Tomorrow's Garden

by Amanda Cabot

  Though he could feel her heart pounding with alarm, Harriet’s eyes sparkled as she looked up at him. “Thank you. I hadn’t planned to take another bath today.”

  A bath? Lawrence frowned. She acted as if falling into the river would have been a trivial occurrence. Didn’t she realize what could have happened? He tightened his grip on the woman who had managed to irritate him, the same woman who haunted his thoughts and dreams. He had to make her understand.

  “A bath is the least that could have happened. You could have drowned like Lizbeth.”

  13

  At last! There was no one waiting in line for another cup of that all too sweet punch. He didn’t understand why so many people went back for second and third helpings. One had been more than enough for him. He’d rather drink water from the river than that swill. But that wasn’t important. What was important was taking care of that man.

  Jake hurried to the table, determined to talk to the sister who for years had been his only ally. “We’ve got to stop him,” he announced without preamble. “That man is turning into a shadow. Every time I look, he’s there.”

  Though the night was cool, a flush rose to Ruth’s cheeks as she shook her head. “You’re wrong,” she insisted, sounding more like Harriet than herself. “Sterling came only three times, and he never stayed any longer than was seemly.”

  Jake stared at his sister, trying to understand. Had Ruth been drinking the other punch, the one that had some sort of spirits in it? That was the only reason he could imagine for her blush and that nonsensical response.

  “Sterling?” he demanded. “Who’s Sterling?”

  Ruth’s face turned an even deeper pink the way it had the time Harriet caught her reading a book when she should have been cooking dinner. “Pastor Russell. That’s what I meant. Pastor Russell. He just wanted to make sure I was all right.” Ruth was more flustered than Jake had ever seen her. That must be why she wasn’t making much sense. She glared at him as she added, “I don’t know why I’m explaining all this. You’re not my keeper.”

  “No, but he plans to be.”

  Furrows formed between her eyes. “Who are you talking about?”

  Who did she think? The man in the moon? Girls could be so dumb. “Karl, of course. Haven’t you noticed the way he won’t leave Harriet alone?” Surely ladling glasses of punch wasn’t so engrossing that Ruth hadn’t been able to see what was going on practically in front of her. She wasn’t blind without her spectacles like Harriet. “I tell you, Ruth, Karl wants to marry her. We can’t let him do that. He’s a mean man. He’ll turn Harriet and us into his slaves. Don’t you see? We’d have to move out to the farm and work there every day.”

  Blanching, Ruth shook her head, but Jake saw the doubt in her eyes. Maybe she wasn’t so dumb. After all, she’d been the first to say she didn’t like Thomas, that his smiles held something sinister. But Ruth’s expression reminded Jake of Harriet and the way she didn’t have to say anything to make him feel like a little boy.

  “I’m sure you’re wrong.” Though Ruth’s voice was low, she enunciated each syllable, just like Harriet. What had happened to the old Ruth, the one he could count on in a pinch? “Karl may be courting Harriet, but he doesn’t want us all on the farm.”

  Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. She didn’t understand. “You’re the one who’s wrong, Ruth. I tell you that man is looking for free help. A wife and slaves.” When Ruth shook her head again, Jake clenched his fists. He should have known better than to think she would help him. “Someone’s gotta stop him, and I guess it’s gonna be me.”

  “Lizbeth?”

  “She was my sister.” Though the moonlight glinted off her spectacles, Lawrence saw tears welling in Harriet’s eyes as the past tense registered. He clenched his fists, wishing he had clenched his teeth. He should never have mentioned Lizbeth. He certainly hadn’t planned to, but fear had propelled his words. In the years that he’d been a Ranger, he had learned to hide his feelings, to act based on reason, not emotion. And yet in the space of a second, his training was forgotten, replaced by raw fear. There was no way to retract Lizbeth’s name.

  Harriet looked up at him, confusion clouding her eyes. “I thought Lottie was your only sibling.”

  “She is now.” Lawrence slipped off his coat and wrapped it around Harriet’s shoulders. He wasn’t certain whether it was the cold or the belated realization that she could have been hurt, but something was causing her to tremble. Perhaps the additional warmth would help. One thing was certain: they needed to leave the riverside.

