Tomorrow's Garden

by Amanda Cabot

  3

  It was totally absurd. Lawrence ran his shaving brush through the lather. There was no reason he should have dreamt of her and absolutely no reason his waking thoughts should drift to her so often. He picked up his razor, frowning when he recalled the way his Bible had fallen open to the second chapter of Genesis. It never opened at the beginning, and yet the first verse his eyes had seen this morning was Genesis 2:24: “Therefore shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall cleave unto his wife.” Absurd. Oh, not the idea of marriage. At one time he’d thought Priscilla was the woman God had chosen for him, but he’d soon realized that what he’d felt was mere infatuation coupled with the desire to protect her. Knowing how foolish he’d once been made being near Priscilla downright awkward. That was why he’d avoided her since he’d returned to Ladreville after resigning from the Rangers. Unfortunately, there’d been no way to refuse Sarah’s invitation. Why on earth had the woman placed them next to each other? Though he knew she hadn’t intended it, Sarah’s seating arrangement had turned last night into one of the most uncomfortable evenings Lawrence could remember, almost as uncomfortable as some of the times he’d spent with his sister.

  “You see yourself as one of those knights in shining armor,” Lottie had announced when he’d told her he was leaving the Rangers. He couldn’t recall what his sister had asked, but somehow he’d found himself speaking of Priscilla. “You want to help everyone. That’s all right, Lawrence, but don’t confuse concern with love. They’re not the same.” Lottie, who’d been happily married for fifteen years, considered herself an expert on the subject of love.

  Lawrence knew he was not. He was an expert at apprehending criminals. That’s why he was here. It was true he’d wanted to leave the Rangers and settle down, but he had not wanted the settling down to be in Ladreville. What man would willingly return to the place where he’d made a fool of himself? But the prodding had been clear. He’d felt it deep inside himself, and though he’d prayed and prayed, God’s answer remained constant: go to Ladreville.

  Lawrence had listened to his Lord. He’d signed a six-month contract to serve as Ladreville’s mayor and sheriff, and he’d do his best to bring honor to those offices. But marriage? That was not part of his plan. So why had he been drawn to Genesis this morning and why did images of Ladreville’s new schoolmarm keep flitting through his mind? There had to be a logical reason.

  Perhaps it was because Miss Harriet Kirk was unlike any woman he’d met. It started with the fact that Lawrence had never seen a woman care so little about her appearance. She wasn’t as beautiful as Priscilla—no one could be—but she would be downright pretty if she took a few more pains. You didn’t have to be a fashion expert to notice that Harriet’s dress was even dowdier than Frau Friedrich’s. As for color, his sister Lottie could spend hours expounding on the proper colors a blonde should wear, and yellow was not one of them.

  Lawrence stared into the mirror as he wielded the razor. The last thing he needed was to nick his throat.

  He could almost understand why Harriet had been wearing that mousy brown suit for traveling. Though undeniably ugly, it was probably practical. But why had she exchanged the ugly suit for a dress of a particularly putrid shade of yellow? Didn’t she know that the color made her look sallow? Lottie had refused to wear anything yellow, and she’d appeared appalled when she’d seen Lawrence in buckskins, announcing that they did not flatter him. As if he cared! The problem with buckskin was that when wet, it stretched and could only be described as slimy. Then, when it dried, it shrank, becoming even more uncomfortable. That was the reason—the only reason—he no longer wore buckskin. It had nothing to do with flattering colors or anything related to vanity.

  Unlike other women, Miss Kirk did not appear to possess a bit of vanity. But she possessed many other things, not the least of which was a tart tongue that she made no attempt to tame.

  Lawrence frowned as he considered his reflection. He’d missed a spot. He picked up the razor again and removed the offending whiskers before he rinsed his face. He reckoned it was difficult having the care of five children, but it seemed no one had taught Miss Kirk that honey caught flies. She hadn’t minced her words about anything, from her disapproval of her brothers’ behavior to her admiration for Mrs. Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin.

