Tomorrow's Garden

by Amanda Cabot

  “There’s more, isn’t there?” When Harriet did not reply, Karl said, “If you’re worried about your brothers and sisters, there’s a place for them on the farm too. If Jake agrees to behave, he can work with the horses. I can teach the younger boys how to raise crops, and the little girl can learn to cook.”

  Mary. Her name is Mary. If Harriet had had any doubts at the wisdom of refusing Karl’s proposal, the way he had referred to her siblings, almost as if he were hiring servants, would have quashed them. “I’m sorry, Karl,” she said firmly, “but I cannot marry you.”

  Though his lips twisted in obvious disapproval, his voice was calm as he said, “I can see that this came as a surprise. I will let you think about my proposal. We will not speak of it for a month. By then you will have had time to reconsider.”

  Harriet shook her head, not wanting to encourage him. A month, a year, a lifetime. It would make no difference, and it would only be cruel to offer hope when there was none. “I don’t need more time.” Though it might be harsh, she had to tell him the truth. “I like you, Karl, but I don’t love you.”

  He nodded, as if he had expected that. “I don’t need love.”

  “But I do.”

  24

  Harriet turned, startled by the sound of the front door knocker. It was Saturday morning, and for once she was alone in the house, kneading bread dough. Recognizing Harriet’s refusal of help as a sign that she needed time to think, Ruth had taken Mary to the mercantile with her, while the younger boys had gone to Herr Goetz’s woodworking shop with Jake. Far from being annoyed by the boys’ interest, the carpenter had agreed that they could spend Saturday mornings helping him and Jake. Though Harriet suspected the help would involve nothing more than sweeping shavings and cleaning tools, she was grateful for the man’s willingness to include them. Lawrence claimed that a masculine influence was important, particularly for boys at what he called an impressionable age. If Herr Goetz could provide a positive example for her brothers, he would have Harriet’s deepest gratitude. Perhaps that, as well as Jake’s experiences, would keep them safe from temptation.

  But it wasn’t thoughts of the boys that tumbled through her brain like water over Gunther’s dam. It was worries about her future. Harriet didn’t regret refusing Karl’s offer of marriage, for she couldn’t wed a man she didn’t love simply to avoid being alone. What concerned her and what had kept her awake most of the night was the realization that the future she had dreamt of, a future that included a small house of her own and no responsibilities, had lost its appeal. What had once seemed like a blessed respite from the years of raising her siblings now appeared to be nothing more than an existence devoid of everything that made life worth living. Harriet had hoped that the light of day would clear her thoughts, but instead of the silence she craved, she was faced with a visitor.

  Hastily she washed the dough from her hands and walked to the door, wondering who it could be. Despite her increasing girth, Isabelle would be at the mercantile. Karl would not return, and it wouldn’t be Lawrence. Harriet was certain of that. She opened the door, her eyes widening at the sight of Frau Friedrich.

  “May I come in?”

  Harriet nodded and ushered the older woman into the house. “Certainly. You’re always welcome here.”

  Frau Friedrich’s blue eyes clouded with doubt. “I wasn’t sure after what happened last night.” As she took the chair Harriet offered, she nodded slowly. “Oh yes, Karl told me you refused his offer of marriage.” Frau Friedrich leaned forward. “He doesn’t know I’m here. Karl would probably be angry if he knew, but I wanted to see whether you would reconsider. My son may not be as handsome as the mayor and he might not appear exciting, but he’s a good man.”

  “Yes, he is.” Harriet would never dispute that. Karl was a good man; he simply wasn’t the right man for her.

  His mother gave her a wistful smile. “Otto and I love you. We often say you’re the daughter we prayed for. It simply took God a while to send you to us.”

  Blinking her eyes to hold back the tears, Harriet nodded, then leaned forward and clasped Frau Friedrich’s hand between hers. “I love you too.” If she could have chosen her parents, she would have picked Frau and Herr Friedrich. Though not outwardly demonstrative, their love for each other was evidenced in everything they said and did, proof for Harriet that love existed outside the covers of a book. When she’d been with them, she had been able to pretend that she was part of a real family, but now that relationship was in jeopardy. Harriet hated the thought that her unwillingness to marry Karl might estrange her from his parents.

