Scattered Petals (19 page)

Apparently unfazed, Granny asked simply, “Why not? It seems to me that you and Zach are good for each other. You can heal each other’s wounds.”

Was Granny a mind reader? That was the only reason Priscilla could imagine for her to be speaking of wounds. “What do you know of Zach’s past?”

As two women left the mercantile, they stopped to greet Granny and Priscilla. It was several minutes later that Granny turned back to Priscilla, her eyes serious. “I know no more than anyone else in Ladreville,” she said, dashing Priscilla’s hopes. “Zach is mighty closed-mouthed, and he doesn’t frequent the saloon, so nobody’s heard anything he doesn’t intend them to know.” Granny paused before she added, “He’s a bit like you that way. Still, you only need to look into Zach’s eyes to know he’s suffered and is still suffering.” Granny stared into the distance for a moment. “I reckon if he tells anyone, it’ll be you.”

“Maybe not. There are some things no one wants to talk about.”

“Like what happened to you.” It was a statement, not a question.

Priscilla frowned. “How do you know? Zach said no one would learn what happened.”

“I guessed.” Granny patted Priscilla’s hand. “You needn’t worry. If anyone suspects the baby isn’t Zach’s, they won’t say anything.”

This was worse than she’d expected. “You know about the baby? Did Zach tell you?”

“No. Like I said, he’s closed-mouth. I guessed the first time I met you.” When Priscilla let out a small sigh, Granny said, “I’m a midwife, child. I know what to look for. If I’d had any doubts, they would have vanished when I saw Zach that night. He was so worried about you. He was acting just like an expectant father.”

Zach, it seemed, had accepted the baby more easily than Priscilla. “There’s no point in denying what will soon be obvious, is there?”

Granny shook her head. “How are you feeling? Still queasy in the morning?”

“Yes, but by afternoon I feel fine.” Which was why she’d waited until then to come into town. “The only other difference I’ve noticed is that I’m hungrier than before.”

“That’s natural.” Granny gave her hand another pat. “Now, don’t you fret. Women have been having babies since Eve. You just call me when your pains start, and I’ll be there. Lord willing, you and Zach will have a healthy baby. Now, you go on and do whatever it was that brought you into town.”

Though she could not have predicted it, her conversation with Granny Menger, though brief, marked a turning point for Priscilla. As she entered the mercantile, for the first time, she thought of the life that was growing inside her as
her
baby. Always in the past, it had been “the baby” or simply “it.” In the middle of the night, when the nightmares wakened her, it was “the bandit’s child.” Even when Zach called it “our baby,” she had never used the words. But today, Priscilla smiled as she touched her abdomen. Granny was right. This would be her child and Zach’s.

“I saw Granny Menger when I went into town today,” Priscilla told Zach that evening as they ate supper. “She guessed about the baby.”

Apparently unperturbed, Zach nodded. “It won’t be long before others notice. I figured that we’d wait another month or so before we told anyone. Mentioning it to one or two is all it will take. After that, the Ladreville rumor mill will spread the news.” When Priscilla frowned, he shook his head. “That’s not bad. After all the troubles we had last year, folks need something happy to talk about.”

“I suppose they do.” And new life, no matter how it began, was cause for rejoicing.

“Have you thought about what you want to name the child?”

The question, which seemed to be additional proof that Zach regarded the baby as his, surprised Priscilla. She nodded slowly. “Halfway. If it’s a girl, I’d like to call her Patience after my sister, but I can’t think of any boys’ names I favor.” Perhaps that was because she continued to pray that the baby would be a girl. A girl, Priscilla reasoned, would be less likely than a boy to remind her of Zeke Dunkler.

“Would you consider John?”

“John Webster.” Priscilla liked the way it sounded. “Was that your father’s name?”

“Nope. He was Zach like me. Or rather,” Zach said with a wry smile, “I was named Zach like him.” The younger Zach Webster’s expression sobered. “I always thought that if I had a son, I’d like to name him after John Tallman. John’s the man who saved my life.”

