Scattered Petals (14 page)

There was no moon tonight. Jean-Michel smiled with pleasure. What he had in mind was best done under the cover of darkness. That was why he’d waited the extra three days. When he’d left the peddler, Jean-Michel’s stomach had been filled with tasty food, his mind with possibilities. The old man had money. Though he thought Jean-Michel had not noticed how his eyes had flickered toward the wooden chest in the far corner of the wagon, Jean-Michel was too smart to be fooled. He’d seen the peddler’s worried glance and had known what it meant. Money. Lots of it. Soon that money would be Jean-Michel’s.

When he had finished his meal, Jean-Michel had taken his leave, purportedly to rush to his dear mother’s side. Instead he had ridden only a few miles, then concealed himself and the horse in a stand of trees. From there he’d been able to observe the peddler’s approach and confirm that the old man had gone to the town he’d named. The peddler had stayed there for two days as he’d planned, but tonight he was camped by the river. Perfect. There would be no witnesses.

Jean-Michel waited and watched. When he was certain the old man was asleep, he snuck out from behind the tree. It was time. Moving carefully, he cracked open the back of the wagon, reaching up to silence the bell the peddler had installed, presumably to alert him if anyone tried to break into the wagon. It might work for others, but Jean-Michel was too smart. He’d seen the bell. He knew what to do.

He climbed inside the wagon and inched forward. There it was! He could feel the leather straps that hinged the top and bottom.

“Lookin’ for somethin’?”

Jean-Michel turned and faced the barrel of a shotgun. What was going on? The peddler was supposed to be asleep. “You can put that down.” Jean-Michel doubted the old man planned to fire his weapon, but he wasn’t taking any chances. “I didn’t mean any harm.”

“Just as you didn’t mean any harm when you stole Albert Monroe’s money and his horse?” The man’s voice sounded different than it had at dinner that day. Tonight he was angry. “I knew somethin’ was wrong the minute I set eyes on you. It didn’t take long to find out who you were. That’s why I figured you’d be paying me a visit one of these days.” He glanced at the chest that Jean-Michel had pulled from the back of the wagon. “I reckon you can’t resist my supply of crocheted antimacassars.”

“What are you talking about?” The man was bluffing. No one kept silly doodads in a chest. A chest like this was designed for money, nothing else.

“Open it up.” The peddler’s voice taunted him.

“All right.” Jean-Michel unbuckled the straps and lifted the lid. Though there was little light, he could see that the old man hadn’t lied. Layer upon layer of fancy white doilies greeted him. Of course! They were a trick, designed to fool men who weren’t as smart as he. The silver and gold were on the bottom. “It’s got to be here.” Jean-Michel dug down, searching for the moneybags he was certain were hidden beneath the crocheted antimacassars. When he reached the bottom and had found nothing but silly doilies, he heard the peddler chuckle.

It was too much. No one laughed at Jean-Michel Ladre. No one. His blood boiling with rage, Jean-Michel picked up the chest, wheeled around, and flung it at the peddler. Though the chest was surprisingly lightweight, the force was enough that it knocked the old man backward. A second later Jean-Michel heard his body hit the ground.

He scrambled out of the wagon and stared at the man who’d fed him dinner, the same man who’d laughed at him. It appeared that the fall had knocked him unconscious, for he did not move, though the rise and fall of his chest said he was still alive. Not for long. Jean-Michel smiled at the sight of the peddler’s shotgun lying a few inches from his hand. That was all the invitation he needed. He reached for the gun and pulled the trigger. The peddler would never laugh again.

It was not the way she had pictured her wedding day. There was no church filled with hundreds of guests, flowers, and sacred music. There had been no months of preparation, no parties celebrating the upcoming nuptials. Most of all, there was no sense of anticipation knowing she was about to marry the man God had intended for her. Instead, there would be a small ceremony at the Bar C, with only Sarah, Clay, Thea, and Mr. Canfield present when Pastor Sempert pronounced Priscilla and Zach man and wife.

“You look lovely.” Had it been only a week since Priscilla had said the same thing to Sarah? Now she was the one dressing for her wedding. “Are you ready?”

Priscilla looked down at the green dress she’d worn last week. Though Sarah had insisted they had time to make her a new gown, she’d refused. This one was good enough. If the bride was used goods—and she was—why shouldn’t her dress be used too? “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” she told Sarah. Her hands were shaking, her palms sweating. Fortunately, since it was afternoon, her stomach was no longer queasy.

“Zach’s a good man.”

Priscilla pinched her cheeks, trying to give them some color. It wouldn’t do to look as if she were on the verge of fainting. Zach might take her arm if she did. Though he knew how much she feared a man’s touch, he was too gentlemanly to let her collapse. It was up to Priscilla to avoid the problem by appearing healthy. “I know he’s a good man. That’s why this is so difficult. Zach could do better than me. He should be marrying a woman he loves.” She still could not believe he’d made such a generous offer. Though she’d known dozens of men in Boston and had even considered marrying several, she could not imagine one of them doing anything so selfless.

