Brides of Ohio (41 page)

Her ma smiled and gently touched her chin. “Don’t you know no matter how old you are, you will always be my ‘little one’?”

Anne grinned lopsidedly. It was still appropriate, she supposed. She was the shortest one in the family. Even her younger sister, Millie, was an inch or so taller than she.

Her mother cupped her face. “Besides, calling you Kleine always reminds me of that special day.”

“The day you found me,” Anne said.

Her ma nodded and wrapped her arms around her. Barely three at the time, Anne remembered only snatches of what had happened, like the purple flowers she’d hidden behind, and the kindness in Ma’s blue eyes as she coaxed her to come closer. And seeds. Ma had been planting the kitchen garden and convinced her to help. But the gentle memory contrasted sharply with the hard truth. She formed her next words carefully.

“I wish I knew exactly when my birthday is and how old I really am.” Anne pulled away and scrutinized her mother’s face. The barest hint of apprehension slipped across the older woman’s face before a gentle smile settled there.

“I know, Kleine. But your parents were already gone when we found you.” She rose and looked from her daughter to the clothes on her bed. “I suppose we can pack some of your winter things. It will save time later. I’ll get some newspaper.”

While she was gone, Anne carefully folded her skirts and waists. She’d always known she was adopted—everyone in Ostrander knew—but she hadn’t known there was more to it until recently.

Your parents were already gone. …

She winced at the half-truth. For a moment, her clothes faded from sight and clear, precise handwriting flashed before her eyes, words never meant for her to see. Her brows angled, V-shaped, above her eyes, and she squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing her desire to tell Ma what she knew. What good would it do to say something now? Telling her parents she knew the truth would only hurt them and most certainly keep her from carrying out her plans. After all, it was only after Anne made certain concessions that they agreed to let her leave. She wondered if she still wanted to go through with it.
No, this has to be done.
At least, no one else in Ostrander appeared to know. And if things went as she hoped, they never would. Her thoughts gave her hands urgency, and she reached for the quilt at the end of her bed and folded it. Her mother returned to the room.

“Ah, you’re taking your quilt.” Ma stood beside her. “I remember when I made this for you. You helped me—do you remember?”

“Yes, I remember pricking my fingers so many times I left a drop of blood on it.” She smiled as she lifted a corner of the quilt to reveal the tiny brown dot that never fully washed out.

Her mother carefully laid it over the heavier items already packed in the bottom of the trunk. “We’ll miss your help around here.”

Anne chuckled ruefully. “I’m not that useful. That’s why I became a teacher, remember?”

If her parents hadn’t told her she was adopted, she would have figured it out on her own. Pa and her brother, Jacob, could sow crops in seawater and they would grow. Her ma ran the farmhouse with an efficiency that, according to Pa, would be the envy of any army drill sergeant. And Millie’s needlework had won more first place premiums at the county fair than Anne could count. She, on the other hand, couldn’t sew and burned water, and the last time she had charge of the kitchen garden, everything nearly died.

“You will still be missed, Anne.” Adele, her hands on her hips, looked at her. “Although, I still don’t see why you must leave or why you’re going to work in the library at The Ohio State University. You are a teacher.”

“I wanted a change. And there were no positions available for me in Columbus, at least, not right now.” Anne avoided her gaze and laid a waist into the trunk. “The young lady I’m filling in for is supposed to return in a few months. Maybe by that time—”

“Anne.” Her mother squeezed her arm. “I know what happened with Sam was hard, but why can’t you stay?”

Anne looked down at the things in her chest, the real reason nearly flying from her lips. “Ma, I—” She took a breath. “I need to do this.” She looked up at her mother with pleading eyes.

Her ma wrapped her arms around her. “We will pray for you, kleine, that God will heal your heart to love again.”

