Scattered Petals (15 page)

Though the next morning was sunny, the cool temperatures discouraged parishioners from lingering outside the church before the services, and Priscilla felt herself relax. It would be better to converse with the townspeople afterward. First she needed to make peace with God. She looked up at Zach and nodded when he asked whether she was ready to go inside. Even if the parishioners were as friendly as he claimed and as they’d seemed at Sarah and Clay’s wedding, they would not engage in more than brief greetings inside the sanctuary. Or so Priscilla believed.

As she and Zach entered the vestibule, Isabelle Rousseau rushed to their side. “I’m so glad you came!” The petite brunette who was Sarah’s best friend and the object of her current matchmaking campaign gave Zach an arch look. “Now, Mr. Webster,” Isabelle said with feigned severity, “there’s no reason to hide in back. You and Priscilla must sit with my family.”

And so, though she had hoped to attract little attention, Priscilla found herself in the second pew. The French church bore little resemblance to the one the Germans had built. While the other church had no stained glass, this one had two magnificent windows, one depicting the birth of Christ, the other his ascension to heaven. While the German crucifix was rough-hewn wood and had been created by the settlers, the one that hung over the altar here appeared to be carved of centuries-old marble. If the cross was old, though, the minister was not. While Pastor Sempert was in his seventies, Père Tellier could not be more than thirty-five. Pastor Sempert was tall, although a bit stooped with age, and sturdily built. Père Tellier was of short stature and a slight frame.

And yet, for all their differences, both churches exuded the same sense of peace. Simply sitting in the pew made Priscilla realize she had not made a mistake by coming. God had not excluded her because of her anger. Instead, she felt him welcoming her, and she knew that the contentment she’d felt at the Lazy B this week had been his doing. He had brought Zach into her life to make it better.
Thank you, Lord.

Priscilla glanced at the man who sat next to her, his eyes fixed on the minister, and wished his life could be different. This week had shown her what a generous, thoughtful man Zach Webster was. Surely he deserved better than a loveless marriage.

When the services ended, Priscilla and Zach were surrounded by a group of parishioners, each felicitating them on their marriage, no one commenting on its hastiness. The men clapped Zach on the back or shook his hand; the women smiled brightly at Priscilla; the children appeared bored. And all the while, Zach stood at her side, accepting congratulations, telling everyone how fortunate he was.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked half an hour later as he guided the wagon into the river.

Priscilla loosened her cloak. With the sun at its zenith, the day had turned warmer than she’d expected. “It wasn’t bad at all. I was surprised at how friendly everyone was.” Though she’d seen curiosity on many faces, it seemed to be the normal curiosity about a new resident, nothing more, and that was a pleasant surprise. Zach had claimed that no one knew what had happened, but surely they must have suspected something was amiss for her to have married so quickly.

Zach’s smile accentuated the cleft in his chin. “I keep telling you that this is a good town. Oh, it has its idiosyncrasies, but overall it’s a fine place to put down roots. You and your child will be safe here.”

Priscilla knew that. It was Zach whose situation concerned her. “I wish you were getting more from this arrangement.” “Don’t worry about me. I’m happy with our agreement.” If only she could believe him.

Zach rode slowly, his eyes scanning the horizon for calves separated from the herd. It happened each winter, the weaker animals being left behind to fend for themselves. Each year Zach searched for them. If they were injured, he’d do what he could to tend the wound. If they were hungry, he’d feed them. If they were simply lost, he’d guide them back. Clay claimed that, short of branding, this was the aspect of ranching he detested the most. Zach felt differently. This was the time when he felt useful. Oh, it was true, as Clay claimed, that cattle were not the most intelligent of God’s creatures, but that was all the more reason why they needed his care.

He settled back in the saddle and raised his eyes to the sky.
If this is your plan, Lord, and I think it is, I like it.
Not just helping the cattle. His life in general. When he’d come to the Bar C, Zach hadn’t known what the Lord had in mind for him. He thought he’d been sent to help Clay and his father. Never once had he considered the possibility that he would wind up married, but here he was, a husband.

Zach whistled softly. Charcoal seemed to like the sound, and it helped Zach relax. Marriage was not what he’d expected. Of course, he hadn’t spent much time contemplating married life, so it was hardly surprising that he had few preconceived ideas. He certainly hadn’t thought it would feel so right. Part of the reason was having his own house. Zach enjoyed that more than he’d thought possible. He liked the privacy, the quiet, the comfort. But part of the appeal was Priscilla. To say the least, living with her was very different from life in the bunkhouse. He’d traded a dozen rowdy men for one quiet woman. One puzzling woman.

Zach had been taught that women were weak, but she was strong. She possessed not just physical strength, although it certainly took that to accomplish all she’d done around the house. What surprised him was her emotional strength. Though Priscilla had been through harrowing experiences, she never cried, not even when she was in the midst of a nightmare. Zach knew she was plagued with them, for each night he heard her whimper and then light a candle to banish the darkness. But, unlike him who would remain caught in remembered horror for hours, she seemed to recover quickly. Not once did she refer to her troubled dreams. Instead, Priscilla did her best to find something humorous to recount each day. No wonder her family had called her Sunny Cilla. Zach suspected that wrestling with the horsehair settee in the parlor had been far less amusing than the tale Priscilla had told, but he admired her fortitude and her willingness to laugh at herself. Not many women would do that.

When a spot of black caught his eye, Zach leaned forward. “Let’s go, Charcoal.” The spot, his trained eye told him, was a calf. Though Charcoal was trotting now, Zach would slow him to a walk as they approached the animal. The last thing he needed was to spook an injured calf.