Sarah pursed her lips, giving Priscilla an intimation of how she dealt with unruly pupils. “Zach is thirty years old. If he loved someone else, don’t you think he’d have married her by now?”

“Yes, but . . .”

“No buts. He’s a grown man who does what he wants, and what he wants is to marry you. So, put a smile on your face, Priscilla Morton. Your bridegroom is waiting.”

He was indeed. When Priscilla entered the main room, she saw him at the far end, smiling at her as if she were the woman he’d waited for all his life. She took a deep breath and tried to return the smile. Zach was a good man. He did not deserve a bride who looked as if she were facing a firing squad.

Pastor Sempert nodded solemnly as Priscilla and Zach stood before him, then began to speak. “Dearly beloved, forasmuch as marriage is a holy estate . . .” His voice resonated throughout the room as he recited the familiar words.

“Wilt thou, Priscilla Morton . . .” Though Priscilla had heard wedding vows dozens of times, today she could not have recited a single one. Now she understood why it was customary for the minister to read the vows first, asking the bride and groom to repeat them.

“And thereto I plight thee my troth,” she recited the final vow.

Pastor Sempert looked at Clay. “The ring please.”

A ring! The smile Priscilla had kept on her face faded. Why hadn’t she remembered that a wedding involved a ring and that the bridegroom placed that ring on his wife’s hand? She flinched.

Unaware of her distress, the minister handed the simple gold band to Zach, then looked at her expectantly. “Give him your left hand, Priscilla.”

She couldn’t. Though she tried to force them away, memories of Zeke Dunkler grabbing her hands and twisting them behind her flooded through Priscilla’s mind, and her hand remained frozen at her side.

“Your hand.” Pastor Sempert repeated the command. It was simple enough, unless you were Priscilla Morton. Desperately, she looked at the man who was about to become her husband. Surely Zach would find a way to help her. His eyes were warm and understanding, and he nodded ever so slightly, as if asking her to trust him.

You’re strong, Priscilla. You can do this.
She heard her father’s admonitions echoing in her head and saw Zach’s steady smile. He was giving up so much for her. Surely she could do her part. The marriage was designed to protect Priscilla and her unborn child. All she had to do was let him put a ring on her finger. That was nothing, compared to all that had come before. Slowly, Priscilla extended her hand. It was only one finger. That’s all he would touch. It would be over in a second. She would survive. But still her hand trembled as Zach slid the circlet of gold onto her finger.

“With this ring, I thee wed.” It was done. She was Zach’s wife.

8

“You’re a sly one.” Though Priscilla winced when Gunther slapped Zach on the back, her new husband didn’t seem to mind. He simply smiled as the miller said, “You’ve gone and gotten yourself married, and you didn’t even tell your friends.”

Gunther gestured toward the dozen guests who’d been invited to the Bar C for supper, not realizing that the supper was to be a wedding reception. While Sarah and Clay circulated among their friends, making everyone feel welcome, Priscilla and Zach remained at the far end of the room, accepting felicitations, including those of Gunther and his daughter.

The guests’ reactions had been amusing. While they’d all evidenced varying degrees of surprise when Sarah and Clay had introduced the newly married couple, the Rousseaus had greeted the news with enthusiasm. Frau Friedrich, on the other hand, had nudged her son and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Why are you waiting? You ought to be married too.” And then there was Gunther, feigning horror.

“What kind of friend are you?” he demanded.

“A prudent one.” Zach grinned at the miller. “You don’t think I’d ruin my chances with a beautiful woman like Priscilla by introducing her to you, do you? No, sirree. I carefully kept her away from all you eager bachelors until she had my ring on her finger.” Even though she knew it was for show, Priscilla couldn’t find a flaw in Zach’s performance. He looked and sounded like a happy bridegroom. She hoped her smile was as convincing. With all that Zach was doing for her, she didn’t want to embarrass him in front of his friends.

“You’re a lucky man.” Gunther gave Zach another slap on the back. “And you, ma’am. As much as it pains me to admit it, you’ve got yourself a good husband. They don’t come much finer than Zach Webster.”

The child who’d been standing quietly at his side tugged on his hand. “You’re a fine man too,
Vati
.”

Gunther looked down at his daughter, as if surprised to see her. “Why, thank you, little one.” He gave her head an affectionate pat. “You don’t need to stay with your boring old papa. I imagine Thea is looking for you.”

Eva shook her head, then fixed her gaze on Priscilla. Priscilla remembered the child having stared at Sarah the same way during her wedding reception. Eva, it appeared, was at the age of being in awe of brides. “Thea had to take a nap,” Eva announced. “I don’t take naps anymore. I’m a big girl.”