  “Then, won’t you reconsider? You may not love Karl now, but love can grow.” Frau Friedrich smiled again. “I know, because it happened to me. Like many of the marriages in the Old Country, mine was arranged by my parents. Otto and I were practically strangers when we wed, but our parents knew each other and believed it would be a good match.” She nodded briskly. “It has been. Our parents planted the seeds, and Otto and I nourished them. It may have started as friendship, but now I love Otto dearly and cannot imagine my life without him.”

  It was a lovely story. Unfortunately, it would never be hers. Harriet tightened her grip on Frau Friedrich’s hand, willing the older woman to understand. “I wish I could say I believed I would learn to love Karl, but I can’t. I would not be a good wife for him.”

  “Don’t be hasty, my dear. Marriage is for a lifetime. Take time to think about it. That’s all I ask.” Frau Friedrich rose and drew on her gloves.

  When Karl’s mother had left, Harriet returned to the kitchen, wishing she had been able to give the older woman a different answer, knowing she could not. She was in the midst of giving the bread its first kneading when she heard another knock on the door.

  “You’re still alone.” Isabelle looked around as she entered the kitchen. “Good. I hoped I’d beat Ruth and Mary home.”

  The gleam in her friend’s eyes told Harriet this was not a casual visit. “Would you like to sit in the parlor?”

  “Oh no.” Isabelle pulled out a chair and settled herself by the kitchen table. “I can’t stay long. Maman needs me at the store, but I thought you might need a friend.”

  What Harriet needed was solitude, but that, it appeared, would not happen. “Did Ruth tell you I was baking bread?” she asked, trying to deflate Isabelle’s curiosity by reminding her of the time when she’d forgotten the second kneading and the bread had been tough.

  Isabelle shook her finger at Harriet. “I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work.” Her expression radiated sympathy as she said, “I heard Karl was here only a short time last night, and Madame Seurat said she saw his mother heading this way this morning. That can mean only one thing.”

  Harriet tried not to sigh at the evidence that the Ladreville grapevine was alive and healthy. “What it means is that the Friedrichs are my friends,” she said with a bright smile.

  Isabelle’s eyes narrowed. “Then you didn’t agree to marry Karl.”

  There was little point in pretending. “Did you think I would?”

  Isabelle shrugged. “I prayed you wouldn’t, but I wasn’t sure. Some days I don’t understand you.”

  “Some days I don’t, either.”

  Five minutes later, Isabelle had departed, promising to do her best to deflect rumors of Karl’s proposal. It might not work, but Harriet wanted to spare the Friedrich family embarrassment.

  The bread was kneaded and placed in pans for its final rising when someone knocked on the door. Not again. Had Ladreville’s citizens somehow decided that Saturday was the day for visits?

  “Pastor Russell.” Harriet stared at the tall, thin man, wondering why he had come. When he visited, it was always in the evening. “Is something wrong?” Harriet’s heart began to pound at the realization that the minister was Lawrence’s closest friend. Had something happened to Lawrence?

  Color rose to the minister’s cheeks. “No, no, there’s nothing wrong. I simply wanted to speak
with you.”

  He might deny it, but something was amiss. The man who was normally self-assured, the same man who had shown no fear when his congregation had turned against him, was decidedly uneasy.

  “Come in.” Harriet ushered him into the parlor. “How can I help you?” For there was no doubt that Sterling Russell needed assistance. His hazel eyes moved nervously around the room, as if he were seeking something, and she detected a slight tremor in his hands.

  Perched on the edge of the chair, Sterling cleared his throat. “I must confess that this is not the way I envisioned this moment. I always thought I’d be addressing an older man, not a young woman.”

  Though his words formed complete English sentences, they made no sense. “What is it?” Perhaps if she was direct with her question, she would receive a coherent answer.

  Sterling cleared his throat again. “It’s Ruth. Since your father is no longer alive, I’ve come to ask your permission to court her. I love Ruth, and I want her to be my wife.”

