Sweet Annie (5 page)

Which
would place her out of view of the proceedings, but she could hardly sit in
the middle aisle as the bride came past, so Annie nodded and accepted her
cousin's placement.

Sometime later, after the
wedding march, after the prayers, while the couple was exchanging vows, Annie's
curiosity got the best of her and she glanced across the room. Luke Carpenter,
dressed in a smart black suit, his ebony hair combed and glistening, nodded
her way.

She
smiled a shy greeting and turned back to the ceremony. But her gaze was drawn
to him again. He was watching the proceedings, but glanced her way and their
eyes met. He smiled this time, a slow, heart-touching expression of recognition
and favor that made her stomach flutter.

Seated
between Annie and Luke, amidst a sea of onlookers and a row or two back,
Burdell caught the direction of Luke's focus and speared Annie with a glare.
Annie took her attention from Luke and offered her brother a benign smile. His
gaze shot back to Luke, who had looked away and was seemingly engaged with the
service. Burdy frowned at Annie.

Beside Burdell, his
dark-haired wife, Diana, touched her husband's hand and drew his concentration
back to the proceedings. Annie believed that Diana was the best thing that
could have happened to Burdy. She was a kind and loving young woman, but she
held a will and a mind of her own. She possessed more energy than any three
women Annie knew, and was always involved in either a benevolence project or a
political campaign. If she believed in a local candidate, she hopped on his
bandwagon, distributing flyers and hosting fund-raising teas.

Burdy
quite obviously adored Diana, along with everyone who knew her. Her very zest
for life and liberty drew people and made her a prominent community figure.
She and Burdy had a child now, and with Will's birth, Burdy had pampered and
catered to his wife even more.

Annie
loved Diana, too.

The
ceremony ended and, to the strains of the organ music, the newlyweds linked
arms and strolled from the church.

All
around, guests stood and spoke in excited voices, milling toward the door, ready
for the rest of the festivities to begin.

Annie
sat, waiting for one of her family members to come for her. Occasionally
wedding guests greeted her on their way past. Times like these, she wished she
could fade into the background, where she and her cumbersome chair weren't an
eyesore.

Growing
impatient, she rolled herself to the back of the building, and as the crowd
thinned, toward the door to the small foyer and the three stairs. She knew
there were three because her father always found someone to assist him in
lifting her and her chair up and down those stairs.

Today
it was Ike McPhillips, but his help came too late for her to see the newlyweds
depart.

Father
pushed her to the social hall building which sat beside the church. The
doorways and tables were festooned with swags of white tulle and pink paper
flowers. The smooth wooden floor provided space for Annie to push herself
independently, and she did so, wheeling away from her parents toward the
gathering of young ladies near the refreshment tables.

"May I help?"

Mary
Chancelor and Doneta Parker glanced at each other and at the tables. “You can
sit right here at the end of this table and pour punch," Doneta told her.

"Okay."
Annie accepted the assignment gratefully and took her position.

Though the other girls
carried glass bowls and silverware and dashed about arranging things just so,
Annie was content to sit at her station and wait for the opportunity to serve
someone. She had time to watch the musicians set up and to see people arrive
and greet each other. Her mother checked on her, found her occupied, and moved
on into the growing throng.

Eventually the food and
cake were ready, and guests were encouraged to move through the line. Annie
poured punch, while on her left, Charmaine had assumed the coffee duty.

Annie noticed Luke in the
line moving toward her, and her heart beat double-time. Handing Mrs. Whit-more
a cup, her sudden trembling caused punch to spill over the side.

"I'm so sorry,"
she said, quickly handing the woman a napkin and wiping her own fingers.

"That's quite all
right, dear," she said, in a kind, yet condescending tone. "Accidents
happen to all of us, don't they?"

She hadn't meant it
unkindly, but she'd meant that even regular people—people who could
walk—spilled things, and the meaning sliced Annie's pride. She blinked back the
sting of tears, folded the napkin and poured punch for the next person.

When Luke reached her, she
had composed her hands and her feelings.

"That's a pretty color
on you, Miss Annie," he said in his soul-pleasing voice. "It does
something that brings out the fire in your hair."

Annie looked up, wishing
she didn't have to, wishing she could look him in the eye without craning her
neck. Her mother had taught her that when approached with flattery, a young woman
should never encourage painted words with a smile or a blush. Annie didn't encourage
the flattery or blush, but she responded immediately with, "I didn't know
I had fire in my hair."

"Oh, yes," he
said, extending an empty cup.

She
reached to take it, but he held on, their knuckles grazing.

"Sometimes I see a
little in your eyes, too," he said. "Before you have a chance to look
away or hide it."

His
words were disturbing, and she started to tear her gaze away, then caught
herself, challenged in some way she couldn't have explained. Was this the
flattery she was expected to discourage? She held his stare, his fingers
touching hers until she thought she felt the same fire he claimed was in her
hair.

He
smiled, two rakish slashes forming in his cheeks. "I'll take some punch
now."

He
released the cup into her hand, and she glanced behind him to see if the next
person in line had noticed anything unusual, but Guy Halverson's father spoke
to the man behind him conversationally.

