Scattered Petals (11 page)

“I heard the Texas Ranger still hasn’t caught the bandits,” the first woman said.

“He will.” The second voice was firm. “That’s one thing you can count on. The Rangers always get their man.”

As the women continued their conversation, Priscilla began to relax. Though they’d spoken of her parents’ death, neither of them had mentioned what had happened to her. Was it possible they didn’t know?

“I haven’t seen her yet.” Judging from the rustling of skirts, the first woman was turning to look behind her.

“It’s not time for the bride,” her companion reminded her.

“Not the bride. Jeannette Ladre. She hasn’t been to services in months, but I thought she’d be here.” Relief flowed through Priscilla at the realization that she was not the primary object of speculation in Ladreville.

“Michel’s over there. See?” Michel, Priscilla remembered, was the mayor’s first name. Jeannette must be his wife. “He’s not saving a seat next to him, so I doubt she’s planning to come.”

“I wonder what’s wrong.”

The organist paused, then began the processional, effectively ending the women’s conversation. As Sarah had planned, Isabelle preceded her down the aisle, followed by Thea. Isabelle’s pace was slow and stately, befitting a wedding. Thea, however, scampered, causing laughter to ripple through the congregation. Priscilla suspected Sarah would be pleased, for she’d claimed there was too much solemnity in Ladreville. Life, Sarah said, was meant to be enjoyed.

“Here, Thea,” Priscilla said as the child skipped by the pew. Knowing how easily her sister was bored, Sarah had asked that she sit between Priscilla and Mr. Canfield rather than stand at the altar with her and Clay.

“Sarah!” Thea crowed when the bride entered the sanctuary. “Sarah’s coming.” Perhaps Thea’s shout of joy distracted the parishioners. Priscilla didn’t care. What mattered was that no one commented on Sarah’s pronounced limp. Instead, there were oohs and aahs from the young women and a few muted comments on the beauty of her apricot silk gown.

Clay appeared oblivious to everything except his bride’s approach, but the man at his side smiled when he looked at the first pew. Priscilla saw pride in Zach’s expression and guessed it was caused by Robert Canfield’s slow but steady progress as he moved from the first pew toward the altar. There was no question about the source of Zach’s amusement. Thea’s exuberant wave turned too-solemn Zach’s smile into a full-fledged grin.

The service was longer than normal, for both Pastor Sempert and Père Tellier delivered homilies. To Priscilla’s relief, Thea sat quietly while the German minister reminded the parishioners of the sanctity of marriage and the French pastor urged every married couple to renew their vows silently as Sarah and Clay took theirs. When at last the two men spoke in unison, pronouncing Sarah and Clay man and wife, their words were greeted with applause.

Priscilla smiled, thankful that her friends’ marriage was so well received, then put a restraining arm around Thea, who was eager to join her sister and the man she called Papa Clay. “No, sweetie. We’re going to sit here.” Clay had suggested that, in deference to his father’s difficulty walking, they wait until the church was almost empty before they proceeded to the receiving line. Though Thea was obviously displeased, she quieted when Priscilla began to tell her a story about a beautiful princess named Sarah and a prince named Clay.

“And they all lived happily ever after.” Priscilla was wracking her brain for another story when she heard the sound of footsteps.

“We’re ready now.” Zach stood at the end of the pew and watched as Mr. Canfield rose. Perhaps it was only Priscilla’s imagination, but it seemed as if the older man’s balance improved each day. Though he’d never walk without the two canes that now supported him, he wobbled less. Even standing at the altar with Sarah and Clay had not tired him as much as Priscilla had feared.
Papa, you should see this.
As her brain completed the thought, sorrow shot through Priscilla. Never again would she share medical triumphs with her father. She took a deep breath and gripped Thea’s hand so tightly that the child winced.