  Though his words lacked the eloquence of his sermons, no one could doubt Sterling’s sincerity. He loved Harriet’s sister. His voice held the same fervency that Frau Friedrich’s had when she’d spoken of her beloved Otto, the same warmth Harriet heard whenever Gunther addressed Isabelle. Unlike Karl, who had proposed marriage because his head told him it was a good idea, Sterling’s deepest feelings were clearly engaged.

  “Does Ruth know how you feel?”

  “I’m not certain.” Sterling had begun to relax, perhaps realizing that Harriet would not dismiss his suit out of hand. “I have not made a declaration, if that’s what you’re asking, but I also have not tried to hide my feelings. I don’t want her to be shocked when I ask her to marry me. Do I have your permission?”

  Ruth, little Ruth, would be a bride. Harriet tried and failed to picture her sister living in the parsonage. She was too young. Harriet shook her head slowly, admitting that at eighteen, Ruth was indeed old enough to marry.

  “Why not?”

  Harriet blinked at Sterling’s question before she realized she had shaken her head and he’d believed that was her answer.

  “I want my sister to be happy,” she said slowly, remembering Ruth on Christmas Day, how her face had glowed with happiness. That glow had come when Sterling had entered the house. “I believe you’ll bring her that happiness.” Harriet nodded at Sterling. “You have my permission to court Ruth.”

  “If you don’t get in this buggy of your own volition, I’ll drag you into it.”

  Harriet couldn’t help it. She laughed. “In your condition? I think not.” Though Isabelle’s babies weren’t due for another two months, she moved slowly and deliberately, and she was careful not to lift anything heavy, lest she harm the twins. Still grinning, Harriet climbed into the buggy. “What’s so urgent?” When she had returned from the midday recess, Eva had delivered a note, saying Isabelle wanted to take her for a ride after school.

  She had certainly picked the perfect day. A few lazy cumulus clouds, so white they almost made Harriet’s eyes hurt, drifted across the sky. And then there was the sky itself. Though normally a vibrant blue, today it seemed brighter than usual, almost the same shade as Lawrence’s eyes. Harriet bit the inside of her cheek, reminding herself there was nothing to be gained by thoughts of Lawrence. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “The bluebonnets are in bloom,” Isabelle announced as the buggy began to roll forward. “I didn’t want you to miss them, so when Priscilla told me about a wonderful spot, I decided we should go there.” She guided the horses into the river, the tightening of her grip on the reins and the straight line of her lips telling Harriet she did not enjoy fording water any more than Lawrence. Stop thinking about Lawrence, Harriet chided herself. Stop remembering that he promised to show you the flowers.

  “You can’t miss seeing our bluebonnets.” When they reached the opposite bank, Isabelle’s shoulders relaxed and she smiled again. “I know you said there were bluebonnets in Fortune, but ours are the best in the state.”

  Though Harriet wondered how Isabelle, who had never lived anywhere else in Texas, was so certain of the local flowers’ superiority, she forbore asking. “I’ve never been this direction,” she said as the buggy turned right. The Friedrich farm and Zach’s and Clay’s ranches were on the south side of the crossing, but Isabelle was headed north.

  “This is part of the Lazy B,” Isabelle said, referring to Zach’s ranch. “Priscilla said she and Zach want to build a new house in the place we’re going to. In the meantime, they use it for picnics.”

  “And they don’t mind us coming?”

  Isabelle laughed as they turned onto what appeared to be little more than a track. “They’re happy to share their flowers with us.”

  Though something in Isabelle’s tone told Harriet she had more on her mind than bluebonnets, she said nothing, knowing her friend would raise the subject when she was ready. Meanwhile, Isabelle’s attention was on the horses. Maneuvering carefully, she guided them through a small grove of trees to a clearing.

  Although she’d expected bluebonnets, Harriet could only stare at the sight of a meadow so carpeted with flowers that it appeared blue. “This is incredible.” She took a deep breath as she admired the flowers. “We had patches of bluebonnets near Fortune, but they were nothing compared to this.”

