Tomorrow's Garden

by Amanda Cabot

  “I hate being here.” Jake spat the words as he directed his anger at her. “You should never have made us leave Fortune. I had friends there.”

  “The wrong kind of friends.”

  Lawrence perched on the corner of the desk. “Whether or not you like it, Jake, you live in Ladreville now, and that means you will abide by its laws. The citizens of Ladreville expect me to protect them and their property.”

  Jake snarled. It was the wrong response. Lawrence narrowed his eyes, and his voice was cold as he said, “Since you obviously do not respect property, it’s time for you to learn just how much a buggy is worth and how long it takes to earn that amount of money.”

  “I only wrecked the seats.”

  Oh, Jake, Harriet wanted to cry, stop being so insolent. You’re only making this worse. Instead, she said firmly, “Be quiet, Jake. The sheriff is in charge here.”

  “I know school is important to you.” Lawrence nodded at Harriet as he spoke. “But I’m afraid Jake will not be attending until he’s paid off his debt.”

  “Good. I hate school.”

  “That’s enough, Jake.” Harriet grabbed his arm and shook it. “You’ve done enough damage today.” She turned toward Lawrence. “How will he pay for the repairs? His wages from Karl aren’t very high, and after what happened tonight, I wouldn’t blame Karl if he refused to allow Jake to work for him.”

  Though Harriet kept her eyes focused on Lawrence, she heard Jake’s exaggerated sigh. Even if Karl continued to hire her brother, nothing good would come of it.

  As Jake shuffled his feet and sighed again, Lawrence shook his head. “Jake won’t be working for Karl. He’ll be working for me.” Lawrence gestured toward the walls with their obvious signs of missing pictures. “He’ll start by painting this room. After that, the whole house needs a thorough cleaning.”

  “That’s woman’s work!” Jake emphasized his frustration by beating his fists on the desk.

  “Hush! You’ll do what Lawrence orders.” If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Harriet might have smiled at the fact that Lawrence was finally achieving what he’d sought since he arrived: finding a housekeeper.

  Lawrence was not smiling as he looked down at her brother. “Make no mistake, Jake; you’re going to work, and you’re going to work hard.” It was no wonder Lawrence had been such a successful Ranger. Simply the tone of his voice was enough to make Jake cower. If he’d drawn his gun, Harriet doubted even the most hardened of criminals would have resisted.

  “It will be two or three months before you’re able to pay Karl for the damage you’ve done,” Lawrence continued. “In the meantime, you will be here every day at 7:00, and you’ll work until 6:00. Your only day off will be Sunday, but I expect you to spend the morning in church.”

  “That’s not fair!” Jake scowled at the lawman.

  “That’s the way it’s going to be.”

  Jake fisted his hands again as he glared at Lawrence. “I hate you just like I hate Karl.”

  “Jake!”

  Harriet’s brother paid her no heed. His eyes dark with emotion, he stared at the sheriff. “I hate you.”

  If he thought he’d rile Lawrence, Jake was mistaken. “Hate, love—it doesn’t matter to me. All I care about is that you do the work I set out for you.”

  That was fair enough, but Jake didn’t see it that way. He jumped to his feet, his face suffused with anger. “Don’t think you can be my father,” he shouted. “I don’t need one.”

  Harriet blinked in astonishment. Lawrence had done nothing even remotely paternal. Why did Jake think he regarded him as a son?

  But Lawrence appeared unfazed by her brother’s outburst. “No, you don’t,” he agreed. “What you need is to be the man of the family. You should be the one who’s setting the example.” The look he gave Jake was almost pitying. “I’ve got to tell you, Jake, the example you’ve been setting is mighty poor. You need to change that if you expect Sam and Daniel and little Mary to respect you.”

  Harriet watched, astonished by the change in Jake’s expression. From sullen and resentful, it had been transformed. Somehow, Lawrence had reached him, touching a cord deep inside him that, no matter how many times she had tried, she had never reached. Was this what Jake sought—the recognition that he was almost an adult? It was true that she had never told him she expected him to be the man of the family, but she didn’t treat Jake like a child. Did she?