  Lawrence kept his arm around Harriet’s waist, gently leading her back toward the gathering as he started his explanation. “Lizbeth was four years younger than me—three at the time—and it seemed she was always following me. Sometimes I was happy about that. I remember calling her my little puppy, because she trailed after me the way one of the dogs did. But most of the time she seemed like a pest. That’s why I used to hide so she couldn’t find me.”

  Harriet laid her hand on his arm and squeezed it. He noticed that the trembling had stopped, and her voice held a hint of amusement. “I remember doing that with Ruth, and the boys still try their best to shake off Mary.”

  “You make it sound innocent,” he said. “No one died because you were hiding.”

  She stopped and looked up at him, those big gray eyes solemn. “Whatever occurred, it couldn’t have been your fault. You were only seven.”

  Lawrence urged her to keep walking. Somehow it was easier to talk while he was moving. “I know that now, but for years I was haunted by the belief that I should have saved her.”

  “What happened?”

  They had reached Hochstrasse and were moving steadily toward the site of the festivities. Lawrence slowed his pace, not wanting anyone to overhear. “It was the annual Independence Day celebration. There was a parade, speeches, a picnic, and then lots of games.” He stared into the distance as memories of a hot sunny day flooded through him. “I don’t remember where my parents and Lottie were. All I remember is that Lizbeth wanted to be my partner for the sack race, and I refused. I called her a silly little girl. The last time I saw my sister alive, she was crying and telling me I was mean.”

  Lawrence swallowed deeply, trying to chase away images that were more than two decades old. “I won the race. Afterward, I was celebrating with my friends when I heard a splash. Somehow Lizbeth had fallen into the river.” His voice was calm, but inside his heart ached with the realization that if he had let Lizbeth race with him, she might still be alive. “There had been a recent rain, so the water was deeper than normal, but it wouldn’t have mattered if it had been only four feet deep. Neither of us could swim.”

  Though she said nothing, Harriet tightened the grip on his arm. “I jumped in to save her, and I almost drowned myself.” Oddly, Lawrence had few memories of that. Perhaps they had been obliterated by the horror of Lizbeth’s death.

  “Oh, Lawrence.” Harriet’s voice was choked with tears. “I can’t imagine how awful that must have been. It was terrible when my parents died, but a child’s death is worse—much worse.”

  He wouldn’t tell her that even now he sometimes dreamt of a small coffin being lowered into the ground, and that each time he would waken shaking. Harriet didn’t need to know that. Instead Lawrence forced a light note into his voice. “I learned to swim, but . . .” He paused for dramatic effect. “I have to admit that I’ve never been comfortable around rivers.”

  “And I made it worse by insisting on walking by the river and then slipping.” Harriet stretched her hand up and stroked his cheek. It was nothing more than a simple gesture of comfort, and yet its effect was far from simple. Her hand was soft, her touch as gentle as an autumn breeze, and like the breeze that carried scents across the evening air, her fingers sent warmth flowing through him. Somehow, some way this woman’s touch chased away the darkness and the pain, leaving in their place the realization that while he had been unable to save Lizbeth, what had happened that summer day h
ad shaped his life, leading him first to the Rangers and now to Ladreville. It was all part of God’s plan.

  It was farther than he’d thought. Thomas winced as he turned over. This sleeping on the ground was mighty rough on the body, but what was a man to do? He couldn’t spend his last coins on a bed, not that there were any in sight. This part of Texas was more desolate than anything he’d seen, and it was all that farmer’s fault.

  Thomas had reckoned it would take no more than three days to reach Ladreville, but here he was on the fifth day, and he still hadn’t gotten there. That cursed farmer had told him to turn right at the crossroads, when he should have turned left. Left. Left. Left. That’s what the old codger should have said. But he hadn’t, and now Thomas was lost somewhere in a land that was fit for nothing more than scorpions and javelinas.

  First things first. He had to get to Ladreville and convince Harriet to marry him. Once that was done, he’d find the farmer, and the man would pay. Yes, sirree, he’d pay.

