by Amanda Cabot
Lawrence frowned as he glanced out the window and saw Harriet leaving the mercantile. As much as he wasn’t looking forward to it, this would be as good a time as any to talk to her. He grabbed his hat and hurried outside. Though the calendar showed that autumn was only a few weeks away, the day was hot and oppressively humid, as if a storm were brewing. That storm, he feared, would pale compared to Harriet’s fury when she heard of Feathers and Flowers’s complaints.
“Harriet,” he said when he reached her side, “may I walk you home?” Where did she get such unbecoming clothing? The dress she wore made her look as pale as an onion.
Oblivious to his unspoken sartorial criticism, Harriet raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you afraid of setting tongues wagging?” The almost playful tone in her voice surprised Lawrence and made him regret that he would probably puncture her lightheartedness.
“Perhaps I should wear a sign saying ‘official business.’”
Feigning alarm, she placed one hand over her heart. “Does that mean you’re going to arrest me?” This was a new Harriet, a woman who could laugh.
Lawrence waited until they had crossed rue de la Seine before he answered. Now that they were on the block he had christened Church Row, there would be fewer ears listening, for many of the shoppers who frequented the mercantile turned on rue de la Seine as they headed for the open-air market. “If you were looking forward to a diet of bread and water in the jail, I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you, but I do need to advise you that several mothers expressed their concern over the emphasis you’re placing on exiting the school quickly.” Lawrence almost groaned at his stilted phrases. Sitting in Michel Ladre’s chair was definitely affecting his brain. “From what I’ve heard, you practice the same thing at home.” After Feathers and Flowers’s conversation, Lawrence had spoken to several other parents and had learned that, although a few of the children were concerned, most simply found it an odd practice.
“That is true.” They were in front of the French church now, but Harriet spared no glances for the graceful building with its stained glass windows. All traces of mirth were gone as she pushed her glasses back on her nose and regarded Lawrence. “I don’t believe there is anything in my contract that precludes such activities.” This was the old Harriet, no-nonsense Miss Kirk. “To the contrary, my contract clearly states that I am responsible for the welfare of the pupils while they’re in my care.”
She was correct. Lawrence had reread the contract to be certain Harriet wasn’t violating any of its terms. Though he had thought it highly unlikely that anyone as meticulous as she would even consider bending a rule, he’d had to check. She was within her rights, and yet there had to be a way to placate the women. “Perhaps you could assign a little less importance to egress,” he suggested.
Those gray eyes that had sparkled only a few minutes ago turned steely. “I could, but I will not.” Harriet looked into the distance, and he had the impression she was debating what to tell him. When she spoke, her voice was flat, as if she were reciting multiplication tables, not a personal tragedy. “My parents died when our house burned. If the fire had happened during the night, my whole family might have perished.”
Though the sun beat on his shoulders, making him wish they had paused under a tree, Lawrence shivered. So much made sense now. No wonder Harriet had been distressed by a partially wooden house. No wonder she seemed overly protective of her siblings. No wonder she worried about her pupils. She had good reasons. “I’m sorry.” The words were inadequate, but Lawrence had nothing else to offer. “I didn’t know. You’re right, Harriet. What you’re doing is wise. I’ll support you every way I can.”
As he dressed for church the next morning, Lawrence was still thinking about her, marveling at what he had learned. Harriet Kirk was stronger than he’d realized. He had known she had had responsibility for her siblings for seven years, but he had thought their parents had died of smallpox or ague, not something that could have been prevented. How had that affected her? Had she blamed herself for the fire? Did she believe she bore the responsibility, as he did for Lizbeth? Lawrence’s heart reached out to Harriet, for he knew just how heavy the burden could be. Perhaps that was why Harriet was so prickly.
She remained in his thoughts as he entered the German church half an hour later and saw her seated in the second pew with her siblings and Gunther Lehman’s family. Today, in honor of Sterling Russell’s first service, the German church held more people than normal, for many of the townspeople, both French and German, had come to hear him.
