Scattered Petals

by Amanda Cabot

  “Who is it, Margaret?” The older woman’s voice came from a distance, sounding slightly querulous, as if she resented her daughter’s absence, no matter how brief. Mrs. Early had been friendlier fifteen years ago, but there was no telling what the years had wrought.

  Margaret turned and raised her voice so it would carry clearly through the house. “It’s just some people passing through. They needed directions,” she lied. “I’ll be with you in a minute.” Though Margaret had closed the door behind them, she did not offer Priscilla a chair or even a glass of water.

  “Is your mother well?” Zach wondered if Mrs. Early’s health was the reason for the addition to the house. Her voice had sounded as if it came from that direction. Perhaps she could no longer climb the stairs.

  Margaret shook her head. “She hasn’t been the same since Pa died.”

  Though the last time he’d seen Mr. Early had been decidedly unpleasant, Zach had always liked Margaret’s father. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  A scowl crossed Margaret’s face. “There’s no point in pretending, Zach. You don’t care about me or my family or my son.”

  Zach felt as if the breath had been knocked from him. A son! Margaret had borne a boy, and he had lived. The child he’d dreamt about existed. “We have a boy?” He wanted to hear her say the words.

  Margaret shook her head. “We have no children. Hank and I have a son.”

  The joy that had surged inside him vanished. He had been wrong. The child he had fathered had not been born. Zach shuddered as he remembered the pools of blood that had ended Priscilla’s pregnancy. Had Margaret suffered as his wife had? He hoped not. Priscilla squeezed Zach’s hand, as if she knew the direction his thoughts had taken and wanted to comfort him.

  “Congratulations.” Somehow, he forced the word out.

  Margaret stared at him for a long moment, indecision apparent in the way she moved her lips without forming words. When she spoke, he suspected it was involuntarily. “Hank’s the only father Paul has ever known. Don’t try to change that.”

  As the import of Margaret’s words registered, Zach felt himself grow light-headed. Priscilla slipped an arm around his waist and drew him closer, as if she feared he would fall. He wouldn’t. He was simply giddy with the knowledge that the child was his. Zach closed his eyes for a second, letting relief wash over him. His nightmare had not come true. Despite her threats, Margaret had not rejected their child and had not chosen to end its life before it had been born. Thank you, Lord.

  The child, his son, Paul. What had once been a nebulous concept—a child—was now a reality. Zach took a deep breath, thinking of all that he’d learned today. He knew that his child had been born, that it was a boy and that his name was Paul. If that was all that he had learned, he would have been satisfied, but Zach also knew that Paul had had a father in his life, a man who had raised him as if he were his own child, a man who had done what Zach had been afraid to do. That was more than he had dared hope. God had blessed Paul.

  Zach raised his eyes to meet Margaret’s. There was only one more thing he wanted. “I won’t interfere. I came here to ask your forgiveness, not to claim my son, but I would like to see him.”

  Her eyes were cold, her expression wary. “Why should I trust you? Go back wherever you came from, Zach. I don’t need you, and neither does Paul.”

  “I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

  Priscilla tightened her grip on Zach’s hand, hoping to provide a bit of comfort. So much had changed in less than a day. Twenty-four hours ago he would not touch her hand; now it was firmly clasped in his. Twenty-four hours ago she had believed a man’s touch was something to be avoided; now she welcomed the feel of Zach’s skin next to hers. Twenty-four hours ago Zach had not been certain he had a child; now he knew. But that knowledge did not appear to bring him the comfort it should.

  “She hates me.” Zach muttered the words as he helped Priscilla mount her horse.

  Priscilla waited to answer until they were riding slowly through Haven, retracing the route they’d followed. She needed the time to collect her thoughts, to find the way to make Zach understand how a mother might feel. “I don’t think Margaret hates you. I think she was frightened.”

  Zach’s head swiveled and he stared at Priscilla. “Frightened of me? Why?”

  Before she could reply, Priscilla heard the sound of boys’ laughter and turned to see what had caused such mirth. She smiled at the sight. There were three boys, each carrying a fishing pole. Though she saw no sign of fish, they appeared not to mind. Instead, they were joking, slapping each other on the back, digging their toes into the dirt as if they had not a care in the world. If only Zach were so carefree!

