Paper Roses (9 page)

“All we’re going to do today is straighten them a little.” On her last visit she had seen that both feet were extended with the toes pointing down. No one could walk in that position. She would start with the feet, trying to restore flexibility, then move to the legs themselves.

Sarah reached for Mr. Canfield’s left foot, sliding off the carpet slipper. This side of his body, she had observed, had suffered less damage than the right. She grasped the ball of Clay’s father’s foot, then slowly, gently massaged his toes. An intake of breath was followed by a groan. Though Sarah knew pain was an inevitable part of the process, she hated being the one to inflict it.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “It’ll get better. I promise.”

Mr. Canfield grunted. When he groaned again, Sarah replaced his slipper and turned her attention to his right foot. Though Clay had told her that his father had no feeling in his right side, she kept her touch soft, massaging the ball of the foot before moving toward the toes. But when she reached his toes, Mr. Canfield cried out in pain.

Sarah’s eyes widened. She hadn’t expected that. Her heart began to race as she considered the possible reasons. Surely it was a good sign that Clay’s father retained some feeling in his foot. Perhaps the healing had already begun. Sarah touched his toes again. Another cry confirmed that Mr. Canfield’s toes registered sensations.

An instant later, Martina raced into the room. “What’s wrong?” she demanded, looking at her employer. Clay’s father mumbled something that the housekeeper appeared to understand. Whatever it was, she was not alarmed. Still, she did not leave, and the look she gave Sarah was filled with distrust.

“That’s all for now,” Sarah told Mr. Canfield as she rose to stand at his side. “The next time will be a bit longer.” Sarah turned her gaze to Martina. “It might be best if you didn’t tell Clay what I was doing here.” Sarah doubted any doctor would appreciate a layman’s attempts to help, no matter how well-intentioned those attempts might be, and a man as riddled with guilt as Clay would see this as yet another proof of his failure. Since Sarah’s goal was to help, not hurt, that meant keeping him ignorant of her efforts until she knew whether they would succeed.

She touched Mr. Canfield’s hand. “I’ll be back. It’ll be easier next time.” That was a lie. The pain would grow more intense as they proceeded. “You’ll walk again,” she said softly. And that, Sarah was determined, would not be a lie. It was a promise. Somehow, some way, she’d make that promise come true.

4

“You see,” Isabelle said as she settled onto one of the store’s stools, “it’s not as difficult as you feared.”

Sarah nodded, grateful for the momentary lull and the opportunity to rest her leg. Today was her third day working at Rousseaus’ Mercantile, and though she was surprised at how quickly she had become accustomed to the routine, there was no doubt that standing for long periods took its toll on her leg.

“You’re the one who’s making it easy,” she told the woman who in a few days had become more friend than employer. Isabelle had displayed infinite patience, showing Sarah where everything was located, helping her with the prices, and seasoning almost every lesson with a heaping dose of humor. “I doubt I’ll ever be ready to handle the store alone.”

Isabelle wrinkled her nose. “This week I couldn’t do it alone, either, not with all the extra customers.” She gave Sarah a warm smile. “Maman and Papa are more pleased than they’ll ever admit that you brought us so much new business.”

Sarah felt a flush of pleasure color her cheeks. The steady ache in her leg hardly mattered when compared to the undeniable satisfaction of knowing she was useful. It was the first time in her life that she’d worked for wages, and while there was nothing glamorous about helping women select thread or pointing men toward the barrels of nails, it brought her more pleasure than playing a perfectly executed Chopin prelude or creating another still life watercolor.

Sarah’s smile faded as Isabelle continued. “Truly, it was God’s hand that brought you to Ladreville.”

“I thought it was Austin’s letters.” Perhaps if she turned it into a joke, Isabelle would cease what Sarah thought of as her “God talk.” The young woman’s unfortunate need to share her beliefs with Sarah was the one cloud in an otherwise sunny workplace.

“Who do you think was responsible for those letters?” Though Isabelle’s words were soft, there was no doubt they were deeply felt. “I heard Austin say God meant you to be the Canfield bride.”

