Scattered Petals (18 page)
There was no point in thinking of a career in medicine. Though it was true that her parents were not here to disapprove, Priscilla knew that becoming a doctor was no longer a possibility. She had new responsibilities to Zach and her unborn child. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t improve her days. When she’d wakened this morning, she had been filled with the conviction that she had to do something. The time she spent with Zach was surprisingly pleasant, but it wasn’t enough.
What she craved was the company of others. As Priscilla had feared, when she discussed having Thea spend days with her, Sarah had confirmed that Thea would throw a tantrum if she didn’t go to school like all the other big girls. The Ranger’s visit, even though it had frightened Priscilla initially, had been a welcome change from the boredom that characterized her life now that she’d finished rearranging the house. He wouldn’t be back, and there were no other women on the ranch, but there was a solution to her ennui. She didn’t have to stay home. All she had to do was muster the courage to go into town.
Two hours later, Priscilla hitched the horses in front of the mercantile. Though her palms were sweating inside her gloves, she tried to reassure herself. While it was true that this was the first time she’d visited Ladreville without Zach, there was nothing to fear. She was going into a store, not paying a personal visit. Besides, each time Priscilla encountered Isabelle, the lovely brunette urged her to come for a visit. It was time for that visit. Not only was Priscilla assured of a warm welcome at the Rousseaus’ store, but she would have the opportunity to learn whether Gunther had spoken to Isabelle.
Closing the door behind her, Priscilla looked around. As she’d expected, the mercantile was smaller than the stores she had frequented in Boston, and some of the merchandise, including a stock of braided lariats, was different from anything she had seen back East. Despite the differences, it had the same mixture of aromas, a blend of spices mingled with leather and grains. It also had the person she sought. Isabelle sat behind the counter, perched on a high stool, chatting with another customer. Though the woman’s back looked familiar, Priscilla could not place her.
“I can wait,” she said in response to Isabelle’s greeting. Priscilla was in no hurry, and the other customer had been here first. Though she headed toward the yard goods display, Isabelle had other ideas.
“Come over here.” Isabelle crooked her finger to emphasize the invitation, although her tone of voice was little less than a command. Isabelle, Priscilla had learned from their encounters at church, was a determined woman. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” Isabelle waited until Priscilla was near the counter before she said, “I’d like to introduce you to Yvonne Beauvais.”
When the other woman turned, Priscilla realized why she seemed familiar. Yvonne had been seated a few pews in front of her and Zach last Sunday. A couple inches shorter than herself, Yvonne had hair so dark a brown that it appeared almost black and sparkling brown eyes. Though her face would never be called beautiful and her figure was plumper than current fashion dictated, Yvonne’s sweet smile made an onlooker forget her physical shortcomings.
“Your arrival is providential.” Isabelle continued the introductions. “Yvonne has been married a little longer than you, and she was just now telling me how she longed for the company of another young married woman.”
Priscilla’s smile broadened. She’d come in search of one companion, but it appeared she might have found two.
“When I saw you and your husband in church last week,” Yvonne said in heavily accented English, “I told Neville we should invite you to join us for Sunday dinner. I’d like a new friend.”
“So would I.” Friendship was what she sought, not a spool of thread.
The three women chatted for the better part of a quarter hour, talking about everything and nothing, and for that space of time Priscilla was content. This was what she needed. If only it could happen more often. She thought of Yvonne’s invitation to Sunday dinner. Though an excursion with Zach would be pleasant, it would do nothing to relieve Priscilla’s boredom during the week. “Perhaps you’d also like to visit me. I don’t know what your house is like, but when Zach is gone, the ranch seems lonely.”
“Exactement!”
Yvonne nodded then repeated in English, “Exactly. Isabelle is too polite to complain, but I suspect she wishes I were a less frequent visitor here.”
Isabelle pursed her lips and feigned dismay. “I would never chase away a customer.”
“True. Unfortunately, I do not always make a purchase.” Yvonne’s eyes sparkled. “So, yes, Priscilla, I accept with pleasure. You and I have many things to discuss.”
Her spirits lighter than they’d been in days, Priscilla turned to Isabelle. “I know you have to work here, but you close the store at midday. Would you be able to join us for dinner? Perhaps you and Yvonne could ride together.”