  Priscilla turned to look at her husband. For some reason, he had averted his eyes. She could not, for something about the trio drew her. She watched them, her eyes widening as the boys neared. It wasn’t her imagination. She knew it wasn’t. “Zach,” Priscilla said, slowing Dancer so she could be certain. “The one in the middle looks like you. I think that’s Paul.” Though the boy’s hair was lighter than Zach’s, he had the same square chin with a cleft in it, and the way he swaggered reminded her of Zach on a good day.

  Priscilla heard the intake of breath and turned toward Zach. His face bore an expression of disbelief mingled with wonder. “He looks happy.”

  She nodded. “He should be. He has friends and parents who love him.”

  One of the boys nudged Paul and pointed toward Priscilla and Zach. “You folks need help?” Paul called out.

  Zach shook his head. “Just passing through.” More softly, so only Priscilla could hear him, he said, “We’d better leave.”

  Though she heard the regret in his voice, she knew he was keeping his word. No matter how much he wanted to meet the boy, he respected Margaret’s wishes. Zach would not interfere in his son’s life.

  “Why do you think she fears me?” he asked when they were outside the town.

  Priscilla reached over and laid a hand on Zach’s arm, hoping her touch would comfort him. “Because you are Paul’s father. Margaret protected him all these years. She created a new life for both of them. Now she’s afraid you’ll disrupt everything she’s worked so hard to build.”

  “But I wouldn’t. I told her that.”

  “She didn’t believe you.” That had been clear to Priscilla. Margaret was both fearful and distrustful. In her place, Priscilla might have felt the same. “She needs time to get used to the idea of you meeting Paul.”

  “Another fifteen years?”

  Priscilla heard the pain in Zach’s voice and wanted to assuage it. “You knew this might not be easy. We’ve come all this way, and there’s no reason we have to rush back. Why don’t we stay in the area for another day? That’ll give Margaret time to think. God may soften her heart.”

  “Judging from the way she acted today, it would take one of his miracles to do that.” Zach was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the town they’d just left. “Let’s find Hank. His father used to be the blacksmith. I imagine he is too.”

  He was. The stocky man with medium brown hair and dark brown eyes looked up from the horse shoe he’d been hammering, and Priscilla saw confusion cloud his eyes. “Zach? Is that you?”

  When Hank Morgan approached them, keeping the hammer firmly gripped in his hand, Priscilla cringed. Zach did not. Instead, he took a step toward the man who had raised his son. “Yeah, it’s me. I came to see Margaret, but when I heard you were married, I thought I’d deliver my congratulations in person—especially after she said you two have a son.”

  Perhaps it was the words. Perhaps it was the conciliatory tone of Zach’s voice. Priscilla didn’t know. All she knew was that Hank relaxed. He did not, however, relinquish his grip on the hammer.

  Zach took another step toward the blacksmith. “I think my wife would appreciate it if you’d put that hammer down.” This time, Zach’s words were laced with amusement.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” Hank said a
s he laid the hammer on a shelf. He gave her a long, appraising look, then turned to Zach. “So you found yourself a wife who’s almost as pretty as mine.” The blacksmith nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Webster.” His grin revealed uneven teeth and a missing incisor. Hank Morgan might be friendly, but he was far from handsome.

  “It’s my pleasure. I’m happy to meet one of Zach’s childhood friends.”

  The man shook his head. “Make no mistake, Mrs. Webster. Zach and I were never friends. He was the one the rest of us envied. Without even trying, he had all the girls flocking to him.”

  “But the prettiest girl in town married you.”

  Hank appeared to consider Priscilla’s words. “That she did.” He turned to Zach. “How long you fixin’ to stay in Haven?”

  “We’ll be heading out tomorrow morning.”

  Priscilla tried not to show her disappointment. She had hoped Zach would agree to give Margaret at least a day to change her mind.

  Hank tipped his head to one side in the way he seemed to do when he was contemplating something. “Well, then,” he said at last, “I reckon you better come to supper tonight.”