Lawrence slid into a pew near the back of the church and bowed his head in silent prayer, waiting for the service to begin. Though simpler than the French church, with plain instead of stained glass windows and a rough-hewn cross that the parishioners had fashioned from a local oak tree their first year in Ladreville, it was a holy place, and Lawrence found the peace he craved whenever he entered the sanctuary. A few minutes later he rose with the rest of the congregation as the two ministers emerged from the sacristy.
“He’s so young.” The man seated directly in front of Lawrence whispered the words to his wife.
She nodded solemnly. “He doesn’t look German.”
Lawrence felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach as the service began and the parishioners’ discomfort seemed to grow. Not only did Sterling not look like a German, he also did not speak like one. The two men shared responsibility, but while Pastor Sempert recited the liturgy in German, Pastor Russell’s portion was delivered in English, a fact that appeared to bother many of the parishioners. Though Lawrence heard few comments, he observed pursed lips and frowns whenever Sterling spoke. Lord, open their hearts, he prayed. Let them see that Sterling is your servant. Let them hear the words he is speaking, not the language he uses. But the rustles and fidgets that accompanied the young minister told Lawrence his prayer had not been answered.
When it was time for the sermon, Pastor Sempert approached the pulpit. Straightening his shoulders, he stood for a moment, silently looking at his congregation, his eyes glistening with emotion. How difficult it must be, Lawrence thought, to say farewell so publicly.
A smile crossed the elderly minister’s face. “Today is special,” he said, his voice slow and deliberate, “for it marks my final day as your pastor. Pastor Russell’s arrival brings change for all of us, but it is time. That is why I have chosen Ecclesiastes 3, verses 1–8, as the text for my sermon.” Though normally he left it on the lectern, today the minister picked up the large Bible. “To every thing there is a season, and a time . . .” The Bible fell with a thump as Pastor Sempert clutched his head. A second later, he lay crumpled on the floor.
A collective gasp rose from the congregation as they stared at their stricken shepherd. Sterling gathered the older man in his arms, cradling him as he might have a child, while Clay rushed forward. Instinct propelled Lawrence out of the pew. Though he knew little about doctoring, he might be able to assist Ladreville’s only physician.
Clay’s face was inscrutable as he looked at Pastor Sempert, but Lawrence didn’t need a degree from the Massachusetts Medical College to know the minister’s condition was serious. The ashen cheeks, the pain-filled eyes, and the lips twisted into a horrible caricature of a smile told the tale. Clay looked up at Lawrence. “Let’s get him into his office.” He turned toward Sterling. “Pastor, you’d better comfort your parishioners.” Though no one had left the church, the townspeople were whispering, and Lawrence saw many dart anxious glances at the chancel.
Only minutes later, Clay had completed his examination. “Apoplexy.” His diagnosis confirmed Lawrence’s fears. “It will take a miracle for him to recover.”
Behind them, loud voices filled the sanctuary. Lawrence nodded briskly. Though Clay no longer needed him, it appeared Sterling might require assistance in keeping the peace. When he entered the church, Lawrence frowned. The congregation was standing, and many had left their pews to approach the front. Though Sterling appeared calm, Lawrence was r
eminded of a picture he had seen of Christians in the Roman arena, awaiting certain death.
“It’s your fault.” The burly man who was glowering at Sterling was practically shouting. “If you hadn’t come, Pastor Sempert would be alive.”
“You killed him!” A woman pointed her finger at Sterling.
This was worse than Lawrence had feared. The parishioners’ resentment of Sterling was so strong that it had become irrational. Without even knowing Pastor Sempert’s true condition, they were blaming Sterling for it. Instinctively, Lawrence’s hand moved to his hip. He had never fired a weapon in a church. God willing, he would not have to today.
Before Lawrence could say anything, Harriet pushed her way between the accusers and the young minister. Though she was half the size of the bully, the man retreated under the force of her glare.
