Tomorrow's Garden (9 page)

Crumpling the paper and tossing it into the stove, Harriet smiled. Fortunately, she didn’t need Thomas to make her life complete. It might not be perfect, but life in Ladreville was good. Surprisingly good.

“I told you you’d regret that open invitation you issued the day I arrived.” Sterling Russell settled himself in one of the chairs in front of Lawrence’s desk. It had happened so often that it had become almost a routine. More days than not, the young minister would arrive soon after breakfast and share a second cup of coffee with Lawrence before he returned to the parsonage to spend the rest of the morning reading to Pastor Sempert. It was, Sterling claimed, the only thing he could do for the man who’d once been the heart of the community but who was now an invalid, unable to walk or speak.

Though he couldn’t vouch for Sterling, Lawrence enjoyed their time together. Sterling didn’t feel the need to fill every moment with talk. Instead, he’d sit quietly for minutes on end. That made what he did say feel more important, even if it was nothing more than an amusing anecdote.

“You must be joshing. I don’t regret it for a minute. Who else would help drink my terrible coffee?” Making coffee wasn’t supposed to require extraordinary talents, but judging from the flavor of the dark liquid he brewed each day, it required more than Lawrence possessed.

Sterling took a sip before giving Lawrence a mischievous grin. “You need a wife.”

The room was cool. There was no reason his face should feel hot or why indignation should rise faster than smoke from a bonfire. Lawrence clenched his fists, trying to control his temper. It was bad enough that his Bible kept opening to passages about marriage—today it had been the wedding at Cana—but now Sterling thought he needed a wife. Was this some sort of conspiracy?

“Why would I need a wife?”

The young minister pointed toward his mug. “For one thing, she might be able to make decent coffee.”

“I could hire a housekeeper to do that.” Lawrence would have to do that soon, because the house needed cleaning, and his prowess with a broom was even less than his skill as a cook.

“Ah, but there are other reasons for a wife—like companionship.”

“Snip’s a pretty good companion.”

Sterling raised an eyebrow. “God didn’t intend man to live with a horse.” As Lawrence frowned, he added, “End of today’s sermon. But, if you do decide to take a wife, I’d advise you not to delay. I hear that Ladreville’s short supply of eligible young women is dwindling. According to three different sources, Miss Kirk received a letter from a gentleman admirer. The town’s already speculating that it’ll need a new teacher next year.”

“At least hiring one won’t be my problem.” His contract would be over, he’d be gone, and Harriet Kirk would be nothing more than a memory. Still, Lawrence couldn’t help wondering about her gentleman admirer. When they’d spoken on the way to the Bar C, she had acted as if marriage was a far distant event for her. The Ladreville grapevine must be wrong.

“Women!” Sterling said with a grin. “We’ll never understand them.”

Lawrence was smiling as his friend left the office. He was not smiling a few minutes later when Karl Friedrich stormed through the door, his face set in a scowl.

“You’ve got to help me, Sheriff. Someone cut my fences again. If I hadn’t noticed it, those blasted cattle would have eaten all my wheat.” Though the stocky blond farmer usually spoke good English, this morning his accent was so thick that Lawrence could hardly understand him. What he did understand was that he needed to visit the Friedrich farm and search for the culprit.

Lawrence could not recall a less pleasant ride. Normally, once he’d steeled himself for the crossing, he enjoyed being on the other side of the river. With only three ranches, it was quieter than the town itself, and he could let Snip gallop. Normally that left both him and his horse in a good mood. Normally. Today Lawrence was forced to listen to a litany of complaints.

“Farming was supposed to be easier with the Kirk boys helping,” Karl announced when they’d forded the Medina. “It sure hasn’t worked out that way. There’s problem after problem.”

“Do you think one of the Kirks is responsible for the fence?” That was the only reason Lawrence could imagine for Karl mentioning his helpers.

“Ja.” He spat the word. “That Jake is nothing but trouble. I knew it from the first day.”

“Then why did you hire him?” Lawrence knew that the Friedrichs had bought the Preble ranch soon after the town was founded and had converted it to a farm in 1845. If Karl and his father had managed the farm on their own for more than ten years, surely there was no reason to hire someone Karl didn’t trust.

“I need help. Vater,” he said, using the German term for father, “is too old to be working the way he has these past years. The boys seemed like an answer to prayer, but I tell you, Sheriff, they’re not.”

Lawrence and Karl had reached the Friedrich farm and were following the fence line, riding slowly enough to inspect it. “Here it is.” Karl pointed to a stretch of fence that bore signs of recent repairs. “You can see where it was cut.”

Though Karl remained mounted, Lawrence slid off Snip and walked along the fence, searching for clues. It was unlikely, he knew, that there would be any, but he wouldn’t be doing his job as sheriff if he didn’t look. He had almost given up when he spotted a scrap of fabric caught on the fence. Plucking it off the wire, Lawrence stuffed it into his pocket. As far as he knew, there was only one person in Ladreville who had a shirt of that particular shade of green.

“Are the Kirk boys on your farm today?” he asked as he mounted Snip.

