Scattered Petals (20 page)

“If you’re here to tell me I’m crazy, you can walk right back out that door.” To be certain there was no confusion, Gunther pointed at the door Zach had just entered.

Zach stared at his friend, who was pacing the mill floor with uncharacteristic anxiety. “Why would I say you’re crazy?” If anyone was crazy, it was he, for he’d been acting like a schoolboy, so eager to see Priscilla that he rushed through his chores each day. He wasn’t slacking his responsibilities, but he also wasn’t giving them the full attention he had a few months ago. He wasn’t the person whose sanity was in question, though. It was Gunther.

“Everyone else thinks I’m a fool to be spending time with Isabelle.” Gunther halted in front of Zach, shaking his head as he corrected himself. “That’s not true. Not everyone used the word
crazy
. Some told me I was desperate. Desperate, crazy, and it’s your fault.”

Zach suspected it was. The town had been buzzing with the news that Gunther had found a new candidate for the position of Eva’s mother. While that was exactly what Priscilla and Sarah had hoped would happen, Zach wasn’t proud of his role. Why had he ever let himself get involved in a matchmaking scheme?

“What happened? The last I heard, Isabelle was teaching your daughter to speak French. In my book, that’s neither crazy nor desperate. It seems to me that it’s a practical solution to your problem.”

“That’s not how everyone else sees it.”

Zach pretended to ponder the situation. Though he tried not to listen to the rumor mill, he had heard enough to know that Isabelle was doing more than teaching Gunther’s daughter. “Surely no one objects to Eva being tutored. Maybe there’s something you haven’t told me.”

Though Gunther had been glaring at him, now he dropped his gaze to the floor. “They might be talking about the fact that I see Isabelle most every day, and sometimes we talk a bit.”

“How much would ‘a bit’ be?” Zach had heard rumors, but rumors were notoriously inaccurate.

Gunther shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly unwilling to answer. At last he said, “Most days it’s the better part of an hour.”

Certainly enough to provoke gossip. “There’s no law against that, is there?”

“Nein.”

“And friends can talk to friends, can’t they?”

“Ja, aber . . .”
Realizing he was speaking German, Gunther corrected himself, “but . . .” And then he fell silent, as if reluctant to reveal anything more.

“Spit it out.”

Gunther raised his head and stared at Zach for a long moment. “Oh, all right. But you can’t tell anyone.”

“I’m good at keeping secrets.” Including several of his own.

“The thing is, I care about Isabelle.”

Priscilla would claim that was good news. Zach wasn’t so certain. “She’s your friend, right?”

“
Ja
, but . . .” There was another long pause. Zach couldn’t blame the man. He would have been equally uncomfortable discussing his emotions. “What I feel for her is more than friendship,” Gunther admitted. “I’ve never felt like this, not even with Frieda.” Frieda, Zach knew, had been Gunther’s first wife. “Maybe I am crazy, because I want to marry Isabelle.” Gunther ran a hand through his hair. “You don’t need to say anything. I know it’s impossible.”

This impossible marriage was the one Priscilla and Sarah were promoting. Zach wished he’d refused to become involved, but it was too late. He was involved in the crazy scheme, and since he was, it was his duty to help his friend. “I wouldn’t say impossible. Difficult, perhaps, but not impossible.” When Gunther’s expression brightened, Zach cleared his throat. How could he ask the next question without seeming to pry? Deciding there was no easy way, he blurted it out. “Does she care for you—as more than a friend?”

Clearly uncomfortable, Gunther stared into the distance. “I think so. We haven’t said the words, but sometimes when she looks at me, I think she feels the way I do.” His voice had softened as he spoke of Isabelle. Now it turned harsh again. “It would never work. Her parents won’t let her marry a German. Everyone knows a Frenchwoman can’t do that.”

And that, of course, was the problem both Zach and Clay had foreseen when Priscilla and Sarah had hatched their idea. “Maybe not in the Old Country, but this is America. Things are different here.” Zach hoped he wasn’t simply spouting platitudes. “It’s true you’d be the first, and being the first is always difficult.” Hadn’t he said the same thing to Priscilla when she’d spoken of her desire to become a physician? “But if this is something you want, isn’t it worth the effort?” Why hadn’t he said that to Priscilla? It wasn’t too late for her. Oh, it was true that it would be difficult, particularly after the baby was born, but if practicing medicine would bring her happiness, surely she should pursue it.

A smile lit Gunther’s face as he considered a future with Isabelle as his bride. “What must I do?”

Zach was struck by the irony that he, the man who thought he would never marry and whose marriage was unconventional, was counseling a friend on the route to marital bliss. “I imagine she would like to be wooed. Most women do.” Gunther nodded, as if he’d heard that before. “One word of advice. Everyone knows you’re looking for a new mother for Eva.”

“It’s more than that.”

Gunther’s interruption told Zach what he’d hoped to hear. “If you love Isabelle, make sure she knows that’s why you’re courting her—for herself, not for Eva’s sake.”

“Ja. Sehr gut.”
Gunther nodded in agreement. “But how do I do that?”

Zach frowned. What a hypocrite he was, giving advice that he hadn’t followed. He hadn’t wooed Priscilla, and he certainly hadn’t given her any reason to believe he cared for her. As far as Priscilla knew, the only reason Zach had married her was to protect her unborn child. Though that might have been true then, things had changed. The problem was, Zach had no idea how to tell Priscilla that he felt differently. His parents had insisted it was more important to show than to tell, but how did a man do that?

