Mail Order Annie - A Historical Mail Order Bride Romance Novel (Mail Order Romance - Book 1 - Benjamin and Annie) (8 page)

             
Towards midday, after preparing their meal, she lost the sound of him in the immediate area and went to search for him. She found him up the creek in another glen, sawing logs into round sections. He halted in his work at the sight of her.

             
“Lunch time,” she announced.

             
He grinned gratefully and dropped his saw, arching his back and limbering his shoulders from the strain. She fell into step beside him on the way back to the house, and then found herself instinctively linking her arm through his. He darted a quick glance at her, but immediately turned away to hide his surprise, and they strolled through the shady trees to the cabin together. After a companionable meal, she walked him back in the same way, and loitered at the edge of the glen, observing him at his work, before returning to her own chores. She snuck out to watch him a few times in the afternoon, and brought him in to his supper in the evening in the same way. Moran did not mention this change, and he hesitated to talk to her for fear of treading on her familiarity too much, but she reassured him by keeping their intercourse going from her own end, and each time they parted and met again, he smiled with twinkling eyes and clasped her hand to his arm warmly.

             
That evening, they chatted merrily before the fire, and Anne induced him to relate some of the details of the business he would transact when he took his stock to market in the coming weeks. This subject loosened Moran’s jaws considerably, and he enthusiastically described the process of driving his cattle down to the stock yards in the town, meeting buyers and discussing the best price, and the thrill of the auction when the buyers bid on the stock and eventually took them away, leaving Moran with a pocket full of money. Anne stopped short of asking what he usually spent the money on, but she returned his glowing expressions, laughed at his jokes, and kept him talking with continual questions and responses. They talked late into the night, long after both stopped pretending to work and simply gazed into each other’s faces, appreciating the meeting of two souls in mutual interest and consideration.

             
Moran finally set aside his pocket knife and the piece of wood with which he worked and let the flow of words slow to a trickle. He replaced his chair at the table and moved in the direction of his boots to take his leave.

             
“I hope that you sleep well tonight,” he commented, as he hung his rifle on its hook above the door. “You let me know if there is anything I can do to make you more comfortable here.”

             
“Thank you very much, Mr. Moran,” she returned. “I am quite comfortable here.”

             
“Please, call me Benjamin,” he indicated.

             
She flushed and cast her eyes down to the floor. “Alright,” she murmured breathlessly, “Benjamin.”

             
He beamed at her approvingly. “That sounds well, coming from you,” he exclaimed.

             
She laughed nervously. “It does sound a bit strange, coming out of my mouth,” she admitted. “I never thought I could come to say it like that.”

             
“And now you have,” he declared. “I’m glad.”

             
“Me, too,” flushed scarlet.

             
He slipped on his boots and swung the door open. She followed him to the threshold, where the light of the stars lit up the valley outside. He took another step off the door sill onto the grass, and she stooped under the lintel to follow him to the doorstep. He stopped there, and turned back to face her, but instead of looking at him, her eyes lifted upward to the sea of stars illuminating the sky overhead. As she watched, a shower of iridescent sparks cascaded through the inky blanket of firmament, raining down their heavenly glow on the valley and the two people below them.

             
Anne caught her breath. “What is that?” she whispered in awe.

             
Moran gazed upward with her. “That’s what I call Angelfire,” he whispered back, as if loathed to break the spell cast by the shower of light.

             
“I can believe it,” she breathed, taking another step to stand next to him on the grass. The burning blaze of stars falling through the pitch black continued in waves of glorious brightness, and Anne dared not speak aloud in case the sound of human voice should frighten them away. “They look like angels falling to earth, bringing blessings and glad tidings to mortal men. It must be a blessing. Nothing else could be so beautiful.”

             
Moran lowered his head to face her. In a swift motion, he stepped up close to her, wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her fervently on the lips. She stiffened momentarily in his arms, but the next instant, she melted against him, and her lips pressed his in return. As quickly, he released her and moved away. “Good night,” he said as he vanished into the night.

