Paper Roses

by Amanda Cabot

  “Fine. Frau Berger agreed to sew whatever we buy.”

  “Oh, Vati, thank you.” Eva gave her father a hug, her gratitude telling Sarah she hadn’t expected more than one dress. Sarah suspected that Gunther had not considered pantaloons, petticoats, and pinafores, not to mention the layers of undergarments females of the species wore. She made a mental note to select fabric for a nightdress too.

  When Gunther shuffled, clearly ill at ease in what he considered a feminine environment, Sarah suggested he wait on the bench outside. Madame Rousseau had told her it was a popular spot for the town’s gentlemen, particularly when their wives were selecting corsets and chemises. “Eva and I will choose everything she needs. Won’t we, Eva?”

  “Oh yes.” Her slump disappeared as the girl scampered toward the back of the store where the bolts of fabric were displayed and began to finger one. “This is pretty.”

  It was, though the silk was better suited to an adult. Gently Sarah steered Eva toward the calicos. When they’d selected three different fabrics, Sarah reached for a spool of soutache braid and held it against the navy blue poplin they’d chosen for Eva’s Sunday dress. “I think this would be pretty around the sleeves and hem.” When the girl hesitated, eyeing Sarah’s unadorned gown, she added, “It’s very grown up. When I’m out of mourning, I plan to get some for myself. Now, would you like some?”

  Eva’s eyes sparkled. “Oh yes, please. Let’s buy it.”

  Sarah heard Isabelle’s chuckle and suspected she would regale the family with tales of how Sarah had persuaded yet another customer. “All right. Now let’s figure out how much you’ll need.” Sarah did a quick calculation. “Half a yard for each sleeve. That’s one yard for both of them. And three for the hem.” Sarah gave Eva an expectant look. “How many does that make altogether?”

  The girl shook her head as the sparkle faded from her eyes. “I don’t know,” she mumbled, clearly ill at ease.

  “One plus three,” Sarah coached, certain that Eva would be able to do the arithmetic. The girl’s eyes gleamed with intelligence. Surely she could count to ten and add simple numbers.

  But Eva’s expression remained bleak. “I don’t know.” Once again her shoulders slumped and her head drooped with shame. It wrenched Sarah’s heart to know she’d been the one to destroy this child’s fragile self-confidence. There must be something she could do.

  “Look at me, Eva.” When the girl complied, Sarah raised her hand with the fingers fisted. Slowly, she elevated her index finger. “That’s one for the sleeves,” she said. Lifting the other three, she held them slightly apart from the first one. “We have three more for the hem. Can you count them?”

  Eva nodded. “One, two, three, four.”

  Sarah gave her a bright smile. “That’s right. The answer is four. Three plus one is four.”

  Her smile once more restored, Eva raced to the front porch and dragged her father back inside to pay for her new dress materials. When they’d left, Sarah climbed onto one of the stools behind the counter, glad there were no customers. Though thankful for the opportunity to rest her leg, Sarah also wanted a chance to ask Isabelle about the problem she’d seen.

  Her friend grinned. “I’m surprised it took Gunther this long to come here,” she said before Sarah could raise her question.

  “What do you mean?”

  Isabelle gave Sarah an arch smile. “Gunther’s wife died two years ago, and he’s been looking for a new mother for Eva ever since. I thought he’d be here the first day you started work.”

  Sarah bristled. Gunther might be seeking a wife, but she was most definitely not interested in a husband. Not today. Probably not ever. Her dreams of marriage and happily-ever-after had died along with Austin. Now all that mattered was keeping Thea safe and happy. Though that had seemed impossible yesterday, hope glimmered today. If what Sarah thought was true, she might have a solution. “Eva seems bright. It’s odd she can’t do simple arithmetic.”

  Isabelle shrugged, as if the reason should be apparent. “How would she learn? Ladreville has no school. The mothers teach their children as much as they can. What’s Eva to do? She has no mother, and she spends most of the day with Gunther.” Isabelle stopped to greet a customer, then said, “I can’t recall how much I’ve told you, but Gunther owns the grist mill, and that means he works longer hours than most anyone else. He’s a good, hard-working man with no time for a child. That’s why Eva needs a new mother.”