Though he said the words calmly, Zach’s eyes filled with remembered pain. Priscilla took a deep breath as she considered that Granny Menger might be right: Zach might be ready to confide in her. “I understand if it’s too painful, but will you tell me what happened?”

He nodded slowly. “I’ve come this far. You might as well know the rest.” Zach took a long swallow of coffee before he began. “I was just a kid, barely fifteen, when Sam Houston mustered an army to march to Mexico. This was late in ’42.”

Priscilla’s knowledge of Texas history was sketchy, but she remembered reading that there were numerous skirmishes between Texas and Mexico, even after Texas gained its independence.

“At first, things were going our way. We captured Laredo and thought we were winning the war, but later that month a bunch of us were captured and taken to a place called Perote.” Zach’s eyes darkened with the memory. “The Mexicans call it a castle. I call it the worst place on Earth. Conditions were unspeakable—not enough food, brutal guards, locked in a dungeon with no sunlight. We were sure it couldn’t get worse, but it did the day they decided to punish us with decimation.”

“You mean killing one out of every ten?” Priscilla had heard the term but had thought the practice had been discontinued.

“That’s right.” Zach nodded. “Our jailers had a pot of beans, one black for every nine white. We stood in a line, and one by one, we had to pull a bean out of the pot. Whoever picked a black one would be killed. That’s what I got.”

Priscilla shuddered as she imagined the terror Zach must have felt. He was, as he admitted, little more than a child. Though he must have known that death was a possibility when he’d joined the army, it was one thing to die on a battlefield, another to face a firing squad. “How did you survive? Did John Tallman help you escape?”

Zach shook his head. “We were too heavily guarded for there to be any possibility of escape.” He stared into the distance for a moment, his eyes so filled with anguish that Priscilla knew he must be reliving that horrible day. “John was as close to a saint as any man I’ve met.” Zach’s voice quavered. “When he saw how scared I was, John switched beans with me. He took the black bean and died in my place.”

Priscilla’s eyes filled with tears. No wonder Zach looked haunted. He was. He was haunted by the memory of a man who’d given him the most precious gift of all: life. “Oh, Zach, what a wonderful gift!”

“It was, but it came with one stipulation. John wanted me to forgive our jailers. He told me that was the only way I’d be truly free.”

“Did you?” The Bible told of Jesus asking his Father to forgive the men who crucified him, but he was divine. It was far more difficult to imagine an ordinary man being so forgiving.

“Not at first,” Zach admitted. “I was so ashamed of my cowardice that I could hardly bear each day. At one point, I even thought of killing myself.”

Priscilla shuddered. “If you’d done that, you would have squandered John Tallman’s gift.”

“Clay’s father said the same thing. He told me only a coward would take that road, that a brave man would live and make each day of his life a testimonial to John’s generosity. But first I had to learn to forgive.” Zach drained his cup and placed it back on the table. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, to give up my anger and hatred, but once I did, I found a greater peace than I dreamt possible.”

As she looked at the man she’d married, one thing was clear. “That’s why you advised me to forgive the bandits.” Priscilla had been wrong. She had believed that Zach had spoken glibly, that he had no understanding of what she’d endured, but he did, for what he’d suffered at the hand of the guards was worse than her ordeal. The jailers had tried to destroy both his body and his spirit, but Zach had survived. More than that, he’d emerged a stronger man.

“Yes. John was right when he said forgiveness was the path to freedom. Our memories can imprison us more surely than the thickest walls.”

Priscilla recognized the truth in Zach’s words. It was the memories of what the Dunkler brothers had done that robbed her life of joy. She looked across the table and nodded slowly at Zach. “I’m not sure I can do it, but I’ll try.”

That night as she knelt next to her bed, Priscilla tried to form the words, but they would not come. Instead, images of Zach filled her mind. When he’d told her how he’d forgiven the jailers, his eyes had shone with peace, but soon afterwards, the pain that never seemed too distant returned. There was more to Zach’s story than he’d told, more pain to be resolved.

