Paper Roses (26 page)

“Gunther.” She was talking about Gunther, not Clay.

“Of course. Who did you think I meant?” Isabelle smiled as she reached for a brioche. “I know it’s supposed to be a secret, but everyone in Ladreville knows he’s courting you.”

“Gunther Lehman told people he’s courting me?”

Isabelle smiled again. “Why do you think he comes to see you so often?”

The haircut, flowers, poetry. It was what she had feared. “I thought he was lonely. I thought he wanted company and conversation.”

“He also wants a wife.”

Another fence. Clay balled his fists, wishing he could wrap them around the neck of whoever was responsible.

“It’s all right, Shadow,” he said, trying to keep the horse from sensing his mood. But it wasn’t all right. He couldn’t blame Karl for being angry. He was angry too. The truth was, Clay was angry most of the time. Part of the reason was the ranch. The Bar C was too much work for one man. Pa and Austin had shared the responsibility and hadn’t hired a foreman, believing it an unnecessary expense. Now Clay was paying the price for that frugality. While Miguel was a good man, he wasn’t a leader. That meant that the ranch hands looked to Clay for every decision. For Pete’s sake, they couldn’t even check fences without him telling them to.

He’d hated the ranch work and the way it consumed his entire life, even before he’d started taking over Herman’s practice. But now that he spent at least half of each day treating Ladreville’s ill, the ranch was suffering, and so was Clay. He couldn’t continue this way.

Then there was Sarah. Though she said nothing, he knew what was happening. How could he not, when every time he went into town, some busybody greeted him with the news that Gunther was courting her? He shouldn’t care. He didn’t care. Of course he didn’t care. It would be good for Thea to have a father, and any man would be lucky if Sarah were his wife. That was no reason to be angry. After all, it wasn’t as if Clay had any interest in assuming those roles. He didn’t. It was simply that he knew she could do better. Much better.

“What’s wrong? You look like one of those thunderheads you’re always warning me about,” Sarah said that evening. They’d made a habit of remaining at the table for a few minutes after supper. Thea and Pa were at the opposite side of the room, Pa listening to Thea chatter about whatever subject caught her fancy, giving Clay and Sarah a chance for a private conversation. Normally he enjoyed the time. Tonight he did not. Tonight he did not want to talk about what was wrong.

“There’s nothing wrong, unless you count another cut fence, three chickens being stolen from the Friedrichs’ farm, and the fact that a day has only twenty-four hours.”
Plus,
of course, the fact that Gunther Lehman is courting you.
The sweet smile that had accompanied Sarah’s words faded, and Clay had the sinking feeling he’d voiced his last words. Surely he hadn’t.

“I wish I could help you.” Sarah pushed her coffee cup aside, as if the coffee had suddenly lost its flavor.

No one could help. Clay knew that, just as he knew he should say nothing. Instead he heard himself ask, his voice full of sarcasm, “Why don’t you follow your friend Isabelle’s example and pray for me?” Austin always insisted that God answered prayers. Clay knew better. He also knew he’d made a mistake, for when he looked at Sarah, he saw tears in her eyes.

“It wouldn’t help.” She spoke so softly that he could barely hear the words. “God doesn’t listen to me anymore.”

11

“Man, Papa Clay.” Thea dropped the reins to point at the stranger. “Man coming.”

Instinctively, Clay grabbed Nora’s reins and slid his arm around Thea while he castigated himself for his inattention. He’d been so intent on watching her that he hadn’t seen the rider approaching. Tall in the saddle with hair so dark that it might be black, the man was a stranger, and strangers, Clay knew, could be dangerous. Though the dust that covered this one indicated he’d traveled a long distance, a supposition that his weary posture confirmed, all that could be a ruse.

“Lesson’s over,” Clay said, lifting Thea from Nora’s back and keeping her in his arms. A man could not be too careful. “What brings you to these parts?” While he uttered the greeting, Clay assessed the stranger again. He appeared to be about his own age, yet the expression in his eyes, an expression that reminded Clay of the look he’d occasionally seen on his father’s face, made him seem much older.

“Is this Robert Canfield’s spread?” The stranger’s voice cracked a bit, perhaps from disuse. That could happen to a man, particularly when he was traveling. The wind and dust took their toll on vocal cords, as did days with no human contact.

“It is.” Clay confirmed the assumption. “I’m Robert’s son Clay. Who might you be?”

“Name’s Zach. Zach Webster.” The name meant nothing to Clay, a fact that appeared to surprise the stranger. He paused, as if considering whether to elaborate, and closed his eyes briefly. When Zach Webster spoke, there was no mistaking the pain in his voice. “Your pa and I were together in Perote.”

Startled by the reference to the notorious Mexican prison, Clay tightened his grip on Thea, relaxing only when she squirmed and batted his cheek in protest. It had been over thirteen years since his father had been incarcerated. Though Pa had recounted many of his war experiences, he’d rarely spoken of those months in Perote. Judging from Zach Webster’s haunted expression, he’d been equally unable to forget what had happened there.

“Has Robert pass . . . er, is Robert still here?”

Zach’s words reminded Clay that he’d not responded. It wasn’t often that he found himself speechless, but it wasn’t often that someone from his father’s past appeared at the Bar C. “Pa’s alive, but I’m afraid you’ll find him much changed. He suffered an apoplectic attack a year ago.”

“Dirty, Papa Clay. Man dirty.” Thea, who’d been squirming in Clay’s arms, pointed at the visitor.

“You’d be dirty too, if you rode a horse as far as this man has.” Clay gave Zach a brief nod. “The least I can do is offer you a bath and a hot meal.”