He looked at Gunther and shrugged his shoulders. “I wish I knew.”

Another dead end. Lawrence drained his glass and plunked it onto the table. Men fitting the description of the Dunkler brothers had been seen approaching Seguin, and so he had followed them, only to discover that they were simply two tall, dark-haired farmers, not the notorious outlaws he sought.

“One more,” he agreed when the waitress offered to fill his glass. It wasn’t as if he needed his wits about him tonight. The Dunkler brothers were not here, and neither was Jean-Michel Ladre.

Lawrence frowned as he thought of the apparently wily son of Ladreville’s founding family. The young whippersnapper was in a heap of trouble. It was bad enough that he’d stolen Albert Monroe’s money. The empresario might have agreed to a minor jail sentence for that crime had Jean-Michel not taken the horse. But he had, and Texans were mighty particular about their horses. Still, a healthy number of his father’s gold coins might have convinced Monroe that Jean-Michel should not hang. But now there was no chance of clemency. The day the young fool decided to end the peddler’s life was the day he signed his own death warrant. One way or another, Jean-Michel Ladre would die.

Lawrence took a swig of his drink. It was odd how it had lost its flavor, almost as odd as the way his life had suddenly seemed devoid of pleasure. A year ago he’d believed there was nothing more rewarding than being a Texas Ranger, but now . . . He tipped the glass and swallowed the last drops. There was no point in wasting good whiskey.

“What else can I get you?” The waitress appeared at his side so quickly that Lawrence suspected she’d been watching him. The way she just happened to brush against his arm and the sultry tone of her voice told him she was offering more than another drink.

“Nothing else.” Disappointment dimmed her smile. Lawrence shook his head as he rose. She couldn’t help it that her hair was brown, not strawberry blonde. She couldn’t help it that she was short and rounded, not tall and slim. She couldn’t help it that she wasn’t Priscilla. There was only one Priscilla, and she was another man’s wife.

His mood decidedly worse than it had been a minute before, Lawrence stalked out of the saloon.

“I bought something for us today.”

Priscilla turned and laid the paring knife on the sink. The potatoes could wait. Zach’s voice said whatever he had purchased was important. “I didn’t know we needed anything.”

His lips curved into a smile that made his face even more handsome than normal. “We may not
need
this, but I thought we could use it.” Zach stepped outside for a second, returning with his purchase.

“A basket.” Constructed of thin slats that had been bent and woven and boasting a sturdy handle, the container was both attractive and practical. It was also the only thing Zach had bought for Priscilla other than her wedding ring. What was the occasion?

“Not just a basket,” he said with another smile. “It’s a picnic basket. I thought we might go for a picnic after church on Sunday.”

A gift and an outing. Priscilla almost clapped her hands with glee. “Thank you, Zach. I haven’t been on a picnic since I was a child.”

“Then you’re overdue.”

Though she had worried that rain might spoil the picnic, Sunday dawned clear and sunny. Priscilla had the chicken fried, the biscuits and the dried apple pie baked. All that remained was to pack the basket when they returned from church. She was humming softly as she dressed, wondering what today’s sermon would be. Like Sarah and Clay, Priscilla and Zach alternated churches, and this was their week to worship with the Germans. Priscilla knew that for the past four weeks Pastor Sempert had followed his Lenten tradition of preaching about the events that led to Good Friday and Easter Sunday. Which would he choose today?

She and Zach slid into one of the back pews, where they were soon joined by Gunther and Eva. When the little girl nestled close to Priscilla, whispering, “You smell pretty,” Priscilla resolved to buy a bottle of toilet water for the child. Perhaps, if everything went the way Sarah hoped, Eva would be able to wear it for her father’s wedding to Isabelle.

All thoughts of Gunther and Isabelle fled when the minister climbed into the pulpit. “The Scripture reading for today is Matthew 19, verses 13 through 15.” Priscilla blinked. For some reason, Pastor Sempert had deviated from custom, for this passage did not relate to Christ’s death. The minister opened his Bible and began to read, “‘Then were there brought unto him little children, that he should put his hands on them, and pray; and the disciples rebuked them. But Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven. And he laid his hands on them, and departed thence.’” Pastor Sempert looked out at his congregation. “Today, as we enjoy the beauty of spring and the rebirth of all living things, let us reflect on the blessings our Lord has given us, including the blessing of children.”

Priscilla lowered her eyes, unable to meet his gaze. Did he know? Was the message for her? Sarah had told her how one of Pastor Sempert’s sermons had led her back to her Savior. Had he somehow guessed that Priscilla was still struggling with the memory of how her child was conceived, and was this his way of comforting her? Whether or not the sermon was directed at her, Priscilla drank in his words, feeling like a flower that had been struggling to survive in parched earth as it received the first drops of spring rain.

“Good sermon.” Though she and Zach normally discussed the sermon on their ride home, today he said nothing more. Instead, he changed the subject abruptly, suggesting she wear older clothing for the picnic.

Half an hour later, they were back in the wagon, heading north. When they reached the end of the road, instead of turning right to cross the river, Zach continued on a barely visible track. Though Priscilla knew the ranch extended past the road, she’d never been this far.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s supposed to be a surprise,” he said as he feigned a frown. “I’m beginning to realize your parents were right in not naming you Patience.”

She laughed. “It’s true. Patience and I were very different. My sister inherited all of our father’s patience.”