  “That’s mighty generous of you, Hank,” Zach said, “but Margaret was pretty clear that she didn’t want to see me again.”

  “You’ll be welcome for supper.” Hank pulled out his watch and checked the time. “I reckon I better go home now and let Margaret know we’re expecting company.”

  Despite Hank’s promise that they’d be welcome, the meal was strained. Though she insisted she was feeling well, Margaret’s mother seemed reluctant to eat. Instead, she kept her gaze fixed on Zach, as if worried he would steal her daughter or perhaps her grandson. Margaret said very little, and though Hank tried to initiate conversation, it was stilted. Only Paul appeared relaxed.

  “You’re the folks I saw this afternoon,” he said as Hank performed the introductions. When Paul grinned at Zach, the resemblance was noticeable, though Priscilla doubted the boy recognized it. Why would he, when he believed Zach to be nothing more than an old friend of his parents? Still, for Margaret’s sake, Priscilla knew it was best that she and Zach leave Haven in the morning. There was no need for others to spot the resemblance and begin to speculate.

  Like many boys his age, Paul’s primary concern was eating as much as he could in the shortest amount of time. It was only when dessert was served that he slowed down enough to talk. As he shoveled a piece of apple cobbler into his mouth, he turned toward Zach. “That’s a mighty fine horse you’ve got.”

  “You’ve got a good eye for horseflesh. Charcoal cost more than I wanted to pay, but I’ve never regretted the money. He and I’ve been together ever since I got out of the army.”

  Paul’s eyes widened, and Priscilla sensed that he was impressed with something Zach had said. “You fought the Mexicans? Were you scared?”

  “Every day.”

  It was clear from Paul’s expression that that was not the response he wanted. “My pa wouldn’t have been scared. He ain’t scared of nothing.”

  Hank tried to suppress a smile. “Now, son, that’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

  “Is not. Everybody knows you’re the bravest man in town.”

  “Maybe so,” his mother said sternly, “but no one likes a braggart. You may be excused if you take Grandma back to her room. Your father and I are going to have coffee with our guests.”

  As the boy raised an eyebrow, Priscilla imagined Zach had worn the same expression when he was Paul’s age. “Grownup talk, huh?”

  “That’s right.” Hank nodded toward the door. “Close it behind you.”

  When Margaret had poured the coffee, she sat down and placed her folded hands on the table. She gave Priscilla a quick glance before turning her attention to Zach. “I owe you an apology.” Though Margaret’s voice was low, it rang with sincerity. “I was unkind this afternoon.”

  Zach shook his head at the woman he had once considered marrying, the woman who had borne his child. “I deserved it. When I left, it was the act of a coward. I should never have abandoned you, but I did. I deserve for you to hate me.”

  Though Hank took a sip of the coffee, no one else seemed to have any appetite for the fragrant beverage. Priscilla wished she and Hank were not here. Surely this was a matter for Zach and Margaret alone, and yet Margaret had specifically requested that all four of them remain in the kitchen.

  “I won’t lie,” Margaret said, her expression solemn. “I did hate you for a long time. It took a good man”—she looked at Hank, her eyes filled with love—“a better man than I deserve, to show me that hatred hurt me.”

  Priscilla nodded slowly. She had learned the same lesson.

  “What we did was wrong.” Margaret emphasized the plural pronoun, and as she did, Priscilla watched Zach’s expression lighten. “We were wrong, Zach, but God turned our sin into something good. Paul is a wonderful child, and because you left me, I have the best husband any woman could want.”

  Hank reached across the table and clasped Margaret’s hands in his. “You know I always loved Margaret, but she didn’t even notice me when you were around.”

  Margaret’s face flushed. “I was foolish. I was attracted by Zach’s good looks; that was all. I liked the idea of a handsome man squiring me around.”

  “And no one would ever call me handsome.” Hank chuckled as he pronounced the words.

  Margaret continued the story. “When Hank offered to marry me, I was desperate. I married Hank to protect my child.”