  “Where were you?” Karl’s light blue eyes reflected worry and something else, perhaps a bit of anger. “You should have told me you were going away.”

  Harriet shivered. Ever since she’d returned Lawrence’s coat, she had felt cold. More than that, she’d had an odd sensation of bereavement, as if she had lost something important. That was absurd. She had looked around the celebration, assuring herself that her siblings were all there. Though she hadn’t seen Jake, the others were safe. Jake was probably sitting on the ground, playing jacks with the other boys. She was fine. It was Lawrence who had suffered the loss. Even though it had been more than twenty years ago, the loss was still shaping his life. No wonder he felt so strongly about constructing a bridge over the Medina. Harriet shivered again. She couldn’t restore Lawrence’s sister, but she could help him convince the townspeople they needed a bridge.

  “Where were you?” Karl repeated his question.

  “I went for a walk along the river,” Harriet said as calmly as she could. What should have been an ordinary walk had been anything but that. First there was that awkward slip when she’d found herself heading face first into the water, only to be yanked back at the last second. Next came those seconds of unexpected warmth being held by Lawrence. How wonderful it had felt to be in his arms, to be so close that she could hear his heart beat and savor the fragrance that was his alone. Though he had meant nothing more than comfort, Lawrence had chased away the chill and, more than that, he had restored her sense of equilibrium.

  Then came his revelation, uncovering the deep facets that made Lawrence so special. Harriet had seen the handsome man, the strong man, the former Ranger, the current mayor and sheriff. Tonight she had discovered the vulnerable boy.

  When Harriet was seven, days had been spent with Grandma and Grandpa. Grandma had claimed it was because Mother was busy. At the time Harriet hadn’t understood, for when she and Ruth returned home for supper, Mother was almost always asleep. But Harriet didn’t mind. Days in the stone cottage were exciting as Grandpa introduced her to the magic that could be found between the covers of a book. Those had been happy days when death was only a word. Lawrence had not been so fortunate, and Harriet’s heart ached for the loss he had endured and the guilt that had plagued him for so long. Young as he was, Lawrence had felt responsible for his sister’s death, and though he tried to make light of it, Harriet knew all too well the burden responsibility could place on a child. This, she suspected, was the reason he continued to distance himself from Lottie; he feared losing her.

  “You should have told me.” Karl’s words brought Harriet back to the present. She looked around, searching for Lawrence, but he was not in sight. When they’d reached the gathering, he had told her he needed to walk around to ensure that no one was imbibing too heavily.

  “I would have gone with you.” Karl placed his hand on the small of Harriet’s back and led her toward the center of the field where the dancers were gathering once more. It appeared that while she had been gone, the musicians had rested and the townspeople had enjoyed a second helping of dessert.

  “Thank you.” Harriet tried not to flinch at the warmth of Karl’s hand on her spine. He was merely being courteous, she reminded herself; it wasn’t fair to compare him to Lawrence. The fault was hers, for she had been rude in leaving the dance without telling Karl. He was, after all, her escort for the evening. As such, Harriet owed him basic kindness. There was no need to tell him she had not been alone, just as there was no need to tell him she had lost her desire to dance. Even though all she wanted was to be alone to reflect on what she had learned, she couldn’t do that without hurting Karl’s feelings. Still, there might be a way to postpone their return to the dancing. “Is there any of your mother’s cake left?”

  Karl nodded. “She saved you a piece.”

  “Excellent.”

  They were walking toward the Friedrichs’ quilt when Harriet saw Lawrence approaching, his hand firmly gripping Jake’s shoulder. Her heart sank as she realized that neither one looked happy.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, though the coward inside her did not want to know. Lawrence’s expression told Harriet that, whatever it was, it was serious.

  He nodded toward her and Karl. “I need you both to come with me.” His voice seethed with barely controlled anger, causing the lump that had formed in Harriet’s throat when she’d seen Jake and Lawrence together to grow.

  Karl fisted his hands as he glared at Jake. “What did that young whippersnapper do?” he demanded at the same time that Harriet cried, “Oh, Jake, what have you done?”

