Annie's Song (21 page)

Alex gazed at his housekeeper expectantly. When he realized she intended to say nothing more, he ground his teeth. “Maddy, tell me, for God’s sake. Where does she go?”

“The attic!” she informed him, beaming with satisfaction. “Up to the bleedin’ attic.”

“How? You assured me—absolutely no question, remember—that you kept it locked. Didn’t you check it?”

“I have the key,” she reminded him. “I didn’t see a need to check, knowin’ as I did that it couldn’t be unlocked.”

“But it obviously was!”

“Henry again,” she said by way of explanation.

“Henry?”

“When ye replaced the safe in yer study, I had him take the old one up to the attic. He must’ve forgot to lock the door. When I asked, he assured me he did, and I saw no call to question his word.”

Alex sighed. “Trust Henry to think he locked it when he didn’t. I should’ve checked it myself.” Glancing up at the second floor landing, he frowned. “The attic? Of all the dirty, nasty places—” He shook his head. “Why in God’s name would she go up there?”

“Ye got me. That’s why I sent fer ye, to go fetch her down. I’d go, but ye know how I hate mice.

Frederick offered to go up, but Annie doesn’t see much of him, and I didn’t want her to get frightened.

Our luck, she’d try to run and step in one of those rat traps.”

The unsprung traps in the attic weren’t Alex’s only concern, even though, as he recalled, the uppermost floor was littered with them. What worried him more was that the attic was probably stifling at this time of year, not to mention dark, dusty, and infested with spiders. Black widows being indigenous to the area, that was not a comforting thought.

Alex pushed past Maddy and made for the stairs.

“Do ye want me to send Frederick up to help ye search?” she called.

He never broke stride. “I think I can find her. Go on about your work, Maddy. I’ll bring her back down.”

The stairway that led to the attic was located on the third floor in the west wing. Envisioning Annie with a fatal spider bite, Alex took the treacherously steep and narrow steps at a breakneck speed. The door,
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rusty from disuse, squeaked eerily as he pushed it open. Wishing he’d thought to bring a lantern, he stepped into the semi-darkness. The only source of light came from strategically placed dormer and gable windows, their efficiency undermined by grime. The smell of dust and mildew burned his nostrils.

While he paused to get his bearings and allow his eyes to adjust, he heard faint scurrying noises that made his blood run cold. Rodents. Though he would never admit it to anyone, he harbored an irrational fear of the nasty little creatures. He wasn’t sure why. He could handle snakes. Spiders scarcely gave him pause. He wasn’t even particularly wary of large carnivores. But mice? On the rare occasion when one was spotted downstairs, he wanted to follow Maddy’s example and stand on a chair until Frederick came to dispense with it.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. From his right came a scratching noise, then a gnawing sound. The skin along his back and arms shriveled. Jesus. Over the years, he’d conquered his fear enough to face the occasional mouse. For the sake of his pride, he’d had no choice. But a legion of them? He felt like Goliath must have while facing David. Only, in this confrontation, David had multiplied.

As his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, Alex could make out the shapes around him. The replaced safe. Old pieces of furniture. A mirror that had once graced the parlor and was now so grimy it no longer reflected any light. Propped between two stacks of boxes, he saw several oil paintings covered with sheets and bound with twine. In a clutter at their base was an assortment of what appeared to be cooking pots. Over everything lay a thick coat of dust, and stretching from object to object were filigreed webs, their intricately woven fibers adorned with dead moths and other hapless insects. The place wasn’t fit for man or beast. Yet Annie was up here somewhere.

Stepping forward, he barked his shin on an old trunk. Son of a bitch. “Annie!” he called gruffly.

Venturing a few more steps, he stumbled into a huge iron caldron that had once been used for boiling laundry. “Damn it!” he said under his breath. Then, more loudly, “Annie, where are you?”

As he wove his way through the haphazard assortment of castoff items that had collected there over the years, Alex reminded himself that his wife wasn’t able to answer him. Fool that he was, he was yelling as though he expected a reply. On the other hand, the attic was nearly as large as the three floors below, and he didn’t relish the thought of searching every square inch. Not when lack of light rendered him half blind and mice scurried in the shadows.