  Priscilla’s eyes filled with tears as she realized how much she and this woman shared. “So did I. I was unwed and expecting a child.” There was no reason to tell Margaret and Hank the details. “That’s why I married Zach. Now I know it was part of God’s plan. I’m sorry Zach hurt you, Margaret, but I can’t be sorry that he didn’t marry you. If he had, I would never have met him, and I might have spent my whole life not knowing what it was like to love and be loved.”

  The look Margaret gave Priscilla said she understood and that she, too, was thankful Zach had left Haven. “God has a plan for all of us,” she said softly as she looked at Zach. “I’m glad you came back.”

  “I came for a reason. I wronged you, Margaret. Can you forgive me?”

  Margaret exchanged a look with her husband. “I forgave you years ago. The first time Paul called Hank ‘Pa,’ I knew I had been wrong to hate you and to blame you for what happened. Can you forgive me for being so hard-hearted?”

  “Of course.”

  Though Margaret and Hank offered them a bed for the night, Priscilla was glad that Zach refused. While it would have been pleasant to sleep on a bed rather than the ground, she wanted to be alone with him. They rode in silence until they reached a spot along the river that Zach claimed would be a good camping site. It was far enough outside town that Priscilla was certain this was not where Zach and Margaret had come that fateful night fifteen years ago.

  When he helped her dismount, Zach kept his arms around Priscilla, his eyes dark with emotion. “You were right when you told me I needed to come back.”

  Priscilla studied the face that she loved so dearly. Though familiar, it looked different than it had this morning. The features were the same—the straight nose, the firm lips, the cleft in the chin—but the tension that had always marked those features was gone. In its place, Priscilla saw peace. Thank you, Lord. Her prayers had been answered.

  “Are you sorry Paul will never know you’re his father?”

  Zach shook his head. “It was strange, sitting at the table and seeing a younger version of myself on the other side,” he admitted. “I have no doubt that Paul is my son, but I realized I wasn’t his father.”

  Priscilla’s face must have registered her confusion, for Zach continued his explanation. “When I left, I gave up that claim. Fortunately, God provided Margaret with a husband and Paul with a father. I hope Margaret will write occasionally and tell me how he’s doing, but if she doesn’t, I can live with that. No m
atter what, I won’t return to Haven. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone.”

  Zach stared into the distance for a moment, and Priscilla wondered whether he was regretting the fact that he would not see his son again. When he spoke, a smile colored his voice. “As we rode by my old house, I thought about something my mother used to say. She claimed life was a journey and that we all follow a road.” Zach chuckled at the memory. “I think I was about eight when she told me the story, so you can imagine how little I listened. Now I wish I could tell her that she was right. According to her, at first the road seems straight, but there will always be bends. Like the river.”

  Perhaps it was not coincidence that Zach had chosen a spot where the river made a lazy bend to the left. He smiled again. “Ma said that even though the turns take us in new directions, they’re easy. All we do is stay on the path. It’s the forks that are difficult, because we have to make a choice each time we come to one.” His eyes darkened as he added, “She warned me to choose carefully, because there’s no turning around. Once we’ve taken a step, it’s done.”

  A lump lodged in Priscilla’s throat when she thought of the forks she had chosen and the times she had wished she could undo the past. Zach’s mother was right; no one could turn back. All that was possible was to make the best of the chosen direction. As if he read her thoughts, Zach touched Priscilla’s lips, urging the corners to tilt up. “There’ve been more twists in the road than I expected, and I’ve stumbled more times than I can count, but I can’t regret a single moment, because they’ve all led me here.”

  He understood. This man who was so dear to her understood what she was feeling, for his words echoed her thoughts. “God has blessed me,” Zach continued. “Though I did nothing to deserve it, he’s brought me to you.” Zach touched her lips again, this time letting his finger trace their outline. “I love you, Priscilla. I always will.”

  A bird twittered; the breeze rustled the oak’s leaves, and a few yards away Charcoal and Dancer whickered. Though Priscilla was dimly aware of the sounds, nothing mattered but the love that shone from Zach’s eyes. It dissolved the lump in her throat and sent warmth surging through her. He was right. Everything that had happened had been part of God’s plan. The losses she had endured had made her stronger. Her suffering had given her the ability to help others. And through it all, God had been guiding her. This was where she was meant to be. This was the man he meant for her.