“Magnifique!”
Isabelle clapped her hands, her enthusiasm telling Priscilla that, though she spent hours with customers, she still longed for quiet conversation with other women. It appeared it wasn’t only Priscilla who felt that need. Perhaps this was the reason Mama had belonged to so many organizations. A quilting club, another devoted to tatting, still another that knitted layettes for the poor—every day of Mama’s life had been filled with meetings. At the time Priscilla had not understood. She had enjoyed quiet times, reading, walking in the park, visiting Grandmama’s grave. But now, faced with days of silence, she thought she understood her mother’s craving for adult companionship.
“We wouldn’t have to rush our visit,” Isabelle continued. “Maman can mind the store on her own for an hour or so. That would give us time to talk.” Isabelle’s enthusiasm faded. One second she was smiling at both Priscilla and Yvonne. Then it was as if a cloud obscured the sun, sobering her expression. “Are you sure you want me to come? After all, you’re both newly wedded, and I’m . . .”
“Our friend.” Priscilla would not let Isabelle complete her sentence. She saw the loneliness in her eyes, the fear that she would forever be an outsider when young married women met. In that moment, Priscilla understood why Sarah was so adamant about matchmaking for Isabelle. She also knew that Gunther had not spoken to her. “Of course we want you to come,” Priscilla said with a bright smile. “Who else will keep us informed of all the latest news?”
Isabelle read the newspapers as soon as they arrived and could be counted on to recount the most important items. Just last week she had told Priscilla there was speculation that the delegation from Buffalo, New York, would not attend President Buchanan’s inauguration. According to the paper, they were disappointed that fellow Buffalonian Millard Fillmore had not been elected. Priscilla had scoffed when she’d heard the former president had run as part of the Know-Nothing party and had asked her friend how anyone could vote for a group with such an inauspicious name. Isabelle had simply shrugged her shoulders.
“Who cares about the news?” Yvonne looked at the stack of bolts behind Isabelle. “Who else can offer good fashion advice, like which flannel I should buy?”
“For a petticoat?”
“No.” Yvonne shook her head as color rose to her cheeks. “A layette.”
“You’re expecting!” Isabelle clapped her hands again.
Yvonne smiled again. “All the signs are there. I haven’t spoken to Granny Menger yet, and Mama said I shouldn’t tell anyone other than Neville, but I couldn’t wait to start sewing, and I didn’t want to lie about the reason for the flannel.” Yvonne paused long enough to chuckle. “Red flannel might make a fine petticoat, but I don’t want to swaddle my baby in it. Oh, I’m so excited.”
Isabelle hurried from behind the counter to hug her friend. “So am I. That’s wonderful news.”
“Indeed it is.”
For you
, Priscilla added silently.
“I feel awful.” Priscilla picked at the food on her plate. Since she’d caught cold yesterday, she’d had no appetite. Now all she wanted was to finish the meal so she could climb back into bed.
Reaching for his coffee cup, Zach smiled. “You’re the only woman I know who can look beautiful with a red nose.”
Priscilla couldn’t help it. She laughed. “And you’re the only man I know who’d lie about something like that.” She cringed each time she looked in the mirror. It wasn’t only her nose that was red. Her eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed too. She felt miserable, and she looked worse.
Zach shrugged, sloughing off her accusation of prevarication. “That lie, as you refer to it, got you to laugh, didn’t it? Besides, you’ll be over this in a few days.”
“I know.” Priscilla had spent enough time with Papa’s patients to know that this particular malady was not serious and that it would run its course in less than a week. “It’s not the stuffy head that’s making me feel awful. It’s having to cancel Isabelle and Yvonne’s visit.” She had spent days planning the menu, trying to make their first trip to the Lazy B a memorable one. “I can’t entertain guests when I feel like this.”
“There’s always next week.”
“You’re right.” A sneeze punctuated her words. “It is silly to be so disappointed. It’s just that I was looking forward to having company during the day.”
Zach looked up from his plate. Unlike hers, his appetite had not diminished. “If it’s company you crave, I can always stay home.”