  He couldn’t disagree with her opinion of the boys. They were unruly. But there was no reason to have been so passionate about the book. She claimed to have been born in Texas. If so, surely she knew this was a slave-owning state and that espousing abolitionist ideas was not the best way to gain the townspeople’s confidence. While it was true that no one in Ladreville owned slaves and that there had been no slaves in the Old Country, the residents were Texans now, and Texans did not appreciate the government telling them what they could or could not do. Someone ought to explain that to her, but it wouldn’t be him. No, sirree.

  Harriet Kirk was like a gnat, small, constantly buzzing around, annoying as could be. That must be why he kept thinking about her. It couldn’t be anything else.

  Harriet walked around the school, considering it from every angle. It appeared well built and generously proportioned. The location was convenient, at least for her, for it had taken less than five minutes to walk here. She drew in a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air as she gazed at the grounds. The town had chosen an excellent site. Not only did the schoolyard possess a large open field that would be ideal for playing tag, but it boasted several huge live oak trees. It wouldn’t be difficult to hang a couple swings from those spreading branches. Best of all, the grounds fronted the river. When spring came, the children could search for minnows and tadpoles. They would consider it an adventure, not realizing that the tiny creatures would be part of a science lesson.

  Harriet returned to the front and looked at the building again. It would be perfect, if only it were stone. There will be no cheroots here. No one will be sleeping. There’s no danger. Though her brain formed the thoughts, her heart did not accept them, and she shivered. When she heard the sound of an approaching horse and buggy, she turned, grateful for the distraction.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” Sarah said as she dismounted and tied the horse to the hitching post. She looked down at her abdomen. “The little one kept me awake most of the night. I wish I could teach him . . .” She smiled as she explained, “Clay’s convinced we’re having a boy. Anyway, I wish I could convince the baby to sleep when I do, but Priscilla says that’s unlikely.”

  Harriet raised an eyebrow, wondering how Priscilla Webster had become an expert on pregnancy. “Does Priscilla have children? I thought she and Zach were recently wed.”

  “That’s true. She has no children yet, but she’s Ladreville’s midwife.” Sarah shook her head in mock dismay. “I don’t suppose Lawrence mentioned that. Men get embarrassed by things like childbirth.”

  Harriet doubted that anything would embarrass Lawrence Wood. The man was confidence incarnate. “He said that the town’s doctor and midwife lived on your side of the river, but he didn’t name them.”

  “What a terrible hostess I was! I didn’t think to tell you that Clay’s a doctor and Priscilla serves as our midwife. Now, let’s go inside and see what you think of the school.” Sarah climbed the steps and started to open the door.

  “Wait for me!”

  Harriet turned to see a brunette who was almost as short as she rushing toward the school. Young and pretty with warm brown eyes, she had an engaging smile and a dress that Harriet guessed was the latest fashion. It must be new, for Harriet had never before seen three-quarter-length bell-shaped sleeves over lace-trimmed undersleeves.

  Sarah’s smile of familiarity told Harriet that the newcomer was her friend. “This is Isabelle Rousseau. Sorry,” Sarah corrected herself quickly. “This is Isabelle Lehman. She married the town’s miller two weeks ago, and I keep forgetting her new name.” She turned to her friend, continuing the introductions.

  Isabelle directed her smile at Harriet. “A
s you might imagine, the grapevine has been buzzing with the news of your arrival. Everyone wants to meet you, and Eva—she’s my stepdaughter—could hardly sleep for excitement when she heard you had a young sister. She’s hoping for a playmate.” Isabelle took a shallow breath before adding, “Eva’s seven.”

  The woman’s enthusiasm was contagious. “That sounds perfect. Mary’s eight and always complaining about being the youngest in the family, so I’m sure she’ll be thrilled that Eva’s a bit younger.” And if it worked out, one of Harriet’s hopes in coming to Ladreville would be realized: Mary would have friends.

  “What do you think?” Sarah opened the door and ushered Harriet into the schoolhouse.

  Though musty from having been closed, the school was even more appealing than its exterior promised. With room for thirty students, a large chalkboard, and a good-sized desk for the teacher, it was well appointed. The side walls each boasted a window, but Harriet noted with approval that the windows were positioned high enough to discourage excessive daydreaming, and the cloakroom wall blocked the view of the door. Apparently the school’s designer understood how easily children were distracted. There was only one flaw, but there was no point in mentioning it. Instead, Harriet forced her lips into a smile and said, “This is the nicest school I’ve seen.”