“Ready, ladies?” As Clay’s father started toward the back of the church, Zach bent his arm, inviting Priscilla to put her hand in the crook of his elbow. It was pure instinct. She recoiled. A second later, seeing the pained expression on Zach’s face, Priscilla regretted her reaction. How foolish she was! Zach was simply being a gentleman, offering her the courtesy of his assistance. Priscilla knew that, and yet she continued to tremble at the thought of being touched by a man. Any man.

“What do you say, Thea?” Though she knew otherwise, Zach spoke as if he had not noticed Priscilla’s reaction. “Want to ride on my shoulders so you can see everyone?”

“Yes!” Thea squealed with delight. “Me ride.”

It was, Priscilla realized as she walked at Zach’s side, an incredibly thoughtful gesture. With Thea on his shoulders, no one would expect him to have Priscilla’s hand on his arm. No one would look askance at either of them. How kind of him!

Zach looked around the room where the citizens of Ladreville were gathering and tried not to frown. If Clay hadn’t been his closest friend, he would not have come, not to the wedding and especially not to the reception. This was the first marriage he’d witnessed in fifteen years. When he’d been growing up in the small southeastern Texas town of Haven, his mother had dragged him to every wedding, insisting that his presence was vital. Even as a child, bored by the ceremony and convinced that the only reason anyone attended was the presence of cookies, cake, and punch at the reception, he’d doubted that anyone would miss him if he went fishing instead. But as he’d grown older, though he’d never outgrown finding the ceremony boring, the reception had taken on a new appeal.

“There she is,” his friend George had announced as they wandered around the field where the reception was being held. “She keeps looking this way.”

A few minutes ago, the girl in question had been surrounded by a bevy of friends. Now she stood alone, one hand touching the trunk of an oak tree. Zach felt heat rise to his face and turned abruptly, hoping George hadn’t noticed the telltale flush. For Pete’s sake, it was almost as embarrassing as the way his voice used to crack. He should be past such childish things. “You sure?”

“A fellow would have to be blind to miss the signals she’s sending. That filly wants you by her side. I reckon you better go.” When Zach didn’t move as quickly as his friend liked, George gave him a shove. “Go on now.”

Stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking with what he hoped would appear to be a casual saunter, Zach headed toward Margaret Early, still unable to believe she was interested in him. Why would she want him? Margaret was the prettiest girl in the class, tall, with brown hair and eyes and soft curves that a boy couldn’t help admiring. She could have her pick of the boys, so why was she interested in Zach Webster?

“Nice wedding, wasn’t it?” he asked when he was close enough to be heard.

She smiled, and once again Zach felt his face flush.
Stop it!
he admonished himself.
You can’t let her see that you care.

“The flowers were nice,” Margaret said with another smile. This one made his knees feel as if they were melting. “When I get married, I want to have flowers like that and a cake like Charlene Morgan’s.”

Weddings. Is that all girls think about?
Zach knew better than to voice those words. “What was special about Charlene’s cake?” he asked, feigning interest. It didn’t matter what they talked about. What mattered was the fact that Margaret Early was talking to him. “They all taste the same to me.”

Margaret’s smile turned arch. “Of course they do. It’s the way they look that matters. Boys never notice things like that.” The way she was fluttering her eyelashes made his heart pound.

“I may not notice some things, but I noticed that you look right pretty today.” Somehow, he managed to get the words out without stuttering.

Margaret smiled again. “Why, thank you, Zach.” The tip of her tongue traced her upper lip. “My throat is awfully parched,” she said. “Would you fetch me a glass of punch?”

He had, practically tripping over his feet in his rush to do her bidding. Zach and Margaret had spent the rest of the afternoon together, and before the day ended, they had shared their first kiss.

Zach frowned again. He didn’t want to think about that day or all that had happened since then. Rocking back on his heels, he looked around the crowded hall. It was no surprise that most of Ladreville’s residents had come. As the town’s doctor and its teacher, Clay and Sarah were prominent figures. It was logical that everyone would wish them well, especially since Michel Ladre had announced that Ladreville—progressive Ladreville, the town that was serving as an example for the rest of the state—would allow Sarah to teach until her replacement could be hired. Zach’s frown turned into a wry smile as he considered the origin of that declaration.