“Thank you,” Anne murmured then gently pulled away and walked over to the wardrobe. She made a play of looking for any forgotten items while attempting to swallow the lump in her throat. Her parents had never pushed her to get married, but she sensed they were eager for her to find a match soon. At twenty-one, most young women her age had been married for a few years. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to marry or that she lacked beaus—she’d simply never found someone she felt she could walk alongside for the rest of her life. She had always trusted God would lead her to that person when the time came and, until a few weeks ago, she thought that person had been Sam McAllister. Now she had to wonder if there really was anyone for her to call her own. Composing herself, she picked up a forgotten shawl.

“I am glad you will not be on your own down in Columbus,” her ma said as she approached. “Your uncle will take good care of you.”

“Yes.” Anne folded the garment. When she first told her ma and pa of her plan to work at the university’s library, they had given her their consent, but only if she lived with Uncle Daniel, a professor at the institution. They simply wouldn’t hear of her living at one of the boardinghouses near the school, even if they did cater exclusively to the female students. At first she thought it would be a problem, but then she realized she would not have to pay for her room and board. That would make saving her money for passage west all the easier. She laid the shawl in the trunk. “That’s all my winter clothing.”

“We can pack the rest later.” Ma closed the lid. “Let’s go see how Millie is doing with dinner.”

They made their way out behind the house to the summer kitchen. Although Anne didn’t cook, she managed to help out by fetching and carrying various things her mother and sister needed.

“I’m rolling out the dough now, Ma,” Millie said as they came in.

“The dough for what?” Anne inhaled the fragrant chicken boiling in a large pot on the black cast-iron stove. “Oh Ma, you shouldn’t be going to such trouble.”

“Yes, I should. I couldn’t have you leave without making your favorite dishes.”

“Tonight we’re having chicken pie, green beans, fresh bread, and Ma’s strudel for dessert.” Millie smiled broadly and brushed a strand of her bright blond hair from her face.

Tears caused Anne’s sight to swim for a moment. Blinking them away, she took a basket from the worktable. “I’ll go pick the green beans.”

“I’ve already done it.”

“Is there anything for me to do just now?” Anne asked hopefully.

Ma looked at her and then sighed. “No. You can go on out to the barn.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Ma.”

Anne stepped inside the barn and breathed in the familiar, earthy odor of weathered wood, hay, and straw. It was one of her most favorite places. She missed the days of her childhood when she would follow Pa from the haymow above to the milking stalls down below, helping him and the hired hands tend the livestock. But as she grew older, Pa told her she shouldn’t be hanging around the barn so much. Learning to take care of a home, not animals, was more important, he’d said. She found it a little ironic that the one thing she felt gifted to do on the farm was the one thing that wasn’t proper for her to do. At least Pa had allowed her a little leeway lately. A soft nicker greeted her approach to the horse stalls. A dark head with a graying muzzle appeared, and Anne smiled, drawing from her pocket the carrot she had snitched from one of the feed bins.

“Hello, Scioto,” she said, dropping it into his feed trough, glad that the horse would be coming with her.

Scioto belonged to Uncle Daniel. He leased a house on university grounds, and Pa had been boarding him while the university built a stable on the property. The horse finished the carrot and looked to her for more. She smiled as she scratched his withers, a favorite spot.

“That’s enough for now, boy.” Pa had left his care to her since she came home, and she had become attached to the horse over the past few months. The bay Morgan nuzzled her, and she stroked his neck.

“I hear you started packing your trunk. I don’t suppose Ma was able to talk you out of leaving.”

Anne turned to see Pa approach. She smiled apologetically, shaking her head. He sighed and wrapped his arms around her, bending his tall form as he did so.

“How’s my Annie?”

“I’ll be all right.”

She felt his arms tighten and knew he still struggled not to go confront Sam. A mixture of panic and guilt surged through her. What if he did? He would certainly find out that Sam had not led her on as she had allowed her parents to believe.
No, he promised Ma
, she told herself.
And he never breaks his promises, especially to her.
While the thought eased the panic, it did little to assuage her guilt, and the urge to blurt out the truth once again enveloped her. She bit her lip and clung to Pa. How she would miss his hugs and the way he called her “Annie.” He was the only person in the whole world allowed to call her that. Scioto snuffed at them, demanding attention, and Anne’s throat loosened as she laughed softly.