  14

  “Miss Kirk! Miss Kirk!” Eva’s cry of excitement preceded her as she rushed into the schoolhouse, her blonde braids flying behind her. “Come look!”

  “What is it?” Though she guessed there was only one thing that would bring a child in from the midday recess early, Harriet wanted Eva to have the thrill of announcing the news.

  “They sprouted. Six of them.” She reached for Harriet’s hand and tugged. “Come look.”

  Harriet shook her head as she looked down at Isabelle’s stepdaughter. She had been the only one of the schoolchildren who had commented on Jake’s absence. The others, Harriet surmised, had heard the tale from their parents. Fortunately, though gossip had been rife for several days, the story of Jake’s vandalism had been eclipsed by the rumor that Michel Ladre and his wife had been seen boarding a ship in Galveston, apparently bound for Europe. The idea that the town’s founder was returning to the Old Country was so shocking that nothing else seemed important.

  “We’ll wait until everyone returns,” she told Eva. “Then we’ll go out again. We can practice our orderly exit.” The past few days had been cool and rainy, and Harriet had forgone the egress lessons, even though she knew that soon she would have to light the stove. Despite the increased possibility of a fire, the children could not continue to shiver in the classroom. “It’s your surprise,” she said to Eva, “so you can lead us outside.”

  The smiles on the children’s faces when they saw the sprouts and the barrage of questions they fired at her told Harriet they would accomplish little this afternoon when they returned to the schoolhouse. Bowing to the inevitable, she spent the time that would have been devoted to geography discussing the role of warmth, moisture, and sunshine in a plant’s life. Though she stressed how much time was required, Harriet suspected that was one lesson her pupils were not absorbing.

  “I’ll check the sprouts tomorrow,” Pierre Berthoud announced when class was dismissed.

  “And I’ll come on Sunday,” Anna Singer volunteered.

  “There’ll be lots more on Monday” was little Heidi Gottlieb’s prediction. But when the students returned on Monday, there were still only six plants. Though those six had grown over the weekend, the children were not satisfied.

  “When will the others sprout?” Heidi demanded.

  Harriet would not lie. After all, the garden was meant to teach them patience. “Maybe not until spring.”

  Anna’s scowl left no doubt of her opinion. “That’s too long.”

  Pierre nodded. “I don’t want to wait.”

  But they had to.

  The boy had mastered the art of sullenness. The first day he had complained constantly, harping on the unfairness of the world in general and Lawrence in particular, until in desperation Lawrence had announced that he would half Jake’s wages if he continued. That had done the trick. The complaints had stopped, though they’d been replaced with silence punctuated by groans and hisses. Now Jake stood near the door, his posture openly defiant. It would be a long three months until he’d worked off his debt.

  “We’re going to the livery today,” Lawrence said, watching for a reaction. “Klaus needs some help.”

  The reaction wasn’t long in coming. Jake clenched his fists and abandoned his insolent slouch. “I thought I worked for you.”

  “You do. I’m hiring out your services.” Jake had finished painting not just the office but also the town’s one jail cell. He had, Lawrence had to admit, done a fine job. Though Lawrence suspected Jake had wanted nothing more than to fling the paintbrush—full
y loaded with paint, of course—at him, he’d controlled his temper and had demonstrated a real flair for smooth brushstrokes. He had even done a passably good job cleaning the house, if you didn’t count the deliberately overturned pail of water that had ruined a carpet and the windowpane that just happened to break when he polished it. Knowing that Jake’s goal was to rouse his anger, Lawrence had done nothing more than point out that the cost of a rug and replacement glass would be added to Jake’s tally. “At least another month, possibly two,” he’d said, trying not to cringe at the thought of having Harriet’s rebellious brother underfoot for so long. Lawrence wasn’t certain who was bearing the brunt of the punishment.

  “I didn’t agree to work at the livery.” Jake took a step forward before he reconsidered. A scowl might mar his otherwise handsome face, but he appeared to have learned a lesson or two, starting with the fact that violence was not permitted in this room.