“Annie? Come on out, honey. Maddy has tea and cakes waiting for you.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. When he got the girl downstairs, he’d see to it she was given a treat of some sort. Anything to cajole her out of hiding. “Did you hear me? Cakes. God damn it!” Alex bent to rub his knee, which had connected painfully with the sharp corner of the antiquated safe. “Honey? I know you’re up here somewhere.

Won’t you come out? Please? It’s not safe up here.”

As he straightened, Alex heard a sound that he thought came from the east wing. Not a scurrying noise, but more of a thump. Definitely too loud for a mouse or—God forbid—a rat. Relieved to have at least pinpointed Annie’s general location, he turned and headed in that direction. To his immense relief, he found that the way had been cleared a few feet beyond the door, almost as if she had set things aside so they wouldn’t obstruct her path. He cringed at the thought of her moving heavy furniture. If worry was fatal, the girl was going to drive him to an early grave.

As he drew near the east section of the attic, the light seemed to grow stronger. Pondering its source, he remembered there was a flank of dormer windows in this wing. Drawn to the illumination, he made steady progress, calling out loudly every few seconds. Even if Annie didn’t understand him, at least she wouldn’t be startled when he found her.

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Stepping around a partition wall, Alex finally spotted his quarry. He stopped, not quite able to believe his eyes. Annie ... only not the Annie he knew. Dressed in a pink morning dress and black kid pumps that she must have ferreted from his dead stepmother’s trunks, she was a veritable fashion plate, albeit an outdated one. With her dark hair drawn into a tousled and slightly off-center topknot of curls, which she’d secured with a bit of lace, she presented a perfect cameo in profile, the loveliest woman he had ever seen, barring none.

“Annie, what in the world?”

No response. Not even a twitch to indicate she’d heard him.

So stunned he couldn’t move, Alex simply stood there and gaped. Annie went on about her business, and busy business it was. With odds and ends of furniture, she had created a parlor of sorts, which he noticed was free of cobwebs and dust. On a three-legged table propped up with crates at one corner, she’d laid out chipped china and was pretending to serve tea.

Her imaginary guests, male and female dummies she’d fashioned by stuffing old clothes, occupied two of the three mismatched chairs she had appropriated from somewhere in the attic. The gentleman was a dapper fellow in a moth-eaten gray suit, the lady proportionately elegant in a faded blue gown trimmed with yellowed lace. Their heads, made from stuffed white stockings, were adorned with hats, the man’s a felt derby, the woman’s a wilted arrangement of silk flowers with a veil that swept over the upper portion of her face.

Alex couldn’t help but smile. It was a wonder that Maddy hadn’t been complaining about Annie’s dwindling supply of stockings. From the looks of things, the girl had sneaked berries from the breakfast table as well. Her stuffed guests had painted faces done in a suspicious shade of raspberry-red.

“Annie, this is incredible!” Alex exclaimed, and sincerely meant it. “Ingenious! Is there anything you haven’t—”

He broke off to watch as she poured imaginary tea. With a gracious smile at her guests, she began moving her lips. Though she uttered no sound, she looked for all the world as if she were speaking. Her every movement was precise yet fluid, exactly as a lady’s should be.

“Sugar?” she asked the gentleman as she proffered the sugar bowl. Then, glancing toward the sunlight spilling through the windows, she said, “My, isn’t it a lovely day?” At least, that was what he thought she said. Inexpert at lipreading, he couldn’t be positive. After that, she continued to speak, but he had difficulty following the words.

Words ... Dear God. Soundlessly or no, she was talking. Actually talking. It was like watching a child play make-believe. Only she wasn’t a child. And this wasn’t just make-believe to her, but reality. Her only reality.

Annie hadn’t been disappearing into thin air, as Maddy half believed. She’d been slipping from one world into another.

Once, years ago, Alex had been kicked in the gut by a full-grown stallion. The blow had staggered him.

For several endless seconds, he hadn’t been able to breathe. His vision had blurred. For a crazy instant, he’d even felt as though his heart had stopped beating. That was how he felt now. As if, for a suspended moment, everything inside him lurched to a stop.

