Sweet Annie (7 page)

Annie
turned and gave the young woman a grateful smile.

Her
mother clasped and unclasped her hands. "Well...I suppose so."

Glenda
brought Annie rags and a tin of lemon polish. "I'll get you an apron,
Miss Annie, so you don't soil your pretty dress."

"Your dress is
unsuitable," her mother commented.

"I
don't have any normal dresses, Mother," Annie told her. Her entire
wardrobe consisted of fancy frilly feminine clothing in an array of delicate
fabrics and colors. "Everything looks like it belongs on one of those
Dresden dolls in my room."

"Don't
be ungrateful, young lady," her mother said. “Most girls would be pleased
to have the advantages you've had."

"Most girls would, but
I'm no longer a girl."

"Annie,
this talk is most unbecoming. I've agreed to allow you to dust, even though
it's against my better judgment. Don't be impertinent."

Feeling
as though she'd waged a battle and won only a small victory, Annie set herself
to the task of waxing the tables and dusting the lamps and the bric-a-brac.

The
work was rewarding, though frustrating, because there were so many occasions
she had to reach a little higher or a little lower, and had to ask Glenda to
hand her something or reach for her. The good-natured young mother took Annie's
requests for help in stride, however, encouraging her with warm smiles, and
never seeming put out.

"We're
dining with the Millers this evening," her mother reminded her. She had
finished her chores in time to bathe and dress. "Be ready by seven."

"I'm
going to stay home," Annie told her. "I'll find myself something to
eat."

"But you can't stay
home by yourself."

"Mother.
We've been though this before. The Millers are in their seventies, and their
house smells like moth cakes. I can stay home by myself, and I can manage just
fine. I stayed home last time you went."

"We don't want them to think you're
rude."

"Let
them think I'm bored, then. I can't take another discussion of Mr. Miller's
joint aches."

"He's a business partner of your
father's."

"I
know that. Sometimes business and dinner don't mix, especially when one has to
dine in that mausoleum of a house."

"The
Miller house is a landmark, as you very well know. For someone as fortunate as
you, Miss Annie Sweetwater, you have certainly become a corn-plainer."

Chastised,
Annie regretted her unkind words. Her parents' friends had been nothing but
kind to her. And her mother and father had provided for her in every way they
knew how, and to the best of their ability. "I didn't mean to be
ungrateful, Mother. I know I'm far more fortunate than many people."

"I
know your situation can be frustrating at times, dearling," her mother
said, kissing her cheek. "We can go without you tonight."

"Oh,
thank you," Annie said, giving her mother a quick hug.

Going
about her business, Mildred quickly left the room. Glenda gathered the cleaning
supplies.

"Glenda?"

The young woman cast Annie a smile.
"Yes?"

"I
wonder..." Annie rolled her chair to the cherry wood desk. "If I gave
you a note, would you mind delivering it on your way home?"

"Not at all."

"It would be our secret," Annie added
quickly. Glenda nodded her agreement. "All right."

Annie
took a sheet of parchment and dipped her father's pen in a bottle of ink before
writing a brief note, waving the paper to dry the ink, then folding it. She
melted a drop of wax and sealed the fold with a brass stamp that smashed the
wax into the shape of a horse's head. Annie handed the note to Glenda.
"Give it to Mr. Carpenter at the livery, please."

Surprise lit Glenda's
honey-colored eyes.

"You know who he
is?"

Quickly,
she looked down at the note in her hands. "I know."

"Thank you,
Glenda."

"You're
welcome." She slipped the paper into her apron pocket and carried a rolled
pile of rags from the room.

Annie's
heart reacted belatedly at what she'd done, thumping against her breast like a
trapped wild bird. She could trust Glenda. She would give Luke the note without
letting Annie's mother know.

Would
he think her forward? Scandalous? More importantly—
would
he come?

Annie
removed the apron, rolled her chair to her room, and washed the dust and polish
from her hands and face.

An
hour later, she was in the kitchen when her father called, "Annie!"

"In
here, Daddy."

"Your
mother tells me you're not going with us this evening."

"No. You have a good
time."

“What are you doing?''

"I'm fixing myself
something to eat."

"You can't cook."

"I'm
doing a pretty fair job of pretending that I can, then." Following the
directions in a cookbook she'd discovered, she had rolled a pie crust, and was
fluting the edges around the dried apple filling she'd stirred together.
"Glenda lit the oven for me before she left."

"Well,
baking will have to wait until tomorrow. I would worry all evening that you'd
burned the house down."

She frowned.
"Daddy."

"You
don't need to cook for yourself," he said in a discouraging tone.

"Maybe I just want
to."

"You
always did want to do more than you were capable of. Bank the fire now. I'm
sure Mrs. Harper left something you can eat without a fire."

She
refused to let his words steal the air from her sails. She'd been flying high
all afternoon, but of course she had to be reminded of her limitations on a
regular basis. "Perhaps I'm capable of more than you allow," she said
softly.