  “I hate to point this out to you, Jake, but your agreement isn’t necessary. The night you decided to vent your anger on Karl Friedrich, you gave up a lot of rights. In the eyes of this town, you’re a criminal now.” One of the reasons Lawrence was taking Jake to the livery was that he wanted to mitigate that perception. Perhaps if the town’s law-abiding citizens saw Jake working diligently to repay the damage he’d caused, they’d consider him less of a threat to their property.

  Though he had not told Harriet, lest he deepen the fear he’d seen on her face when she’d learned what Jake had done, a delegation of citizens had cornered him outside his office the next afternoon, demanding to know how he proposed to deal with such blatant vandalism. They’d left, only partially mollified, when he’d explained the nature of Jake’s punishment.

  The boy glared at him. “So now I’m gonna have someone else telling me what to do.”

  Lawrence understood Jake’s complaint. He’d joined the Rangers in part because he liked the idea of being on his own, of making decisions and not having a boss watching over him. “I’m afraid that’s pretty much the way it’s going to be until you’ve settled your debt.”

  Jake shook his head, his expression mutinous. “I hate people ordering me around. That’s what Karl did, and Harriet’s no better.” He shook his head again, as if reconsidering. “She’s worse. She doesn’t just order me to do things; she treats me like a child.”

  Lawrence tried not to smile. If there was one thing Jake would not appreciate, it was amusement. “Older sisters do that,” he said as solemnly as he could. “At least mine always did. Lottie made sure I knew she was the one in charge.”

  “I hate that.” Jake kicked the chair. “I hate the way Harriet thinks she’s my mother and my father.”

  Lawrence nodded. There had been times when he had thought he had three parents, and he’d resented Lottie’s attempts at domination. Harriet, however, had no choice. “It seems to me your sister was thrust into that role when your parents died.”

  Jake shook his head again. “That didn’t change anything. They weren’t real parents.”

  Lawrence tried to mask his surprise. “What do you mean?” he asked casually, knowing that the key to getting Jake to talk was to appear not to care. Meanwhile Lawrence’s brain whirled. Was it possible that the Kirk children had been adopted? Harriet’s correspondence with Michel Ladre had said nothing of that, but why would it? Ladreville’s mayor had no reason to know her family history other than the fact that she was now responsible for five siblings. “What do you mean, not real?” Lawrence asked again.

  His eyes firmly fixed on the floor, Jake muttered, “Nothin’.” Silence had returned.

  “Harriet.” What perfect timing. There she was, emerging from the mercantile at the same time he returned from taking Jake to the livery. “If you have time, would you like to see the work Jake’s done?”

  She checked her watch before nodding. “I have a few minutes until I’m due back in school. Sarah’s visiting, and she’ll watch the children until I return. I don’t want to take advantage of her, though, so I shouldn’t be too late.”

  That was Harriet, conscientious to a fault. Lawrence opened the door and escorted her into his office.

  “It looks much better,” she said as she surveyed the now uniformly colored walls. “I don’t miss those gloomy pictures.”

  “Or the maps of Europe. We’re all Texans now.”

  Behind the spectacles, her gray eyes sparkled with amusement. “You and I were born Texans.”

  “That’s true, but it doesn’t hurt to remind the others. Sterling thinks that’s the reason he was sent here, to make the town more American.”

  “It hasn’t happened yet, has it?” Harriet settled into one of the chairs in front of his desk. Perhaps it had been a mistake, offering her some of his terrible coffee. He had hoped she would relax enough that he could ask about her parents, but instead they were speaking of Sterling and his still diminished congregation.

  “No,” Lawrence admitted, “and I can’t think of a way to change that. Sterling is my friend. I’d do anything in my power to help him, but this is well beyond my power. It’s going to take an act of God to turn the citizens of Ladreville into Texans.”

  “I’m beginning to think that’s what Jake needs too, one of God’s miracles. Moving here didn’t work.” As Harriet took a sip of coffee, he could tell she was trying not to grimace.

  Rather than apologize, he asked, “What happened in Fortune?”

