Scattered Petals

by Amanda Cabot

  Priscilla opened her mouth and let the words tumble out. “Everything has changed. With the baby gone, there’s no reason for our marriage. You no longer need to protect me. Since ours was never a real marriage, it can be annulled. I think that’s what you should do.”

  As she pronounced the final word, Priscilla stared at the man she’d married, the man who had been unfailingly kind to her. While she’d been speaking, the blood had drained from his face, leaving it gaunt and gray. “Is that what you want?” Zach’s voice cracked as he spoke the words, and he sounded like an old man.

  Priscilla wouldn’t lie. She wouldn’t pretend an annulment was what she wanted. “It would be best for you,” she countered. “That way you’d be free to have a real marriage with a woman you loved.” Zach deserved to have children, and that was something she could not give him.

  As color began to return to his face, he narrowed his eyes and gave her a piercing look. “What about you? What would you do?”

  “I don’t know.” Once again she would not lie. In her thoughts, the future loomed before her, dark and empty. She couldn’t admit that, for Zach—kind, considerate Zach— would seize on it as a reason to remain in their sham of a marriage. He would insist on protecting her from an unhappy future just as he’d sought to protect her and the baby from shame. “It’s not important. What is important is setting you free.”

  His lips thinned, and Priscilla sensed that Zach was trying to control his temper. Why would he be angry? She was offering him his freedom. Surely that was what he wanted.

  “What if I don’t want to be ‘set free,’ as you put it?”

  Priscilla noticed that he did not say he had no wish for freedom; he’d simply posed a rhetorical question. “You don’t need to spare my feelings, Zach. I know why you married me.”

  “Do you?” There was no mistake. Anger tinged his words. “It wasn’t only to protect you. I wanted a home and a family. Those reasons are still valid.”

  She couldn’t let him entertain hopes that she could not fulfill. “There won’t be a family. I can’t . . . I won’t . . .” This was more difficult than she’d expected. He was supposed to be grateful and agree to her suggestion of an annulment. Why was he making her put her failure into words? Priscilla swallowed deeply before she blurted out, “I can’t be a real wife. I can’t give you children.”

  The pain she’d seen in his eyes returned. “We don’t need children to be a family.”

  “But, Zach . . .” Why wouldn’t he understand? Surely he didn’t want to remain locked in a marriage that gave him nothing more than a house and a mealtime companion.

  “Let’s not be hasty.” He spoke deliberately, as if he’d taken his own admonition to heart. “I’m in no hurry to be a bachelor again. The way I see it, our arrangement is working out fine.”

  “But, Zach . . .”

  He held up a hand, mimicking her earlier gesture. “Let me continue. I suggest we try it a bit longer—say another six months. Then if either one of us wants to end the marriage, we can. Does that sound fair to you?”

  It was more than fair, more than she’d dared hope for. Though another six months with the man who brought sunshine to the grayest of days would make their parting even more painful, Priscilla could not refuse. She wanted to stay—oh! how she wanted to stay—and he’d given her the opportunity.

  She had been wrong. God had not taken everything from her. He had left her with this wonderful man.

  It felt odd, like being a guest in her own home, but Yvonne would allow nothing less. She had arrived at the Lazy B an hour before, announcing that she had brought dinner for both of them and that Priscilla was to prop her feet on a hassock while Yvonne prepared the food. As was her wont, Yvonne chattered constantly while she unpacked the dishes she’d brought. The only time she seemed at a loss for words was when Priscilla asked why Isabelle had not accompanied her.

  “She was busy,” Yvonne said shortly, then proceeded to entertain Priscilla with a tale of Neville’s attempt to make breakfast. “The poor dear thought he would pamper me,” she said with a fond smile, “but he wound up creating more work than if I’d done it myself. Men are wonderful, but they should not be allowed in the kitchen. Now, come try my coq au vin.”

  The chicken was delicious, as were the onions and carrots that had simmered in the same wine sauce. It was only when Priscilla had eaten the last bite that Yvonne turned to her, her expression serious.

