Scattered Petals (4 page)

She was afraid of him. That beautiful woman with hair like firelight and grass-green eyes was afraid of him. Zach knew he hadn’t imagined it. There was no mistaking the terror in her eyes when she’d looked at him. Though he’d never set eyes on her before, the instant her gaze met his, he’d seen the flicker of recognition, followed swiftly by a look of pure horror. Zach couldn’t explain how it could have happened, but somehow she knew his past. It was as if his sin had been branded on his forehead, a modern mark of Cain. Even Margaret’s hatred and her bitter words the day they’d parted hadn’t shaken him the way this woman’s fear had. He was still reeling as if he’d been struck.

That was part of the reason Zach had been reluctant to accompany Clay and the Ranger when Clay had suggested they sit on the front porch. The other part was that he didn’t think he could bear listening to the Ranger’s tale, knowing that he was not the man to avenge the evil that had been done. But Clay had insisted, and so here Zach was, sitting on the front steps, drinking some of Martina’s cool tea.

“What can you tell us?” Clay posed the question.

The Ranger took a long swallow before he replied. “It was the Dunkler brothers’ work. There were three of them—tall, dark hair, blue eyes.” He stared at Zach for a moment. “They look a bit like you.”

A wave of relief washed through Zach. Perhaps that was the reason for Priscilla’s reaction. She had seen the physical resemblance and been frightened. That was much better than believing she had looked inside him and learned his shameful secret. Zach took another sip of tea, and this time he savored the cool beverage.

“The Dunkler brothers have been holding up stagecoaches around San Antonio for the better part of a year,” the Ranger continued. “Usually their intent is robbery. The unfortunate fact is, they’ve been remarkably successful in taking large payrolls. That’s why the Rangers were called out. I don’t know what was different this time, why they killed the driver and Miss Morton’s parents and attacked her.”

Zach’s insides twisted at the thought of three innocent people dying and another suffering the worst harm that could befall a woman.
Oh, Lord, where were you? How could you let this happen?
There was no answer, just as there’d been no answer in that abysmal Mexican jail. Zach rose and walked to the edge of the porch, trying to calm his thoughts. Only then would he hear the voice that directed his life, the voice that had led him here. Was this somehow part of God’s plan for him?

“Scum like that deserve to die.” Zach heard the anger in Clay’s voice.

“One of them already has,” the Ranger said. “I killed Zeke Dunkler when I found him with Miss Morton. The others were already gone.”

Zach turned and rejoined the conversation. “You said there were three.”

“Yeah.” The Ranger nodded. “Zeke was the youngest and, from all accounts, the wildest. Jake—he’s the oldest—is the leader and the brains of the outfit. Chet’s the best shot.”

“Any idea where they’ve gone?” Once again it was Clay who spoke. Zach was trying to tamp back the fury that even now raged like a wildfire inside him.

“Probably north. Judging from the coaches they’ve robbed recently, that seems to be the direction they’re headed.” The Ranger frowned. “Trouble is, I can’t predict what they’ll do once they realize Zeke is dead. They may change their pattern. They may seek revenge.”

“Against whom? You said Miss Morton was the only survivor.” Surely the remaining Dunklers would not kill her. But they might. That had probably been their plan all along. Once he’d slaked his lust, Zeke Dunkler would have killed her if the Ranger hadn’t shot him first.

The Ranger shrugged. “Most murderers don’t like to leave witnesses.”

A sudden calm fell over Zach. Perhaps this was what God intended for him. He’d known a change was coming. He simply didn’t know what it would be. Perhaps he was meant to accompany Lawrence Wood as he tracked the murderers. He wouldn’t kill the men, of course. When he’d left Perote, he’d vowed that he would never again kill. But he could help apprehend the bandits and keep Miss Morton safe. “I’ll go with you.”

The Ranger shook his head. “No offense, but I’m the one who’s trained to deal with the likes of the Dunkler brothers. I’m also used to riding alone.”

