Sweet Annie (19 page)

Her interest in the table tripled and she selected
two pairs of pillowslips, one embroidered with purple pan-sies, the other with
delicate pale-green ivy, both edged with crocheted lace. She added a set of
dish towels and a baby bib to her pile and paid Mrs. Krenshaw.

Charmaine's brows rose into the middle of her forehead,
but she only grinned and carried Annie's purchases with her own.

Occasionally throughout the
afternoon Annie glimpsed Luke, watching games, tasting pies, drinking beer with
the men. Before the sun started to set behind the mountains, people cleared the
street to stand along the sides and horse races commenced.

Annie hadn't expected to see Luke on one of the
horses that shot past in a cloud of dust, but when she recognized him, she
worked her way to her feet and cheered with the rest of the boisterous crowd.

"Did he win? Did he win?" She jumped up
and down in excitement, holding her cousin's arm for support.

"I can't see with you
bouncing in front of me," Charmaine replied, and they laughed.

After the races Lizzy and
her new husband, Guy Halverson, greeted them. A glowing Lizzy stood beside her
young husband with adoration, clinging to his arm and giving him coquettish
smiles as they shared talk of the day's fun.

"That's enough to make
you sick," Charmaine commented after they'd moved on.

"I thought it was
sweet," Annie replied. "You had that same look on your face when
Wayne spoke to you."

"I did not."

“Did so. How do you know? I
was looking at you. You were making goo-goo eyes at him."

"You're making it
up."

"Am not."

"Take it back or I'll
push you into a pile of horse dung."

They were still bantering,
and Annie had started to edge out of her chair just in case Charmaine got serious,
when Luke found them.

"Ladies. Are you
having a good time?" He wore the hat again, and Annie wished his eyes
weren't shaded.

"Oh, a wonderful
time!" She sat back down in her chair. "Did you win the race? There
were too many people in the way for me to see."

"Sure did. Georgette
is the fastest mount I've ever owned."

"Georgette?"

"She's
a mountain pony I bought a couple of summers ago."

"I don't think I've
met her yet."

"I'll have to
introduce you."

"Now
you
have the look,"
Charmaine said out the side of her mouth.

Annie ignored her.

"See you at the dance
later?" Luke asked.

"We'll be there,"
Annie replied.

He
touched the brim of his hat and moved away in a loose-hipped ramble she
couldn't help but admire. His movements were always sure and graceful. She
didn't know if she'd ever seen anyone do such simple things with such riveting
ease.

"You
still have the look, but now a line of drool is hanging from your lip."

Annie
took a swat at Charmaine's rump. "It is not!"

"Is so."

"Push
me and hush up, or you're going to be the one in the pile of poop!"

Annie
couldn't remember a day that she'd had so much fun. She felt almost free,
almost unrestricted, almost normal. Almost.

"We
don't go home to change or anything?" she asked Charmaine after their
parents found them and they all got into Uncle Mort's wagon and headed for the barn
where the dance was being held.

"It's
not fancy," Charmaine replied. "Just a simple barn dance."

That
was fine with Annie, because she'd worn her favorite dress.

The
same musicians who had played for Lizzy's wedding were there, as well as a few
more. People came from all over the county for this celebration, so the throng
packed the Stevensens' barn and flowed out the doors into the deepening
twilight.

Tables
of food and drinks had been set up along one wall, but the dense crush of
attendees prevented Annie from getting anywhere close. Her mother brought her a
plate and a drink, and Annie thanked her.

"I had a wonderful
time today," she told her.

Mildred
looked her over, studying her hair and face, the green brocade of her now
rumpled skirt. "Where
did
you
get that dress?''

“Aunt
Vera showed me how to cut it out and baste it together. I did the sewing
myself." Annie ran a loving hand over the white chiffon bodice, the only
ruffle on the entire garment.

"And you're feeling
well?"

Annie
returned the perusal. It was almost as if she didn't know this woman who'd
cared for her her entire life. "I'm just fine."

Mildred raised her chin,
but said nothing.

“Did you have a nice day?''
Annie asked.

Her mother gave a curt nod.

Glenda's girls found her.

"Mother, do you know Gwen
and Gerta?"

"I
didn't know their names. Mrs. Harper's daughters, I believe."

The
girls told Annie and her mother about a sack race they'd run in that day.
Mildred watched them as they spoke, but didn't comment. Later, when they moved
off into the throng, Annie studied her mother's face.

"Did
you ever feel robbed because you didn't have a healthy, whole daughter?''

"Of
course not," her mother replied. "Don't disparage yourself."

"I've thought a
thousand times, and berated myself for it, that you liked having me this way so
that you could control me. But of course, you would have rather had a normal
child. What mother doesn't want a perfect child?"

Her mother's features
tightened and she brought her hands together over her chest.

"And
isn't that what I've always been?" Annie asked. The music had started, but
she paid no attention to it. "All these years, submissive, obedient,
staying where I've been placed and wearing what I've been given and not causing
any problems? I've been the perfect child."