“I’d be mighty obliged for both, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to see Robert first. When God sent me here, he told me to hurry, that I was needed.”

God sent him? Clay raised an eyebrow. Though the sincerity in his voice told him the man believed it, Clay knew better. God had abandoned him and Pa. He was hardly likely to send an angel—or even a man—to help them. As for being needed, what the Bar C needed was a foreman, not someone who’d remind Pa of the horrors he’d endured during the war.

When Thea batted Clay’s cheek again, demanding to be put down, he shook his head. “We’re going inside to Pa.”

The relief on Zach’s face told Clay how important seeing Pa was to this man. For the first time, the visitor smiled. “That’s a mighty cute daughter you’ve got. Robert used to say that the prospect of grandchildren was one of the things that got him through the dark days.”

“She’s not my daughter.” Though the response was curt, there was no reason to explain Thea’s presence. Zach Webster would be on his way tomorrow morning. He had no need to know that Sarah and Thea were here because Austin had sought to give Pa the grandchildren he longed for.

“This way.” Clay lowered Thea to the floor as soon as they entered the house, letting her scamper toward Pa’s room, while he led their visitor at a more sedate pace. As he’d anticipated, Pa was seated in his chair. What he hadn’t expected was Sarah, perched on a hassock in front of Pa, apparently massaging his leg.

“Sarah!” The rush of anger surprised Clay with its intensity. How dare she defy him? Hadn’t he specifically forbidden her to hurt his father?

She turned, startled. “I didn’t expect you.”

“Obviously.” Before Clay could say more, he heard Pa mutter something and realized he was staring at Zach Webster. “Pa, do you remember . . .”

“Zach.” Though the name was garbled, it was intelligible. Never taking his eyes from Zach, Pa gripped the arms of his chair and tried to rise, only to fall back in frustration. Clay stared, amazed. This was the first time in over a year that his father had attempted to stand.

“It’s good to see you, Robert.” Without waiting for an invitation, Zach pulled a chair close to Pa and shook his hand. “I haven’t been able to forget all those stories you told about the Bar C. They made me want to see it for myself.”

Though his smile was crooked, there was no doubt about it. Pa was grinning. Even Thea’s antics had not coaxed this much of a reaction from him.

“The truth is,” Zach continued, “I’ve got a hankering to settle down. I was hoping you might have a place for me here.”

A place? Clay took a deep breath, trying to settle his thoughts. The last thing the Bar C needed was a freeloader, but he couldn’t ignore Pa’s obvious pleasure at being reunited with this man. Clay turned to Zach. “You ever herd cattle?” It was a long shot, but he had to ask.

To Clay’s surprise, Zach nodded. “Most every day for the last six years. I was foreman of the Crooked L.”

If it was true, those were impressive credentials. Though not as large as the Bar C, the south Texas ranch was known as a well-run spread. If Zach could manage the Crooked L, he might be able to solve one of Clay’s problems. “You came here on the right day. It just so happens that I need a foreman,” Clay admitted. “Let’s give it a month’s trial. If we’re both happy at the end, you’ve got a job.”

Clay extended his hand and was startled when Zach ignored it, instead bowing his head. “I thank you, Lord, for bringing me here,” the Bar C’s new foreman prayed. “Thank you for leading me to my friend. I ask you to show me your plan and to guide us all as we journey forward.”

As Zach prayed, Pa closed his eyes, his face more at peace than Clay had seen it in months. Clay swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump that had taken residence in his throat. Though it might not be God’s hand that had brought Zach Webster here, it was a mighty strange coincidence that the man had appeared one day after Clay had challenged Sarah to pray for him.

It was a decidedly unorthodox solution and only temporary, at best, but it just might work. Sarah smiled as she turned back to face the children. It was Friday afternoon and classes in the French church were about to end.

“Next week’s lessons will be held in a different location.”

Pierre Berthoud raised his hand. “We know, Miss Dobbs. The German church.”

“No.” She shook her head, giving the pupils another smile. “We’re going to have school outdoors.” Gasps and a few low comments greeted her words. “It will be a little different. For one thing, we’ll sit on blankets under the oak trees.” She wouldn’t have a blackboard, and there would be new distractions for the children, but surely the result would be an improvement over the current situation. The grins that lit her pupils’ faces told Sarah they approved of her plan.

“You all know those two big oaks near the river, the ones on the other side of Rhine from the post office.” Heads nodded. “That’s where class will be. I hope to see you there.” As they filed from the school, murmurs turned into animated discussion.

“You seem pleased.”

Sarah looked up as Clay’s voice echoed through the schoolroom. She’d thought she was alone, for Thea was outside playing with Eva while Sarah gathered the materials she’d need for next week’s classes. She’d been humming, unconcerned that her humming was as tuneless as her singing. Had Clay heard her? Sarah hoped not. To cover her confusion, she spoke quickly. “I didn’t know you were going to be in town today.”

Clay shrugged. “Patients are never predictable. As long as I was here, I thought I’d offer to take Thea home with me.” He walked toward the front of the room, studying the children’s paintings that she’d hung on the walls, nodding his approval.

“She’ll ride on Shadow? Oh, Clay, you know Thea will love it.” There were few things that pleased her sister more than horses and Clay’s company.

“Now that that’s settled, tell me what’s making you smile so much.”

Seeing you.
But she couldn’t tell him that, for that might lead to the admission of how often she thought of him. The simple fact was, thoughts of Clay were never distant. Sarah had been surprised when he’d said nothing about her trying to help Pa walk, for she’d seen his anger. Fortunately, that anger had faded quickly, melted by Zach’s presence, and Clay had acted as if nothing was amiss.