  “Jake was associating with at least one boy who was a pernicious influence.”

  How like Harriet to use a word with three syllables when one would have sufficed. “Have you noted any deleterious effects from the move?” Lawrence knew big words too . . . at least one.

  She placed the cup on the desk without taking another sip. “The fact that Jake is working for you is proof that leaving Fortune didn’t solve the problem. I wish I knew what would.”

  Lawrence had no answer, and he sensed this was not the time to introduce the subject of her parents. “How is the school garden?”

  Judging from the way Harriet wrinkled her nose, he had chosen the wrong subject. “I’m afraid I have some disgruntled pupils. I think they expected flowers in November.”

  “You have shoots.”

  “True, but they want more. I’m having second thoughts about the whole idea. No one believes me when I tell them things are happening underground. I guess the concept of dormancy is too much for them.”

  Lawrence wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and tell her not to worry about her brother or her pupils, but he couldn’t. Not only would that be unseemly, but he couldn’t guarantee that there would be no further reason for worry. Instead he gave an exaggerated shrug. “It’s a good thing I’m not the teacher. I’d pull out my six-shooter and order everyone to believe me.” When Harriet smiled at the prospect, he added, “Mark my words. They’ll believe you in the spring. A garden is not a dumb idea.”

  “It’s not a dumb idea,” Isabelle announced as she placed a piece of gingerbread next to Harriet’s glass of milk. When school had ended, Harriet had suggested Eva return home with Mary, and she’d headed to the Lehman house, knowing she would find both a welcome and answers inside the cozy kitchen. No matter what Lawrence said, he wasn’t a parent. Harriet suspected he was simply trying to soothe her feelings and told Isabelle that.

  Her friend disagreed. “Nonsense. I can’t imagine Lawrence Wood sparing anyone’s feelings. He’s as honest as they come—sometimes painfully honest. When Gunther asked him if the town would pay for repairs on the dam, he pointed out that the dam served only one purpose and that was to turn Gunther’s millstone, so it was Gunther’s responsibility to keep it in good shape, and recently Lawrence has been outspoken in saying the town needs a bridge. Gunther and I agree with him on that, but most people think it’s an unnecessary expense.” Isabelle gave a Gallic shrug. “What I’m trying to say is, you can trust Lawrence to tell the truth.”

  Isabelle took a bite of the gingerbread, frowning ev
er so slightly. “It needs more cloves,” she said. When Harriet demurred, Isabelle simply smiled. “You can be honest. I’m being honest with you when I tell you that Eva was so excited the day she found those sprouts that she would hardly eat supper, and it was her favorite chicken stew. She kept telling Gunther and me how wonderful it was to have a garden and how special you made her feel when she was the first to spot the seedlings.”

  “They were all excited the first day. It was afterward that they became discouraged. Now I have to listen to Henri Fayette grousing that a garden is stupid.”

  “Oh, Henri.” Isabelle shrugged again. “He was born complaining. Eva doesn’t think it’s stupid. She listened when you told the class about seeds getting ready to sprout.” Isabelle laughed as she poured herself another glass of milk. “I have to admit that it was a bit awkward. Eva asked me if the seeds were like a baby growing in its mother’s stomach.”

  It wasn’t a bad analogy, even though it was not one Harriet would have used. She gave her friend an appraising look. “Is there any special reason why that thought might have come to Eva’s mind?” Isabelle’s pallor at the fall festival was gone, replaced by a glow that reminded Harriet of Sarah holding her newborn son.

  Isabelle shrugged again. “She might have heard Gunther and me talking about a new baby,” she admitted.

  The pieces all fit. First the pallor, now the glow. Harriet remembered the changes when her mother had been increasing. “Is that why you’ve been queasy?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but it might be. I’m praying it is.”

  “Oh, Isabelle.” Harriet rose and hugged her. “I’m happy for you.”

  The lovely Frenchwoman frowned. “It would be wonderful, if only Gunther were happier. The whole idea of childbirth scares him.”

  “Isn’t that true of most men? My father fled the house at the first sign and didn’t return for days.”