Tomorrow's Garden

by Amanda Cabot

  There was a moment of silence before Gunther murmured something to Isabelle and rose. “What will the children do while the school is being built?”

  Lawrence grinned as he looked at the miller. “That was the third subject I wanted to discuss: the interim school. Even if the weather is perfect, it will take some time until the new building is ready. Our children should not go without schooling during that period.” A low murmur of assent greeted Lawrence’s words. “I understand that before the first school was constructed, classes were conducted in the church halls.”

  Harriet knew that was true, but she also knew from Sarah’s tales that it had been a decidedly unsuccessful experiment, with the French citizens refusing to let their children attend classes in the German church and the Germans denying their children access to the French church.

  Lawrence’s smile faded and his expression was stern as he said, “I also understand there were problems with that.” When Harriet looked at the audience, several women ducked their heads, as if ashamed, while a number of men shifted uneasily on the pews. Rather than acknowledge their discomfort, Lawrence continued speaking. “My recommendation is that we use only one of the churches this time. That will make it easier for Miss Kirk, since she won’t have to move her teaching materials back and forth.” The pained expressions faded as the townspeople accepted Lawrence’s face-saving suggestion. Thanks to him, though everyone knew otherwise, they could pretend that the only problem with the original school had been Sarah’s need to move between two buildings.

  “Which one?” the blond man demanded, his voice and posture belligerent.

  “That’s the question.” Lawrence’s response was even. He addressed the entire audience. “Which do you think would be better?”

  Though Harriet expected the answers to be predictable, with the German citizens recommending their own church, Gunther’s reply surprised her. “The French hall is larger,” he pointed out.

  Monsieur Seurat rose. “But the German hall has more light. That might be better.”

  The discussion continued with no resolution apparent. “I propose we vote.” Lawrence waited until Harriet was once more seated before he called for a show of hands. When the French hall won by a slim margin, he thanked the townspeople and adjourned the meeting.

  Within minutes, the church was virtually empty. Though anxious to return to Eva, Isabelle and Gunther agreed to leave only when Harriet assured them that she could walk home alone. “I doubt you’ll be unaccompanied,” Isabelle said with a mischievous look at Lawrence.

  Harriet doubted it too, but whether or not Lawrence walked with her, she needed to talk to him. She couldn’t let his wonderfully generous action go unacknowledged. “Thank you,” she said, willing her voice to hold out for a few more minutes. “I know the bridge was important to you.”

  Lawrence took the hand she extended, holding it gently between both of his. “I meant what I said. Right now, the school is more important. If the town is fortunate, we won’t have flooding this year, and the bridge won’t be that critical. C’mon, let’s get you home. I saw Clay frowning and suspect he’s not happy that you’re here.”

  “Clay worries too much.” He was an excellent physician, but even Sarah admitted that he could be overly protective.

  “You might say that about me too. I worry about you, Harriet.”

  As Lawrence slid his arm around her waist and led her to the door, Harriet forgot the sting of her burns and the rawness of her throat. For the moment there were no worries. There was only the pleasure of being with Lawrence.

  “We almost lost her, Mutter.” Karl shook his head as his mother offered him a cup of coffee. He needed more than coffee to clear the thoughts that had circled through his head since the day he’d heard of the fire and Harriet’s bravery. That was why he was here, sitting in the kitchen on a fine morning when he ought to be outside helping his father. He needed his mother’s advice.

  “She’s the wife I want.” Strong and brave, Harriet was the perfect helpmeet. Though Karl had had doubts since the fall festival when she’d shown herself unable to control Jake, the fire had made him realize that he’d been expecting too much of her. She was only a woman, after all. Disciplining older boys was a man’s job. His job.

  Mutter laid down her cup and looked at him, a question in her eyes. Though Karl tried not to frown, he didn’t understand why she would question him. Hadn’t he told her before that he intended to marry Harriet?

  “Are you certain, son? Harriet is a fine woman. You know I love her like a daughter, but don’t forget that she doesn’t come alone. You’d be responsible for the other children too.”