He would be in the way. Zach didn’t need to hear the words pronounced to understand the man’s concerns. He couldn’t dispute their validity. Though he was a good marksman, he doubted his skill could match that of a Texas Ranger. Those men were legendary. But if God didn’t want him to capture the murderers, what was his plan? Zach wished he knew.

Priscilla dragged the chair closer to the window of the room Sarah had said would be hers for as long as she stayed. Though smaller than her bed chamber at home, the room was nicely furnished with a bed, a bureau, and a small table with two chairs. It was one of those chairs that she’d moved toward the window. Opening the sash, Priscilla breathed in deeply. No matter what had happened, there was no denying the beauty of the Bar C and the verdant countryside. It was probably Texas’s location, so much farther south than Boston, that accounted for the grass still being green. Perhaps it was the recent rains, which had turned the stagecoach roads into muddy morasses for several days. Priscilla didn’t care about reasons. It was enough to look outside and know that something—even if it was only grass—was still alive.

A soft knock was followed by the sound of the door opening. Priscilla turned to see Sarah enter the room, carrying a tray with a pitcher and two cups.

“I brought you some cocoa,” she said as she placed it on the table. “That used to be my mother’s remedy when I was sad. It didn’t matter whether it was summer or winter. Mama was convinced that cocoa was a panacea.”

Priscilla smiled at the realization that some aspects of motherhood were universal. “Mine gave me chamomile tea.”

Though she’d started to pour the beverage, Sarah’s hand stilled. “Would you prefer that? I can brew some.”

Priscilla shook her head as she moved her chair back to the table and motioned Sarah toward the other. “The chocolate smells delicious.” Priscilla took a sip, enjoying the fragrant beverage.

“It’s difficult, isn’t it?”

She raised her eyes to meet Sarah’s. “What do you mean?”

“At times like this, it’s hard to see how God can turn suffering into good.”

As memories assailed her, Priscilla’s hand trembled so much that cocoa sloshed over the edge of the cup. Placing it back on the saucer, she closed her eyes and tried to will the memories away.

Sarah laid a hand on one of Priscilla’s. “He can, and he will.”

Slowly Priscilla shook her head and opened her eyes. “I wish I could believe that, but I don’t. Nothing good could come from what happened to my parents.”
And me.
She wouldn’t voice those words, for that would be to allow the memories back inside her head.

As a bird’s trilling filled the room, Priscilla bit her lips to keep from crying out. How she wished she were a bird! If she were, she could fly away and not have to deal with a woman who preached God’s love. She tugged her hand from Sarah’s and picked up her cup. Perhaps the cocoa would soothe her; it was certain Sarah’s words would not.

“That’s what I thought too.” Sarah’s voice was low and filled with compassion. “I couldn’t understand how God could let me break my leg so badly, but the doctors were sure I’d never walk again.” Though Priscilla had seen Sarah’s limp, she hadn’t wanted to ask what had caused it. “My horse fell on me,” Sarah explained. “Poor Daisy. Her leg was hurt worse than mine, and she . . . Well, you know what happens to horses with crushed legs.”

Though the accident must have occurred years before, Priscilla heard the note of sorrow in Sarah’s voice. Feeling an unexpected need to comfort the woman who had been trying to comfort her, Priscilla said, “You’re walking now.”

Sarah nodded as she placed her cup back on the saucer. “I’ll always limp, but that’s a small price to pay for what I’ve gained.”

When she’d accompanied her father on his medical rounds, Priscilla had met several patients with withered or amputated legs. “It must have been difficult to be confined to a chair.”

“It was, for both me and my parents. I’m honestly not sure who suffered more. All I can tell you is that the day I took my first steps was one of the happiest in my life, and yet walking wasn’t the most precious gift I was given.”

Priscilla knew her face reflected her confusion. What could be better than regaining use of your legs when you’d thought you had been condemned to life in a chair?

As if she heard the unspoken question, Sarah said, “The knowledge that my suffering helped someone else. Clay’s father probably wouldn’t be walking again if it weren’t for what I learned when I was stuck in that chair.”

