Scattered Petals (22 page)

As with a single voice, the congregation shouted, “He is risen!” The wondrous words that filled her heart with joy each time she heard them washed over Priscilla, sending shivers down her spine. This truly was a day of miracles.

The early service concluded with a hymn and a final prayer, leaving the townspeople to make their way to the long tables now laden with breakfast. Perhaps it was in reaction to the silence, but the crowd seemed louder than normal, and they jostled each other in their eagerness to reach the food. Priscilla flinched at the unwanted touches and edged her way to the perimeter.

“I’m sorry, Zach,” she said as he made a path for her. It had been months since she’d been attacked. Surely by now she should have recovered, and yet she had not. Just the thought of a man’s touch made her cringe, and actual contact caused her stomach to roil.

Zach’s smile was reassuring. “I understand.” He must, for somehow he managed to part the crowds without touching her. Was this how Moses parted the Red Sea?

They were nearing the edge of the crowd when Priscilla saw Gunther approach Isabelle. His determined gait made Priscilla realize he would not be discouraged by the Rousseaus’ disapproval.

“You wore it.” The miller’s face was wreathed with happiness, and though Isabelle’s parents were close by, he appeared oblivious to them.

Isabelle fingered her necklace, a lovely combination of pinecones and seeds. This must be the “it” that had caused Gunther’s happiness. “I promised you I would.” Isabelle returned his smile, but it faded an instant later as her mother grabbed her arm.

“Isabelle, come here.” Madame Rousseau’s normally pleasant voice was tinged with anger. “Your place is with your family.”

“Yes, Maman.”

When they were far enough away that their words would not be overheard, Priscilla looked up at Zach. “It doesn’t sound as if Isabelle’s parents are happy with Gunther’s courtship.”

Zach shook his head and gestured toward Gunther, who was now surrounded by a group of men. “Looks like Gunther is being subjected to a harangue.”

Priscilla’s attention was drawn to his daughter, who stood at his side, her eyes closed as if she were trying not to cry. “Poor Eva. Those men are spoiling what should be the most joyous day of the year.”

Zach frowned. “I’ll see what I can do.”

As he strode toward the men, Priscilla made her way to Isabelle. “Are you all right?” she asked, turning so that Madame Rousseau could not read her lips.

Isabelle shook her head. “No. Maman is angry because I’m wearing this necklace.” Once again she fingered the offending piece of jewelry. “She hates it because Gunther gave it to me.”

Isabelle’s motion triggered memories of the hundreds of times Priscilla had touched her locket. Never again. Like so much else, that was lost. She swallowed deeply, resolving not to let her own dismay affect her friend. The locket wasn’t important. Isabelle’s happiness was. “I wish I could help you.”

Isabelle shook her head. “It’s what I was afraid of. No one can help.”

That evening when she and Zach were back at the Lazy B, Priscilla broached the subject. “There must be something we can do. Isabelle’s parents are making her miserable.”

Zach’s blue eyes darkened as he accepted the glass of buttermilk Priscilla had poured. “Gunther’s friends are just as bad.”

Priscilla took her seat across the table from Zach. “You and Sarah warned me about the town’s divisions, but I never thought people would be so cruel. Especially on Easter.” Somehow the fact that the unpleasantness had occurred on this holy day made it seem worse. “Even Yvonne made a nasty comment, and she’s one of Isabelle’s closest friends.”

Zach emptied his glass before he spoke. “The town’s prejudices are deep-seated. According to Clay, things are improving, but I’m afraid the distrust won’t disappear completely for a long time. It was one thing to allow the children to attend school together, but it’s quite another to sanction a marriage.”

That might be true, but seeing the way Gunther and Isabelle had looked at each other convinced Priscilla they loved each other. “I still want to help them,” she told Zach.

“So do I. Let’s pray that God shows us the way.”

The morning mist had evaporated; the sun was shining; it was a perfect April day. Though Easter Monday, as she’d heard it called, was a holiday in some countries, it was work as usual on the Lazy B. Priscilla smiled and began to hum as she pulled out the ingredients for gingerbread. Supper today would be simple: scalloped potatoes with leftover ham that Martina had sent home with her. But with the still-warm gingerbread, it would be a meal Zach could enjoy. The first time Priscilla had made gingerbread, he’d admitted it was a childhood favorite. That was one of the reasons she was serving it today. If Zach’s stomach was content, perhaps his mind would find a way to help Isabelle and Gunther.

Priscilla had spent the day pondering the problem and had resolved nothing, yet she knew there must be a way to convince the town—and, more importantly, Isabelle’s parents— to approve the marriage. It should be obvious to anyone who knew them that they belonged together. Priscilla had seen the sparks that flew between them. Furthermore, Sarah claimed that Gunther looked different when he was with Isabelle. She said the smiles he gave her were unlike those he had offered to either her or Olga Kaltheimer. The reason, according to Sarah, was that this time Gunther was in love. He now sought a wife, not simply a mother for Eva.

Priscilla continued humming, her mind whirling with ideas, as she reached for the molasses. She was measuring the thick sweetener when the pain struck. Gasping at the cramp that literally stole her breath, she doubled over and clutched her stomach.
Oh no! Please, God, no!
The pain was sharper than anything she had ever experienced, so intense that stars danced before her eyes.
No!
she cried as another cramp, far stronger than the last, clawed at her insides.
Help me!
And then she felt it. At first it was a trickle, but as she looked down and saw the pool of red at her feet, it increased.
Oh no! The baby!
Something was desperately wrong with her baby.