  This was easy to understand. Mutter was referring to Jake. Karl nodded. “Jake is a problem, but a firm hand will end his mischief. Once the others realize that I won’t allow any nonsense, they’ll cause no trouble. You’ll see, Mutter. Life will be easier when we have them here.” His parents were getting too old to do all the farmwork. That was part of Harriet’s appeal. She brought workers with her.

  Mutter stared at him the way she used to when he was a child and had told a lie, making him as uncomfortable as she had all those years ago. It was silly to feel that way, for he wasn’t a boy any longer, and he hadn’t lied.

  At last she nodded as if she’d heard his thoughts. “Have you spoken to Harriet? Does she know how you feel?”

  “Nein. That’s why I’m here. I don’t know where to start.”

  The cuckoo clock chimed 10:00, reminding him he should be in the barn repairing tack.

  “You need to court her.”

  Karl tried to bite back his annoyance. “You told me that before, but you didn’t tell me how to do it.”

  His mother sighed, and once again he felt as if he were ten years old and had somehow disappointed her. “The first thing you need to do is visit Harriet. That will let her know you care about her.”

  “But what do I say when I get there?” That was a problem. Karl could talk about crops and farm animals, but those weren’t things that interested women.

  Mutter sighed again. “All right, son. If you’re sure this is what you want, I’ll go with you the first couple times.”

  “Mutter sent this.” Karl held out a bowl filled with what appeared to be a soft pudding. “She said it would not hurt your throat.”

  “Oh, Karl, I feel as if I’m being spoiled.” This was the third consecutive night that he’d brought gifts of food from his mother. The first two times, he’d been accompanied by his mother, but tonight he was alone. Harriet accepted the bowl before leading him into the parlor. Though the boys had been playing there when Karl rapped on the front door, the room was now empty, the thumps overhead telling Harriet they’d moved their game to their bedroom.

  “Would you like to sit?” She offered Karl a chair and nodded to Ruth to take another. As was true the last two days, he wore clean overalls and a sheepish expression. Ruth claimed he had come courting, but Harriet didn’t believe that. If Karl were courting a woman, he’d simply declare his intentions. He wasn’t a man for subtleties like flowers, books, or lemon drops. Besides, a man didn’t bring his mother if he was courting. Still, Harriet had to admit that it was unusual for Karl to visit three days in a row.

  “You deserve to be spoiled,” he said. “Mutter and I want to spoil you.” Karl’s face reddened, as if the subject embarrassed him, and he added abruptly, “I heard Olga Kaltheimer is coming back to Ladreville.”

  “I don’t believe I know her.” Harriet wondered why Karl was speaking of someone she had never met. Though she had been introduced to the elder Kaltheimers, there had been no mention of a daughter.

  Karl stroked his beard. “Olga was supposed to be the teacher when Sarah left. I heard it was all set; then one day she left town to visit cousins. That’s when Michel Ladre advertised for a new teacher. But now Olga’s coming back.”

  That was, Harriet realized, the longest speech she had heard Karl deliver, although why it concerned her was not apparen
t. “That’s good,” she said idly. Perhaps Karl was simply searching for a topic of discussion. Or perhaps he thought she needed an assistant, and that was why he mentioned a woman who wanted to teach.

  But Harriet was mistaken. Karl shook his head. “Don’t you see, Harriet? If Olga returns, you don’t have to teach anymore. You could marry and have a family of your own.”

  Harriet blanched. Was it possible Ruth was right?

  A rejected suitor. Lawrence had chased and apprehended more criminals than he could count in his years as a Ranger, but this was the first time he’d sought a rejected suitor. Of course, it was also the first time he’d heard of a man setting a fire because a woman refused to marry him.

  “It was Bruckner,” he said when he entered Harriet’s parlor.

  “Thomas?” Blood drained from her face so quickly Lawrence feared she would swoon. Was it possible that she still had feelings for her first suitor?

  “I’m afraid so,” he said more brusquely than he had intended. “A couple of people reported seeing a stranger in town the morning of the fire. Their description matches the one you gave of him.”

