Scattered Petals (8 page)

He nodded slowly, his eyes filled with compassion and understanding. “One thing I’ve learned is that we cannot change the past. We have to make our peace with it and learn to live with our mistakes.” He closed his eyes briefly, and Priscilla sensed that he was praying for forgiveness for his mistakes, whatever they might have been. When he opened his eyes again, he said, “I do not believe your journey was a mistake. Clay needed to have Patience’s family here.”

“Thank you for saying that, Mr. Webster. I wish I could believe I wasn’t wrong in insisting we come, but . . .”

“Believe it.” He interrupted Priscilla with a command that surprised her by its intensity. “Believe it. One more thing, if it’s not too much of an imposition.” A wry smile twisted his lips. “Would you call me Zach? No one’s ever called me Mr. Webster. When you do, I keep wondering who you’re addressing.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. . . . Zach. I should have remembered that Texas is not as formal as Boston. Please call me Priscilla.”

His smile broadened. “Good night, Priscilla. Sleep well.”

She did. For the first time, there were no nightmares.

“I saw Martina’s hand.” It was late the next morning, and the family had returned from church. While Sarah and Thea played with her doll in one corner of the room, Clay took a seat across the table from Priscilla as they all waited for Martina to prepare dinner. “I’ve never seen a burn heal so well.”

Priscilla nodded. “Papa was excited when he discovered the value of using cold water instead of butter or lard. That was one of the things he wanted to discuss with you while he was here.” As she pronounced the words, Priscilla realized that the pain that accompanied every mention of her parents had lost its sharp edge. For the first time, she’d spoken of her father without triggering the anguish of knowing she’d contributed to his death and the horrible, aching sense of emptiness that his and Mama’s absence brought. She took a deep breath, trying to understand what had happened. A second later Priscilla shook herself mentally. Whether it was caused by the realization that she retained sweet memories or by the comfort Zach had tried to provide didn’t matter. What was important was that the healing had begun.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Clay winked. “Next thing I know, you’ll be taking over my practice.”

Priscilla shook her head. Though becoming a physician had once been her dream, she no longer dared to dream so boldly. “I don’t think so.”

Clay nodded. “I could use an assistant, but the truth is, I doubt Ladreville is ready for a lady doctor. The townspeople are still trying to overcome centuries of mistrust between the French and the Germans. I don’t know what they’d do if I brought you with me.”

That was the argument her father had used when she’d spoken of her aspirations. Priscilla managed a smile. “They’d probably run in the other direction.”

Clay nodded. “They might.” As the aroma of roast chicken wafted in from the kitchen, announcing that dinner would soon be ready, he reached into his pocket. “The reason I asked to talk to you wasn’t just to discuss Martina’s burn. I want you to have this.”

When he opened his hand, tears welled in Priscilla’s eyes. Clay was offering her the filigree locket that had once been her sister’s. “Are you certain?”

Clay nodded. Rather than hand it to her, he placed the locket on the table and let Priscilla pick it up. She blinked back tears at the realization that he was ensuring he did not touch her.

“It’s yours, Priscilla,” Clay said. “I had planned to return it when I sent back Patience’s fancy dresses, but it was missing for a while.”

The tone of his voice told Priscilla there was a story about the misplaced locket, but the expression in his eyes warned her not to ask. “I don’t know how to thank you.” She cupped her hand, enjoying the sensation of the metal warming in it. “This is more than a pretty piece of jewelry to me. I feel as if you’ve given me part of my family.” Priscilla looked up at Clay. “Patience probably told you that our parents gave us each a locket on our eighteenth birthday. Hers was oval, mine heart-shaped. What made them special was that Mama and Papa put their pictures on one side, ours on the other.” Priscilla fingered the delicate filigree, remembering how Patience had claimed that her locket was more beautiful than Priscilla’s. It had been Mama who had soothed Priscilla by declaring she had always wanted a heart-shaped pendant. “You know the bandits took all of our jewelry. It may sound strange to you, Clay, but I regret the loss of the miniatures more than the locket itself. And now you’ve given them back to me.” Her hands trembling slightly, Priscilla opened the locket. “They’re gone.”

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t look inside.” Clay shook his head, as if regretting his omission. “I don’t know where the pictures are. If I had to guess, I would say they were destroyed. Again, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Though he had given her none of the details about the time the locket had been missing, Priscilla knew that Clay was not responsible for the loss of the miniatures. “I’m happy just to have this,” she said, sliding her sister’s remaining piece of jewelry into her pocket. As beautiful as it was, Priscilla would never wear it. Like the potpourri that had provided so much comfort as a child, it would be enough to touch it occasionally.

Clay rose and walked to the window, then returned to his chair. If she hadn’t known that he was not a man given to nerves, Priscilla would have thought he was nervous. He cleared his throat, another uncharacteristic action, before he said, “I don’t want you to think I’m rushing you, but I want you to know that whenever you decide you’re ready to return to Boston, I’ll accompany you. You don’t need to fear traveling alone.”

For a moment Priscilla was so startled by the notion of traveling East that she could only stare at her former brother-in-law. “That’s a very generous offer, Clay,” she said when she could once again form words. And it was, for the trip would take him away from Ladreville and his patients for far too long. “Thank you, but I won’t be returning to Boston.” As odd as it would probably seem to Clay, until he had raised the subject, Priscilla had not thought of going back to Massachusetts. She had been living her life one hour at a time, not thinking beyond the next. But the decision, though it might appear hasty, felt right to her.

