Tomorrow's Garden (10 page)

“Jake!” Harriet glared at her brother. “That’s enough. Now, come with me. You have an apology to deliver.”

The apology was mumbled and so obviously insincere that Harriet wanted to strangle Jake. Still, he had said the words. Now he would begin to work off his debt.

His face still flushed with anger, Karl shook his head. “The boy needs more than that. If he were my son, I’d give him a thrashing he wouldn’t forget.”

Jake leaped forward, his fists clenched. “You’re not my father and you won’t ever be. Do you hear me? Never!”

8

“What’s wrong?” Isabelle was more than a little out of breath as she grabbed Harriet’s arm and tugged her to a stop, and though she was dressed as fashionably as ever, a lock of hair had escaped from her intricate coiffure and hung down her back.

Though Isabelle had posed the question, Harriet could have echoed it, for it was unlike her friend to be anything but perfectly groomed. Instead, she asked, “What makes you think something’s wrong?”

Laying her hand over her heart as if to slow its beat, Isabelle shook her head. “Isn’t it obvious? You were practically running down Rhinestrasse.”

“That was a brisk walk,” Harriet countered.

“Maybe for a horse. You looked as if you were trying to escape someone. I tell you, Harriet, when I looked down the street and saw you, I was so frightened that I thought about calling the sheriff.”

Harriet blanched. She didn’t need Lawrence seeing her when she was in this state. It was bad enough that Isabelle had found her. “I’m sorry you were alarmed. I’m perfectly safe.” She gestured toward the empty street. “As you can see, there’s no one else here.” That was part of Rhinestrasse’s appeal. At this time of day, there were few pedestrians and even fewer carriages. Harriet could walk to her heart’s content without having others join her or comment on her pace. A brisk walk, she had discovered years before, did more than almost anything to clear her mind. And today she needed that. That’s why she had been pacing up and down the street since school had ended. Unfortunately, that had not resolved her problem.

“So, what’s wrong?” Isabelle could be like a terrier, unwilling to let a subject go once she’d dug her teeth into it.

“Now, child, no one needs to know what happened.”
Her grandmother’s words emerged from the recesses of Harriet’s mind.
“If you don’t admit it, it’s nothing more than a rumor.”
But Grandma was wrong. Denying something didn’t make it disappear, and lying to a friend was just plain wrong. Harriet turned to Isabelle. “It’s Jake. I don’t know what to do about him.”

Isabelle released her grip on Harriet’s arm and slid her arm around her waist, giving her a quick squeeze. “I heard there was some problem at the Friedrichs’ farm.”

This was what she had feared: public knowledge of Jake’s misdeeds. “Are there any secrets in Ladreville?”

“Not many. It was the same way in the Old Country. Maman says it’s human nature to gossip.”

Gossip or not, the problem remained. Though Harriet could have continued walking for another hour, she stopped at a fallen log and suggested they sit. When Isabelle gave a grateful sigh, Harriet knew she had been right in thinking her friend wasn’t accustomed to exercise. “I don’t understand,” she admitted. “My brother has always been a good boy. There were the normal childhood pranks, of course, but nothing malicious until a year ago. Jake found a new friend then, and he was a bad influence.”

“Is that the reason you left Fortune?”

One of them. “How did you guess?”

Though Isabelle had been staring into the distance, she turned to face Harriet, her expression solemn. “My family had a similar experience in the Old Country. Léon got into trouble and would have been jailed if we hadn’t left. That’s why we came to Ladreville.”

“Léon a troublemaker? I would never have thought that.” Harriet had met Isabelle’s brother on several occasions and had found him to be a serious, hardworking young man.

“Maman said it was a stage of growing up. She must have been right, because once we arrived here, there were no further problems. He still plagues me with his teasing, but I don’t think that will ever end.”

Harriet nodded. “I don’t mind the squabbling, because I know it’s normal, but I worry about Jake. He’s like a stranger, filled with hatred.”

“Perhaps it’s only anger.” Isabelle gave Harriet’s hand a quick squeeze. “Sometimes they’re hard to separate.”

