Tomorrow's Garden (16 page)

Harriet looked around, wondering how she could help Frau Friedrich. Since one end of the quilt already boasted a tablecloth, and delicious aromas emerged from the large pots of food placed on it, it appeared little remained to be done.

After she’d given Mary silverware and asked her and Ruth to roll it in napkins, Frau Friedrich smiled at Harriet. “You help simply by being here,” she said as she patted Harriet’s arm. “For many years I prayed for a daughter, but God did not bless me with one. I think he was waiting, knowing he was going to bring you into my life. I thank him every day.”

Tears pricked Harriet’s eyes, and she dashed them away. “I’m honored,” she said as she hugged the older woman. “Now, let me do something. I need to set an example for the others.”

Half an hour later, Karl and Herr Friedrich returned, trailed by the Kirk boys. “Has anyone seen the mayor?” Karl asked. “It’s time to get started.”

Harriet didn’t know why she was surprised at the thought that Lawrence would be here tonight. Admittedly, he had said nothing about attending the dance, but he was the mayor. It made sense that he would have to make an appearance. She looked around, searching the crowd for the tall blond-haired man who inexplicably figured in so many of her thoughts. “There he is.”

He was making his way to the center of the field. Clad like the others in his Sunday finery, Lawrence was an imposing figure with his broad shoulders and confident stance. The way the crowd parted before him reminded Harriet of Moses and the Red Sea. If Moses had been half as imposing as Lawrence, it was no wonder his people had followed him.

When Lawrence reached the center of the field, he raised his voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please.” Though he was not shouting, the crowd grew silent, and everyone turned to watch him. “I have been told that it is customary for the mayor to open the festival with a speech.” He paused, his expression droll as he added, “A lengthy speech.” When a few people tittered, Lawrence smiled. “I thought it was time to start a new tradition, one of brevity. And, so, with no further ado, let me welcome you to Ladreville’s fall festival.” He looked around the field, his eyes pausing occasionally as they rested on a familiar face. “I’m here as your mayor.” He laid his hand on his six-shooter. “I trust the town will have no need to seek me in my capacity as sheriff.” The titters became laughter. When Ladreville’s citizens were once more silent, Lawrence turned to Sterling, who now stood next to him. “Pastor Russell will lead us all in giving thanks for our food.” As the prayer concluded with a resounding amen, Lawrence raised his head. “Let’s eat!”

“I doubt anyone will complain that that was too long,” Harriet said. The speed with which the crowd had dispersed, everyone hurrying toward their quilts, told her they were either hungry or anxious for the dancing to begin.

“Mayor Wood’s a good man,” Karl agreed. “I wonder where he went.”

Harriet looked at where Sarah and Clay sat with the rest of their family as well as Priscilla and Zach, thinking they might have invited Lawrence to join them, but he was not there. Where had he gone? It seemed a shame that the town’s mayor had to eat alone.

“Would you pass me the pickles?” Karl touched Harriet’s arm and gave her a broad smile when she handed him the plate. Jake scowled. Sam and Daniel appeared to be in the midst of a contest to see who could eat the most chicken, while Mary chattered, telling Herr Friedrich more than he could possibly want to know about the garden she had helped plant and how she and Eva had churned butter. Though Ruth could hardly be called garrulous, she held her own in a discussion with Frau Friedrich.

A lump lodged in Harriet’s throat. It all looked so normal. A bystander would not realize that they were not a family but simply six orphans being befriended by neighbors. The lump grew, and tears pricked Harriet’s eyes. This was what she wanted. This was what she had tried to create for her siblings: a warm, caring family.

“Sehr gut,” Herr Friedrich said as Sam took the last piece of chicken. “Do you see this, Greta? The boys enjoyed your food.”

“We all did.” Ruth smiled as she rose. With the main courses finished, it was time for her to take her place at the punch table. Other women were already making their way to the long table where desserts awaited the revelers.