Priscilla shook her head. Though the offer was generous, she could not accept it. “You’d never catch up if you did that.” In Priscilla’s estimation, running a ranch involved an incredible amount of work, and Zach was responsible for two. He’d regret even a day of idleness. “You’ve got fences to check and cattle to feed, but thanks for the offer. It was very kind of you.”
“My mama taught me to be kind to ladies.” Though his lips were still curved in a smile, Zach’s eyes were serious.
“This lady appreciates it.” Priscilla could not recall her father ever staying home to be with Mama when she suffered from the vapors or one of her other ailments. Perhaps that was because he knew Mama was surrounded by servants and that friends were as close as next door. Priscilla had no servants, only the woman who came two days a week to do the laundry, and her closest neighbors were two miles away.
“You never talk about your parents,” she said, abandoning the pretense of eating. Her head hurt so much that chewing was painful, and her stuffy nose robbed the food of its flavor. “Are they still alive?”
Zach eyed her plate, then taking care not to touch her, he reached for it and emptied the contents on his. “No point in wasting good food,” he said as he forked a potato. “Pa died when I was eleven, Ma about ten years ago.”
So Zach had lost both parents too. “I’m sorry. I would have liked to have met them.”
“They’d have liked you—especially Ma.” Zach cleaned his plate, then rose and gestured toward the notes Priscilla had written to Isabelle and Yvonne, advising them of her illness. He had agreed to deliver them as soon as supper was over. “I’d better head into town now. I don’t want to disturb the ladies too late.”
With the unfailing courtesy that seemed to be his hallmark, Zach pulled out Priscilla’s chair. She had taken only a few steps toward the sink when the world turned black and her legs began to crumple.
“Priscilla!” The next thing she knew, Zach had his arms around her.
It was only a matter of seconds before she was once more seated, but for the space of those seconds, she felt warm and comforted. Priscilla took a sip from the glass of water that he pushed toward her. “Thank you, Zach. I don’t know what happened.”
“I do.” Zach’s voice was as strong as his arms had been. He stood next to her, not touching but close enough that he could catch her if she tumbled off the chair. When she looked up at him, she saw concern reflected in his eyes. “You’re sicker than you realize. I’m going to get Clay.”
Priscilla took another sip of water. Though her head was still dizzy, she no longer felt as if she would collapse. “No. Honestly, Zach, it’s nothing serious. I just stood up too quickly. I’m fine now.” That was an exaggeration, but she needed to chase the worry from his eyes.
“I know I promised to deliver those notes, but I don’t want to leave you alone.”
His solicitude did more to clear her head than the cool water he’d insisted she drink. “I’ll be all right. I’ll rest until you’re back.” Priscilla rose, slowly and deliberately, waiting until her head stopped spinning before she took a step. Though her bedroom was only a short distance away and blessedly not up any stairs, she did not want to stagger while she walked. That would only increase Zach’s concern.
He stayed at her side, and though he was close enough that she could feel his warmth, he was once again careful not to touch her. When they reached her room, he remained in the doorway, watching while Priscilla removed her shoes and lay on the bed, pulling a quilt over herself.
“Promise you won’t move until I return.” Zach’s voice was husky with worry.
“I promise.” As his footsteps faded, Priscilla closed her eyes. Though her head still hurt, her heart was filled with an unfamiliar warmth as she realized what had happened. Zach had touched her, and it had not hurt. This was not like their wedding day. Tonight he’d done far more than slide a ring onto her finger. Tonight he’d wrapped his arms around her and practically carried her back to the chair. By all rights, she should have been terrified. She should have trembled the way she did when the nightmares overtook her. But she hadn’t. Instead, she had known that he meant her no harm, and she had felt safe and cared for.
Thank you, Lord.
The man looked as out of place as a silver bowl in a pile of muck. Isabelle tried not to smile as she watched Gunther stroll around the store as if he were searching for something. He wasn’t, of course. She could tell that by the way he never paused to touch anything. Besides, with the exception of Christmas shopping, he brought Eva with him. Today he was simply passing time until Frau Bauer left.