Trembling with fear, Priscilla staggered to a chair. What could she do? The bleeding was faster now, a steady stream. She needed help, but there was no one nearby, no one she could call. Granny Menger or Clay would know what to do, but she had no way to reach them. Priscilla’s legs no longer supported her, her arms were shaking so badly she could not control a horse, and still the bleeding continued.

Come home, Zach. Come home.
She whispered the words as she crawled toward the bedroom. Perhaps if she lay down, the bleeding would stop. Her mind moved as sluggishly as her arms and legs. There was something else, something Papa had told her. What was it? Elevation. The word drifted into her brain. That was it. Papa had said it was important to raise a woman’s legs if she was bleeding. How could she do that? Priscilla touched her forehead, wondering why she was unable to find the answer to a simple question. Had the morning fog returned? Was that the reason everything looked so strange? And why wouldn’t her legs move? She was trying to crawl, but her arms and legs remained limp. Priscilla felt tears trickle down her cheeks. Where was Zach? He could help her.

“Priscilla, what’s wrong?”

From a distance she heard a man’s voice. Zach. He’d come home. Why was he here, and why was the room so cold?

“Priscilla.” She heard his voice again. Priscilla knew she ought to open her eyes, but she couldn’t, for her eyelids were too heavy, and she was cold, so very cold.

“Priscilla, look at me.” His voice was stronger now. Surely she could do what he asked. Though it took every ounce of strength she possessed, Priscilla forced her eyes open.

“What’s wrong?”

His words echoed inside her head, and for a moment she could not answer. Something was wrong, but what? Then memory slammed through her. Pain. Blood. Cold. “I lost the baby.”

Zach muttered something under his breath. Then he slipped an arm around her. Priscilla moved instinctively, pressing closer to the warmth. “You need a doctor.” Zach was speaking again. “I’ll take you to Clay.”

She shook her head. “Can’t move. Too much bleeding.”

“Then I’ll summon Clay.”

He was leaving. She couldn’t let him leave. He was warm. He could help her. “Don’t go. It’s so dark. Oh, Zach, I’m afraid.”

“One minute. You can hold on for one more minute. I’ll be right back.”

She heard heavy footsteps and Zach’s voice yelling for their hired hand. A moment later, he was at her side. “Myron will get Clay. He’ll help you. You’ll be fine, Priscilla.”

But his words were fading, and the darkness was growing thicker. “It’s too late.” Darkness overtook her.

“Wake up, Priscilla. Wake up.” Zach stared at the woman who lay sprawled on the floor, her skirts bloodied, her face deathly pale. If he lived to be a hundred, he knew he would never forget the way his heart had stopped when he’d entered the house and seen her lying there. Nothing, not even the horrors of Perote or the nightmares that continued to plague him, had prepared him for the sheer terror of seeing his wife on the floor, her lifeblood ebbing away.

“Priscilla, wake up.” But she wasn’t sleeping. Zach knew that, just as he knew his life would be irrevocably changed if she died. “You can’t leave me. You can’t.” Though he wanted to lift her onto the bed in hopes that she would be more comfortable, he dared not, lest the movement increase her bleeding. Priscilla had said she could not move, and so he would do nothing until Clay arrived. Still, she looked pale and cold, even colder than he was when in the nightmare’s grip. Zach clenched his fists. How he hated being powerless! There must be something he could do to help Priscilla.

He looked around, his eyes lighting on the bed. Yanking the coverlet off it, he wrapped it around her. It wasn’t much, but it might retain what little warmth she still possessed. There had to be more. As Zach folded his hands to pray, he nodded. There was something he could do. Priscilla hadn’t pulled away in fear when he’d touched her before. Instead, she had snuggled closer to him as if seeking his warmth. He could give her that. Zach lowered himself to the floor and lay next to Priscilla, gathering her into his arms. Perhaps his body heat would help her. It was all he had.

He closed his eyes, not wanting to think that Clay might be too late.
Dear Lord,
he prayed,
keep her safe.

Heavy footsteps signaled Clay’s arrival. Zach rose to greet his friend, wincing when he saw Clay’s expression. If he’d had any doubt of the seriousness of Priscilla’s condition, Clay’s frown would have banished it. “I need to examine her.” Clay opened his bag. “I’ll call you when I’m done.”

Though his watch claimed that only a few minutes had passed before Clay summoned him, Zach felt as if he’d waited for hours. When he returned to the bedroom, he found Clay had placed Priscilla on the bed, covering all but her face. Though she was breathing, Zach didn’t need to be a doctor to know that the breathing was not normal. It was slow and so thin that each time, he feared it was the last.

“She’s lost the baby.”

Zach nodded. “That’s what she thought.”

“She’s also lost a lot of blood.”

“But she’ll be all right, won’t she?”

Clay’s lips thinned as he laid a hand on Zach’s shoulder. “I wish I could promise that, but the truth is, I don’t know. I’ve done everything I can. It’s up to God now.”

This was what Zach had feared from the moment he’d found Priscilla crumpled on the floor. The woman who had brought joy back into his life was facing death. He lowered his eyes, lest his friend see his anguish. “I’d like to be alone with her.”

Clay seemed to understand. “I’ll wait in the parlor.” Gently, he closed the door behind him, leaving Zach alone with his wife.

“Oh, Priscilla.” Zach knelt next to the bed and reached under the coverlet for her hand. Though he couldn’t explain it, he felt compelled to touch the woman who had once shied from his touch. His heart thudded with dread as he looked at her hand. It was so fragile, the ring he’d placed on it seeming to weigh it down. Poor Priscilla. She’d lost so much. First her sister, then her parents, now the baby. Could it be time for her suffering to end?