  While Isabelle tied the horses to one of the trees, Harriet climbed out of the buggy, then bent down to touch the delicate flowers. Though mostly blue, the tips of the blossoms were white with yellow highlights. “It looks like icing, doesn’t it? The flowers could be some kind of sweet—blueberry, I guess—with vanilla icing.” As Isabelle chuckled at the image, Harriet leaned closer, searching for a fragrance. Though the Fortune bluebonnets had had no distinctive perfume, these were so much larger and so much deeper blue that she thought they might possess a fragrance. They did not. Slightly disappointed, Harriet reminded herself that the absence of a scent did not in any way diminish their beauty. “Oh, Isabelle, this is wonderful.” She fingered one of the blossoms, reveling in the softness of the petals.

  “I know how you love flowers, so I thought you’d enjoy this.”

  “I do.” Harriet stood, gesturing toward the meadow. Perhaps a strong fragrance would have distracted her from the bluebonnets’ beauty. Didn’t the Bible claim that people were given different talents? Perhaps flowers were like them, some meant to dazzle the eyes, others to tantalize the nose. “There’s something magnificent, isn’t there, about wildflowers? We do nothing, and yet they’re there for us to enjoy.”

  Isabelle nodded. “They’re one of God’s gifts to us.”

  “As are your babies.”

  Placing her hand on her abdomen, Isabelle smiled. “The twins are kicking. I think that means they’re saying amen.”

  “Just think. Next spring you can bring them here. I can picture them crawling through the flowers. Be careful, though. They’ll probably try to eat them.” Mary had when she’d been an infant.

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Your babies eating bluebonnets?”

  “No.” Isabelle reached for Harriet’s hand as they walked toward the center of the meadow, their skirts brushing the flowers, setting off a ripple of blue. “Next spring is what concerns me. Everyone in Ladreville is excited about Ruth and Sterling’s betrothal.” Isabelle wrinkled her nose. “Everyone but you. You don’t seem happy. Are you displeased by the match?”

  “No.” How could Isabelle think that? “When Sterling asked permission to court Ruth, I gave it freely. I’ll admit I’m thankful they’ve decided to wait a year, because that will give them a chance to prepare for marriage. It’s a major step . . .” Harriet paused before adding, “for all of us.”

  Isabelle did not appear convinced. “Are you certain you’re happy about this?”

  Of course she was. A year would give Harriet time to plan the next stage of her life. “Only a selfish ogre would begrudge her sister happin
ess. I hope I’m not a selfish ogre.”

  “You’re not.” Isabelle squeezed Harriet’s hand in reassurance. “But something’s wrong. The sparkle has left your eyes.”

  Nonsense. “I must need to clean my spectacles.”

  Isabelle stopped walking and faced Harriet. “You’re trying to distract me, but it won’t work.” She gave Harriet a long look. “I doubt you’re bothered by the fact that Karl hasn’t resumed his courtship, so if you’re not concerned about Ruth, there’s only one reason I can find for your megrims: Lawrence.”

  “That’s preposterous,” Harriet sputtered. “Ladreville’s mayor has nothing to do with my moods.”

  A frown greeted her words. “You never were a good liar, Harriet. Your eyes darken when you’re fibbing. Don’t try to deny it. After all, I know you better than most people in town.” Isabelle took a step forward, placing a finger under Harriet’s chin and tipping it so that she looked directly into her eyes. “I’ve tried not to say anything, because I know you don’t like people interfering with your life, but I can’t let you go on this way. Face it, Harriet. You’re miserable without him. Why don’t you admit you love the man?”

  “Because I don’t.” Isabelle’s frown deepened, leading Harriet to add, “The truth is, I don’t know if I’m capable of loving anyone.” She hadn’t loved Thomas, and she certainly didn’t love Karl. As for Lawrence . . .

  “Quelle blague.” Isabelle shook her head when she remembered that Harriet did not understand French. “What a joke. You’re a loving, caring woman. You love your siblings. That’s why you’d do anything for them. You care about your pupils, and I don’t believe I’m stretching the truth when I say you love me. Why won’t you admit you love Lawrence?”

  “Because I don’t.” Dissembling would accomplish nothing. Isabelle was right; she knew Harriet well enough to recognize a lie. “Oh, I may have fancied myself in love at one point, but that was before he showed his true colors and proved that I don’t know the least bit about love. Oh, Isabelle, I want to be loved, not just love someone, but Lawrence is like all the rest. He thinks only of himself.”