Harriet stood. “I’ll walk over with you.” Though Ruth seemed unusually poised this evening, Harriet was afraid that her courage might desert her when she was faced with a line of strangers.

But Ruth shook her head. “There’s no need. Besides, I hear the musicians tuning their instruments. The dancing will start soon.”

“If you’re sure . . .” As Ruth nodded, Harriet gave her sister a quick hug. “You’ll be fine, and you’re right—I did promise the first set to Karl.”

“I’ll be the envy of every man here.” Karl tucked Harriet’s hand into the crook of his arm and led her toward the center of the field. “I’ll have the prettiest gal in Ladreville for my partner.”

“The second prettiest.” Gunther Lehman fell into step next to Karl. “My wife holds top honors.”

Though Isabelle blushed at the compliment, Harriet noticed that she looked paler than normal, almost as if she were ill. “I don’t want to listen to Gunther and Karl talk about crops.” Isabelle linked her arm with Harriet’s, drawing her away from the two men. “We’ve got more important things to talk about, like your dress. It turned out well.”

“I can’t take any credit. Ruth’s the one who chose the design and did all the sewing. All I did was stand still for fittings.”

“You’ve got a talented sister. I have to admit, though, that I was surprised to see her at the punch table.” Isabelle glanced in that direction.

“Surprised doesn’t describe the way I felt.” Harriet chuckled as she recalled her initial reaction. “Shocked or dumbfounded would be closer.” She turned to watch her sister. Though Ruth appeared as confident as the other woman behind the table, dispensing punch and smiles to the townspeople, when a tall brown-haired man approached, she blushed. How sweet! Harriet smiled at the realization that Sterling Russell had brought the becoming color to Ruth’s face, turning her from pretty to downright beautiful. Little Ruthie was growing up. Soon she’d be thinking about marriage. Harriet swallowed, trying to dissolve the knot that formed in her throat every time she considered life with her siblings gone. It was foolish to worry about that now, for it would be many years before she was alone.

While Karl and Gunther discussed crops and flour and the musicians continued to assemble, Isabelle entertained Harriet with stories of her stepdaughter’s antics. “Eva said all the little girls think you’re pretty now. And, judging from the way Karl keeps staring at you, he agrees.”

Karl was a far less pleasant topic than Ruth. He’d been different tonight, and Harriet did not like the difference. Karl was a friend, but no matter what he said or did, that was all he would ever be. Though a day ago she would have thought it unlikely, she had to admit that his behavior tonight continued to remind her of Thomas, making her wish she had not agreed to dance the first set with him. It was too late to undo that, but instead of dwelling on the German farmer’s unwelcome touches, Harriet turned to Isabelle. “Are you all right?” she asked. “You look a bit pale.”

The young Frenchwoman laid a hand on her midriff. “My stomach’s been queasy. It must be something I ate.”

Harriet’s eyes narrowed as she considered the possibilities. It could be bad food, or it could be something else, something far more pleasant. This, however, was not the place to air her suspicions.

“It’s time to line up for the first set,” Karl announced. The musicians had finished their tuning and sat next to their instruments, their fingers ready to turn wood and strings into music.

Harriet took her place next to Karl. This was why they had come. For the adults, the dance was the culmination of the day. As she moved across the grass, dipping, twirling, clapping her hands in time to the music, Harriet’s thoughts whirled faster than her feet. Who would have thought that Karl, sturdy Karl with his heavy tread, would be such a good dance partner? There were no more unwelcome touches, nothing more than the dance required. For the moment, Karl was a friend. He seemed to sense Harriet’s lack of experience and compensated for it, softly coaching her as they made their way through the intricate steps, smiling with approval when she mastered them. He was clearly enjoying himself, and—thanks to him—she was discovering that dancing was fun.

And yet . . . Harriet shivered as she tried to understand her sudden uneasiness. She looked around, searching the crowd for her siblings. Ruth appeared relaxed as she stood behind the punch bowl; Mary and Eva played at one side of the field; the boys were part of an impromptu ball game on the other side. They were fine. So, why did she feel so strange? Isabelle was smiling up at Gunther, her color restored. Frau and Herr Friedrich were dancing with gusto. Even the weather was cooperating, providing an evening that was cool but not cold with stars twinkling above. Everything seemed perfect, and yet something was missing. What could it be?

