Mittman, Stephanie (17 page)

Oh,
she would be a great help to Bart, all right. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing
that Miller hadn't agreed to move up their wedding. This way Annie would have
some time to teach Willa how to be a good wife. At least she could learn to
make coffee

"Bart
usually does the milking for me on Sundays," Annie said. "I don't
suppose you know how to milk a cow, do you?"

Willa
stared at her with big, frightened eyes. Annie could imagine a man wanting to
take care of and protect such a woman. Good thing, too, because there wasn't
much doubt he'd have to.

"I
guess this is as good a time as any to learn," Annie said with a sigh as
she headed for the door. "When we're done I'll show you where the feed is
for the chickens, and then we can make some coffee. How's that?" She
turned around and found Willa standing just where she had left her. "Willa?
You comin'?"

The
girl looked bewildered. She clutched at her nightgown and stared down at her
bare feet again. "Are you going out like that?" she asked, pointing
at Annie's sleep-wear with surprise.

"There
ain't no one to see us for miles," Annie said, in what she hoped was a
reassuring voice. '"Cept Edwina and Harry, and they don't care what we've
got on long as we give 'em some relief. You might want some boots,
though."

"Yes,"
Willa agreed and hurried up the stairs, Annie watching the dainty way she held
up her hem. Only the toes of her feet hit the steps. Instead of the clodding
Annie was used to from the boys, there was hardly a sound. Was that one of
those feminine things Bart was talking about when he said that Willa moved in a
girly
way?

***

Noah
Eastman liked his seat in the Pleasant Township Methodist Church. He had a
perfect view of Annie Morrow and couldn't see the good Reverend Winestock at
all. Charlie had refused to open the store on a Sunday, but Risa had invited
him over after church so he and Charlie could look over the catalogs and decide
which fittings should be ordered first thing Monday morning. Since no money
would change hands, Charlie decided it was not improper, and Risa seemed
tickled at the prospect of talking to Noah without a crowd around.

The
service was the same uninspired patter that Winestock had preached the previous
week, it seemed to Noah. Of course, that wasn't peculiar to this minister but
to religion. Every Sunday the congregation begged forgiveness of a God who
spent the rest of the week dashing to bits their dreams and hopes with too
little rain or too much, too little sun or too much, too little—

"As
it tells us in the Good Book," Winestock bellowed, his voice reaching the
back of the church and echoing there, "'If we say that we have no sin, we
deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.' For we know that 'great is the
truth and mighty above all things.'"

The
truth. He looked over at Annie for the millionth time that morning and saw the
scarlet color creep up her neck. She dropped her head and covered it with her
hands, but out of the corner of her eye she stole a glance at Noah. When she
saw that he was staring back she turned her head away so quickly that her whole
body jerked and her prayer book fell off her lap with a clatter that turned
several heads.

How
curious. Unless, of course, Francie had written to her, and she knew the lie he
was living. Would Francie have confided in her oldest sister? He didn't for a
minute think otherwise. And Winestock? Did he know as well? He studied Annie's
back, the curve of her still pinkened cheek, the grace of her neck, and decided
that if Annie knew the truth and its power she had kept it to herself. That
would account for her discomfort, wouldn't it?

The
woman was too honest not to be affected by his lie but too kind to do anything
about it. A grimace caught his lips as he cursed the position he had put her
in. It was only natural that Francie, still little more than a child, would
have told Annie what she knew.

"We
all know by heart the words of the Lord in John 8:32. Let us say them together,
all of us."

The
congregation answered him as one: "The truth shall make you free."

Annie
pulled her shawl around her as if she were stark naked underneath, adjusting
every edge just so, fidgeting in a way he had never seen her do before. The
woolen shawl hid the pink dotted dress completely. It was just as well. Pink
didn't suit his Annie. It was too cute and girly for so ripe a woman. With her
coloring she should wear russets and golds and mosses. And she should lie in
the falling leaves with him and ...