             
Anne stood basking in the radiant night, unable to move. The shimmering waterfall of stars above her washed her of all sense of wrongdoing, and she relished the lingering softness of Moran’s lips and the bristly roughness of his moustache on her upper lip. She let the memory of his arm around her, squeezing her body against his iron frame, bring her comfort and consolation. She meandered back into the house in a muse and mechanically finished the menial tasks of mending the fire and putting out the lantern before tucking herself into bed. The blessing of the angels still surrounded her as she snuggled under the quilt. Not since her earliest childhood had she felt such a profound sense of closeness to God and a certainty that His love for her would protect her and guide her no matter where she might roam or what she might decide to do. She felt that any union between her and Moran would be blessed by God, and she could put the phantoms of Webster Forsythe out of her mind with the assurance that nothing untoward could stem from this man for whom Divine Providence intended her.

             
She slept more soundly that night than any previous, all her doubts and fears assuaged. She rose in the morning with a song on her lips, and the Proverb reiterating through her thoughts added a further layer of blessing to everything she did. She sensed for the first time in her life that this Proverb applied to her, that she could match it with her actions and receive the hallowed promise of salvation that it offered.

             
As on the previous day, Moran worked around the cabin, and the two of them exchanged happy looks whenever they encountered each other. At lunchtime, Anne went down to the clearing to escort Moran to the house. As she stood inside the trees and observed him at work, he caught the shoulder of his shirt on a hanging limb, and the seam tore. He cursed under his breath and carried on with his work. This time, after strolling back to the house with their arms linked, they shared their midday meal together in the sunshine on the bench outside the door. Afterwards, when Moran stood up and announced that he would go back to the barn to finish the chores that waited for him there, Anne stopped him. “Wait a moment,” she hesitated.

             
“What is it?” he inquired, his brows furrowing momentarily.

             
“I need to ask you to do me a favor,” she blathered, stalling for time.

             
“Well, what is it?” he repeated impatiently.

             
“This,” she pulled the ax out from the place where she had hidden it, to have it ready when she should summon the courage to make her request. “I need you to show me how to use it.”

             
Moran’s face cracked into an impish grin. “Is that all?” he guffawed. “I thought you were going to ask me something serious.” Then he stopped. “Haven’t you ever used one before? Oh, I guess you haven’t. It seems so unusual, but I guess women don’t do that sort of thing where you come from. Well, this is just the first of many things you’ll have to learn, so there’s no time like the present.”

             
Making no move to take the ax away from her, Moran led her around the back side of the barn where the firewood stood stacked against the wall. He selected a large round piece of especially knotty wood and set it on its end on the ground like a tiny table. Then he picked up another piece and propped it on its end on top of this table. Then he stepped away. “Now, swing,” he commanded.

             
Anne gaped at him in horror. “What do you mean?” she stammered.

             
“Swing,” he repeated emphatically. “Lift the ax up over your head and bring it down on the wood. What could be simpler?”

             
“You can’t be serious!” she stared at him.

             
“What’s the problem?” he looked at her, genuinely confused by her reaction.

             
“But…” she floundered, “I can’t.”

             
“Why not?” he asked.

             
“I…I don’t know how,” she whined hopelessly.

             
“Well, then, try,” he waved toward the piece of wood in front of her. “You haven’t even tried. How can you say you can’t or that you don’t know how? Just raise it up over your head and swing. Do it now. Stop stalling.”

             
Anne flushed in embarrassment at her own awkward ignorance. She hefted the ax up onto her shoulder, then pushed it up as high as she could into the air and let the heavy iron head fall toward the wood. It missed the target completely, and the sharp edge of the ax plunged into the soft earth next to the chopping block.

             
Moran indulged in the most transient smirk at this result. “Okay,” he conceded at last, taking the ax out of her hands. “Watch me.”