“You should all be ashamed of yourselves,” she said. Unlike the others, she was not shouting, yet her voice carried clearly through the church. “Is this any way to conduct yourselves in the house of the Lord?” Without waiting for a response, she continued. “You call yourselves good Christians. If you were, it seems to me you should be praying for Pastor Sempert’s recovery and thanking God that he sent us a new minister at the exact time we needed one.”
A few people hung their heads; others murmured something that sounded like an apology. Lawrence stared in amazement at the way Harriet had controlled what had become an angry crowd. Somehow she had chosen the exact words that had quieted them and changed their anger into chagrin.
Lawrence faced the congregation. “Pastor Sempert is still alive,” he announced. “Dr. Canfield is doing everything he can. In the meantime, I suggest we follow Miss Kirk’s advice.” He nodded at Sterling.
The young pastor straightened his shoulders and gazed out at his flock. “Let us pray.”
7
“I could never have done that.” Ruth’s eyes filled with tears, and she blinked to keep them from falling.
Harriet wasn’t certain which surprised her more: her sister’s words or the tears. If Ruth had been chopping onions, Harriet would have blamed watery eyes on the aromatic vegetable, but she was peeling carrots. “Done what?” she asked.
“What you and Pastor Russell did—stand up in front of everyone when they were angry.”
Though Harriet was still appalled at the congregation’s reaction to Pastor Sempert’s apoplexy, her heartbeat had returned to normal well before she had arrived home. What remained was dismay that the citizens of Ladreville could have been so cruel, blaming the new minister for something that was clearly not his fault. She had hoped that Ladreville would be different from Fortune, but it appeared it was not. Harriet pushed her spectacles back on her nose as she said, “For me it wasn’t much different than standing in front of a classroom.”
Her hand clutching the paring knife as if it were a lifeline, Ruth shook her head. “There were more people in the church, and they were bigger than your pupils.”
“That’s true.” Some of the parishioners were almost as tall as Lawrence and burlier, their arms and shoulders bearing witness to years of hard work. “But bullies are the same regardless of their size.” Harriet had learned that the day Thomas had berated her for refusing his proposal of marriage. “You can’t let them see that you’re afraid. That’s what they want.” She looked down at the potato she was peeling and began to dig out its eyes. “I felt sorry for Pastor Russell. This wasn’t a very pleasant welcome.” Her frown faded as she recalled her own welcome. Though businesslike, Lawrence had been cordial that first day.
“I wonder if he’ll leave now.” Ruth cut the carrot into chunks and arranged them around the pot roast.
“I doubt it. His contract is until January.”
The furrows that appeared between Ruth’s eyes spoke of her puzzlement. “I didn’t realize ministers had contracts.” She reached for another carrot.
“Oh!” Harriet felt blood rush to her face as she recognized her mistake. “You’re right; they don’t.” Why, oh why, had her mind been wandering? Why had she been thinking of Lawrence? It must be because she’d been recalling the way he had greeted her when they’d arrived. That must be the reason she had made such a silly response. What a ninny she was!
Two hours later when they gathered around the long table in the dining room, the boys were still talking about what had occurred in the German church. Though the younger ones had heard of apoplexy, it was the first time they had seen someone stricken, and they were both curious and a bit alarmed.
“Chet was right,” Jake declared.
Harriet doubted that. “In what way was he right?”
Jake shoveled food onto his plate. It was only when he’d taken more than his share that he looked up. “He said there was no God. What happened this morning is proof. If there really was a God, he wouldn’t have let the minister suffer like that.” Grabbing a biscuit and slathering it with butter, he said, “The way I see it, either there is no God, or he’s a mean one.”
Before Harriet could respond, Mary’s face contorted with anger. “You’re wrong, Jake. Eva told me that God is good. She prayed for a new mother, and God gave her one.” Refusing to look at her oldest brother, Mary turned to Daniel and Sam. “We need a father, so I’m gonna pray for one. You oughta do that too.”