“Yes, you are.” But she was also the only child in the room. Until Thea wakened, she needed something to do. “I think Martina might need some help with the cookies. Would you like to help her?”

Her eyes lighting with enthusiasm, Eva nodded and followed Priscilla to the kitchen.

“What are you doing here?” Sarah’s smile softened her words when she found Priscilla seated at the small table, supervising Eva’s placement of small cakes and cookies on a platter. “You’re the guest of honor.”

Priscilla shrugged. “I’ve met everyone, and right now, I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed.” It wasn’t as if this was the wedding of her dreams. It wasn’t as if this was a real marriage. Oh, it was legal, but it wasn’t the sort of happily-ever-after marriage Sarah and Clay had. And, because it wasn’t, Priscilla wanted no fuss made. “So much has happened so quickly.” Only six weeks ago, she’d been on her way to a wedding, never dreaming that the journey would end with her own marriage.

“And now you’re a bride.” Sarah’s smile faded, as if she were remembering the circumstances of Priscilla’s wedding. “That is overwhelming, isn’t it?”

“
Vati
doesn’t need a bride.” Though Eva had appeared intent on arranging the cookies, she raised her head and looked directly at Sarah. “I’m a big girl now. Miss Morton . . . er . . . Mrs. Webster said so. I can take care of
Vati
.”

The expression in Sarah’s eyes said she wasn’t convinced. An hour later, when they were seated for dinner, Priscilla realized that, not only was Sarah unconvinced that Gunther had no need of a wife, but she was doing her best to encourage him to find a new one. That had to be the reason she’d seated Isabelle next to him rather than placing her beside her parents and brother. It appeared to be an arrangement that pleased both Gunther and Isabelle, for they recounted amusing anecdotes, each completing the other’s sentences, laughing when they pronounced a phrase in unison. The fond look on Sarah’s face said she was pleased by her matchmaking efforts. The frowns the older Rousseaus exchanged told another story.

The hours passed quickly, and before Priscilla knew it, the guests were preparing to depart. Zach appeared at her side, silently reminding her that tradition dictated he and Priscilla leave first. “It’s time to go home.”

Though Zach’s words were matter-of-fact, they sent shivers down Priscilla’s spine. Home, at least for the foreseeable future, was the Lazy B’s ranch house, a building she would share with the man who was now her husband. It was true they had ranch hands, and Zach had hired a woman from town to do the laundry, but all those people lived elsewhere. Priscilla and Zach would be alone in the house. It was that prospect and the fact that the man she had promised to love, honor, and obey was practically a stranger that caused her hands to shake.

After waving gaily as their guests bade them farewell, Priscilla kept her eyes focused on the road. Surely that was preferable to looking at the man who sat only a foot away. Zach was a kind man, she told herself. He had made promises. Though she continued to remind herself of that, she could not dismiss the fear that once they were alone, he might not keep them. There was no guarantee.

The fact that he was as silent as she did nothing to still the trembling of Priscilla’s limbs. Perhaps it was simply that he found the situation as awkward as she did. They were married, and yet this would not be a traditional wedding night, any more than the coming months would be a traditional marriage. Did he regret their agreement? Priscilla couldn’t ask, for her mouth was so dry that words were impossible.

When they reached the ranch, she climbed out of the wagon as quickly as she could, then started to mount the front porch steps. Sarah had shown her through the house yesterday, and Priscilla had chosen the room that would be hers. If she could reach her bedroom, she would be safe, for she could slide the bolt. Though no one in Ladreville locked their houses, when she’d told Zach that she still feared the Dunkler brothers, he had volunteered to install bolts on the front and kitchen doors as well as the one to her bedchamber.

There is no reason to fear Zach
, Priscilla reminded herself, but her feet refused to listen, and she hurried to get inside before him. Unfortunately, Zach was right behind her. As they approached the door, he stretched out his arm. Priscilla cringed and took a step backward. Surely he didn’t mean to carry her over the threshold! It had been difficult enough to feel his hand when he slid the ring onto her finger, and that had taken only a second. Being held in his arms would be much, much worse. She couldn’t let him do that.

Priscilla took a deep breath as she debated which direction to run. He was beside her now, so close that if she turned, she would touch him. Which way was best? Before she could move, Zach took another step forward and opened the door with a flourish. Color flooded Priscilla’s cheeks as she realized how foolish she had been. Zach had no intention of touching her. He was only being a gentleman.

Standing back to allow her to precede him, he said, “Welcome to your new home, Mrs. Webster.”