“Dear Lord,” she prayed, “heal Zach. Take away the pain he’s feeling and give him peace.”

11

Priscilla wakened to the sound of birds trilling, their songs so loud that for a moment she thought they were in the house, but the flap of wings against a hard surface told her one was simply sitting on the window ledge. She swung her legs off the bed and padded to the window, eager to see if she could identify it. Like the trees and flowers, many birds here differed from those in Boston, and this one had an unfamiliar song. As carefully as she could, Priscilla drew the curtain aside, but the motion was too much. The bird flew to a nearby tree, then faced the house and squawked, as if scolding her for disturbing it. Priscilla couldn’t help smiling. Though it had interrupted her sleep, birdsong was a pleasant way to begin the day.

Her smile broadened when she spotted half a dozen dandelions blooming. Yesterday, there’d been nothing more than heavy, yellow-green heads on the plants. This morning, the flowers had emerged, unmistakable proof of spring’s arrival. Priscilla gazed at the yard for a long moment, savoring the feeling of well-being that swept through her. Spring had always been her favorite season, for it brought with it Easter and the promise of new beginnings. What a joyous thought!

She touched her abdomen. Though it was too soon to feel the baby stirring, she knew there was life inside her. Each morning’s queasiness was proof of that. Priscilla’s smile turned into a grin as she realized that her stomach was settled. It had happened! Granny Menger had promised it would, and it had. Her morning sickness was gone. Priscilla thrust her arms into her dressing gown, unwilling to wait another minute to tell Zach the news. He would be as pleased as she. When she reached the doorway, Priscilla’s smile faded as she remembered that Zach had already left. Last night he’d said he had to visit the far end of the ranch and, rather than be gone overnight, he’d decided to leave before dawn. It was silly to feel so disappointed. Zach would return for supper, and she could tell him then. In the meantime, she had Isabelle and Yvonne’s visit to look forward to.

When the two women arrived, Priscilla was waiting for them on the porch. Both were smiling as they climbed down from the wagon, but though Yvonne was bubbling with happiness, Isabelle’s smile appeared strained.

“I can’t wait. I can’t wait to tell you.” Yvonne sounded younger than her twenty-two years as she giggled. She looked from one woman to the other, then took a deep breath. When Priscilla did that, it was to calm herself. If that was the goal, it had failed Yvonne, for when she spoke, her words came out in a rush. “I know I told you I suspected it, but I wanted you two to be the first to know—after Neville, of course. I told him last night. I couldn’t even wait until he’d had dinner, and once he heard, he was so excited, I could hardly get him to eat. All he wanted to do was tell the world. There’s no doubt about it. Granny Menger confirmed that Neville and I are going to have a baby. Oh, ladies, I’m so happy!”

Priscilla hugged her friend. “I’m happy for you.” Though not unexpected, the news was as welcome as the bird’s trilling and the sight of spring flowers.

“Me too.” It wasn’t Priscilla’s imagination. Something was bothering Isabelle. Though her words were delivered with a smile, her eyes lacked their normal sparkle. “When’s the blessed event?” Isabelle asked.

As Priscilla escorted her guests into the parlor, Yvonne continued her explanation. “Early September. Granny Menger warned me, though, that first babies arrive on their own schedule. Mine might be two weeks early or late. Oh, I hope it’s not late. I don’t think I’ll be able to wait.”

Though Priscilla wondered whether the baby would be as talkative as its mother, she asked only, “Are you feeling all right?”

“Oh yes.” Yvonne patted her slightly rounded stomach, as though she were caressing her unborn child. Priscilla tried not to smile at the gesture, even though the reason for the plumpness was a fondness for bread. “Fortunately, so far I haven’t been sick at all. I heard some ladies are not so lucky.”