Clay had written about what he considered the Canfield family miracle, the fact that Sarah’s determination had helped his father regain use of his legs after everyone, Clay included, had believed he would never walk again. It was a touching story and an encouraging one. If she were Sarah, she might even believe God had a hand in it. The problem was, Priscilla knew there would be no happy endings to her story. Death was final. Nothing could change that or mitigate its pain. “I cannot imagine anything good coming from losing my family.”

Sarah was silent for a moment, as if trying to frame her response. “I don’t want to sound as if I’m mouthing platitudes, but times like this are when it’s most important to trust God.”

Priscilla had trusted God, but he had failed her. “Look, Sarah, I know you mean well and you’re trying to help me, but you’re wrong. When I prayed to God for help, he ignored me.”

Anguish filled Sarah’s eyes. “Oh, Priscilla, that’s not true. Our heavenly Father never ignores us. Sometimes we just don’t hear his answer, because it’s not the one we expected.”

“It
is
true.” Sarah might be stubborn, but so was Priscilla. She wasn’t going to let this woman, no matter how well-meaning she might be, continue to believe that her God was a loving one. “He left me alone with the bandit. He wouldn’t even let me die. I prayed and prayed that I would die, but he wouldn’t even grant me that. That’s when I knew he had abandoned me.”

Before Sarah could reply, the door was flung open and a small child raced inside, her dark brown braids flying behind her, a rag doll clutched to her chest. The little girl’s resemblance to her hostess told Priscilla this was Thea, Sarah’s young sister.

“Pretty lady.” Thea skidded to a stop in front of Priscilla and pointed.

“Her name is Miss Morton.” Sarah reached for her sister, but she eluded her. “Say hello to Miss Morton, and then I want you to go back to the kitchen. I’m sure Martina has some cookies for you.”

Though the little girl’s eyes brightened at the thought of a treat, she ignored Sarah and climbed onto Priscilla’s lap. “Pretty lady. Pretty hair.” She stroked Priscilla’s hair, looking at her hand occasionally, as if she expected it to have been warmed by Priscilla’s flame-colored tresses. When that game paled, she turned her attention to Priscilla’s face. Touching Priscilla’s nose, Thea announced, “Spots.”

Priscilla gave Sarah a quick smile as her earlier prediction that Thea would be curious about them came true. “They’re called freckles.”

“Feckles.” Thea rubbed Priscilla’s nose, perhaps trying to remove the spots. It wouldn’t work. Priscilla had tried the same technique hundreds of times with no result.

“They won’t go away,” she told the child.

“But Thea will.” Sarah rose. “That’s enough, Thea. Let’s go.”

“No!” Thea closed her eyes, as if that would make her invisible, and snuggled closer to Priscilla, wrapping both arms around her. “Me wanna stay with pretty lady.”

“Thea!”

The stern command caused the child to slide from Priscilla’s lap. Her ramrod posture telegraphing her annoyance with her sister, Thea picked up her doll and glared at Sarah. “Pretty lady sad,” she announced. When Sarah pointed at the door, Thea took a few steps toward it, clomping her feet with each stride. Then she turned, a grin on her face, and scampered back to Priscilla. Before Priscilla had the slightest inclination what Thea intended, the child placed her doll in Priscilla’s lap. “Dolly make pretty lady happy.”

A tiny flicker of warmth settled in Priscilla’s heart as she looked at the child’s unselfish gift. It was an ordinary rag doll of minimal monetary value, and yet the love that accompanied it made it priceless.

Sarah’s smile was rueful. “I’m sorry for the interruption, Priscilla. I’ll be back as soon as I get Thea settled.”

Priscilla wasn’t sorry. For the first time since the stagecoach had been stopped, she felt something other than anger, hatred, and despair. “Thank you for the doll, Thea.” She held it out, urging the child to take it. From the way she’d carried it, Priscilla knew this was one of Thea’s prized possessions. In all likelihood, she kept it with her night and day.

The child shook her head vigorously. “Me want you keep her.” When Sarah grasped her hand and started to lead her from the room, Thea tugged her hand free. A second later, she’d climbed onto Priscilla’s lap again and hugged her. “Me love you.”