“This horse sure has become attached to you.” Pa released her to face the animal. “I hope he eats for whoever Danny hired.”

“So it won’t be me?” It was silly of her to ask, she knew, but she had hoped, since she’d been allowed to take care of him here—Pa laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“I only let you take care of him when you came home because it seemed to make you feel better, but it won’t be fitting for you to see to him down there. You let the stable boy see to him.”

“Yes, Pa.” She stroked the horse’s neck. If she didn’t take care of him, who would she talk to? Scioto had become her sole confidant. Well, she could still go visit him—in the evenings, maybe.

“Besides, all those young men down there won’t want you smelling like horse,” he added.

Anne said nothing and fussed with Scioto until Pa took her by the chin, forcing her to look up at him.

“I know it’s hard, but trust God with your heart and your future.”

Anne swallowed the words impossibly stuck in her throat. It wasn’t about trust. Not really. She trusted that God knew what He was doing. She just couldn’t understand why. With Pa’s gentle eyes still watching her, she tried to form a reply. The gentle low of a cow told her it was time to do the milking.

“The cows are waiting,” she said.

“I’d best go let them in,” Pa said slowly. “Think on what I said.” She nodded, and he gave her a quick hug then turned to leave.

Once he was gone, Anne fetched a brush and stepped into Scioto’s stall to groom him. The swish of the brush as it smoothed his coat usually had a soothing effect on her. But packing her trunk today had nudged her plans into motion, like the wheels of a train pulling from the station. She leaned against the horse’s shoulder, and he gently snuffed and nuzzled her. She shed a few tears into his mane then dashed them away when Pa came in to do the milking.

It was the ache in his head that woke Peter more than the fact he was comfortable for the first time in months. He raised his hand to his head then opened his eyes when it came in contact with a bandage. The images around him were blurry at first, and he blinked to clear his vision. It was dark outside, and the low lamplight glowed softly over the room. He was in a bed with clean sheets and, judging from the feel of the cloth against his skin, clean clothes as well. Raising himself up on one elbow, he tried to look beyond the edge of the soft pools of light. The room was small but nicely furnished. So much so, he wondered if he was back in Pittsburgh. As his eyes adjusted, he could just make out a man’s form in a chair near the foot of the bed. His heart started and he spoke without thinking. “Granddad?”

The man chuckled. “No, I’m not quite that old.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said.

“Don’t be; I’m sure to be called that someday, just not quite yet.” He leaned into the light. Round spectacles sat on a slender face, which the lines of age were clearly beginning to march across. His dark blond Van Dyke beard and mustache were shot with a generous amount of gray, as was his hair, which was swept back and to the side. He had a reassuring smile on his face. “I’m Professor Daniel Kirby. Who might you be?”

“Peter,” he replied then looked down at the bedclothes. “Peter … Ward.” He’d dispensed with his real name long ago, but it still felt strange saying the new one aloud. Ward had been his father’s last name. The way Peter saw things, it was time the man who sired him contributed something to his life, seeing how he’d never wanted anything to do with him while he was growing up.

The professor was silent for a moment. “I see. We’ll let that be for now. What do you remember?”

Peter closed his eyes against the onslaught of memories the question evoked. One foolish decision had made him utterly homeless, and he’d been tramping his way around three different states in as many months. He’d gained a few friends as he eked out an existence, but it was still a lonely and often dangerous way of life. He remembered hopping a boxcar in Cincinnati and drifting off to sleep. The next thing he knew, he heard yelling and felt hands taking hold of him. “I remember being pulled off the train by a group of boys. They forced me to run between two rows of them while they tried to hit me with sticks.” He could feel the lump on his head through the bandage. “I guess I didn’t do too well.”