He was probably the only person in Ladreville who wasn’t happy to be here. Lawrence leaned against one of the tall oak trees as he watched the crowd of revelers. He never had liked dances. Oh, it wasn’t the dancing itself that bothered him but the resemblance to Independence Day celebrations. There were too many people in one place and not enough attention being paid to individuals.

He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he reminded himself that it was not his job to keep children out of the river. With some luck, the cool weather would take care of that. It
was
his job to ensure drunks did not hurt others. As much as he would have liked to be anywhere else, he had been warned that some men invariably overindulged, not in the punch the town provided but in the jugs of whiskey they smuggled onto the grounds, two of which he’d already confiscated. That was why he was here—to keep the peace, not to count the number of times Harriet had danced with Karl. Eight, but he wasn’t counting. Of course he wasn’t. Just as he wasn’t watching where she went when Karl began to dance with another woman.

Lawrence had no intention of following Harriet, and yet, if he didn’t, why were his feet taking him to the punch table when that was clearly her destination? It certainly wasn’t because he wanted any of the sticky sweet beverage Ruth and that other lady were purveying. Yet here he was.

“Would you like a glass of punch, Mr. Wood?” To Lawrence’s amazement, Ruth did not duck her head when she addressed him.

“Thank you.” Lawrence nodded and held out his hand for the glass she proffered. “I’ll take one for your sister too.” It was surely his imagination that Ruth found something amusing in that. What possible amusement could anyone find in a simple act of courtesy?

“I thought you might like this.” Lawrence held out the cup to Harriet as she approached the table, still unencumbered by Karl.

“Thanks. Dancing made me thirstier than I expected.” She swallowed the pink liquid, then wrinkled her nose, as if she found the sweet concoction as unpleasant as he had.

Lawrence took the cup from her and placed it with his on the table reserved for dirty dishes. “Other than the punch, are you enjoying the dance?”

As Harriet nodded, a tendril of hair bounced against her cheek. Did she have any idea that a man might want to tuck the lock behind her ear? Of course not. Harriet was not a woman to flirt. Her words proved that. “At first I didn’t want to come, but being here made me realize that Isabelle was right. This is part of the community.” That was the Harriet he knew. Sensible Harriet.

From the corner of his eye, Lawrence saw Karl approaching. If he didn’t act quickly, the man would monopolize her again. “Would you like to walk a bit?” Lawrence could leave the gathering for a few minutes. After he’d parted the farmers from their whiskey jugs, there had been no more disturbances.

Harriet raised an eyebrow. “You’re not dancing?”

“Despite Lottie’s efforts, I never became more than a passable dancer. I’m afraid I’d crush your toes.” As a puzzled expression crossed Harriet’s face, Lawrence realized she might not remember who Lottie was. “Lottie’s my sister.”

“That’s right. Your older sister.”

His only sister since that summer day two decades ago, but that was not a topic he chose to introduce. “Yes. Shall we walk, or have you promised all the dances?”

“They’re not all promised, and yes, I would enjoy a walk.” Harriet looked around, as if assuring herself that her siblings were accounted for. “I imagine the river is pretty with the moon shining on it.”

She was probably correct. By tradition, Lawrence had been told, the harvest festival was held on the October Saturday closest to the full moon. Tonight was cloudless and, if a person wanted to gaze at the river—which Lawrence most definitely did not—the moon would undoubtedly be reflected in its surface. Most people would find it pretty, but Lawrence was not most people. He started to suggest another destination, then realized that would involve an explanation he didn’t want to make. There was no reason to tell Harriet about Lizbeth. Her own family created enough worries; Lawrence wouldn’t add to them by discussing his. It was easier to put his discomfort aside and simply walk to the river.