While she waited for her customer to choose between the red and the blue gingham, Isabelle considered the reasons Gunther Lehman was now pacing the floor. The last times he’d done this had been when he’d sought her advice on courting. First he’d come with questions about Sarah, then Olga. Who was next? And why did he think she was the town’s expert on wooing? Just because Pierre Erté and Jacques Gris had asked her father for permission to court her didn’t mean she knew more than any other woman in town. After all, her father had refused both men’s suits, claiming neither man was worthy of his daughter. That was just as well, for Isabelle could not imagine herself wed to either one. When she married, she wanted it to be to a man who was her friend as well as her husband, a man like . . . Isabelle flushed when she realized that the man who was wandering aimlessly through the mercantile fit the description. It was foolish to harbor such thoughts. Papa would never agree to her marrying a German. Besides, Gunther did not regard her that way.
“Can I help you find something?” Isabelle asked him when Frau Bauer had finally selected and paid for the blue gingham and they were alone in the store.
“Nein. Ja.”
Gunther shook his head, as if he weren’t sure which response was correct.
Isabelle repressed another smile. A friend didn’t laugh at her friend’s discomfort. Still, the fact that Gunther had reverted to German told her he was more flustered than usual. Whoever this woman was, he was worried about wooing her. As his friend, Isabelle was responsible for helping him. “We have some nice candies,” she offered. “I can make a pretty arrangement in one of these tins.” She held up a potential container.
“But I don’t need candy. I need . . .” He stopped abruptly, his face flushing.
“What is it you need?” Isabelle softened her voice.
“I need you.” Though she’d thought his face could not redden any more, she was wrong. He flushed, and—to her further embarrassment—so did she. “That is,” Gunther corrected himself quickly, “I need your help. I don’t know how to ask.”
Her help. Of course that was what he needed. It was quite silly—ridiculous, really—to have imagined he meant anything else. Isabelle came out from behind the counter so she could stand next to Gunther. Perhaps that would ease his discomfort. He often laughed at the fact that he was a full foot taller than she. Perhaps being so close would amuse him.
“We’re friends, Gunther. You can simply ask me. I’m curious, though. Who is she?” For once, there had been no rumors. Normally the gossipmongers hurried into the mercantile to discuss possibilities, but they’d been oddly silent since Olga Kaltheimer had left Ladreville.
Furrows appeared between Gunther’s eyes as he asked, “Who is who?”
“The lady you’re courting, of course. That’s why you came here, isn’t it? For advice or maybe a gift.”
“
Nein!
I’m not courting anyone.” Though his color remained high, Gunther shook his head vigorously.
The relief that flooded through her startled Isabelle by its intensity. It was foolish to feel as if a burden had been lifted. Gunther was her friend. He needed a wife. Isabelle knew that, just as she knew she ought to be encouraging him to find the perfect woman. Instead, she was almost grinning with pleasure that he had not chosen the next Frau Lehman.
“I’m not courting, but I still need your help,” he said.
“All right.” It was more than all right, but she wouldn’t say that. “How can I help you?”
“It’s Eva.”
The pleasure Isabelle had felt evaporated, replaced by alarm at the realization that his daughter was the reason Gunther had been so flustered. The little girl who tried so hard to be an adult was one of Isabelle’s favorite customers. “Is something wrong?”
“No, yes.” At least he was speaking English. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Gunther took a step closer to Isabelle, his eyes earnest as he began his explanation. “Zach said that Priscilla and Sarah said that every lady should know how to embroider and play the pianoforte and speak French.”
Eva did none of those. But, though Gunther appeared to believe that his daughter’s life would be ruined by her failure to master lazy-daisy stitches, Isabelle did not share his concern. “What Zach said is probably true in Philadelphia or Boston,” she agreed. “Life is different here. You know that, Gunther. Folks don’t put as much store in what Easterners call social graces. What’s important here is knowing how to survive a blue norther, when to plant the crops, and how to shoot straight. Don’t worry that Eva can’t play a Chopin prelude.”
Though she meant her words to reassure Gunther, they failed. He was clenching his fist and looked as if he wanted to pound the counter. Apparently thinking the better of that, he opened his hand and placed it palm down on the flat surface. “I do worry. I want my daughter to have every advantage.”