  “I’m sorry about what happened to you. I can’t imagine what I’d do if I lost my baby. I don’t think I could bear it.”

  Though most women worried that something might happen to their unborn children, Priscilla wondered whether Yvonne had a particular reason for her concern. “Didn’t Granny Menger say you were healthy?”

  Yvonne nodded. “She said I was like a mule.”

  “I thought they were known for being stubborn, not healthy.”

  “Granny said that too,” Yvonne admitted. “That I was stubborn.”

  Priscilla didn’t know the midwife well, but it sounded like a strange comment for her to have made. “Why would she say something like that?”

  Yvonne raised her shoulders in a classic shrug. “She was giving me a piece of her mind. She told me I was like a mule because I wasn’t speaking to Isabelle.”

  And that, Priscilla suspected, was the reason Isabelle had not joined them today. It wasn’t that she was too busy but rather that she hadn’t been invited. “Isabelle’s your friend. Why aren’t you two speaking?”

  Yvonne’s flush said she did not like being questioned about her actions. “Because of Gunther, of course. How could she consider marrying that man? I’d never do it.”

  “I imagine Neville is glad to hear that.” Priscilla tried to turn Yvonne’s obvious anger into a joke. “I don’t think bigamy is allowed in Texas.”

  Her friend glared at her. “You know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Ow.” Jean-Michel cradled his head in his hands, not daring to open his eyes. He could see sun trying to sneak its way under his eyelids, and experience told him that if he opened them, the pain would worsen. The best thing was to stay in bed until the pain and nausea subsided.

  He turned over, then yelped. What was that? It felt like a rock. What was a rock doing in his bed? Grudgingly, Jean-Michel opened his eyes, cursing when he realized that he was sleeping in a field. How on earth had he gotten here? He started to rise, cursing again when he discovered his feet were bare. He never removed his boots when he slept outdoors. Never. And where was the horse? Though some infernal insects were buzzing loud enough to wake the dead, he heard nothing that sounded like a horse.

  Struggling to a sitting position, Jean-Michel cursed again as dim memories of the previous night made their way into his brain. Two men. Talk of boots and saddles and . . . He felt inside his shirt. Nothing. The bag was gone. He redoubled his curses, punctuating them with loud shouts. How dare they do that? Those Dunkler brothers had taken everything—his money, his horse, his boots. They’d left him with nothing but a rock.

  Jean-Michel reached for the rock, intending to hurl it away, but his eyes narrowed when he saw that it was covering a piece of paper. He smiled. Those fellows had been all right, after all. The missing boots, horse, and money were one of those practical jokes folks in this country seemed to enjoy. He grabbed the paper, knowing it would be a note telling him where he could reclaim his belongings. This might not be the kind of joke he liked, but he wouldn’t argue with the men. A smart man left when he was ahead.

  As Jean-Michel unfolded the piece of paper and scanned the contents, his stomach began to heave. The likeness was good, amazingly good. What made him want to retch wasn’t his picture. It was the words that bracketed it: Wanted Dead or Alive. Zach Webster was going to pay for this.

  “You’re healing well, my child.” Granny Menger nodded as she completed her examination. “Another week and you’ll be able to go into town.” She led the way to the parlor and
settled into the rocking chair. “A bit of advice, though. You might want to avoid Yvonne for a while. She’s riled at you.”

  Priscilla wasn’t surprised, since Yvonne had left in a huff. “I only told her the truth: that I like Gunther and think he’d be a good husband for Isabelle.”

  “I happen to agree with you, but you and I are in the minority.” Granny began to rock. Though her foot set a vigorous pace for the old rocker, Granny’s coronet of braids did not so much as wiggle. “I haven’t seen the town this divided since everyone thought Léon Rousseau was stealing their valuables. If I weren’t the only midwife for miles, I doubt the French women would come to me.”

  That seemed like an extreme measure. “I know the history of Alsace, but I don’t understand why things haven’t changed now that everyone is an American.”

