Tomorrow's Garden

by Amanda Cabot

  As the creak of the floorboards announced someone’s arrival, Harriet looked up. Blood drained from her face and her heart began to race at the sight of Lawrence’s somber expression. What had Jake done this time?

  “Come in.” Somehow her voice sounded normal. Though she wanted to blurt out her questions, Grandma had instilled in her the need to observe social niceties. She rose and offered the sheriff her chair. “I’m afraid you won’t fit in the pupils’ desks.” Even her oldest student was inches shorter than this man who towered over the majority of Ladreville’s citizens.

  He shook his head. “There’s no need. I can stand, or . . .” Lawrence pulled the dunce’s stool from the corner, placing it near her desk.

  Despite herself, Harriet smiled. “You’re the first person who volunteered to sit there.”

  “Is it frequently occupied?”

  “Other than by my brothers, no.”

  Though pupils inevitably squirmed when they were seated in front of the class on the high stool that made everyone, from the youngest to the oldest, look a bit ridiculous, Lawrence seemed at ease there. “I’m surprised they’d misbehave in school.”

  Harriet noticed that he wasn’t surprised by the mischief, only the location. Her heart sank another notch as she tried to imagine what Jake had done. “It’s difficult for them, having me as their teacher. The other boys egg them on, but . . .” She gave Lawrence a long, appraising look. “I don’t imagine you came here to discuss the dunce stool. What has Jake done?”

  The sheriff’s blue eyes widened slightly, as if he were surprised by her question. “Nothing.” Lawrence shook his head to emphasize his answer. “Is that why you thought I was here?” When she nodded, he leaned forward, his expression earnest. “I’m sorry if I alarmed you.”

  As relief flowed through her, Harriet managed a small smile. “It’s simply that you looked so serious. I thought there was a problem.”

  “There is. I’d like your opinion about something, but I assure you that it doesn’t concern your family.”

  Relief mingled with surprise that this man, who was the cynosure of the town, sought her opinion. That had never happened in Fortune. “I’ll help if I can. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Sterling. Pastor Russell,” he clarified. “The man’s become my friend, but even if he weren’t, I’d want to help him.” The tightening of Lawrence’s lips made Harriet think he was trying not to frown. “It can’t have escaped your notice that fewer people attend church each week. That’s not good for Sterling, and it’s not good for the parishioners, either.” A mirthless laugh escaped those expressive lips. “I can’t very well order everyone to go to church, can I? The truth is, Harriet, I don’t know what to do.”

  And that admission cost him. Harriet saw the pain in his eyes and recognized its source. She hated it when she could not resolve a problem. How much more difficult must it be for a Ranger to admit to being powerless?

  Before she could say anything, Lawrence leaned forward again. “The reason I’m here is I wondered whether you had any ideas.”

  Harriet pursed her lips, trying to find an answer. When her pupils were absent too often, she visited the parents to learn why they were truant. Pastor Russell could do that, but what if his parishioners refused to let him enter their homes? Though she had never faced that problem, it was possible the minister might. How distressing that would be! And even if he did speak to them, how could he persuade them to return? When dealing with truants, Harriet would point out that the parents weren’t getting value for the money they paid for a teacher. There were no such arguments for churchgoers.

  Reluctantly she shook her head. “I doubt there’s anything you or I could say that would help. We’re native Texans, and that puts us in the same category as Sterling. The congregation wants someone from the Old Country, someone who speaks German and understands their customs.” Sterling Russell did not meet any of those criteria. “I’ll keep thinking about it, but right now I have no suggestions.”

  Lawrence’s eyes darkened with disappointment. “I was afraid of that. I’ve been wracking my brain, but I haven’t come up with anything either.” He slid off the stool and walked to the bookshelves that lined one of the side walls. “Are you sure there are no answers here?”

  Harriet shook her head. “Not in those particular books. They’re adventure stories and fairy tales for the younger children. I use them as a reward for finishing their lessons.” Though it had surprised her, even the older students seemed to enjoy the stories. Oh, they pretended not to listen, but she caught them looking interested, and once she had heard two of the senior boys discussing David Copperfield.