Jake dropped his fork, not caring that it clattered against the plate. “You’re just a silly little girl. You don’t know nothing. We don’t need a father, and even if we did, God wouldn’t give us one.”
“I am not silly.” Mary burst into tears. “You’re just mean.” She hiccupped, then glared at her brother. “I hate you.”
Harriet laid down her utensils and gave Jake a stern look. The morning’s events had taken their toll on everyone, but that didn’t mean she could allow Jake to disparage his sister. “There was no call for your comments. I expect you to apologize to Mary.”
“I will not. We don’t need a father.”
“Jake!” Though Harriet did not raise her voice, the children all knew that tone. It meant she had reached the end of her rope, and they faced serious consequences if they disobeyed her.
“That’s another thing we don’t need—you pretending to be our mother.” Jake’s voice seethed with resentment. “Ruth and I are grown up. We don’t need you.” He pushed back his chair and stormed out of the room, leaving his heavily laden plate as evidence of his anger. Jake never missed a meal.
In the silence that followed his exit, Harriet took a deep breath. Jake was wrong. They did need her, all of them. She knew that. Still, his lack of gratitude stung. Didn’t he realize that everything she had done was necessary? If she hadn’t taken care of them when their parents died, the good citizens of Fortune would have separated the family, placing them on different farms. Some of them might even have wound up in an orphanage. But Harriet had ensured that they remained together, that they had a home and food and clothing. And this was what she got in return?
She took another deep breath, trying to calm her thoughts. Everyone was overwrought, distressed by what had happened at church. Pastor Sempert and Pastor Russell—indeed, the entire German community—had more important problems than she.
“Ruth,” she said with a faint smile for her sister. “I think we should take some food to the parsonage. Pastor Sempert might be able to eat some of your blancmange.”
Ruth nodded. “Anything for the poor man.”
“I’ve never seen a woman act like that.” Karl took another potato from the bowl and laid it on his plate. Though normally Sunday dinners were spent discussing the pastor’s sermon, there had been no sermon today, only those appalling moments when Pastor Sempert had been stricken and when Harriet had quieted the congregation. If he hadn’t been there, Karl would not have believed it possible.
“That’s because she’s an American,” his father said. “She wasn’t raised the way women in the Old Country were.”
“But she was strong, Vater.” Surely his father would appreciate that.
“Ja, she is.” Mutter’s expression was solemn. “I wonder, though, if she is the right woman for you. Marriage is for a lifetime. You need to be sure.”
“I am sure.”
Vater nodded slowly. “This is America. Things are different here. Why don’t you take some time to get to know her and her family before you begin to court her?”
“Vater is right. We all need to get to know her.”
Karl knew all he needed to. Harriet was strong; she would give him sons to work on the farm; and in the meantime, she had three brothers who would be good field hands. But he could not disobey his parents, and so he nodded. They’d soon see that she was the perfect wife for him.
“Good afternoon, Harriet.”
She turned and smiled. There was no mistaking either the man or the horse. Lawrence owned the only palomino in Ladreville, and though there were other blond men, no one else had the same broad shoulders and muscular legs.
“Where are you headed?” he asked as he drew Snip next to Harriet’s wagon.
“I’m paying a call on Sarah and her baby.” Isabelle had delivered the news that Clay’s prediction had been right. He and Sarah had a baby boy whom they’d named Robert in honor of Clay’s father, although they planned to call him Rob. That was why Harriet was on the west side of the Medina.
“Clay is one proud papa,” Lawrence told her. “He said his family is complete now that he has a son and a daughter.”
“A daughter?”
Though Lawrence nodded, Harriet saw the puzzlement in his eyes. “Clay adopted Sarah’s sister. Thea’s his daughter now.”
Harriet took a deep breath, composing herself before she said, “Sarah’s lucky. Most men don’t want a ready-made family.” No one in Fortune had.
The look Lawrence gave her was long and piercing, and Harriet suspected he knew the answer to his question before he posed it. “Is that why you’re not married?”