  Granny’s foot stopped rocking, and she shifted in the chair, as if uncomfortable with the conversation. “Folks have long memories. The French can’t forget that they were once conquered by Germans, and we Germans have the same memories of the French. It’s hard to imagine marrying someone you view as the enemy.”

  “That doesn’t make it right.”

  “I didn’t say it did. I simply told you why folks act the way they do. Now, tell me what you’re planning to do once you’re better.”

  “I don’t know.” Priscilla’s days had been empty before, but she’d consoled herself with the knowledge that they’d be filled once the baby was born. Now the future seemed bleak.

  “I’ve been praying for you,” Granny said. She gave Priscilla a smile as she added, “And for me. The Lord gave me an answer. He knows that I’m slowing down and need help, and he knows you need something to fill your life. I think he means you to be my assistant.”

  Priscilla blanched. A month ago, she would have been thrilled by the invitation, but that was then. “I can’t.”

  “Why not? I know you’re not afraid of blood, and you told me that you used to help your father on his rounds. This seems the perfect solution.”

  “I can’t.” Priscilla clenched the chair arms as she repeated her words. “Don’t you see? Each time I helped a woman deliver her baby, it would remind me of my child and all that I lost. It would be like ripping the scab off a wound. I’ll never get better that way.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” Granny began to rock again. “This might be exactly what you need to heal. Think about it. That’s all I ask.”

  Zach patted Charcoal as he let him into the corral. “Do you think she’ll like it?” he asked his horse. When Charcoal snorted, Zach chuckled. It was silly to be asking a horse a question like that, just as it was silly to be so nervous. He was acting like a schoolboy, trying to impress his sweetheart. Zach shook his head slightly. The analogy wasn’t far off the mark. He was trying to impress Priscilla, or at least bring a bit of happiness into her life.

  Zach reached for the gift and held it behind his back. Would she like it? That was the question. He hoped so, but he was no expert on women. Perhaps he should have bought a bauble at the mercantile. That might have been better. Perhaps he should discard these and try again on another day. But then how would he explain coming home early? Zach straightened his shoulders and strode forward. The only way he’d learn whether Priscilla liked the gift was to present it to her.

  As his feet covered the distance to the house, Zach’s mind whirled with memories of the night Priscilla had suggested they end their marriage. She had claimed it would be good for him, but how could it be when the very thought wrenched his heart? An annulment was not what Zach wanted; it was not what he’d promised God he’d do. What he wanted was a life with Priscilla, a life where somehow, someway he could show her she was loved. That was why he was here, gift in hand.

  He tugged the door open and looked around. The kitchen was empty. Had Priscilla gone into town? How foolish of him! He should have checked the barn to see whether the wagon was there. “Priscilla?”

  When soft footsteps told him she was in the house, Zach’s heartbeat returned to normal. “You’re home early,” she said as she entered the kitchen. Perhaps it was his imagination, but she looked particularly pretty today. The green dress made her eyes look greener than usual, and she’d done something to her hair. Zach couldn’t pinpoint the difference, but it looked softer.

  Furrows formed between Priscilla’s eyes as she looked at him. “Is something wrong?”

  “No.” Now that he knew she was here, nothing was wrong. Zach kept the arm that bore the gift behind his back. “I thought I’d spend more time with you.” The widening of her eyes told him she had not expected that. If that surprised her, how would she react when she saw the gift? There was only one way to find out.

  “I brought something for you.” He extended his arm, handing Priscilla the bouquet of wildflowers he’d picked. As he released the flowers, the petals began to fall off. Zach stared at the brightly colored petals that now lay on the floor. Oh no! He had to be the dumbest person on Earth, bringing a present that disintegrated the instant it was indoors.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that would happen.” His gift, what was supposed to be a loving gesture, had failed. No doubt about it. He should have gone to the mercantile and bought something. His sentimental idea had been stupid.