  Harriet shuddered. “I knew Thomas didn’t love me, but I never realized he harbored so much hatred. Even if he was still angry at me, why would he endanger the children?”

  Lawrence shrugged. “It’s almost impossible to tell what’s inside another person’s heart.” His own for example. What would Harriet say if she knew what he was thinking? Would she be shocked to know that he was remembering how soft her lips had been against his and how good it had felt to hold her in his arms? Business, Lawrence, he reminded himself. You’re here on business. There will be time to tell her how you feel once you’ve caught Bruckner.

  “Don’t worry,” Lawrence said firmly. “I’ll catch him. Rangers always get their men.” His lips twitched as he added, “Even ex-Rangers.”

  “He’s courting you, you know,” Ruth said as they cleared the table.

  Harriet blinked. “He’s not even here.” Lawrence had been gone for four days now, searching for Thomas. “How could he . . .” She broke off abruptly. “Oh, you meant Karl.”

  Ruth’s lips twitched as if she were trying not to smile. “Who else did you think I meant?” When Harriet refused to answer, she said, “It’s not just Jake who’s concerned. The town has noticed Karl’s frequent visits. They’re speculating about whether you’ll finish your contract or turn the school over to Olga Kaltheimer this month.”

  “I have every intention of honoring my contract,” Harriet said firmly, “and no intention of marrying Karl Friedrich.”

  “Does he know that?”

  “The subject has never come up.”

  “It will.”

  But it did not. Though Karl came every evening, sometimes accompanied by Pastor Russell, sometimes with his mother, sometimes alone, he never stayed long, and while he sat in the Kirks’ parlor, he spoke of his farm, of the school, of Olga Kaltheimer’s desire to teach. But he never spoke of marriage. And when Harriet spoke of her plans for the coming school year, though he frowned, Karl made no attempt to dissuade her. It appeared that he was simply being neighborly, trying to make her recovery more pleasant. Thank goodness.

  Thomas Bruckner wasn’t hard to find. Lawrence grinned as he entered the saloon, realizing that it hadn’t taken a Ranger’s skills to find him. The man hadn’t even bothered to hide his tracks. Instead, he’d left a trail a mile wide, making indelible impressions each time he stopped. No one who encountered Bruckner forgot his cherubic face or his devilish temper. It appeared that whatever had angered him enough to set the school on fire hadn’t faded, for here he was in a small town a few miles west of New Braunfels, arguing with the barkeeper.

  “You cheated me,” Bruckner announced as he slammed his fist onto the bar. Harriet hadn’t exaggerated. Thomas Bruckner’s face might not be handsome in the ordinary sense, but there was something angelic about it. If you could ignore the snarling lips, that is. “I already paid you.”

  Though it was midday and the saloon was practically empty, the barkeeper wore the faintly harried expression Lawrence associated with men at the end of the night when they’d poured too many drinks and settled too many disputes.

  “You paid for the glass you just drank, not this one.” The tall, almost emaciated man behind the bar kept a firm grip on the object of Bruckner’s anger. “If you want it, you’ll pay me. Otherwise, leave.”

  “I’ll leave when I’m good and ready.”

  As Bruckner reached for his six-shooter, Lawrence put a firm hand on his shoulder. “Let’s take a walk.”

  The man who looked like an angel spun around. “Who . . . ?” He narrowed his eyes, as if searching his brain for Lawrence’s identity. “Oh, you . . . the sheriff.” Though Lawrence had never met Bruckner, it appeared that some memory had broken through his alcoholic haze. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m looking for answers about a fire.”

  “I don’t know nothing about a fire.” The way his eyes shifted gave lie to his words.

  Lawrence tightened his grip on Bruckner’s shoulder. “I heard you paid a visit to my town.”

  “So what? You got a law that says I can’t do that?” He leaned forward, reaching for the whiskey bottle. Though the barkeeper still held the glass, he’d placed the bottle back on the bar just outside Bruckner’s reach.

  Shifting his weight so he could nudge the whiskey toward the barkeeper, Lawrence said, “No law against visiting, but we sure do have laws against burning down schoolhouses.”