“Ja
.
They spend every Saturday here.”

Lawrence nodded. That made his job easier. “I want to talk to them, starting with Jake.”

“Then you think one of them did it?”

Lawrence shrugged. “It’s possible.” He would say no more until he’d spoken with Jake, for it was also possible—although unlikely—that there was an innocent reason for a piece of Jake’s shirt to be on the fence.

“I see your shirt is ripped.” There was no point in preambles, particularly when dealing with a boy who swaggered toward him, a chip as big as the state of Texas sitting on his shoulder. As a matter of courtesy, Lawrence had taken Jake aside, not wanting his younger brothers to overhear the conversation. The consideration, it appeared, was lost on Jake.

Lawrence took a deep breath. Though he remembered the awkwardness of being Jake’s age, the body that had sprouted so quickly it felt like a stranger’s, the yearning to be treated as an adult, he could not condone what Jake had done. There was a distinct line between right and wrong, and Jake had crossed it.

“Yeah?” Jake practically snarled the word. “So what? I must have caught it on something in the stable. Old Man Karl has lots of nails.”

Lawrence gave Jake a look that would have had grown men quailing. It had no effect on Harriet’s brother. Evidently, the boy was too young to recognize danger. Though he did not raise his voice, Lawrence laced it with contempt. Jake deserved no less. “There are a couple problems with your story, but let’s start with the fact that you owe Mr. Friedrich some courtesy. I don’t imagine your sister would like you referring to him that way.”

Jake’s lip curled. “Look, mister, I don’t need another sermon. I get them every Sunday.”

“You’re going to get more than a sermon from me, Jake. I don’t like liars, and that’s one whopping lie you told about your shirt. You didn’t catch it on a nail in the stable. I found the piece on the fence, just a couple feet from where it was cut.”

“So?” The boy was the picture of belligerence, practically begging Lawrence to smash his face. Lawrence fisted his hands, then forced himself to relax them. Punishment would come later. First he needed a confession.

“So,” he said, turning Jake’s question into an answer, “I think you’re the one who’s responsible for Mr. Friedrich’s cut fence.”

“What are you gonna do about it?”

“I’m going to start by taking you home. We’ll see what Harriet says.”

“Why did you do it?” Harriet stared at her brother, wondering if a stranger had taken over the familiar body. This person looked like Jake, but he wasn’t acting like him. Of course, if she were being truthful, Jake hadn’t acted like himself in a long time, and it had only worsened since they’d come to Ladreville. The signs of rebellion had been there; today was simply the most visible manifestation and proof that leaving Fortune had not solved Jake’s problem.

“Why, Jake?” Harriet demanded, glaring at him. Though he hadn’t liked it, she had forced him to sit while she remained standing. At least this way she towered over him, rather than having to look up at him.

“Why does it matter? All you care about is what happened.” Anger and resentment weighted his words, giving them the force of darts, and like darts, they penetrated her skin.

Harriet bit back her own anger, forcing herself to remain calm. “That’s not true. I care about you.” Why else did Jake think she had spent so many years working to keep the family together? Or did he even think about that? Probably not. He was so caught up in his own sense of misery that he didn’t consider anyone else. She was the one who had to think of others, and right now she was stymied. What punishment could she invoke that would show Jake the error of his ways?

“If you cared, you wouldn’t have made us leave Fortune, and you sure as shootin’ wouldn’t have made me work on that miserable farm,” he snarled, his tone reminding her of an angry dog. “I hate farming.”

Harriet nodded slowly. That was the answer, a punishment befitting the crime. “It’s a shame you don’t like it, because you’re going to be doing a lot of farming. We’re going back to the Friedrichs, and you’re going to apologize to Mr. Friedrich. You’re also going to work for free until you’ve paid for the damage.” The insolent expression on Jake’s face made Harriet add, “Because you won’t be earning any money, you’re going to help Ruth with her chores. You can stay home from school on Mondays and do the laundry.”

Jake jumped to his feet, his hands balled, his eyes dark with anger. “That’s not fair! You’re as bad as he is.” Though Harriet hadn’t thought it possible, Jake’s fury increased. He took a step toward her, and for a second she feared he would strike her. Instead, he snarled again. “I’ll bet he told you to make me do girls’ work.”

“Who?” Jake must realize that she hadn’t spoken to Karl since she’d learned of the cut fences. As soon as Lawrence had left, Harriet had confronted her brother. There had been no consultation with Karl. Furthermore, if Jake were thinking straight, he would realize that Karl would not suggest laundry as a punishment. He would be more likely to propose a lengthy visit to the woodshed.

Jake’s lips twisted, turning his normally handsome face into a grotesque mockery of her brother. “The sheriff.” He spat the words. “I hate him, and I hate you, and most of all I hate Old Man Karl.”

And I hate the boy you’ve become.
Harriet took a deep breath, trying to control her own anger. “Be that as it may, you are going to apologize to Mr. Friedrich, and you are never again going to refer to him as Old Man Karl.”

“But he is old.” Jake clenched his fists. “He acts like he’s a hundred years old.”