  To Zach’s amazement, Priscilla laid the remaining flowers on the table, then knelt on the floor and began to gather the petals into her hand. A broom would have made short work of it, but she was picking up each petal as if it were a pearl. When she’d retrieved them all, she rose and faced him. “Thank you, Zach. These are beautiful.” Ignoring the bouquet on the table, Priscilla smiled at the flower bits she had cupped in one palm.

  “There’s no need to spare my feelings. It was a dumb idea. What do I know about flowers?” When he’d started out this morning, he’d been thinking about how much Priscilla had enjoyed their picnic among the bluebonnets. The gift was supposed to remind her of that day. Now it would remind her of what an ignorant man she’d married.

  Priscilla raised her hand to her nose, as if checking the petals’ scent. There wasn’t much. Zach knew that. “They’re beautiful,” she repeated. “It’s a lovely gift. Thank you.”

  “But they’re dead.”

  “Not to me, they’re not.” Priscilla opened a cabinet and chose a shallow bowl. Placing the petals in it, she held the bowl out for his inspection. “See how pretty they look?”

  “It just looks like scattered petals to me.”

  Her smile was radiant. “Exactly. They’ll turn into potpourri.” Priscilla placed the bowl in the center of the table, acting as if he’d given her the most precious of gifts, when all it was were a few flowers that couldn’t hold onto their petals. She was being nice. Zach knew that. She’d seen his disappointment and didn’t want to hurt him further. That’s why she was pretending to care about those miserable petals.

  But when Priscilla looked up at him, Zach saw happiness shining from her eyes. Genuine happiness. Her voice was soft as she said, “When I was a child, my mother used to take a single flower to my grandmother’s grave. You can imagine how proud I was when she let me carry a rose one time. I don’t remember exactly what happened, but somehow I dropped it, and the petals fell off.” Priscilla’s smile was wry as she continued. “I was devastated as only a child can be, convinced that I had done something unforgivable, but Mama told me everything would be all right. We took the petals home and she put them in a bowl, explaining that they would change color and dry and become potpourri.”

  When Priscilla’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears, Zach knew her memories were bittersweet. “I kept the bowl in my bedroom. Mama told me that whenever I looked at them, I should remember how beautiful the flower once was and know that nothing is completely gone so long as we have memories. I’ve loved potpourri ever since.” Priscilla smiled again as she looked at the bowl on the table. “Thank you, Zach. You’ve given me back part of my childhood.”

  He blinked. Maybe he wasn’t a failure, after all. />
  14

  Priscilla ran her finger through the petals. Though they weren’t as fragrant as roses, it was still a pleasurable experience to touch them, which was one of the reasons she had placed the bowl in the parlor rather than keeping it in her room. This way, whenever she passed through the front room, she could take a short detour and stir the potpourri. Each time she did, her thoughts turned to Zach. It had been so very kind of him to give her flowers. Though the petals were now dried and shriveled, they reminded Priscilla not just of her childhood but of the picnic she and Zach had shared in the field of bluebonnets, and that made her smile.

  She touched the petals again. So many things made her smile these days, and most of them were connected to Zach. It was odd how everything worked out. Six months ago Priscilla had not met him, and now he was an important part of her life, perhaps the most important part. Six months ago she had not dreamt that the journey to Texas for Clay’s wedding would result in another wedding, hers and Zach’s. Six months ago love had been an abstract concept, something that others experienced. Now thoughts of love filled Priscilla’s days and nights, for though she’d once been uncertain, she now believed that what she felt for Zach was nothing less than love.

  At the sound of hoofbeats, Priscilla’s pulse began to race, and she hurried onto the porch, hoping Zach had come home early. He did that occasionally now, acting as if he were eager to see her, and each time her heart threatened to overflow with happiness. Those extra hours together formed a chain of precious memories that she clutched to herself when she wakened in the night, shaking as the nightmare invaded her mind and rendered sleep impossible. It was then that she would force the evil thoughts away, replacing them with images of Zach’s smile and memories of the kindness he showered on her. Thanks to Zach, the nightmares had diminished in both intensity and frequency.