Or a wife. As strong as she was, where men were concerned, Priscilla was like a wounded animal, fearful of predators. Though she seemed to be a bit more relaxed around him each day, Zach knew it was only because he kept a distance between them.
Heal her, Lord
, he prayed silently.
Show me how to help her.
As the days passed, he had been moving slowly, gradually narrowing the distance between himself and his wife. Drying dishes had been his first test. Though he’d stood closer to her than normal, she had not been spooked. Perhaps it was because his hands had been occupied, and she hadn’t feared he would touch her. Zach wasn’t certain. All he knew was that he would continue. Building Priscilla’s trust would take time, but if he was careful, one day the fear would leave her eyes.

He slowed Charcoal again, watching the calf. There was no doubt about it; it was limping. Slowly and deliberately Zach reached for his rope. The calf did not move. Good. He spun the rope over the calf’s head, then, so quickly that the calf had no warning, looped it around the animal’s shoulders, and tugged it to the ground. An instant later, Zach had dismounted and was running toward the frightened calf.

“It’ll be all right,” he said, as much to reassure himself as the animal. “Let’s see what’s wrong.” The calf continued to struggle, attempting to rise. Zach tied the three good legs together so that he could inspect the injured one without worrying about being kicked. No broken bones. The problem was a deep gash that had already begun to form a scab. Excellent! Zach released the calf, knowing it would heal on its own. He prayed that Priscilla would too.

Back on Charcoal, Zach was continuing on the route he’d planned for the day when he suddenly stopped. He couldn’t explain it. All he knew was that he needed to return to the house. Immediately. The feeling was so urgent, so insistent that he wheeled around and headed home, despite the fact that other injured cattle could be over the next rise. Half an hour later, when he and Charcoal reached the ranch, Zach had second thoughts. Perhaps it was all his imagination. Perhaps there was no reason for him to be here. He scanned the yard. Nothing looked amiss. He’d go inside, reassure himself, then head out for the range again. But as he entered the house, he heard sobs, and he knew he’d been called here for a reason.

Chills raced down his spine as he ran through the house looking for Priscilla. There she was, doubled over on the settee, crying as if her heart were breaking. Deep and heart-wrenching, the sobs could have been caused by pain or anguish. Zach’s heart lurched at the knowledge that something was desperately wrong for the woman who never wept to be sobbing like this.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded, his voice harsh with worry. Though he longed to wrap his arms around Priscilla, he dared not, for that would only increase her distress. All he could do was talk. “Are you ill? Did something happen to the baby?”

She looked up, her eyes swollen, her nose red. “The baby’s fine. I’m fine.”

She was not, for the fear he had seen the day she arrived at the Bar C had returned to her eyes. Sensing that she was frightened by his standing over her, Zach sank into a chair opposite her.

“You’re not fine, not if you’re crying like that.” He wondered whether this was a daily occurrence, and he’d never known. Though she seemed cheerful when he returned each evening, Zach hated the possibility that she spent hours weeping. “Tell me what’s wrong.” If it was within his power, he would fix it.

Priscilla wiped her tears and blew her nose before she spoke. “It’s nothing, Zach. Really nothing. I was just being silly.”

He wouldn’t believe that. “You’re the least silly person I know. Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

“You’ll think I’m crazy.” When Zach shook his head, trying to reassure her, she dabbed at her eyes again. “It’s my locket.” Priscilla’s voice broke. “They took my locket. The bandits killed my parents and they hurt me and they took my locket.” The words came out like water rushing over a dam. “It was all I had and they took it. They took everything.”

Zach tried to make sense of what she was saying. Clay had warned him that women in Priscilla’s condition could be emotional. Perhaps that was the reason for her spate of tears, though it seemed unlikely. Why would a normally sensible woman be so upset about a locket? Whether her sorrow was logical or not, Zach needed to help her.

“Tell me about your locket,” he urged.

Priscilla looked at him as if surprised by his request, then swallowed deeply in an obvious attempt to calm herself. “It was a birthday gift from my parents. When you opened it, their miniature was on one side, one of Patience and me on the other.” The tone of her voice told Zach she had treasured the family portraits even more than the locket itself. He watched as tears welled in Priscilla’s eyes. Defiantly, she brushed them aside, her next words confirming his supposition. “The locket had the only pictures I had of my family, and they took it. Now I have nothing.”

It was no longer sorrow that colored her words; it was desperation. Zach closed his eyes.
Help me, Lord. Show me the way to comfort her.
When he opened his eyes, he fixed them on Priscilla. Even with her eyes reddened and her face blotchy, his wife was beautiful. More than that, she was lovable. “You’re wrong, Priscilla.” Zach kept his voice soft but firm. “You have not lost everything. You still have God’s love, and he’s given you a new life to raise.”

Those were not the words she wanted to hear. Priscilla’s lip curled in scorn. “A bandit’s baby.”

“Your baby.” Zach paused. “Our baby.” Though her eyes widened in surprise, Zach wouldn’t rescind the words, not when it felt so right to have pronounced them. “You’re safe here. Our child will be safe here.”

She nodded slightly, and the fear in her eyes began to fade.
Thank you, Lord.
Encouraged by the progress he was making, Zach continued. “We can have a good life here.” Again she nodded. “I will do everything I can for you, but there’s something you have to do for yourself. If you want true peace, you need to forgive the bandits.”

The hope that had flickered was extinguished. “I can’t.”