  Or something else. Though she kept her face impassive, inwardly Sarah was smiling. Gunther and Eva’s predicament was anything but amusing, but maybe—just maybe—solving it would help more than them. For the rest of the day, Sarah served customers. She must have said the right things and calculated the bills properly, for no one complained, but if she’d been asked who had entered the store and what they’d bought, she would have been unable to answer, for her thoughts continued to whirl. Gunther. Eva. Problem. Solution. It might be crazy. It might not work. But if it did, this could be the answer to Sarah’s greatest concern.

  “Yeah, you’re right, Shadow. I’m aggravated.” Though there was no shortage of things to do around the ranch, Clay had wakened feeling more out of sorts than normal. His foul mood was not due to Daniel Morton’s latest letter, asking when Clay intended to return to Boston. Though his father-in-law— his former father-in-law, Clay corrected himself—had not pressed the issue, it was clear that the older man needed someone to lighten his workload. When Clay had been in Boston, though he’d been the junior partner, he’d seen more than half the patients.

  Even with the temporary assistance of a young doctor, Daniel found the practice a heavy burden. But the heaviest burden, Clay knew, was the realization that he and Prudence would never again see their elder daughter. Now they feared they were losing the man whom they’d always treated as a son, not merely a son by marriage.

  Clay had responded to Daniel’s letter, reassuring him and Prudence with the truth: that he would return to Boston as soon as he’d brought Austin’s killer to justice. The correspondence had not disturbed his sleep. What had disturbed it had been far more insidious and dangerous.

  Clay leaned forward, urging Shadow to run. When he’d been a boy, the one thing that would lighten his mood was a gallop. While there was no guarantee the old remedy would still work, he had to try something—anything—to chase away the memories of his dream.

  It had come again. That was the third, maybe the fourth time. Clay had lost count. It was always the same. He’d hear the clip-clop and the gentle neighing of two horses. Then he’d see the wagon. At first he was an onlooker, watching the driver and passengers. But then, in one of those shifts that seemed logical in a dream, he became the driver on the high seat. His right arm was wrapped around a little girl who had a woman at her other side. Gradually, the faces would come into focus and he’d realize it was Thea who nestled close to him, one of her hands clasping the reins, and Sarah who cradled the baby.

  The baby. Though he shuddered now at the memory, in his dream, Clay’s heart filled with pride at the sight of the small boy in Sarah’s arms. When he thought no one would notice, he’d sneak glances at the mother and child, feeling a warmth creep into his heart. The infant with Sarah’s sweet features and Clay’s blond hair had a smile that reminded him of Austin.

  Each time he glanced, Sarah would catch him in the act, her lips curving into a smile as she said something that made them all laugh. And as she did, the warmth that had lodged in Clay’s heart spread through him, making him feel that for the first time in his life he was complete. He was part of a family. The joy lasted only an instant. As he reached out his hand to touch the baby, the dream would end and Clay would waken, bereft and empty.

  That feeling lingered. He was flying down the road now, Shadow’s hooves kicking up swirls of dust as Clay bent forward, urging him to even greater speeds. This was what was important. This was real. The dream was not. Clay patted Shadow’s neck, then recoiled as his fingers registered the familiar
texture of horseflesh. How stupid could a man be? He was awake, not dreaming. This was a horse, not his son. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

  Clay took a deep breath, trying to settle his roiling thoughts. It was absurd to remember how good it had felt to be with Sarah and their baby. That was a dream, nothing more. Clay didn’t want dreams, and he didn’t want a family, for his dreams had died last summer along with Patience.

  When he returned to the Bar C an hour later, Clay was still thinking about the dream. It was annoying how the memories persisted. No matter what he did to chase them away, they were like cobwebs, clinging to the distant corners of his mind, ready to reach out and snare him. As he approached the ranch, Clay’s eyes widened, and sudden fear clenched his heart. Pa. Something had happened to Pa. That was the only reason Herman Adler’s buggy would be here. Someone must have called for the doctor.

  “Herman.” Clay leapt off Shadow and ran toward the house. As the doctor climbed down from the buggy, Clay realized he’d just arrived. “What’s wrong with Pa?”