Priscilla nodded. Though she was close to admitting that she, too, was expecting a child, she would not do that today. Today was Yvonne’s day. Priscilla would do nothing to spoil it or to detract from her friend’s joyous announcement. “You are fortunate. My sister was ill every morning for several months.”

Though Yvonne grimaced, Isabelle did not. Other than her initial congratulations, she had been uncharacteristically quiet, her eyebrows furrowed, as if her thoughts were elsewhere. When she caught Isabelle’s eye, Priscilla raised one of her brows in a silent question. Isabelle gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Whatever was wrong, she did not want to discuss it.

“Our meal is almost ready,” Priscilla told her friends. “If you just relax, I’ll get the food.”

She was in the kitchen, pulling the tray of rolls from the oven, when she heard footsteps. Priscilla looked up, surprised to see Isabelle. “Where’s Yvonne?”

“Visiting the necessary. All that talk of morning sickness made her a little green.” Isabelle leaned against the table. “I shouldn’t be glad, but I am, because I wanted to talk to you without her hearing.” The way Isabelle twisted her hands told Priscilla the topic was not a pleasant one. If she was right, she would soon know why Isabelle seemed so preoccupied. The petite brunette’s eyes were serious as she added, “I know what Yvonne would say, but I’m not sure how you’ll feel.”

“Is something wrong?” It was almost a rhetorical question.

“According to my parents, yes, but I don’t think so.” Isabelle’s face crumpled, and Priscilla saw that she was struggling not to weep. “I’m confused. I love my parents and I want to obey them, but I don’t think what we’re doing is wrong.”

“We?” Though Priscilla thought she knew what was coming, she needed to be sure.

“Gunther and me.” Isabelle’s words confirmed Priscilla’s fears. “You know he asked me to help his daughter. How could I refuse? Eva’s the sweetest child in Ladreville. She deserves a good life, and if I can help by teaching her to embroider and crochet and speak a few words of French, what’s wrong with that?”

Priscilla covered the dinner rolls with a towel to keep them warm while she listened to Isabelle. “Nothing’s wrong with that.” How could she claim otherwise, when it was her idea? “It seems to me you’re being a good neighbor. Surely your parents don’t disapprove of that.”

“Not exactly. They like Eva. It’s Gunther they don’t like.”

“Everyone likes Gunther.” Zach had told her that Gunther was one of the most popular men in Ladreville, and not simply because he was a first-rate miller. Even the town’s curmudgeon had nothing bad to say about him.

“Not my parents. They don’t like Gunther anymore. You see, when Eva’s lesson is over, he comes to the store and we . . .” Isabelle’s face flushed, though whether from remembered pleasure or embarrassment wasn’t clear. “We talk,” she said at last.

Priscilla removed the potatoes from the stove. “And you enjoy those conversations.”

“Oh yes.” The sparkle returned to Isabelle’s eyes, and her lips curved in a sweet smile. “I could talk to him night and day and never run out of things to say. Gunther’s got an opinion on everything. We don’t always agree, but it’s always fun.”

“But your parents disapprove.” Priscilla wasn’t surprised. The older Rousseaus had not seemed pleased by Gunther’s attention to their daughter at Priscilla and Zach’s wedding supper.

“They think he’s courting me. They think all he wants is a new mother for Eva.”

“What do you think?” Sarah claimed that the looks Gunther gave Isabelle were not those of a man thinking only of his daughter’s well-being.

“I think Gunther wants a friend.”

According to Sarah, Gunther wanted more than that, and so did Isabelle. “What if your parents are right? If he were courting you, how would you feel?”

Once again the color rose to Isabelle’s cheeks. “I don’t know.”

“I think you do.”

Isabelle bit her lip, as if considering what to say. “I like Gunther,” she admitted. “He’s the most handsome, most exciting man I’ve ever met, but . . .”

Priscilla schooled her face to show no emotion. Handsome and exciting were not words she would have applied to Gunther Lehman. However, if that was how Isabelle viewed him, Sarah was right to encourage this match.