Austin and his God had been wrong. The journey Sarah had begun, believing marriage to a lyrical Texas rancher was the solution to her and Thea’s problems, had ended with every hope dashed. There would be no wedding, for there was no bridegroom. There would be no happy ending in Ladreville, for Sarah and Thea were as alone as they’d been in Philadelphia. “There won’t be a Canfield bride now.”

Knowing there was nothing to be gained by arguing with Isabelle, Sarah tried to shift the conversation. “What was Austin like?” Perhaps it was foolish, like probing an open wound, but Sarah wanted to learn more about the man she had promised to marry.

“He resembled Clay, but—unlike Clay—I never saw Austin without a smile.” Isabelle’s own face was somber. “He didn’t always agree with people; in fact, he got into more than his share of arguments, but Austin could usually find a way to convince folks that his way was the right way.”

“And yet someone killed him.” Sarah took a deep breath, trying to block the image of a man who looked like Clay lying on the ground, a bullet in his chest. How she hated guns! Her father had used one when he had ended his life and Mama’s. She took another deep breath in an attempt to eradicate memories of that night from her mind, though she knew they were indelibly etched. “Austin’s death seems so senseless.” As senseless as her parents’. Papa was a clever man. Surely he could have found a way to rebuild their fortune. Surely he should have realized how defenseless he was leaving her and Thea.

Isabelle shook her head slowly, and for a second Sarah feared she’d read her thoughts. But when Isabelle spoke, she was referring to Austin. “The Bible teaches us to trust that good can come out of even the worst of days. Do you remember the story of Joseph?” Without waiting for Sarah’s reply, Isabelle continued. “His brothers were so jealous of him and his coat of many colors that they sold him into slavery. No one could claim that was anything other than evil, and yet good came from it. Joseph was able to save many people—including his own family—during the great famine. He wouldn’t have been in Egypt—and he couldn’t have done that—if his brothers hadn’t tried to hurt him.”

Though it had been a long time since Sarah had read the Bible, she remembered that story. It was one her mother had told her when she’d been a small child. At the time, it had seemed a wonderful tale. Today it did not. “As I recall, it took many years before the good things happened. I can’t wait that long.” She doubted Clay could, either. The man had suffered so much.

No benefit could come from Austin’s death, just as there could be no good outcome from her father’s sins. Because of Papa, two people were dead, and Sarah and Thea’s lives had been changed irrevocably. She could not undo that. All she could do was hope that they’d traveled far enough to escape the shame. She would be careful that no one in Ladreville ever learned what had happened last September. That way Thea would not suffer ostracism.

Sarah shifted on the stool, trying to find a comfortable position at the same time that she sought another topic of conversation. Speaking of Austin had done nothing to deflect Isabelle’s fervor. The way she spoke of God and the way she acted made it seem as if he were a real person, a part of her daily life, not someone who resided in a church and was to be worshiped once a week. Sarah had never met anyone who acted that way about God, and it made her uncomfortable.

“Is it always this warm?” Mama had claimed that the weather was a safe subject.

Isabelle gave Sarah a long look, her expression telling Sarah she recognized the ploy and was ignoring it. “I don’t mean to preach,” Isabelle said with a self-deprecating smile, as if she realized how often she’d done exactly that, “but faith is what has helped me through difficult times. When we were . . .” She bit off her words as the door opened.

The man who entered the store stood a few inches shorter than Clay, with broader shoulders and more heavily muscled arms. When he removed his hat, revealing hair that was almost as dark brown as his eyes, something about him tugged at Sarah’s memory. That was odd, for she knew she’d never met him.

“Good morning, David.” Isabelle’s voice was once again cheerful. Whatever she had been on the verge of revealing had been relegated to the recesses of her mind. She gave Sarah a questioning look. “Have you met?” When Sarah shook her head, Isabelle began the introductions. “May I present David Bramble?”

As Isabelle pronounced the name, Sarah realized why the man had seemed familiar. Now that she knew to look for it, the resemblance to his mother was clear. Though his face had more masculine contours, David had inherited Mary’s nose and chin.

“I reckon it’s my pleasure, Miss Dobbs,” he said when the formalities were complete. “Ma claimed you was the prettiest gal to enter Ladreville in a long time, and she don’t exaggerate.” David gave Sarah an appraising look before he added, “It’s plain as the rattles on a snake why Austin picked you for his bride.”