Isabelle waited until Gunther met her gaze before she spoke. “You’re a good father.” She accompanied her words with a smile.
“You think so?” Gunther seemed genuinely surprised by the compliment.
“I know so. Eva is fortunate to have you as her father.” While it was true that he wasn’t adept at braiding hair and needed advice about clothing suitable for a child Eva’s age, no one doubted the love Gunther lavished on his daughter.
“She needs more. She needs . . .”
“A mother.” Isabelle completed the sentence. “Everyone in Ladreville knows you’re looking for a new mother for her.”
Gunther shook his head. “Not today. Today I’m worried that my daughter cannot speak French. If she ever goes to Boston or Philadelphia, I want her to fit in.”
“Gunther,” Isabelle said as gently as she could, “they speak English there, not French.”
“I’m not a
Dummkopf
. I know that. But Priscilla told Zach that food has French names. I don’t want my Eva to look like a
Dummkopf
if she goes to a fancy restaurant
.”
Isabelle forbore mentioning that Eva was years away from eating in a restaurant, plain or fancy. To say that would only distress Gunther, and she couldn’t do that to her friend.
“How can I help?”
Gunther’s eyes brightened, and the look he gave Isabelle was so warm that she knew she’d do anything he asked.
“Teach her how to speak French, not just the names of foods, but all the words. And if you know how to do those other things—fancy stitching and the piano—could you help her with those too? I want my daughter to have every one of those things you call social graces. Don’t worry, though, I’ll pay you.”
It was the longest speech Isabelle had ever heard him make. It was also the most insulting. “Shame on you, Gunther Lehman. Friends don’t ask for payment.”
The sparkle fled from his eyes. “Then you won’t help?”
“I didn’t say that. I simply said there will be no further talk of payment.” Isabelle waited until he nodded in agreement before she continued. “We don’t have a pianoforte, so I cannot teach her that, but I can help with the others. You understand that these will not be formal lessons. We’ll be interrupted by customers, but if you agree, we’ll start after school tomorrow.”
“Danke schoen.”
Gunther’s smile radiated both relief and gratitude.
Feigning indignation, Isabelle wagged a finger at him. “It wouldn’t hurt you to learn some French. ‘Thank you’ is
merci beaucoup.
”
“Mercy bo what?”
“Coo.”
“Mercy bo coo.” Though his accent was deplorable, Gunther repeated the words.
“That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
“Nein.”
As the German word came out of his mouth, Gunther laughed. Isabelle joined him, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks. This could be fun.
Priscilla slid down from the horse and tied it to one of the hitching posts. Today, since she intended to buy only a few items, she’d decided to ride rather than bring the wagon into town, and Zach had brought her favorite mare from the Bar C. Though he had warned Priscilla about Charcoal’s aversion to water, Nora appeared to enjoy crossing the river, for she whinnied and tossed her head the instant they started descending to the Medina. Nora might be old, but she had not lost her zest for life.
The same could be said about the woman who greeted Priscilla.
“Good afternoon, my child.” Even if she hadn’t recognized the voice, only one person in Ladreville called Priscilla “child.” She turned and smiled at Granny Menger. As the midwife returned the smile, her eyes moved slowly, appraising Priscilla. “It’s good to see you out and about.”
“It was nothing serious. I just caught cold.”
Granny Menger nodded at the bench the Rousseaus had placed in front of their store. “Let me rest my bones a bit,” she said as she lowered herself onto the seat Isabelle claimed had been designed for husbands whose wives were inside the store. When Priscilla had taken the place next to her, Granny nodded again. “Your ailment may not have been serious, but that husband of yours was mighty worried.”
Though Zach had mentioned that he’d met Granny Menger when he delivered the notes to Isabelle and Yvonne, he had neglected to mention that he’d discussed Priscilla’s illness with the midwife. “I told Zach there was no reason to worry.”
“But he did. God chose a good man for you.”
“I don’t think marriage was part of Zach’s plan.” The instant the words were out of her mouth, Priscilla regretted them. While they were nothing less than the truth, there was no reason for Granny or anyone other than Zach, Sarah, and Clay to know the circumstances of their marriage.