  “You look as if something’s wrong.” Furrows formed between Isabelle’s eyes.

  Harriet frowned at the realization that she had not hidden her concern. There was no point in lying. “I wish the building were stone or brick.”

  Sarah’s eyes widened. “Why? Are you worried about fire?”

  Harriet nodded. The story would come out at some point. She might as well tell these women. “My parents died when our house burned. I’ve worried about fire ever since.”

  Sarah slid an arm around Harriet’s waist and hugged her. “I’m so sorry. It wasn’t fire, but I lost my parents as well.”

  “It’s been seven years.” Harriet wouldn’t tell either Sarah or Isabelle about the years before the fire, her parents’ erratic behavior and the nights she had prayed they would leave and never return. She doubted either woman would understand, and she had no need of pity.

  “I feel so fortunate, because my parents are still alive,” Isabelle said. “I don’t know whether you’ve had a chance to explore Ladreville, but they own the mercantile. We’ve got most anything you might need there.”

  Taking in a deep breath of air that still smelled of chalk, Harriet seized the change of subject gratefully. “I do need some new clothing for my family. Ruth’s stopped growing, but the boys and Mary shoot up faster than thistles.”

  “We can help with that.” Isabelle started to list the types of ready-made clothing that the mercantile carried.

  As if she realized that her friend could continue indefinitely, Sarah interrupted. “You might want something new for yourself.”

  Though Isabelle nodded, Harriet did not. What she had was perfectly serviceable. Besides, it wasn’t as if she wanted to waste money on frippery. Even when her grandparents had been alive and the Kirks were the wealthiest family in Fortune, Grandma had insisted on sensible clothing, claiming it was important that people liked them for their character, not their money. “I have plenty of dresses,” Harriet said firmly. “It’s the children I worry about.”

  Isabelle was not dissuaded. “We have lovely yard goods. There’s a light blue muslin that would highlight your eyes.”

  Though she wanted to insist that she didn’t need to highlight her eyes, Harriet remained silent. The women meant well. They simply didn’t understand.

  “Isabelle’s the town’s expert on fashion,” Sarah said. “She won’t steer you wrong.”

  She wouldn’t, indeed, because there would be no steering, not toward light blue muslin, not toward anything. “Thank you, both,” Harriet said as politely as she could manage, “but I’m content with the dresses I have. They’re suitable for teaching.”

  “Certainly.” The look Sarah gave Isabelle said the discussion was closed. “Is there anything else I can show you here?” She gestured around the room. When Harriet shook her head, Sarah announced that she would head home. “I seem to tire more easily these days.”

  As they waved good-bye to Sarah, Isabelle touched Harriet’s arm. “Do you mind if I walk home with you? I want to invite your sister to meet Eva.”

  “No, I don’t mind; I’d enjoy the company.” At home in Fortune, she had been careful to keep her relationships purely businesslike. Grandma had insisted that, as the founding family, the Kirks were Fortune’s upper class and should not associate with what Grandma called the “common folks.” It was only when she’d become an adult that Harriet had realized that while Grandma’s attitude might have been appropriate in her native England, it was the antithesis of the American dream and it had led to the Kirks’ isolation. Her resolution that they would not make the same mistakes here in Ladreville was part of the reason Harriet insisted that everyone work. It was also the reason she sought friends for her siblings. And herself. Mary wasn’t the only one who needed friends.

  “I wonder if Sarah will miss teaching,” Harriet said as she and Isabelle crossed Hochstrasse. It was a busy intersection with the post office, the school, and the German church occupying three of the corners, while the space directly across from the school was nothing more than a large field. That, Isabelle explained, was where town gatherings were held, including the sunrise service on Easter, the Independence Day celebration, and the harvest festival.

  “I imagine the baby will keep Sarah busy, and then there’s always her matchmaking.” Isabelle gave Harriet a conspiratorial smile. “Priscilla and Zach did most of it, but I know Sarah was the one who started it. Without her, Gunther and I might not be married.”