  “You enjoy books, don’t you?”

  “I couldn’t live without them.” Harriet rose and stood by Lawrence’s side, fingering the spines of her favorite stories. “I can hardly recall the time when I didn’t read. Books have always been my refuge.”

  It was a mistake. She knew that the instant the words left her mouth. She had revealed a part of herself that no one needed to know. Perhaps he wouldn’t notice. But Lawrence turned, his expression thoughtful. “I’ve never heard them described that way.”

  The only possible course was to attempt to deflect his curiosity. “Haven’t you ever wanted to escape a rainy day?” Harriet would not mention that reading had helped her escape far more than inclement weather and that she had chosen books as her companions to block out the sight of her father with his constant companion: whiskey.

  “Books can transport you to another time and place.” She pulled David Copperfield from the shelf. “I’ve never been to England, but Mr. Dickens makes it so real that I feel as if I’ve wandered along the lanes of Suffolk.” As she had hoped, Lawrence’s expression changed. Now he looked at the book, not her. “Don’t you believe me?”

  He shrugged. “Let’s say that I’m a bit dubious.” He sounded downright unconvinced. “Other than the Bible, I haven’t read anything since I left school, unless you count Wanted posters.”

  “I don’t.” Impulsively, Harriet handed him the book. “Let’s change that. Why don’t you give Mr. Dickens a chance?”

  Lawrence gave her a speculative glance. “What do I get if I enjoy him?”

  “Another book.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “I’ll clean your office for a month.” Though Lawrence had said nothing to her, the grapevine had reported that he was having difficulty finding someone to clean his office and the jail cell.

  “You’d do that?”

  Harriet nodded. While cleaning was not among her favorite pastimes, she was willing to wager that Mr. Dickens’s prose would keep her from having to wield a mop and bucket.

  Lawrence stuck out his hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  10

  “Harriet.” Though her smile did not falter, Frau Friedrich’s eyes widened with surprise and the faintest hint of alarm as she looked up from her ironing. “I didn’t expect you today.” Like many of the town’s residents, Frau Friedrich was highly organized, with specific activities planned for each day. Tuesday was the day for ironing, not Harriet’s visits.

  “I didn’t mean to worry you,” Harriet said, wishing she had thought to send a message ahead. Though she wasn’t normally impulsive, riding to the farm after school had been a spur of the moment decision, one she hoped she would not regret. “I won’t stay long,” she promised, “but I wanted to talk to you.”

  Ever since Lawrence had told her of his concern for Sterling, Harriet had sought a way to help him. This morning when Pierre Berthoud had been absent for the fourth day and she’d resolved to pay a visit to his home, she had felt as if the fog had lifted. While Pastor Russell might not choose to question his parishioners, there was no reason Harriet should not talk to someone who had become a friend.

  “Anytime, my dear.” Frau Friedrich’s smile broadened, and her voice softened. “You’re always welcome here.” She placed the flat iron back on the stove and motioned toward the kitch
en table. “Sit down and tell me why you’ve come, other than to brighten an old woman’s day.”

  “You’re not old.” It was true that her hair was gray and her face creased with years of smiling, but Harriet never thought of Karl’s mother as old. “I didn’t know where to turn, other than to you.” Though the older woman’s eyes sparkled at the thought, Harriet doubted they would continue to sparkle when she heard the reason for her visit. “My grandmother told me it was rude to ask personal questions, and this is definitely personal, but I can’t think of any other way to learn what’s happening.”

  Frau Friedrich nodded slowly. “Go on, my dear. I’ll help you as best I can.”

  That was what Harriet had been counting on. Being French, Isabelle was still an outsider to the rest of the German community, but the Friedrichs were held in high esteem. If Harriet could convince them to return to church, others would follow. She took a deep breath. “I noticed you no longer attend church services, and I wondered why.”