The mayor was holding court in one corner, probably explaining why he’d decided to defy tradition. Zach looked around again. While the majority of the people were clustered around Sarah and Clay, a smaller group surrounded Priscilla. His gaze moved on, then returned to her. Perhaps it was only his imagination, but she appeared uncomfortable, almost as uncomfortable as she had when he’d stupidly offered her his arm. How dumb could a man be? He should have realized that the wounds Zeke Dunkler had inflicted would not heal easily. That explained Priscilla’s reaction in the church. Zach wondered what was causing her discomfort now. There were no men anywhere near her, only women who seemed friendly. Still, there was no denying the fact that Priscilla was pale.

Someone ought to do something. Zach could have kicked himself for that thought when he realized there was no one else. On another day, Priscilla might have welcomed him, but after the faux pas with the arm, he wasn’t certain she would want to be near him. The only alternative was to ignore her distress, and Zach could not do that.

“Excuse me, ladies,” he said as he inserted himself into the group around Priscilla. “I promised the bride and groom I’d make sure Priscilla tasted the punch and cookies before they’re all gone.” As he’d hoped, the women parted.

“Thanks, but I’m not thirsty.” Priscilla spoke softly so that her words would not be overheard.

Though he wasn’t certain whether that was the truth or whether she judged his company even less appealing than the women’s, Zach kept the smile fixed on his face and gestured toward the refreshment table. “Take a glass, anyway. We’re being watched.”

“I know.” Priscilla’s eyes widened in what appeared to be panic. “I didn’t expect . . .”

The poor woman. She was regarding the hall as if it were a prison. Relief rushed through him at the realization that he was not the cause of her discomfort. “Let’s find your cloak and go for a walk.”

Once they were outdoors, Zach stopped and looked at Priscilla. She was still far too pale, the whiteness of her skin making her freckles appear like beacons on her nose. “Take a deep breath.” When she complied, he encouraged her to take two more. “Now, let’s walk.” Mindful of her reaction when he’d offered his arm in the church, he made no attempt to guide her. Instead, he darted glances at her as they strolled silently down rue de la Seine toward the river. When they’d reached its banks, he stopped and looked at her. As her color returned, the freckles on her nose were less prominent. “Feel better now?”

“Yes.” Priscilla’s expression was pensive as she nodded. “I don’t know what was wrong. I was afraid I might faint.”

“I don’t claim to be a doctor, but you looked pale and shaky.”

Though there was nothing amusing about his statement, Priscilla laughed. “If I might make a suggestion, Zach, it’s never a good idea to tell a woman she looks awful.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Close enough.” She punctuated her words with a chuckle. It was one of the most reassuring sounds Zach had heard.

“Now you sound like Sunny Cilla.”

Priscilla raised an eyebrow. “Where did you hear that name?” Curiosity colored her voice. “No one’s called me that in years.”

Zach turned at the sound of horses. It appeared the first guests were leaving the wedding reception. Fortunately, he and Priscilla were standing under a large oak tree. Unless someone headed toward the river, they would not be seen, and Priscilla— Sunny Cilla—would not be subjected to more gossip.

“Patience told Clay that your parents used to call you that,” Zach explained, “and Clay mentioned it to Sarah and me.” Priscilla shook her head in mock disgust. “I can see there are no secrets here.”

“Everyone has secrets,” he countered. “It’s what makes us unique.” In Zach’s case, the secrets were unpleasant ones, but that wasn’t true for everyone. “Do you want to talk about what happened back there and why you were so . . .” He paused, searching for an appropriate word. “So fetchingly pale?”

Priscilla laughed again. “You’re a good learner. ‘Fetchingly pale.’ I’ll have to remember that.” Her expression sobered. “It seems silly now, especially since everyone was so nice to me. The fact is, I didn’t expect such kindness. All the while the women were talking to me, I kept expecting them to turn away when they realized what had happened to me.”