Sarah bristled, even though she suspected he meant the words as a compliment. It wasn’t the first time a man had regarded her as if she were an object for sale. That had happened far too often in the years before Papa’s death when she’d been an eligible heiress, albeit one with a limp. That should not have caused her hackles to rise. Perhaps it wasn’t the appraisal but the subtle alteration in David’s tone when he spoke of Austin, almost as if he begrudged Austin his mail-order bride. Whatever the cause, Sarah felt a moment of discomfort. Mindful of her manners, she bit back the caustic reply that had been on the tip of her tongue, saying only, “I’m deeply indebted to your mother for agreeing to care for Thea.”

“It’s good for her.” There were no undercurrents in David’s voice when he spoke of Mary, simply filial love. “I ain’t seen Ma this happy in a long time.”

As the conversation turned to ordinary things and Sarah’s uneasiness faded, she told herself it had been nothing more than her imagination. Certainly Isabelle appeared to have no reservations about their customer, for she bantered with David, treating him as if he were a friend as well as the source of potential sales, and seemed genuinely regretful when he left.

“Papa will need to order more poplin.” Isabelle made a note as she returned to her seat behind the counter. So far this afternoon had been the busiest of the week, with three women waiting outside when the store reopened after the midday break. They’d soon been joined by half a dozen others, none of whom left with empty arms.

“I was surprised at how many yards Frau Reismueller bought.”

“You’re responsible.” Isabelle chuckled. “When you mentioned that Madame Ladre had chosen that fabric for her new frock, every woman in town wanted it, especially the Germans. Frau Reismueller was probably ensuring that no one else could have a dress with as many flounces as hers.”

“I’m glad to make the sales, but I don’t understand the reasoning behind them.” Far from wanting the same pattern as another woman, when she and Mama had frequented the dressmaker’s shop, they’d been careful to ensure that the bolts of fabric were recent arrivals and that no one else in Philadelphia would have gowns like theirs.

Isabelle shrugged, as if the logic should be apparent. “Some people call it the curse of Alsace that its citizens came from two countries who’ve been at war more often than not. According to my parents, there have been problems for centuries. Maman and Papa had hoped the differences would be put aside when we emigrated here, but that hasn’t happened.” Isabelle sighed. “In good years, we see nothing more than rivalry between the French and the Germans. Most of the time it’s friendly. People brag about who has the largest crops or who ordered a pianoforte. In bad years, there has been outright hostility with fights. My guess is this is a good year, and Frau Reismueller plans to make a fancier dress than Madame Ladre.”

“Are you boring Sarah with tales of our ancestors’ battles?” The door to the Rousseaus’ residence opened, admitting Léon. Though he’d begun working on Karl Friedrich’s farm, today had been a half day for him, and he’d joined the family for dinner. His refusal to explain the reason he could not work in the store until late afternoon had convinced Isabelle her brother was courting someone, and she’d spent most of the meal teasing him. Now it appeared Léon was returning the favor.

“No, you foolish boy. If you’d listened, you would have realized I was talking about recent events.” She turned to Sarah. “Beware of my brother. He likes to eavesdrop.”

“Only when there’s something interesting to learn. Which, I must admit, is a rare occurrence when you’re concerned.”

As Isabelle made a moue, Sarah grinned. This was a continuation of the sparring that seemed to characterize Léon and Isabelle’s conversations. Unlike the hostilities Isabelle had been describing, the siblings’ taunts were good-natured.

“I always wondered what it would be like to have a brother,” Sarah said. “Now I know.”

“They’re horrible. Truly dreadful pests.” Isabelle winked at Léon.

He twisted his mouth into a grimace. “Little sisters who follow you everywhere and want to play with your friends are the worst creatures God put on this earth.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow, disputing Léon’s assertion that being followed was the worst thing possible. “Did Isabelle ever waken you by trying to pull your eyelids open? That was one of Thea’s favorite tricks.”

As his hands covered his eyes in apparent fear that Sarah might attempt to demonstrate her sister’s technique, Léon groaned. “No.”

“You were fortunate. It took me a full week to teach Thea that a young lady does not do that.”

Extending a hand to his sister, Léon said, “I retract every nasty thing I’ve ever said about you. You’re a perfect sister.”