  “I guess every town has its matchmakers.” Though several women had stopped to greet Isabelle and make Harriet’s acquaintance, this part of Rhinestrasse was devoid of other pedestrians. Isabelle and Harriet were opposite the livery now, at the end of rue du Marché with Harriet’s house only a few yards away. “Fortune was smaller than Ladreville, but we had two women whose primary function appeared to be matchmaking.” Neither of them had wasted time on Harriet once she had refused a widower who had viewed her siblings as a burden. “She’s not just bossy; she’s fussy,” the matchmakers had declared, but Thomas paid them no heed. He was different, or so she’d believed.

  “I suspect Lawrence will be Sarah’s next candidate. He’s twenty-eight, you know. Old enough that Sarah’s getting worried he’ll remain a bachelor.” Isabelle’s voice brought Harriet back to the present. “Lawrence’s contract is for only six months, but I know Clay wants him to stay permanently. I think that’s another reason Sarah would like him to find a wife.” As they approached Harriet’s home, Isabelle stopped and raised both eyebrows. “Be careful, Harriet. Sarah might decide you’re the right wife for Lawrence.”

  It was outrage that made her pulse accelerate. Of course it was, not the prospect of life with the tall, handsome man whose eyes spoke of secrets and sorrow. “I’m sorry to disappoint you and Sarah, but there are several reasons why that will never happen. Don’t forget that my contract with the town says I cannot marry for at least a year. Besides, no one is interested in a woman raising five children. By the time they’re grown, I’ll be a confirmed spinster.”

  Isabelle frowned. “That sounds lonely to me.”

  The Kirk residence was anything but lonely when everyone gathered for supper that evening. The boys were all slightly sunburned, as if they’d forgotten to wear their hats during the day, but the color in Mary’s cheeks was a blush.

  “I churned the butter,” she announced proudly as she laid a plate of the golden spread on the table. Though it wasn’t as smooth as when Ruth made it, it was an admirable first attempt. Harriet praised her youngest sister and watched her blush grow. It took so little to make the child happy.

  “I did better than that,” Daniel crowed. “I mucked out the stable.�
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  Harriet smiled. Her two youngest siblings were best of friends, but that didn’t prevent them from engaging in a gentle rivalry.

  “Yeah,” Sam said, “me and Daniel—”

  “Daniel and I,” Harriet said firmly as she took a serving of green beans.

  Her brother frowned at her. “Aw, sis, school ain’t started yet.”

  “Good grammar is important year-round, and you know better than to say ‘ain’t.’”

  Sam’s lips twisted in annoyance before he nodded. “Okay. Daniel and I”—he emphasized the words—“we got to use pitchforks.”

  When Harriet had finished congratulating Daniel and Sam on their manly activities, she turned to her other brother. “What about you, Jake? Did you clean out the stable?”

  “Nah. The old slave driver—”

  “That is no way to refer to Mr. Friedrich.” It appeared that Jake’s mood had not improved.

  “Do you want the story or not?”

  “Only if you keep a civil tongue in your mouth.”

  “Fine.” Jake reached for a slice of bread and slathered butter on it, making it clear that he had no intention of speaking again.

  Daniel had no such compunction. “Jake got to harness the horses. He’s so lucky.”

  Rolled eyes and an exasperated look were Jake’s only response. Harriet turned toward Ruth, who had been unusually silent ever since she had announced that she hated going to the market. “Supper is delicious, Ruth. Thank you for making it.”

  Ruth gave a dramatic sigh and looked at Jake, as if searching for an ally.

  Mary tugged on Harriet’s hand. “I helped too.”

  “Yes, you did. Thank you, Mary.” As her sister smiled, Harriet took a deep breath. At least the three youngest children were happy. Ruth and Jake would adjust. They’d have to.

  “I’m going to do it, Mutter.” Karl Friedrich entered the kitchen, sniffing appreciatively. If he wasn’t mistaken, his mother had made chicken and dumplings, one of his favorite dishes. Had she somehow guessed they would have a reason to celebrate tonight?