Annie dipped liquid and
handed Luke his drink.

"Thank you." With
a grin, he moved on.

After
an hour or so, the line ran out; people finished eating and began to dance.
Annie remained at her post. Even though folks could get their own refills, the
duty made her feel useful and not quite so out of place.

Finally,
Mrs. Jamison shooed her away, telling her to go eat and visit with the young
people. She fixed a plate and rolled herself to a secluded spot where she
watched the dancing. Trying not to look for him was like trying not to worry a
sore tooth with a tongue. She scanned the crowd again and again, occasionally
spotting his black hair and then looking quickly away.

She
picked at the food without much interest, but holding the plate made her look
as though she were doing something.

"Hi,
Annie," Burdell said sometime later, coming to take a seat on a wooden
chair beside her. He had his little boy, Will, in tow, and pulled him onto his
knee.

"Hi, Burdy. Hi,
Will."

The
two-year-old yawned, then grinned at her. “Hi, Nannie."

"You having a good
time?" Burdell asked.

"It's a nice party.
Want to sit on my lap, Will?"

Burdy
took her plate and handed it to one of the ladies passing by. The child scooted
from his dad's knee and used Annie's foot as a step in his eagerness to sit
with her.

"Whoa there, William,
you'll hurt your aunt."

"No,
he won't hurt me," she denied, and brushed his concern aside like swatting
at an irritating fly. "We're buddies, aren't we?"

Will
nodded. Annie inhaled the sweet fragrance of his baby-fine dark hair and kissed
the downy soft skin of his cheek. The twill trousers he wore were miniature
replicas of his father's, with suspenders crossing his narrow back.

He
said a few words she wished she understood, and pointed to the crowd. Annie
nodded and listened. He gave her a comical look with his brown eyes open wide
and one corner of his mouth turned up. She laughed aloud. "You're just
precious, Will, do you know that?"

"Yup," he said
seriously

She
kissed his head and hugged him, enjoying the feel of his sturdy little body in
her arms. The evening was full upon them, and Will was probably used to being
in bed by now. He snuggled and relaxed contentedly.

Burdy
visited for a few minutes, but when he was ready to move on, Annie raised a
hand to stop him from taking his son. "Can't he stay with me a while
longer? He might fall asleep."

"He'll hurt your legs,
Annie."

"He doesn't hurt my
legs. I love to hold him."

"He'll
tire you out." Burdy picked up the boy, and Will waved to Annie with a
disappointed frown and a puckered lip.

She managed a smile for his
sake and watched her brother carry him into the crowd.

Annie
looked at her empty lap, looked at the dancers smiling and laughing. Then she
turned her chair and propelled it toward the back room. She had to pass through
a kitchen area to get to the door.

One
of the young women standing close by asked, "Need any help using the
facility?"

Annie
gave her a weak smile. "No, thank you, I can make it on my own."

Darlene
held the door open and Annie wheeled past her, out the door and into the dark.
The ground near the building was hard packed, easy to roll across, but the
farther she got from the social hall, the more grass and stubble covered the
earth, and the more difficulty she had pushing the wheels of the chair.

Driven,
she struggled until she was hot and frustrated, and made a few more yards.
Glancing behind her, she realized she'd come quite a way, almost to the area
where the horses were penned and the wagons parked. She had halted between two
ancient gnarled trees, and saw now that their roots had finally arrested her
progress.

She
leaned back, let her aching arms droop, and stared through the branches to the
twinkling stars overhead.

"Hell
and damnation," she said aloud to the night, the worst words she could
think of to express her fury at herself for her self-pity. What was worse,
being treated like an invalid, or hating herself for her woeful feelings?

She
released a shaky breath, refusing to give way to tears.

"Somethin' bothering
you, Annie?"

His
voice, coming from the quiet darkness, startled her. She turned to see the
blue-black sheen of Luke Carpenter's hair in the moonlight.

Chapter Three

Annie gathered her
composure. "No, no, I'm fine. I just came out for a little air."

“Seems
to me there was air back by the social hall. I think what you wanted was
distance so you could curse a blue streak."

Oh,
Lord, he'd heard her! Her cheeks scorched with embarrassment.

He chuckled. "I'm
impressed, actually. And glad to know I wasn't wrong about that fire."

"I—I
didn't know anyone was out here. I—I'm sorry."

"Don't
be sorry on my account. Sometimes a body's gotta let off a little steam. Can't
be healthy holding all that in."

Assured
that she hadn't alienated or offended him with her outburst, Annie relaxed.
That was exactly how she felt much of the time: ready to explode. Sometimes
screaming out her frustration was all that kept her sane.

“Feel better now?'' he
asked.

She thought about it and
slanted her head. "Some."

"Not
all better?"

No,
she would never feel all better. She would always be trapped and stifled
and... She shook her head. "What's wrong, Annie?"

His
use of her name was disturbing in more ways than one. The familiarity was
improper—even her mother called her father Mr. Sweetwater in public— but Annie
loved the sound of her name from his lips. She could form no reply and shook
her head again.