  The gray-haired man shook his head. “Nothing as far as I know. How could there be when he has his own private physician in residence?”

  The fear receded as quickly as it had surfaced. “Then this is a social visit. C’mon in.” Clay gestured toward the ranch house. Martina would have something cool to offer their guest.

  “I’d rather sit out back. I always did like the view.”

  Something in Herman’s tone set Clay’s antennae quivering, but he acquiesced, calling to Martina to bring their drinks outside.

  “This is not a social visit,” Herman confirmed when he’d taken a long swallow of buttermilk. “I can’t ignore the signs any longer. You can pretend otherwise, but I think you know what I mean.”

  Clay nodded, remembering the day he’d found Herman’s buggy stopped along the road and the symptoms his friend had exhibited then. The concern born that day turned to dread. “The headaches are worse?”

  As he stared into the distance, as if committing the view to memory, Herman nodded slowly. “The intensity and frequency have increased. It’s only a matter of time until I won’t be able to see anything.”

  Herman was a good doctor. Clay suspected that he’d diagnosed his illness when the first symptoms had appeared, just as Clay had when he’d heard about the headaches and halos. Though he might rail at his fate privately, today Herman sounded detached, as if he were discussing a patient’s prognosis, not his own.

  “You know there’s nothing I can do for you.” How Clay hated saying that! Herman wasn’t just a good doctor; he was the man who’d inspired Clay’s own love of healing. “There’s no cure.” When he’d studied diseases of the eye, he’d learned that, though the disease might progress at different rates, it was inexorable. Eventually, the patient would be blind.

  Herman turned to face Clay, the gray eyes that would one day be clouded and sightless now filled with concern. “It’s true there’s no cure, but there is something you can do for me. You can take over my practice.”

  Clay recoiled as if from a blow. As much as he respected Herman, Daniel Morton also needed him, and Daniel’s needs were primary. Besides, assuming Herman’s practice would mean staying here. Some things were unthinkable, and that was one. “I’m sorry, Herman,” Clay said as gently as he could, “but I can’t do that. As soon as I find Austin’s killer, Pa and I are leaving.”

  “Why?” The older man appeared genuinely confused. “This is your home.”

  “It was my home,” Clay corrected him. “Not any longer. I have no desire to live in a place where murderers go free.”

  “Do you honestly believe there are no murderers in Boston?” Herman fixed his gaze on Clay, as if defying him to say yes.

  “I’m not that naïve, but at least no one there killed my brother.”

  Herman stared into the distance for a long moment, as if marshalling his thoughts. When he spoke, his voice was firm, reminding Clay of his childhood, when the doctor had served as his mentor, showing him how he treated patients. “I’m not trying to excuse anyone. Murder is wrong, but it’s also wrong to let an entire town suffer because of one person’s crime. If you leave, they’ll have no one, and people will die unnecessarily.” He looked at Clay, his eyes bright with emotion. “Stay, Clay. I beg you to stay. You could do so much good here.”

  Clay shook his head. “I’m sorry, Herman, but the answer is the same. No.”

  What would he think? Sarah looked across the supper table, trying to imagine his reaction. She wouldn’t ask until the meal was finished and Pa was settled in the corner with Thea playing at his feet. That was at least half an hour from now, for both Pa and Thea ate slowly. Sarah tried not to count the minutes. She’d waited half a day; thirty minutes more wouldn’t matter. Perhaps she was foolish, waiting to talk to Clay first. She could have asked Isabelle and her family what they thought. In fact, she probably should have broached the subject with them, but from the moment the idea had popped into her mind, embedding itself in her thoughts more deeply than the sand burr had in Thea’s heel, she had wanted Clay to be the first to hear.

  Sarah took a sip of cool tea as she tried to focus her attention on Clay, who was telling his father about the heifer he planned to buy to supplement their milk supply. On another day, she might have been interested, but today was not another day. Today she was anxious for the meal to end so she would have a chance to speak to Clay privately.

  She couldn’t explain why his opinion was so important. Perhaps it was because she knew he would be honest. He had nothing to gain or lose. The Rousseaus might not approve of the idea, because if she implemented it, Sarah would no longer work at the store. That might hurt their business. Then, too, they were partisan. They saw only the French settlers’ side of any matter, while Clay would consider the entire town’s needs.