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As feeling slowly began to return to his body, pain accompanied it—a relentless, mind-numbing pain centered in his chest. He’d heard people say their hearts were broken. A few times in his life, he had even used the expression himself. But until now, the saying hadn’t really had meaning. The human heart didn’t actually break, after all. It didn’t come apart, piece by piece, and drop, along with a man’s stomach, to the region of his boots.

Like hell, it didn’t.

Annie Trimble, the town moron. Only she wasn’t a moron at all. She was deaf. Stone-deaf. And, God forgive him, he had been stone-blind.

Stunned, Alex watched Annie touch a hand to her throat and coyly bat her lashes at the stuffed gentleman. Then, to his amazement, she stepped around the makeshift table, took the dummy’s arm to embrace him, and fell into a perfectly executed waltz step, her skirt swirling as she swept around the room.

A beautiful young woman, dancing to music no one else could hear, in the arms of a man she’d created with talented hands and a vivid imagination. With the dummy, she could be someone, a privilege that the rest of the world, including Alex, had denied her.

Without intending to, Alex shifted his weight, and a floorboard gave slightly beneath his foot. With the sharpened senses of a deaf person, Annie felt the wood give and immediately froze, her eyes huge and wary as she searched him out in the gloom.

Alex could see that she was frightened. After what had happened between them in the stable, knowing as he did that she expected him to beat her if she sneaked off, he was surprised she’d even found the courage to come here again. Not that he blamed her for taking the risk. In this make-believe parlor, she could be whoever she wished, do whatever she wished. In comparison, the world that awaited her downstairs probably seemed like a prison. Stupid Annie, locked inside the house for her own protection.

Stupid Annie, expected to eat what was set before her, to bathe when told, to dress like a ragamuffin child. She was a lump of flesh they tended, kept in a room with a barred window half the time, watched over as though she were a toddler the rest of the time. In her shoes, he would have risked a beating to come up here, too.

A beating... From her stricken expression, Alex guessed that physical punishment was not the only thing she feared. In coming here, he had discovered her secret. This world she had created was sacrosanct, and she undoubtedly saw him as an intruder who might destroy it. With the simple turn of a key, he could lock her out of the attic, prevent her from ever returning. Worse yet, and again with only the turn of a key, he could lock her in a room with a barred window and never let her out. Power. Ultimate authority.

If he chose, he could make her life more of a hell than it already was.

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Only he wouldn’t. Not for anything.

Seeing her like this, Alex was awestruck. And helplessly fascinated. All he wanted was to pass from his reality, which suddenly had very little to recommend it, into hers. Not to destroy, but to seek some small margin of common ground with her, if only for a few brief seconds.

Moving cautiously, ever so cautiously, he closed the distance between them. It was a gamble. He knew that. This was her world—a secret world—and he hadn’t been issued an invitation. But it was the only way he could think of that he might reach her.

When he came within arm’s length, he tapped her lifeless dance partner on the shoulder. Executing a polite bow, he said, “May 1 have the honor of this dance?”

A study in motion, Annie still stood frozen with one foot extended to take a step, her slender body slightly off balance, the dummy clutched to her breast. Limned by silvery light from the windows behind her, she might have been an ice carving, too fragile and delicate to withstand the touch of a man’s hands.

In the hollow of her throat, he could see a pulsebeat, and by its frantic rhythm, he took measure of her fear. He knew she might try to flee. He couldn’t blame her for that. After Douglas’s treatment of her, he hadn’t come into her life with much to recommend him, and in the time since, he’d done little to rectify the lack.

“Please, Annie? Just one dance,” he said huskily. “Surely your card isn’t full.”

There it was again—that confused, uncomprehending expression in her eyes. He’d seen it dozens of times before and mistakenly believed it to be a reflection of her stupidity. Wrong. If anyone was an idiot, he was. While executing the bow, he had bent his head as he was speaking. The reason she looked bewildered was because she had missed part of what he said. That was why she always stared so intently at his face when he spoke to her, why she sometimes seemed confused. Not realizing she was deaf, he had probably turned his head in the middle of a sentence. Or spoken indistinctly. Dear God. The girl was anything but stupid. That she had learned, all on her own, to lip-read and mimic speech was indicative of an intelligence well above average.