"Pa?"
Hannah pulled on his sleeve. "Everyone's leaving."

"So
they are," he said, chucking her under her chin with his good hand.
"Shall we leave, too?"

When
he looked up Annie was already gone.

Sunday
had dragged on,
giving Annie ample opportunity to go over and over the
conversation she had heard between Miller and her sister Della. After assuring
his congregation that he would indeed be at the Harvest Social the following
night, he had remarked to Della that he was looking forward to seeing what the
latest fashion was and depended on her to keep him up to date now that Elvira
was gone. Annie had felt the sting as surely as if he had slapped her face.

Now
she stood in the girls' old room frowning at herself in the mirror. She had
imagined the silk foulard, with its dark paisley print and black velvet trim,
would look better on her than it did. She hadn't realized that Della's breasts
were so much bigger than hers that the dress would gap badly at the low
neckline. She supposed Della had worn the dress when she was still nursing the
twins, and that accounted for the oversized bodice.

Had
Annie only thought to try it on in advance, she supposed she could have taken
it in. Instead she had spent

Sunday
putting a hem in Willa's skirt. Willa had meant to do it, but the suddenness of
the wedding had thrown off her plans and Bart had wanted to take her for a
ride, despite the weather, so Annie had been stuck with the job.

There
was nothing to be done about it now except hope that the rust-colored sateen
dress fit her better. She pulled the foulard off and pulled the russet one over
her head. Tiny covered buttons ran down the back of the dress, so Willa's knock
on her door proved to be perfect timing.

As
Willa fastened each button, the dress came to hug her bodice in what even Annie
had to admit was a flattering way. When Willa finished with the buttons, Annie
ran her hands down the satiny skirt to make sure it lay right and then set
about fixing her hair in the no-nonsense bun she had been wearing for as long
as she could remember. It kept the long strands out of her way while she cooked
and cleaned and tended the garden. The wisps near her face never cooperated,
but she had long ago ceased concerning herself with them.

"Why
don't you try leaving it down?" Willa asked. She looked quite beautiful in
a pink china-silk dress trimmed in silver gray. Her own hair was loose around
her shoulders, a mass of curls controlled by a single ribbon that made her look
younger than her years.

"Oh,
I don't think—" Annie began, then turned to look in the mirror. "What
would Miller—that is, Mister Winestock—think?"

Willa
came into the room and stood behind Annie. She took her new sister-in-law's
hair in her hands and began to play with it, watching in the mirror as she
tried this style and that. "What if we just pull back the sides?" she
suggested, holding two wings at the back of Annie's head while the rest of her
hair hung loose, nearly to her waist. "I have a ribbon that would go very
well with your dress," she offered.

Annie
looked at herself in the mirror, but what she saw were Willa's hopeful eyes.
The girl was anxious to do something nice for the woman who, in the course of
just a day, had taught her more than her mother had in all the years she'd been
at home. "That would be very nice, Willa." Annie smiled. After all,
she wasn't a minister's wife yet. If she was ever going to kick up her heels a
little, she supposed it had better be now.

Bart
knocked on her door, despite the fact that it was wide open. Annie's startled
eyes made him smile with embarrassment.

"Willa
said it was more polite," he explained. He stared at Annie as if she were
a stranger. "You look real nice, Sissy," he said, his voice rough.

"Willa's
training you awfully good," Annie said with a smile. So what if he didn't
mean it? It was still wonderful to hear.

He
seemed ill at ease, standing there in her doorway looking her over from head to
toe. The paper-wrapped package in his hands crackled, and he seemed to suddenly
realize he was holding something. "I was on my way to hitch up Blackie.
Found this on the porch. Got your name on it." He handed it to her and
stood waiting for her to open it.

In
Risa's neat handwriting were the words
To Annie Morrow. See you tonight.
Annie
looked up at Bart, who shrugged in return, then scooted aside to make room for
Willa's return.

"What's
that?" she asked, reaching for Annie's hair and brushing up the sides.