Priscilla smiled as she slid the supper plates into the sink. Her first week of marriage had gone well—better than she’d expected, except for the morning sickness. The summer she’d been pregnant, Patience’s letters had been filled with excitement over every aspect of her condition. She’d even managed to make what she referred to as her daily encounters with the chamber pot amusing. Priscilla was not amused. Of course, their situations were vastly different. Patience had been married to a man she loved, and their baby had been the answer to prayers. It was true that Priscilla was married to a good man. Zach was kind, but he was not a man who loved her or whom she loved, and her baby was most definitely not the answer to prayers. Still, she could not complain about life at the Lazy B.

From that first night when he’d ushered her into the house, Zach had made it clear that he would make no demands of her. Although they had agreed there was no need to hire a cook and that Priscilla would prepare meals, once he became aware of her morning sickness, Zach announced that he did not expect her to make breakfast for him. Instead, each morning he brought her weak tea and toast before leaving for the range. Priscilla suspected that not even Clay had been so considerate.

Though she had not expected it, supper time was the best part of the day, for that was when she and Zach were together. Far from fearing his return, Priscilla found herself counting the hours until he’d be home. Once he’d cleaned off the range dust, he would join her in the kitchen and would entertain her with tales of his day, somehow making cattle ranching sound amusing. Both Patience and Clay had had a far different view of ranch life. Neither one had found it amusing or even remotely enjoyable. But, then, Zach seemed to find something positive in almost everything that happened. He even joked when Priscilla burned the biscuits, announcing that he’d heard charcoal was good for the digestion.

It was pleasant to share a table with Zach. Priscilla scrubbed the first plate, then rinsed it. As much as she enjoyed suppers and evenings spent with Zach, she wondered if the appeal wasn’t simply the contrast to her days. They were undeniably lonely. In Boston, there had always been other people around. Here there was no one. The woman who’d been hired for laundry would not come until next week, and though she was only two miles away, Priscilla did not want to visit Sarah. After all, Sarah was still on her honeymoon. It was bad enough that she was teaching. Sarah didn’t need another intrusion on her time with Clay. The problem was, Priscilla hadn’t realized how much she would miss human companionship.

She had considered asking Sarah if she could care for Thea during the day, even though Sarah had mentioned how much Thea enjoyed being at school. “It makes her feel like a big girl,” Sarah had said with a fond smile. But, even if Sarah would agree, Priscilla couldn’t consider having Thea here until her morning sickness ended.

“I don’t want you lifting the tub.” She turned, startled by Zach’s voice. Normally he checked the horses after supper, but tonight he’d come back from the barn earlier than normal. “If you heat the water, I’ll pour it.”

Priscilla looked down at the pan filled with soapy water and wondered what he meant. She had all the water she needed to finish the dishes. “Water for what?”

“Our baths.” Zach gave her a piercing look as he added, “Today’s Saturday. I like to get cleaned up before church.”

“Oh!” Priscilla felt the color rise to her face. Though he hadn’t chided her, she felt silly. “I haven’t been keeping track of the days.” Just the hours.

“That’s because you’ve been working too hard. The house looks nice, but are you sure moving all that furniture is wise? You don’t want to hurt the baby.” To Priscilla’s amusement, this time, it was Zach’s face that flushed. Men, he’d undoubtedly been counseled, did not mention anything related to upcoming blessed events. Not that this baby’s arrival would fit into that category. Still, it was kind of him to be concerned, just as it was kind of him to appreciate the effort she had put into the house. When she’d first seen it, though the furnishings were attractive, she’d found the rooms unwelcoming, but she’d soon realized that there were relatively simple ways to make the house more appealing.

“The baby’s all right, isn’t it?” Zach sounded worried.

“I don’t think anything will hurt this child.” She tried to make Zach laugh by feigning indignation. “I’m the one you should feel sorry for, being sick every morning.”

Unfortunately, he did not laugh. If anything, the consternation in his blue eyes increased. “That doesn’t last the whole time, does it?”

“It’s not supposed to. The next thing you know, I’ll be fat.”

“But beautiful.”

It was Priscilla who laughed, remembering the day he’d commented on her pallor. “You learned your lesson well, didn’t you?”

“’Pears that way, doesn’t it?” To her surprise, Zach reached for a towel and started drying the plates. She’d never heard of a man helping in the kitchen. They were women’s domains, and all work associated with them was women’s work, or so she’d been taught. But there was Zach, looking as comfortable as could be with a towel in his hand.

“This is my week to attend the French church,” he said casually when he’d returned the plates to their shelf. “I’d be pleased if you’d accompany me.” His voice was diffident, probably because of her refusal to be married in a church. That had been only a week ago.

Priscilla started to decline, but as memories of this week’s solitude resurfaced, she changed her mind. Though she wasn’t certain God wanted her in his house, at least for those hours she’d have company. Besides, if she was going to live in La-dreville—and she was—she needed to meet the townspeople. It would be easier and safer to do that with Zach at her side. “All right.”