  Those were plausible reasons for consulting Clay, but if Sarah were to be honest with herself, she would have to admit they were not the only ones. So much had changed since the day Clay had lifted Thea onto Shadow’s back. At first Sarah had thought it was her imagination, but it wasn’t. Clay no longer regarded Thea as if she were a poisonous snake, coiled to strike. Now he returned to the ranch early enough to take her for a ride each day. The difference in Thea was unmistakable. Like a flower blessed with abundant rain and sunshine, she flourished under the newfound attention. Thea smiled more, and Mary said she cried less frequently. Though Mary attributed the change to the work they were doing in her garden, Sarah knew otherwise.

  The change in Clay was almost as dramatic. He seemed less tense than before, and he even smiled once. Sarah smiled, recalling her surprise the day that had happened. She hadn’t realized his lips knew how to curve upward, but oh! what a difference it made. Though he was handsome even when he scowled, the sight of Clay smiling literally took her breath away.

  It was easy to find the reason for Thea’s contentment; the changes in Clay were more difficult to diagnose. Perhaps they started the day he told Sarah his feelings about the ranch. If he’d been keeping his resentment bottled inside himself, it could have been like a boil, festering, needing to be lanced. Perhaps the change had nothing to do with that day but was merely the effect of time lessening his sorrow by healing the empty spaces inside him. Whatever the cause, Sarah wouldn’t argue with the results. Life at the ranch was decidedly more pleasant now.

  At last the meal was over, and Sarah was alone at the table with Clay. Before she could speak, he smiled again. “If my mother were alive, she would say you look like the cat who swallowed the canary.” Clay’s smile widened. “Austin and I never understood why she’d say that. As far as we knew, she’d never seen a canary, much less a cat who’d swallowed one, but she persisted in using the phrase.”

  A sound from the other side of the room caught Sarah’s attention. She turned and was surprised to see Pa with what appeared to be a smile. Though she hadn’t realized he’d been listening, it appeared he was enjoying memories of his wife.

 
“Tell me, Miss Dobbs, was the canary tasty?” Clay laced his words with mirth.

  “Why, yes, Mr. Canfield.” She imitated his faux formality and lightly teasing tone. “Those were the best feathers in the State of Texas.”

  “They must have been, to make you look so excited. Now, tell me the truth, what happened?”

  “I may have found the answer to my problem.” To ensure there was no misunderstanding, Sarah nodded toward Thea.

  “I’d like your opinion.”

  “Should I be flattered?”

  “Indeed you should.” Oh, this bantering was fun. It was almost as exhilarating as the idea that had taken residence in her thoughts earlier today. She paused and gave a dramatic sigh. “Gunther Lehman and his daughter came to the store this morning.”

  “And he asked you to marry him.” Clay made it a statement, not a question.

  “No!” The word came out more forcefully than necessary, causing Pa to look in their direction. “I hadn’t met the man before today.”

  “That was a jest, Sarah,” Clay said, his voice once more serious, “but everyone in Ladreville knows Gunther is looking for a new wife. Correction: he’s looking for a new mother for Eva. The poor man has a hard life. He can’t even play poker at night, because he needs to be home with her.”

  “A truly dreadful existence.” Sarah decided to keep her tone light, at least for the moment. There’d been too much sorrow and gloom in this house. Each laugh, no matter how brief, was a gift. “The truth is, Clay, Gunther’s plight isn’t what bothers me. I’m concerned about his daughter. The child is practically ignorant.”

  Clay nodded. “I’m not surprised. That’s another reason Gunther needs a wife.”

  “Maybe.” Sarah made a show of licking her lips. “My, but that was a tasty canary.” When Clay chuckled, she said, “I think there’s another solution and a better one. Ladreville needs a school.” She paused, waiting for Clay’s reaction, and was disappointed when he kept his face impassive. Had she been wrong in thinking this would solve so many problems? It had seemed like such a good idea. “If all the children went to school, they’d learn more,” Sarah continued, “and their mothers would be less harried. A school would be good for everyone.”