Isabelle’s touch warmed her, and the concern she heard in her voice told Harriet she had not been wrong in confiding in her. Isabelle understood; she wanted to help. “You could be right,” Harriet admitted. “Jake does seem angry most of the time. I’ve asked, but he won’t tell me why, and recently he’s gotten this notion that I’m going to marry Karl Friedrich. Even when I told him I wasn’t planning to marry anyone, I could see he didn’t believe me.”

Isabelle shrugged, as if to say she’d expected that. “Boys his age aren’t logical, and they don’t trust anyone older them. Besides, there’ve been some big changes in Jake’s life. You brought him to a new town, so he has to make new friends.” Isabelle watched as a mockingbird spotted a squirrel and chased it out of the tree. “That’s hard enough, but now he’s working on the farm too. Did you know that Léon used to work there?” When Harriet shook her head, Isabelle continued. “It didn’t last very long. Though Léon didn’t say much, I imagine Karl is a stern taskmaster. Is Jake used to that?”

Harriet hadn’t considered that possibility. “I don’t suppose he is. I’ve tried my best, but I’m not as strict as I ought to be, either at home or at school.”

As the corners of Isabelle’s lips turned up, she said, “Eva’s happy about that. She says you make it fun to learn.”

That was the first good news Harriet had heard all day. “I wish I could believe that, but no matter what I do, other than Eva, the young children seem afraid. I don’t understand it.”

Once again Isabelle’s expression sobered. “They are afraid. They’re afraid of you.”

“Of me? Why?” Lawrence had claimed that was the case, but Harriet hadn’t wanted to believe it. “What am I doing wrong?”

Her friend shook her head. “It’s not what you’re doing. It’s the way you look.”

Harriet tried not to sigh. Once again Lawrence had been right. He had said she looked forbidding. That must be what Isabelle meant. “I’ve been trying to smile more often.”

“It’s not that.” Isabelle studied her gloves as if the buttons contained the mysteries of the universe. At length, she looked up and met Harriet’s gaze. “There’s no easy way to say this, but your clothing and the way you wear your hair can seem . . .” She paused, then said rapidly, “You appear
un peu
intimidating to small children.”

A little. If Harriet had had any doubts that Isabelle was uncomfortable with the subject, her use of a French phrase would have quenched them. Though she knew Isabelle spoke French with her family, she was normally scrupulous about not lacing her English conversations with French words.

“What you really mean is more than a little, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so. Eva said the others think you look like a scarecrow.” When Harriet’s back stiffened, Isabelle laid a cautioning hand on her arm. “Now, don’t be offended. It’s not hard to fix. If you come to the mercantile tonight, we can get started.”

“I’m not sure.” Harriet had more important things to worry about than her hair and clothing, things like her brother’s anger.

Isabelle raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to win over your pupils or not? The choice is yours.”

When phrased that way, there was only one answer. As Harriet nodded, Isabelle gave her a triumphant smile. “I’ll see you at 7:00.”

There was no reason to feel as if she were facing a firing squad. Isabelle was her friend. She wanted to help. But no matter how often she tried to reassure herself, Harriet could not dismiss her apprehension. It felt as if a hundred butterflies had taken residence in her stomach, all beating their wings furiously as they tried to escape.

“Come in.” Lighting the way with a lamp, Isabelle led Harriet through the mercantile to a back room. Filled with cartons and crates, this was obviously the stockroom. It was also more private than either the main part of the mercantile or the Rousseaus’ home on the second story. Someone—perhaps Isabelle—had cleared a space for a wooden chair and a small table. The latter held a second lamp along with a comb, brush, and assorted hairpins.

“We’ll start with your hair,” Isabelle said as she gestured toward the chair. A moment later, Harriet’s spectacles carefully placed on the table, Isabelle had removed the pins and was brushing Harriet’s hair. “This is beautiful,” she said softly. “You shouldn’t hide it.”

Harriet didn’t hide her hair; she merely arranged it in the simplest style possible. “I don’t have time to fuss with it.”

“Nonsense. That might have been true a few years ago, but even Mary is old enough to dress herself.” Isabelle continued drawing the brush through Harriet’s hair, straightening the long locks. “Once you heat the curling iron, it will take less than ten minutes.”