He
stepped closer, and she turned to look up at his face. "It's not only
injury I protect you from, daughter," he said softly. "It's
disappointment and cruelty."

"I
know. I'm sure that having a daughter such as I, you understand
disappointment."

"Annie,"
he admonished, coming close and bending to press his freshly shaven cheek
against hers. "You're my darling girl, you've never been a disappointment."

Annie
returned his hug, then brushed a spot of flour from the collar of his suit.
"Enjoy your evening."

"We
shall. Good night. Bank the fire now. And you're not to go outside. Keep the
door locked."

"I
will."

As
soon as she heard the Millers' carriage come for them, she opened the oven door
and gently placed her pie inside.

By
the time she had cleaned up her baking area and washed the utensils, she was so
hungry, she sliced herself bread and cheese and nibbled a few olives.

When
her pie was finished, she removed it from the oven and admired the golden crust
with cinnamon-scented juice bubbling in the slits. Placing it on a counter to
cool, she banked the fire, then rolled to her room, washed and changed into a
clean dress.

The
evening feeling cool now that the sun had gone down, Annie placed a shawl
around her shoulders and maneuvered her chair out the front door. The sill of
the door frame had been specially constructed for ease in wheeling her chair
onto the wide porch where she often sat.

In
the day, she read in the west corner, where the sun warmed her of an afternoon.
In the evening, she sat where she could watch the stars and see the moon over
the mountains. Tonight the moon was only half-full, but the sky was bright and
clear.

The
far-off jangle of a piano drifted to her from time to time, probably from one
of the entertainment establishments that her friends whispered about. The
lonely sound of a train whistle echoed through the night, and Annie imagined
travelers bound for exciting destinations. The most exciting far-off places
she'd ever been to were to the hospitals and doctors' offices in the East.

The
hotel stays had been nightmares because of the flights of stairs and the people
who stared at her with pity.

Annie
hated pity more than anything.

The
night sounds took on an unnatural stillness, and the hair on the back of her
neck prickled. Awareness roused her from her musings and she glanced into the
darkness.

"Annie?"
His voice, hushed, uncertain.

She
leaned forward and strained to see. "Luke?" she called softly.

Chapter Four

He
emerged
from the darkness of the side yard. "You're alone?"

"Yes.
They went to dinner at the Millers'. They never come home until after eleven.
Where's your horse?"

He climbed the porch
stairs. "I walked."

Annie
had closed the door and the front drapes, shrouding the porch in darkness. If
anyone passed by, they wouldn't be able to make out their shapes. "All
that way?"

"It's
not so far. It's a nice night."

"You
got my note."

"Yes."
He sat on a wicker chair across from her. "You took a chance, Annie."

 "But
you came."

Silence hung between them
for a long moment. Finally he said softly, "Yes, I came."

Luke
had looked up from the horse he'd been shoeing when the young woman appeared
in the doorway of the livery. She'd called out to him, and he'd wiped his hands
and greeted her, thinking she needed to rent a rig.

But
she'd simply handed him the piece of paper. "This is for you."

She'd
been gone by the time he looked up from the unfamiliar handwriting on the
outside.

Luke
had opened the fancy seal and stood in the doorway so that the sun caught the
page, and read the simple words that had leaped from the parchment and into his
heart:
Dear Luke, I will be alone this evening. Annie.

She wanted to see him.

He
hadn't set foot on this property in at least ten years. Looking out across the
expansive grounds surrounded by a white fence, he could picture the spot where
he had returned Annie after their ride and had promptly been set upon by her
brother and his friends.

He
didn't fear Burdell Sweetwater. He never had. Skin grew back. Noses and ribs
healed. He didn't fear the physical harm that could come to him because of his
association with Annie. What he feared, and always had, was that her parents
would send her away. So he'd kept his distance, knowing that one day she'd be
old enough to make her own choices.

And praying that she would.

The
fact that she'd wanted him to come to her was almost too good to believe. Why
he felt this attachment to Annie, he couldn't explain, but he'd been drawn to
her since they'd both been young.

“Luke, I—'' she began.

"I've wondered—"
he said at the same time.

Both stopped and chuckled
nervously.

"Go ahead," Luke
said.

Annie
smoothed the ruffles on her skirt. "I have wanted so many times to tell
you how sorry I was for that day."

"You
don't have to apologize."

"Please
let me say this. The words have been in my heart forever."

His
chest contracted, and uncomfortably he kept his silence.

“That
was the best day I can ever remember. When I think back on how brief it was—how
wonderful . . . well, I have no words to say what it meant to me.

“When
we got back and my father was so angry, I was shocked. And then when Burdy hit
you, Luke...." Her voice quavered and her breath escaped tremulously. "I
just wanted to die. I felt so helpless. I was angry. I cried and cried, because
you took that punishment so unjustly."