  Jake remained silent, his expression so belligerent that Harriet wanted to slap his face. When he refused to answer, Lawrence said, “He slashed the seats in Karl’s buggy. I’m afraid they’re beyond repair.”

  So quickly that Harriet did not anticipate it, Karl lunged forward and grabbed Jake, wrapping his hands around his throat. “You fiend!” Karl shouted as he began to throttle him. “That was the finest buggy in Ladreville.”

  An instant later, Lawrence yanked Karl away. “I’m the sheriff here,” he said firmly. “I’ll administer justice.”

  “I’ll tell you what justice he needs.” Karl’s voice was filled with venom, and he kept his hands fisted, as if looking for an opportunity to pummel Jake. “It’ll start with a trip to the woodshed.”

  Though Karl had been angry the day Jake had cut the fence, today his fury seemed boundless. Harriet moved so that she stood between him and her brother. Karl was right; Jake needed to be punished, but a beating would not restore Karl’s buggy. She looked around, wondering who had overheard the exchange. Would the Kirks be the subject of gossip tomorrow? “The Kirk name must not be besmirched.” As her grandmother’s words echoed through her head, Harriet wondered how she could have prevented Jake’s vandalism. Perhaps if she hadn’t left the gathering, she would have seen Jake near the buggy and been able to stop him. Oh, why had she agreed to walk with Lawrence? But even as the question formed, Harriet knew two things: she couldn’t have stopped her brother and she wouldn’t have missed the walk with Lawrence for anything.

  “The crime is a serious one.” Lawrence was speaking to Karl. “I’ll treat it as such.” He took a step toward the irate farmer. “It appears you’re mighty riled. I suggest you go back to the dance. Harriet and I will handle this.”

  Karl shook his head. “I told you I could handle it.”

  “Not as long as I’m the sheriff.” Lawrence laid a hand on Karl’s shoulder. Whether he meant to comfort or restrain him, the firm grip kept Karl from attacking Jake, and that was a blessing. “I’ll come out to the farm on Monday to discuss retribution,” Lawrence continued as he walked a short distance, escorting Karl toward the dancers.

  “What’s retribution?” It was the first time Jake had spoken.

  Trying to keep her own anger under control, Harriet forced herself to make a civil reply. What she really wanted was to shake some sense into her brother. How could he have done this? Didn’t
he know that he was jeopardizing his future? “It means the repair of Karl’s buggy.”

  Jake scuffed his foot, then kicked an acorn. When it sailed into the air, landing a few yards away, he grinned with apparent satisfaction. “I’m not gonna do it. He had it coming.”

  Harriet’s anger grew. It was bad enough that he’d damaged the buggy. It was even worse that he felt no remorse. “There is no excuse for destruction of property,” she said in her most severe schoolmarm voice.

  “Indeed there is not.” Lawrence stood on Jake’s other side, the seemingly casual way his hand rested on his six-shooter announcing that he would tolerate no argument. Though he directed his words at Harriet, she saw that he was keeping his eyes fixed on her brother. “It appears that this is a lesson Jake needs to learn. This, however, is no place for a discussion. Let’s go to my office.”

  They walked in silence, Jake shuffling and making exasperated huffing sounds, Lawrence keeping his hand firmly on Jake’s shoulder, Harriet trying to bite back the fear that welled inside her. What if the citizens of Ladreville were like Fortune’s townspeople? Would Jake ever live this down? Harriet preceded the men up the steps and waited until Lawrence opened the door, ushering them into his office. When he’d lit two lamps, chasing the shadows from the room, she saw that he had made a few changes since the last time she’d been here. The desk was angled so that he could look out one of the windows. The large maps of Europe and the gloomy portraits that had decorated two walls were gone, leaving brighter patches of paint in their place.

  “Do you have any idea how to stop this behavior?” Though Lawrence stood over Jake, the words were addressed to Harriet. The anger was gone, replaced by a firm but almost kind tone that reminded Harriet of how safe she had felt when he’d gathered her close to him.

  “I wish I did. I’ve never seen Jake like this.” Her brother snorted, as if denying her defense of him. “Oh, he had his mischievous moments, but he was never malicious.”