, “I heard some unpleasant rumors and want you to know that I don’t believe them.” This time Isabelle stiffened, but still she made no response.

“Your brother and I had our differences in the past and I imagine we will again, but I know he’s not responsible.” Though Sarah expected Isabelle to say something, if only to thank Jean-Michel for his faith in Léon, she did not. Jean-Michel flushed. “If there’s anything I can do to help you, you need only ask.” Isabelle nodded slowly. Though Jean-Michel might construe her nod as agreement, Sarah suspected she was only acknowledging his offer, not accepting it.

“Well, then.” Clearly dissatisfied by the reaction to his offer of help, Jean-Michel took his leave.

“Does he come here often?” Sarah asked when the store was once again devoid of customers. The encounter between Isabelle and Jean-Michel had been an unusual one and one which made Sarah’s mind whirl.

“Almost every day. Why?”

Sarah nodded. “I thought so. I saw the way he looked at you. The man is smitten.”

“But he’s courting you.” Isabelle appeared appalled by the idea of Jean-Michel as her suitor. “Everyone knows that.”

“I’ve never encouraged him, or David, for that matter.” In both cases, Sarah had been convinced the men were acting in response to their parents’ wishes, not their own inclination. While that might have been the favored approach in the Old Country, it was not enough for Sarah.

“I never thought Jean-Michel’s heart was engaged.” Though he’d said all the right things, the words had not rung with sincerity. That was one of the reasons Sarah had never considered him a serious suitor. She’d been polite to him, nothing more. “Now I know why.”

Isabelle flushed with indignation. “The whole idea is preposterous. Jean-Michel and me? Never!”

“Why not? Surely your parents would approve.” After all, Jean-Michel was of French descent, and his father was the most highly regarded man in the town.

“Maman and Papa would approve, and even Léon might be persuaded that Jean-Michel would care for me,” Isabelle admitted. She stared into the distance for a moment, as if composing her thoughts. “It’s difficult to explain, but I don’t trust him. It’s not what he says as much as the way he says it.” She looked at Sarah, a question in her eyes. “Does that make any sense?”

It did, indeed, for that was the way Sarah felt about David. And the thought that Ladreville was home to two men who couldn’t be trusted troubled her almost as much as the problems Léon was facing.

“There must be a way to discover who’s responsible for the thefts,” she said at supper that night. Though she’d been unable to think of anything, perhaps Clay and Zach would have ideas. That was why she’d asked Zach to join them.

“I’m not so sure there is a way.” Clay accompanied his words with a frown. “I’m constantly reminded that this town is very good at keeping secrets.”

“I hate secrets.” The second the words left her mouth, Sarah blanched. She was a fine one to talk. Wasn’t she keeping a secret—a large one—of her own?

Though he gave her an odd look, Zach said nothing. It was only after supper that he took her aside. “I know you said you don’t like secrets,” he said when they were out of earshot, “but I’m hoping you’ll keep what I’m about to tell you in confidence.”

Her curiosity aroused, Sarah nodded agreement.

“You were right.” A smile of pure happiness split Zach’s face. “Those exercises you showed me for Robert were the right ones. He stood today.”

Sarah’s heart leapt with joy. This was what she’d hoped for, what she prayed for each day. “That’s wonderful! Does Clay know?”

“No. Robert wants to wait to tell him until he can actually walk. That’s why I’m asking you to keep this secret. I think Robert doesn’t want to raise Clay’s hopes in case he never goes beyond this stage. It was only a few seconds, but he stood on his own.”

“That’s the first step.” Sarah remembered the thrill she’d felt the day she’d been able to put weight on both legs. That day had been a turning point for her, for it had proven that, no matter how painful the exercises were and how frustratingly slow her progress seemed, she was healing. “Pa will walk again. I know it. And you’re responsible. It’s because you’re here that Pa wants to walk.” Sarah knew Zach’s presence had given him the incentive he needed to persevere.

Sarah was reveling in the thought of Clay’s father walking again as she made her way to the garden that evening. For once, Clay and Thea were not with her. Nora had been off her feed that morning, and Clay wanted to check on the mare one more time. When he’d invited Thea to join him, there had been no question. Though Sarah’s sister enjoyed digging in the dirt, nothing compared to being with a horse. Promising he’d bring Thea to the garden in half an hour or so, Clay had headed for the barn, leaving Sarah to traverse the path alone.

She didn’t mind. In fact, she was grateful for the solitude, for it gave her a chance to rejoice in the news. She knew the happiness bubbling up inside her must be evident and that if he saw it, Clay would try to find the cause. Perhaps by the time he joined her, Sarah would have her elation under control. But for the present, she could think of nothing save the fact that Pa would walk again. If she could have skipped, Sarah would have. As it was, she alternated between singing and humming, all the while murmuring prayers of thanksgiving. It wasn’t her doing or even Zach’s that was responsible for Pa’s being able to stand. It was God’s mercy.

The path was at its narrowest here, with mesquite bushes lining both sides. Idly, Sarah noted the leaves that obscured the ground. Though it wasn’t the season for leaves to fall, they must have blown down in the last storm, carpeting the path. If Thea were here, she would have shuffled through them, kicking them out of her way. She might have even lain down, waving her arms to make the autumn equivalent of snow angels. Sarah would do none of those, lest she somehow injure her leg. She merely walked, but after the months of fearing she would not walk again, that was enough. She smiled as she took another step.

There was no warning. One instant she was walking, her feet crunching on the dry leaves. The next, she was falling. Sarah heard the crack as branches broke, followed by the sickening thud as she landed at the bottom of a deep hole. She smelled the pungent odors of crushed leaves and fear. She saw the darkness of the pit. But mostly she felt. Pain shot through her as her leg crumpled beneath her. Shock stole her breath. Fear dried her mouth. She had fallen into a trap.

Traps were common. Sarah knew that. Only not on the path. Only not this deep. This one had not been dug for an animal. Sarah’s blood chilled at the realization that she was the prey.

Clay could not recall ever being this angry. Not even Austin’s death had provoked this fury. Someone had tried to hurt Sarah. Twice. The words echoed through his brain. There was no doubt of it. If he was right, and his instincts shrieked that he was, the wagon wheel had not fallen off by accident. Though there had been plausible reasons for believing that an accident, there was no way anyone could mistake the pit in the path as chance. Someone had known Sarah walked this path almost daily. That same someone had dug a hole deep enough that she could not climb out. Someone wanted to trap her, to injure her, to . . . Clay refused to even consider the third alternative.

Whoever had done it had been clever. After he’d dug the pit, he’d placed branches over the opening, camouflaging them with leaves. Thea would not have fallen in, for the branches would have borne her weight. There was no question; Sarah was the intended victim.

Clay took a deep breath, reminding himself Sarah had been fortunate and had suffered no serious injuries. Though painful, her leg had been strained, not broken again, and she could walk—hobble—with the assistance of a cane. That was the only good thing Clay could say about the evening.

If he lived to be a hundred, he would never forget the fear he’d felt when he’d heard Sarah’s cries. He and Thea had been coming down the path, their progress reminding Clay of a jackrabbit. Thea would scamper for a few seconds, then pause, distracted by a flower or a butterfly or even a fluttering leaf. The child found joy in everything. She’d tried to convince Clay to sing, and when he refused, undaunted, she’d proceeded to sing—if you could honor the sounds which emerged from her vocal cords with that word—as loudly as she could. That’s why Clay didn’t hear Sarah until they were almost at the pit.