  As she had feared, Frau Friedrich’s lips thinned, and she remained silent for a long moment. When the German woman spoke, her voice was harsher than normal. “Ach, Harriet, you do ask hard questions, don’t you? I think you already know the answer to this one. It’s the new minister. He’s too young, and he doesn’t speak German. How can we respect him?”

  Her words confirmed Harriet’s suspicions. Though most of the townspeople spoke English, at least haltingly, thanks to Sarah Canfield’s efforts, they still preferred church services conducted in their native language.

  Harriet looked around the room as she searched for an argument that might sway the older woman. There had to be something. Her eyes lit when she spotted the new curtains. To Frau Friedrich’s dismay, the ones she had brought from Alsace had disintegrated in the strong Texas sun and she’d been forced to sew a new pair. “It will take awhile to become used to these,” she had told Harriet when she commented on the change. “They’re too bright now, but they’ll fade.” Perhaps that was the answer.

  “I imagine Pastor Sempert was young once.” Harriet kept her voice neutral, as if the thought had just occurred to her.

  To her surprise, Frau Friedrich chuckled. “Indeed, he was. I can remember his first weeks in our church back in Alsace. My mother kept complaining that he couldn’t possibly know anything because he was still wet behind the ears.” The chuckle died as color rushed to Frau Friedrich’s cheeks. “It appears I’m following in my mother’s footsteps, doesn’t it? That’s not very Christian, is it?”

  Harriet knew better than to agree. Instead, she said, “I believe Pastor Russell is doing the best he can. Perhaps he’s like your curtains and needs to fade a bit to fit in, but he seems earnest, and his sermons manage to keep my brothers from fidgeting. I consider that little less than a miracle.”

  As Harriet had hoped, the older woman smiled. “What you’ve said is true. The least Otto and I can do is make an effort to get to know him.” Frau Friedrich’s voice was once again thoughtful. “Church is not the best place for that. I think I’ll invite Pastor Russell for dinner next Sunday.”

  “I imagine he’d like that. It must be lonely eating alone most of the time.” Lawrence had said that the minister’s housekeeper prepared meals but that the ones he had tasted would win no blue ribbons. That was one of the reasons Harriet sent food to the parsonage, that and the desire to let both ministers know she supported them.

  The sparkle returned to Frau Friedrich’s eyes. “I’ll make my chocolate cake,” she said. Her eyes narrowed slightly. “There’s one string attached to my invitation. You and your family need to come too.”

  “Thank you. We’ll all enjoy that.” All except Jake.

  “Do you think they’ll come tonight?” Zach whispered the words.

  “I don’t know.” As he peered through the branches that disguised the mouth of the cave, searching for signs of intruders, Lawrence’s pulse returned to normal. He had thought he’d heard a horse, but careful watching had proven that to be a false alarm. “The arrow Sterling and I found was definitely Comanche, so it’s clear they’ve been in the area.” He had been elated by the discovery, telling Sterling it was the first lead he’d had. That elation had begun to fade.

  Lawrence looked at Zach, who was pulling their next meal from his saddlebag. “Your cattle are the most likely reason they were here. As I told Sterling, they’re irresistible.” A single steer would provide the tribe with meals, not to mention hides for clothing and shelter. “I can’t promise the Comanche will return this month, but it’s common knowledge that they prefer to hunt by the light of the full moon.”

  That was the reason Lawrence and Zach were camped in a small cave near the defile where the rustlers had herded cattle the last time. Those cattle—what Clay Canfield’s father used to refer to as “gold on the hoof”—were milling around the pasture only a few hundred yards away. The branches Lawrence and Zach had dragged in front of the cave hid its opening, while the smell of the cattle masked any aromas from their meals. Though their horses were clearly unhappy with being confined in such a small place, they had retired to the far end of the cave, momentarily content to munch their oats.

  Tonight was the last of the three nights Lawrence had planned to be here. In addition to the night of the full moon, he had chosen the ones immediately before and after, not knowing when—or if—the Comanche would hunt.