"Are
you sure about this hairdo?" Annie asked. She looked to Bart, rather than
the mirror, and saw him nod. Standing still, she let Willa tie the hair back
with the ribbon and make a fancy bow. She felt foolish wearing it like a young
girl, but not only was Willa trying to do something nice for her, it was the
way Willa often wore her own hair, so if she complained about how young she
looked, she'd be insulting Willa in the bargain.

"Aren't
you going to open your package?" Willa asked. "What could it
be?"

Annie
didn't remember ordering anything from the mercantile. She didn't think she'd
asked Risa to loan her anything, either. And the fact that it was left on the
porch certainly made her wonder. But nothing prepared her for the contents of
the package.

Light
brown-kid strap slippers with an opera toe, brand new, and in her size, rested
in the palms of her hands. Her jaw went slack, her arms dropped to her sides,
and her heart pounded against the confines of her fancy sateen bodice.

"Risa
sent you shoes?" Bart asked, his face screwed up in disbelief. They both
knew with another baby coming, a gift for no occasion was quite an
extravagance.

"Oh,"
Willa said. "Did Risa and Charlie stop by today? I'm sorry we missed
them."

If
Risa had sent her the slippers, she'd have certainly bothered to say hello. But
if she hadn't, who had?

Annie
remembered the look of pity on Miller's face when he'd looked down at her boots
at Bart's wedding. She'd been ashamed of the old shoes, not for her own sake
but for his. The smile that lit her face didn't escape Willa's notice.

"Why,
Sissy Morrow! Have you got a beau?"

Bart
looked at her questioningly. She knew what he was thinking but she dismissed
it. Noah Eastman had no reason to send her a pair of
genuine-kid-opera-toed-one-strapped-light-brown-ladies'-sandals.

Her
brother shrugged in a gesture of defeat and headed for the door. "Well,
I'll hook up Blackie. You ladies wait at the door. I'll carry you to the
wagon." He looked at the shoes in his sister's hands. "Don't want you
messin' up those new shoes, now," he said, finally giving in to a smile.

"Carry
us?" Annie said to Willa over the noise of her brother bounding down the
steps.

"Oh,
Bart always carries me in the rain. I thought you must have taught him
that." Willa looked at her with big innocent eyes.

Bart—big,
burly, brains-o'-barley Bart—always carried her in the rain? Maybe there were a
few things Willa might be able to teach Annie instead of just the other way
around.

***

Miller
had had a headache all Sunday afternoon, and Monday had brought him no relief.
He wondered if perhaps he had been too heavy handed with his sermon on the
value of truth, but he'd had Noah Eastman on his mind when he wrote the piece,
and the fact that Mr. Eastman was deceiving the community, and involving Miller
in that deception, weighed greatly on him.

The
warmth and friendliness that the whole Morrow family had shown Eastman at Bart
and Willa's wedding hadn't been lost on Miller either. Of course, the Morrow
family welcomed everyone with a joy that set them apart from the rest of the
community. But Miller felt some responsibility toward the Morrows, not just
because they seemed vulnerable but because someday they would be his relations.
It was a relief to him that Francie had gone off to school back east. According
to the rumors he heard, she had become too attached to Mr. Eastman and his
girls for her own good.

The
music was in full swing even before most of the town had shown up, and Miller
felt every beat in his head. A cold compress would feel so good, but the cup of
punch in his hand would have to suffice. He held it to his head for a moment
and felt the coolness relieve the ache.

A
swell of applause returned the throbbing, and he swung around to see the cause
of the commotion. The newlyweds had arrived, Willa dressed to the nines, Bart
holding out his arm so proudly to his new wife. Behind them a woman in a
reddish-brown dress stood waiting. It took him a moment to realize it was
Sissy. Something about her—no, everything—looked different. For one thing her
hair was not in its usual bun but flew willy-nilly all about her as the wind
from the door blew her deeper into the Grange Hall.