Isabelle’s smile faded as she finished her sentence, “Everyone knows that if you’re a Frenchwoman, you marry a Frenchman.”

Just as everyone knew that if you were a woman, you couldn’t be a doctor. Priscilla took a deep breath. Her one-time dream might not have come true, but that didn’t mean Isabelle should abandon hers. “You’re an American now.”

The look Isabelle gave Priscilla said she was naïve. “That’s not the way my parents see it. Gunther’s German, and that means they’d never accept him as a son-in-law, no matter how much I love him.”

They’d reached the crux of the matter. “Do you love him?”

Isabelle nodded. “I do, but I love my parents too, and I don’t want to hurt them. Maman looks sad, and Papa reminds me of what the Bible says.”

At least Priscilla’s parents had not quoted Scripture to her. “The commandment tells us we should honor our parents. It seems to me you are honoring them. You’re considering their feelings. That’s important, but it doesn’t mean you have to obey every command they issue. You’re a grown woman, Isabelle. You can make your own decisions.”

Isabelle bit her lip, and once again Priscilla sensed she was trying to hold back her tears. “I wish that were true, but how can I marry Gunther, knowing it’ll make my parents unhappy?”

“Has he asked you to marry him?” Gunther did not have the reputation of being rash, and surely it would be rash to have proposed so quickly.

“Not yet, but . . .”

“Wait.” Hadn’t Mama always advocated patience? “If Gunther is the man God intends you to marry, he’ll show you the way to satisfy your parents.”

Isabelle managed a weak smile. “I hope so.”

He was late. Her heart began to thud with worry, and she felt her palms grow moist as she stared out the window at the empty road. He’d never been so late. Though she hadn’t looked at her watch, her heart told her he was overdue by an hour, maybe more. She’d been waiting for so long, and still there was no sign of him. Something must have happened. Something horrible. Her heartbeat accelerated, and she turned away from the window, unwilling to look at the empty road, proof that he wasn’t coming.

She knew she should occupy herself with something else, perhaps her needlework. That was what ladies did in these circumstances. But she could not rest. Instead she paced from one end of the room to the other, and each time, though she told herself it was futile, she gazed out the window, hoping against hope that she would see his wagon. At last, in desperation, she opened her watch to check the time. It couldn’t be. She stared at the face, not believing what she saw. The watch must have stopped. She unpinned it and held it to her ear. It was still ticking. Priscilla began to laugh. The evidence was clear. He wasn’t late. There were still five minutes before he had said he would meet her. It was only she who, eager to see him, had been ready far too early.

She returned to the window, then gazed at the door. She ought to remain indoors. Mama had cautioned her not to appear eager for a man’s attention. But the day was so lovely. Surely there was no harm in sitting on the porch.

A moment later she was settled in the swing, and still he had not come. She opened her watch again, shaking her head when she realized that only a minute had passed. He wasn’t late. Not yet. And then she heard it, the sound of hoofbeats, the rattle of wagon wheels. Her heart began to beat faster, keeping time with the racing horses. It must be him. It was!

He jumped from the wagon and ran toward her. “I know I’m early,” he said as he doffed his hat, “but I couldn’t wait to see you.”

Though Mama would frown, Priscilla saw no reason to lie. “Me too. I’ve been ready for an hour.” As he grinned and took her hand between both of hers, she said softly, “Oh, Zach, I love you.”

Priscilla wakened, her heart pounding when she remembered the dream. Mama had believed that dreams were powerful portents and had reminded Patience and Priscilla how often God had used them to tell his people about the future. Normally Priscilla woke with little or no memory of having dreamed, but today was different. Today the memory lingered, almost as vivid as the dream itself, and that set her mind to whirling. Could it be possible? Was Granny Menger right in saying that Zach was the man God intended for Priscilla? Was what she felt for Zach more than gratitude or friendship? Was it love?

Priscilla lay back on the pillow, smiling.