  “I’m beginning to think they’re not going to come,” Zach said as he handed Lawrence a jar of beans, grimacing at the prospect of another cold meal. They both knew they could not light a fire for fear of alerting the Indians. Fortunately, the nights had been warmer than normal for October, but there was no denying the fact that unheated food was not particularly appealing.

  Lawrence opened the jar. “I hate to admit it, but I think you’re right. We’ll wait until daybreak, just in case, but I doubt we’re going to see anyone tonight.”

  As he chewed a piece of beef jerky, Lawrence thought of the many nights he’d subsisted on nothing more than dried meat and water. Tonight’s beans should have made it a veritable feast, and yet he found himself wishing he were back in Ladreville. He could have had a hot meal at the saloon before he returned home to discover what happened to David Copperfield in the next chapter. Instead, he was here on what appeared to be a fruitless vigil.

  “I’m sorry I wasted your time,” Lawrence said. “Next time I’ll come alone.”

  “You will not.” Zach’s vehemence surprised Lawrence. “They’re my cattle. I can’t expect you to protect them single-handedly.”

  “That’s the Ranger way.” Oh, it was true that they did some things in bands, but most of Lawrence’s work had been solitary.

  “You’re no longer a Ranger,” Zach pointed out.

  “You’re right. Most of the time I don’t miss it, although I have to admit I never imagined I’d be the mayor of a town.” Nor had he imagined himself enjoying a novel. Nor, for that matter, had he imagined himself looking forward to sparring matches with a schoolmarm.

  Zach finished the last of the beans and scoured his bowl with a hunk of dried grass. “Isn’t it amazing the plans God has for us?”

  “I’m still waiting to learn what he has in store for me.”

  “So, what did you think of David Copperfield?” Harriet smiled at the tall blond man who looked so comfortable in her classroom. Though she wanted to tell him about her conversation with Frau Friedrich and how the German woman had volunteered to invite Pastor Russell to her home, Harriet hesitated. The grapevine had been quick to report that Lawrence had failed to catch the cattle rustlers, and some of the more acerbic tongues had wagged with the speculation that the sheriff had grown soft since he’d left the Rangers. It would be unkind, Harriet decided, to raise Lawrence’s hopes when the possibility existed that they would be shattered. It was, after all, possible that the Friedrichs’ disapproval of the new minister might persist, even when they knew him better. And so Harriet resolved to keep the conversation focused on les
s volatile subjects, like books.

  Lawrence laid the volume in question on top of her desk and placed a hand on it. It was an almost possessive gesture, a far cry from the reluctance with which he had accepted the book a week ago. “I can’t say that I liked Uriah Heep very much.”

  Harriet took a deep breath, inhaling the faintly musky scent that was Lawrence’s alone. Even if she were blind, she’d recognize him by it. A combination of hair oil, soap, fresh air, and the man himself, it lingered in the room and in her memory long after he was gone.

  “I’m not surprised,” she said with another smile. “No one does. But here’s the real question: did Mr. Dickens make you forget you were in Ladreville, Texas?”

  Lawrence pulled the dunce stool closer to her desk and settled on it. His lips twitched with amusement as he delayed his answer, knowing she was waiting for it. When he spoke, the amusement turned into a full-fledged smile. “Amazingly, yes. I looked up one day and was surprised that the sun was shining. You see, the scene I was reading had taken place at night, so I expected to look out at dark skies and drizzle. Instead, I saw one of our perfect Texas blue skies. Amazing.”

  Harriet wasn’t certain what was more amazing, Lawrence’s enthusiasm or her reaction to it. Though she took pleasure in teaching her students, the satisfaction she felt when one of them mastered a particularly difficult lesson did not compare to seeing Lawrence so animated over a book. She wished she understood the difference. Perhaps it was because he was an adult and adults were reputed to be less receptive to learning. That didn’t seem to be the case with Lawrence. Harriet didn’t know why she was so pleased, but she was.