The idea came as a revelation to Annie. The
friction between them had only started when Annie had become dissatisfied with
her situation, when her frustration had mounted to an unbearable level and
she'd begun expressing it. Now it seemed as though her mother didn't know how
to handle the change—how to relate to the more mature, more opinionated Annie.

"I'm sorry if I've
been upsetting you, Mother," she said softly. "It's not because I
don't love you and Daddy or that I don't appreciate everything you've done for
me and how well you've taken care of me. It's just that I've grown up. I've
grown up and you haven't let me."

Tears had formed in her
mother's eyes, and she blinked them back, keeping her face composed. A few
dancers moved in graceful motions on the sawdusted floor several yards away.
"Don't be foolish. You need us, Annie."

"I'll always need you.
It just might not be in the same way, or to the same extent."

Mildred
looked at her daughter as though she didn't recognize her.

Annie
handed her the empty plate she'd been holding. "Thank you."

Her
mother accepted it, looked at it for a full minute, then gracefully walked
away.

Annie
watched the dancers, thinking about all the enjoyment in life she'd missed,
reflecting on all the times she'd wanted to do things but had kept silent, not
wanting to cause a problem, always keeping peace and being acquiescent.

Dozens
of imagined scenes flashed in her mind: School. Dances. Parades. Friends.
Horseback rides. Will. Luke.

Luke.

The
only time she'd ever defied her parents, ever allowed her own wants and wishes
to prevail had been to see Luke. And even then she'd done it in secret. As
though it was wrong. Or dirty.

Studying the dancers, she
spotted Charmaine with Wayne, and she admired her cousin's confidence and.
polish. Glenda danced with Tim, and she looked ten years younger in his arms.
He smiled down at his wife, and Annie wondered how she'd missed his handsome
smile.

Levi
Cutter took a turn around the dance floor with one young lady after another;
right now Doneta Parker was his blushing partner. Doneta's steel-gray-haired
father appeared on the side of the floor and watched with stem attention.

Letting
her gaze scan the bystanders, Annie found Luke in a cluster of young men, a
metal cup in his hand. His piercing blue gaze touched on the dancers, flitted
to her, and a moment later one of his friends spoke and he replied, turning his
face away.

He
was as aware of her at all times as she was of him. They craved being together.
They were missing out on something new and wonderful—the beginning of
forever—because she was a coward. Because she didn't want to ripple the waters.
Because—her heart convulsed—because she feared Burdy doing something harmful
to Luke.

He'd
told her a dozen times he wasn't afraid of her brother—never had been, and
finally the reason dawned on her. Luke had been raised on a ranch, worked in a
livery, pounded iron and trained horses for a living. Burdy sat in a bank. Luke
could hold his own in a match with just about anybody, she figured, even Burdy.
Especially Burdy. Luke was still younger, but now youth was in his favor.

He feared her parents would
send her away.

That
would never happen. Not now. Noyiow that she knew what she wanted and had
stopped being afraid to voice it.

Annie
thought long and hard, the music thumping through her veins. She made a
decision and acted on it before she had second thoughts, before she had time to
think about people staring at her, before she pictured the horrified look on
her mother's face.

Pushing
herself up with her arms, she moved her feet in front of the rest on her chair
and gathered her balance to stand. That part was easy, she'd done it a hundred
times lately.

She
brushed the wrinkles from her skirt, confident of how she looked in the new
green dress, and took a step toward the dance floor. The next step took a
little more convincing, but she ignored the doubts in the back of her mind and
moved ahead.

One
step. Two steps. Slow, awkward. Her gait was a clumsy kind of step-limp,
step-limp that was neither graceful nor agile nor any of the things she
imagined it could be. But it got her where she was going—and it got her there
on her own.

Her
mother had made her so self-conscious of what people thought, that she had to
fight the urge to turn and look at faces.

The
only face she kept in her line of vision was Luke's. His was the only regard
that mattered.

He
didn't see her at first, because he'd been engaged in a conversation with two
men, but when one of them looked her way, and then the other, he turned his
head and spotted her. Conversation died on his lips, and an unfamiliar
expression softened his already heart-stopping features.

Annie
kept up her steady step-limp, step-limp, discovering the sawdust beneath her
shoes, seeing concern on his face turn to a question and then to a welcome
and finally to something else—pride. She didn't take her gaze from his eyes for
a second.

She
became aware that she'd drawn attention; that talk had hushed and that the
dancers on the floor barely shifted. She felt every eye in the building focused
upon her ungainly approach.

The
song changed, but the dancers no longer moved.

Luke
didn't take a step toward her; he waited patiently. She drew near, and he
smiled, the smile she loved that creased his cheeks and crinkled the corners of
his eyes. He handed the tin cup to the man beside him.

She
stopped in front of him, breathless not from walking, but from the exhilaration
of doing such a bold and daring thing.

"I
don't know how to dance," she said, her voice airy with nervous tension.
"I don't even know if I can...but I'd like to learn."

He
didn't answer right away. He studied her eyes, her hair, his blue gaze a
sensual caress that made her remember all their private moments together and
feel the familiar heat. "I'd like to teach you," he finally replied.
"But first I have something for you."