             
He planted his feet in front of the chopping block and, with an expert flick of his wrists, whirled the ax head up over his head and drove it down into the very center of the stick that waited there. It fell apart into two neat pieces like a slice of butter under a knife, and the two halves fell to the ground on either side of the chopping block, while the edge of the ax stuck firmly into the surface of the table underneath. Pulling the ax free, Moran picked up another stick from the pile, stood it on its end in the same place, swung the ax, and split it. Then he did another in exactly the same way. “Do you see?” he asked, letting the ax head fall into the wood. “No? Okay. Here, you hold it again. Hold the end of the handle with your right hand and slide your left hand all the way up to the ax head. Then lift it up. Use your left arm to lift the weight of the ax head. Then swing. You’ll just have to practice. You’ll learn quickly enough.”

             
Anne tried again, and missed the block again by a mile. Only on the third attempt did she hit the piece of wood that stood in front of her. The edge of the ax passed effortlessly through the stick and landed resoundingly in the surface of the block table. The wood fell apart, exactly as it did when Moran chopped it.

             
“There, you see? You can do it,” Moran assured her. “Now, keep going. I’m going back to work.” And he stalked away, leaving her to her chopping.

             
Anne chopped wood for the rest of the day, and by the end of a few hours, she had acquired the knack of swinging the ax and aiming it so that it landed where she wanted it to land. In the course of the afternoon, she took out every piece of wood she had hidden away and split them, stacked them by the stove, and burned them with great satisfaction. The exertion of chopping, no longer a tiresome chore fit only for drudges and servants produced a sensation in her body that seemed to transform her into a completely different person. The genteel lady she always fancied herself as gave place to a stronger, more robust frontier woman with a distinct self-assurance and a vitality that imbued her with power and certainty at the thought of the future. Whatever she needed to learn to thrive in this remote environment, she could learn and she would learn. She no longer needed to hide her ignorance from Moran, but could gain even greater independence by asking him for the help she needed. This, too, together with all the revelations and discoveries of the past days, both in the valley around her as well as within herself, drew him closer to her heart, and she cherished him for opening up this part of her to herself and introducing her to this fresh avenue of self-discovery.

             
After she finished loading up the stove with wood and stacking the wood box with her own chopped wood, she finished tidying up the cabin and came back to the door, intending to go back outside to enjoy the afternoon air. She thought she might go sit by the creek, as was becoming her habit, before getting supper started, but when she approached the doorway, she spied Moran in the barnyard and stopped just out of sight in the darkness of the cabin. Moran bent next to his horse, cleaning out the animal’s feet with a hooked tool, and then propping each foot between his knees while he first trimmed and then filed them. She observed his arms and back swinging with the rhythm of his efforts and the contentment of the horse as it chewed and sighed while the man fussed around it. I can be happy here, she thought to herself. I am happy here. The images of the beautiful countryside, the warm comfort of her arms around Moran’s body and his around her, and the sensation of utter blessedness returned to her in a flood of sheer happiness that made her heart feel ready to burst. She wondered if her being could contain so much happiness, or if a person as imperfect and prone to confusion as her could live a life filled with such blessedness. She resolved to do anything she could to keep this mantle of peace and tranquility around her like a cloak, and to shun with extreme prejudice anything that interfered with it or threatened it.
And what might that be
? the still, small voice asked inside her. Instantly, the manicured, tailored shade of Webster Forsythe appeared before her eyes, and she knew his smooth talk and grand pronouncements for what they really were. She understood the difference between the beauty of God’s sanctity and the alluring charm of the Beguiler seeking to distract her and lure her away. She was determined to give herself no further time or opportunity to question or vacillate. She would act, and she would plunge headfirst into the life to which God had so clearly led her. With a heroic thrust of mental energy, she drove the image of Forsythe out of her mind, and threw herself into her work once more.