  “It’s too bad your schoolhouse burned.” Though Bruckner attempted to feign innocence, the gleam in his eyes left no doubt of his guilt. “That’s a downright shame.”

  “Yes,” Lawrence agreed, “it was a shame. More than that, it was a criminal act, and you’re going to pay for it.”

  “Me?” Bruckner sneered. “You can’t pin it on me. I was miles away when the window broke.”

  “Did I say anything about a broken window?” Lawrence addressed his question to the bartender.

  “No, sir.” It was clear that the older man’s ennui had faded, replaced by amusement at the scene unfolding before him.

  “All right, Bruckner. Come with me.” Lawrence hauled him to his feet, relieved him of his weapons, and propelled him toward the door. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

  Bruckner’s bravado faded in the sunlight. “All I wanted was to scare her.” The man was lying. Lawrence hadn’t spent a decade as a Ranger without learning to read people. This sniveling excuse for a man was lying. “I figured she’d give me some money if I scared her enough.”

  Sure. And the sun rose in the west. “Seems to me it’s mighty tough to do anything if you’re dead.”

  “Yeah, well . . .” Bruckner’s lips curved into a sneer. “She had it coming to her. She should have married me when I asked her. Then the money would have been mine.”

  Though his fists itched to connect with Bruckner’s face, Lawrence forced himself to remain calm. There was nothing to be gained by breaking the man’s nose and splitting his lip. He needed to learn what had driven Harriet’s suitor to attempt murder.

  “What money?” Bruckner kept talking about money, as if Harriet were an heiress.

  “The money I needed to repay Mr. Allen.”

  Now they were making progress. “Herb Allen?”

  Though he nodded, there was no mistaking the fear that shadowed Bruckner’s eyes. He wasn’t as stupid as Lawrence had thought. At least he knew enough to fear someone who killed men as easily as cockroaches.

  “You’ve heard of him?” Bruckner asked.

  “I reckon everyone in Texas has heard of him.” With the hatred Herb Allen had engendered among the state’s criminals, if he didn’t travel with a posse of his own, Lawrence doubted he would have lived this long. “How’d you manage to owe him? Gambling?”

  “Yeah. The cards weren’t with me one night.”

  Probably a lot more than one night. He
rb Allen didn’t bother with small debts. He bought up others’ notes, then collected on them . . . one way or another. Owing a substantial sum to a man with Herb Allen’s reputation explained Bruckner’s terror, but it didn’t explain his belief that Harriet would be his salvation. “Why did you think Harriet would give you money?”

  Bruckner looked as if the answer should be obvious. “Because she was the richest woman in Fortune. Her grandparents practically founded the town. They were rolling in gold.”

  “Odd. She never struck me as wealthy.” If she’d had the fortune Bruckner claimed, Harriet would have had no reason to teach, nor would she have been so concerned about her siblings earning their keep.

  “She was rich back in Fortune.” Bruckner spat the words as Lawrence tied his hands behind him. “She was rich as can be. I don’t know what she did with it, but all that money should have been mine.”

  “What’s going to be yours is a good long time in a jail cell, unless someone in Ladreville decides to string you up.” Though he wanted to wipe away Bruckner’s dubious expression with the business end of a spur, Lawrence said only, “You could have killed thirty children. The town isn’t too happy about that. We’ve never had a lynching in Ladreville, but there’s always a first time.” The man blanched.

  Lawrence hoisted Bruckner onto his horse, ignoring the man’s complaints that he couldn’t ride in handcuffs. It would be uncomfortable, but Thomas Bruckner didn’t deserve comfort.

  Though he had planned to head back toward Ladreville and let Bruckner wait for the judge there, Lawrence reconsidered. It wasn’t only this miserable man’s existence that was at stake. Lawrence would take his chances with that. But if Thomas Bruckner were incarcerated there, Harriet would be faced with the knowledge that the man she had spurned, the man who had tried to kill her, was close by. There would be gossip—lots of it—mingled with the fear that he might escape. Lawrence shook his head. He couldn’t cause Harriet any more pain.