Clay’s eyes widened with surprise. “What will you do?”

“Ask my father’s attorney to sell the house and do whatever is necessary to turn the practice over to Papa’s assistant.” The words came out with confidence, as if she’d always known them.

“Will you stay in Ladreville?”

For the first time since Clay had initiated the conversation, Priscilla faltered. “I’m not sure.” It would be difficult, living here where everyone knew what had happened to her. Perhaps she should make a clean break and move somewhere else. The question was, where. “I don’t know. All I know is there’s nothing for me in Boston.”

Clay nodded slowly. “Sarah felt the same way when she came here.” But, unlike Sarah, who had been destitute when she arrived, Priscilla would have no financial worries. The sale of her parents’ home and possessions would provide enough money for her to live comfortably for the rest of her life.

“This is your home for as long as you want to stay.” Clay gestured around the spacious house. “You know we have plenty of room for you here, but if you’d prefer a house of your own, we can build one.” He rose and looked out the window again, as if considering a site. “There used to be a cabin out there. We could rebuild it.”

Once again, he was overwhelming her with his generosity. Though Zach had claimed that she was family, the ties no longer existed now that Patience was gone. Yet Clay was treating her like a true sister, not merely a former sister-by-marriage. “That’s very kind of you. I would like to stay here a while longer.” Once again the decision felt right. “Some days my thoughts whirl faster than a cyclone, and I can’t make sense of any of them.” It was not a comfortable feeling. “I’d like to stay until I feel more like myself.”

Clay settled back into the chair opposite her. “That’s a common reaction. I’m telling you that as a physician, not just a friend,” he said with a small smile. “Even though you’re not a patient, I’ll give you the same advice I give them. Don’t try to force yourself to make a decision. Give yourself time.”

“What do you want?”

Gunther Lehman practically snarled the words. The tall, blond man was in a foul mood. Zach had known it from the minute he set foot inside the mill and saw the miller stomping the floor as if his feet were meant to crush the grain.

“I have some rye to be ground, but I’ll come back later.” Much later, when he’d given Gunther’s mood a chance to improve. Normally the miller was even-tempered, more given to joking than grousing, but today, it appeared, was not a normal day.

“Hand it over. You’re here, aren’t you? You might as well stay.”

Though Zach could think of far more pleasant things to do, he surrendered the sack of rye, watching while Gunther poured it into the hopper, his movements uncharacteristically jerky. “You might as well spit it out,” Zach told the man who’d become his friend.

“What are you talking about?” When that friend wheeled around, he looked decidedly unfriendly with his face flushed, his fists clenched as if he intended to punch someone.

Zach hoped he wasn’t that someone. “Whatever’s sticking in your craw,” he said in his most conciliatory tone. “Something’s got you madder than a scalded boar.”

Gunther ran a hand through his hair. Judging from the spikes, Zach guessed this was not the first time he’d done that. “A man’s got a job to do. You’d think the others would help.”

“You’re looking for a helper?” Gunther hadn’t mentioned being overworked, and the mill didn’t appear busy.

“
Nein
. The mill is easy. Everything’s easy compared to raising a child.”

So that was the problem: Gunther’s daughter. The miller had been raising Eva alone since his wife had died in childbirth a few years earlier. Unwilling to offer advice when he had no experience with children, Zach kept his mouth shut. Eventually when the silence grew uncomfortable, he asked, “Is something wrong with Eva?”

“Herr Kaltheimer sent Olga to Fredericksburg to live with his brother,” Gunther said as if that explained his dilemma. “He claims they need her to help with the new baby. Bah! The truth is, he doesn’t want her to marry me.”

Gunther’s words were starting to make sense. Like everyone else in Ladreville, Zach knew the widower was looking for a new mother for his daughter and that Olga was the latest candidate for that position. If Olga had been sent away, Gunther’s plan would have hit a snag or perhaps an impenetrable barrier. The question was, why? Zach had heard of no problem. Instead, the rumor mill had been speculating on the date of Gunther and Olga’s nuptials.

“Did you talk to Herr Kaltheimer before you started courting his daughter?” Though Gunther was not an impetuous man, he had started courting Olga soon after Sarah had refused him. Perhaps he’d been so eager that he’d neglected important formalities.

“
Ja.
I’m not a
Dummkopf
. He agreed then, but now he says I have to wait, that Olga’s too young to marry.” Gunther raked his fingers through his hair again. “I don’t understand. I know Herr Kaltheimer wouldn’t want his daughter to marry a Frenchman, but I’m German. What could the problem be? Eva’s a good girl, and I’m a good provider. It’s true I work long hours, but Olga would have a fine house. She could order anything she wanted from the mercantile.”

As he pronounced the last word, Gunther flushed and turned his back, as if he didn’t want anyone to read his expression. How strange. But then, this whole conversation was strange. Though Zach was hardly an expert on matrimony, he couldn’t help noting that Gunther made marriage sound like a business arrangement. Unlike Clay and Sarah, who were visibly in love with each other, not once had Gunther mentioned his feelings toward Olga Kaltheimer or hers toward him. It appeared that he wanted to continue the Old Country tradition of marrying for economic or other practical reasons rather than love.

“I don’t see that you have any choice,” Zach said at last. “You’ll have to wait until Herr Kaltheimer gives his approval.”