“Curling iron? We don’t own one.”

A low chuckle greeted her words. “Isn’t it fortunate that we just happen to sell curling irons?”

In far less than ten minutes, Isabelle had coiled Harriet’s hair at the base of her neck, leaving a few strands free. Those strands were soon curled. “How does that feel?”

“Strange. I’m not used to hair touching my face.” When Harriet turned her head, the curls bounced against her cheeks. It was a distinctly odd sensation, almost as if she were a different person. Harriet patted the back of her head. Normally she pulled her hair into a tight bun at the middle of her head. This one seemed looser, and it was positioned far lower. “Are you sure the bun is secure?”

Isabelle’s eyes sparkled with mirth. Though butterflies were still rampaging through Harriet’s stomach, filling her with a combination of dread and anticipation, her friend was clearly enjoying herself. “It’s called a chignon, and yes, it’s secure.” Isabelle took a step backward, tipping her head to one side as she studied Harriet. “
Magnifique
,” she announced.

When Harriet reached for her spectacles, wanting to see if she looked as different as she felt, Isabelle shook her head. “Not yet. Let’s get you out of that dress.”

Harriet looked down at the medium brown calico that had been new five years ago. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Indeed not . . .” Isabelle pursed her lips in feigned indignation. “If you want to look like a mouse. A dead mouse, that is.” Without waiting for a reply, Isabelle crossed the room and opened a tall cabinet. “Your hair is so pale that you ought to wear bright colors, like this.” She pulled out a garnet red gown. “Let’s see if it fits.”

Even without her spectacles, Harriet could see that this was finer than anything she had owned. Not only was it made of broadcloth, which Ruth had told her the fashion books referred to as “lady’s cloth,” rather than the sturdy calico of her weekday clothing, but the skirt was fuller, requiring extra yardage. The extravagance did not end there. It had slightly puffed sleeves, and the bodice boasted tiny tucks and delicate ivory buttons. “Where did you get this?” Harriet asked as Isabelle slid it over her head, carefully protecting her new coiffure. Though the mercantile carried a few ready-made bodices, she had not noticed any frocks.

“I made it.”

Isabelle acted as if that were nothing, though Harriet knew how many hours of work must have gone into the tucking alone. “When did you do this?” She had only agreed to consider new clothing this afternoon.

“I started the first day I met you.” Isabelle’s laughter filled the room. “Gunther tells me I meddle too much, but I was determined to see you in a pretty gown.”

“This isn’t just pretty. It’s beautiful.” Harriet’s hands caressed the fabric, delighting in its soft texture. Calico might be more practical, but there was no denying the pleasure of the almost silky weave. “I’ve never had anything this fine.” Grandma had claimed there was no reason to waste money on furbelows, and all too soon, there had been no money to waste. Harriet began fastening the buttons.

“It’s about time you thought about yourself.” Isabelle’s voice held a slight hint of asperity. “Ruth and Mary are more stylishly dressed than you.”

“Not anymore.” Harriet pivoted on her heel, enjoying the sensation of the soft fabric swirling around her. “I don’t know how to thank you, Isabelle. This fits perfectly.”

Her friend’s smile broadened. “Wait until you see how you look.” As Harriet replaced her spectacles, Isabelle dragged a full-length looking glass from behind the cupboard. “What do you think?”

Harriet stared at the mirror, astonished by the sight. Those were her spectacles and her eyes. That was her nose, and yes, that was her mouth, but everything else looked different. The hairdo, which felt so strange, made her look younger, more approachable. Perhaps it was the ringlets, perhaps the color of the dress. Harriet wasn’t certain. All she knew was that her face seemed softer, her cheeks rosier. “Is this really me?” As she asked the question, she pictured Lawrence. What would he think? Would he still call her forbidding? Harriet shook her head slightly, trying to chase away her errant thoughts. There was no reason to care about Lawrence’s opinion. She was doing this for the children.

Isabelle gave her a quick hug, then took a step back to admire her handiwork. “This is the way you were meant to look.”

Harriet’s gaze returned to the mirror, for she was almost mesmerized by the transformation. “I can’t believe the difference. I feel like Cinderella getting ready for the ball.”