Mittman, Stephanie (14 page)

Annie
nodded enthusiastically, stunned by this new man that had suddenly come to live
in her brother's body. When had Bart ever cared how he looked? Was that love's
doing? And was she really learning about love from the big ox who had tormented
her most of their lives?

It
was too much to believe, she thought, as she went back to her own bedroom and
opened her closet. The same old dresses hung there waiting for her: the green
printed lawn with the barely noticeable patch; the yellow seersucker with the
tear near the hem that seemed to compliment her skin; the old rose dotted Swiss
that had developed a sheen from so much wearing.

Well,
she supposed the dotted Swiss would do. After all, it wasn't
her
wedding.
She pulled it out and laid it on the bed, then returned to the closet for the
chemise she would need to wear beneath it. Once it was out of the way and she
saw the dress behind it, her hand hesitated. Della had brought the rust-colored
sateen dress over a few weeks ago, along with an even fancier silk foulard.

She
pulled the sateen dress out and held it beneath her chin. It shimmered in the
late morning sun and just running her hand over it sent a shiver through her
body. Never in her life had she worn anything so fine. She sashayed over to the
mirror and glanced at her reflection.

Looking
back at her was her plain face, still tanned from her summer of work in the
fields, her flat hair hanging close to her head in limp strands, and a dress
that belonged on a fairy princess. Not only would she look ridiculous, Miller
would be shocked. Why, she didn't believe in all the time she'd known Elvira
Winestock, she'd ever seen her in something that actually shined. No, she'd
always worn the most tasteful of clothes, befitting her station in life as the
minister's wife.

She
did remember some talk in her mama's kitchen before the minister and Elvira
married, but she was a child at the time and all the talk about Elvira being
Elmer Wells's daughter and overreaching herself hadn't meant much. Elmer had
been some sort of inventor or plumber, as Annie recalled. His money, what there
was of it, was earned installing furnaces in people's cellars. Looking back on
it now, she supposed Elvira had spent the rest of her life making up for her
father. She was unfailingly polite, soft-spoken, and never at a loss for the
right thing to say.

Annie
sighed. The dress in her arms sagged to the floor, and she let it drag there on
her way back to the closet. Elvira had worn a great deal of black. Annie looked
through her meager pickings again. Her only black dresses were her mourning
clothes, worn after her father's death. They were both heavy woolen dresses,
her father having died in the dead of winter at the end of 1887. If she wore
either of those, she'd probably pass out from the heat.

Besides,
her brother's wedding was a festive occasion and she certainly didn't want to
give anyone the impression that just because he'd had the misfortune of falling
for Willa Leeman that Annie saw any cause for mourning the marriage.

"Aren't
you ready?" Bart asked, standing in her doorway as gussied up as ever
she'd seen him. His mustache was waxed to a point that she thought just might
draw blood if he wasn't careful kissing Willa after the ceremony. He smelled of
Oakley's Violet Water, Willa having expressed a strong dislike for bay rum. His
hair, parted in the center and slicked down on his forehead, made him look
quite dashing, and Annie was quick to tell him so. More surprising than his
appearance was his reaction to her compliment. He blushed.

"Why,
Bart," Annie started, then caught herself. He was surely self-conscious
enough. There was no call for her to add to his discomfort.

He
checked his watch, pulling it from his waistcoat pocket like a banker or
businessman instead of the farmer he was. In his fancy clothes he looked more
like Charlie than ever, and she marveled at how her brothers and sisters looked
so alike and she was doomed to be the ugly duckling. Hadn't Della even told her
as much when she'd read her the fairy tale?

"Sissy?
Aren't you comin'? I gotta leave here in eight more minutes." He looked at
his watch again as if to check his figuring.

"They
ain't gonna hold that wedding without you, Bart," Annie reminded him.
"Besides, I got one more thing to give you before you go off and get
yourself married." She opened the small jewel box on her dresser and
reached in for her mother's brooch. To Charlie she had given Zena's ring, with
which he had married Risa. To Della she had given Zena's emerald pin on her
wedding day. After the brooch for Bart there was still a pair of earrings for
Ethan to give to his bride, whoever she might turn out to be. For Francie's
future husband she had saved their father's watch.

Bart
looked at the brooch she placed in his hand. It had a cluster of little pearls
and one longer pearl hung down from the gold and moved in his palm.

"For
Willa," Annie said softly. "From Mama."

Bart's
eyes glistened as he smiled at his sister. "I think Reverend Winestock is
a real lucky man, Sissy." His voice choked and he stood silently looking
his sister over as if he'd never seen her before. It made her decidedly
uncomfortable.

"Go
hitch up Blackie. I'll be down in a minute." She shooed him out of her
room and shut the door behind him. The old rose dress still lay across her bed,
looking more fanciful than ever against the patched old quilt it rested on.

"The
yellow," she said aloud, her shoulders sagging with disappointment.
"And I'd better think about making some new dresses before I become Mrs.
Miller Winestock." Sometimes she felt like an embarrassment to him. There
was little enough she could do about her poor education and her looks. She
didn't have to make it worse by wearing clothing he would be ashamed of.

***

The
Leemans, no doubt anxious to make everyone in Van Wert County aware that their
daughter was to be a married woman, had invited many more guests than even
their large house could contain. Men sat on the porch railings, cigars in hand,
while children played on the lawn, their mothers perched on lawn chairs
watching over them like hens with chicks. Jane Lutefoot's oldest son rode in
circles around the house on one of those tricycles that were suddenly becoming
the rage. At the completion of each circle he took another girl and carefully
helped her balance on the handle bars for a spin around the house.

Bart
jumped from the carriage and headed for the house without a thought to Annie,
who, being used to brothers rather than suitors, helped herself down from the
carriage and scanned the yard for Risa. As she figured, Risa sat on a wicker
chair amid several toddlers, her laughter carrying on the wind toward Annie.

"Well,
now that the groom's here, I guess the ceremony is about to start," Risa
said, rising with effort from the low chair. Annie reached over to give her a
hand, but Risa waved it away. "Too soon to start accepting help." She
laughed. "You'll be sick of lending a hand by the time I really need
one."

Annie
laughed back with the woman who had become as close to her as her sisters,
maybe even closer. Annie would do anything for Risa, and Risa knew it. It was
probably why she was so careful not to take advantage of her sister-in-law.
Before Risa could protest, Annie scooped up Cara and settled her niece onto her
hip. The child wrapped her arms around Annie's neck and planted a wet kiss on
her cheek.

The
little girl smelled of store-bought soap and talcum powder. It was a smell that
made Annie remember bedtime, with Francie nestled up against her, warm and
soft, listening to Annie weave stories of gingerbread boys and girls. She hoped
Mrs. Leeman had thought to make cookies for the children.

"You
hear from Francie?" Risa asked. "She can really write a nice letter,
can't she?"

"Mmm,"
Annie agreed. "New York sure sounds like a fascinating place. I just wish
she was out doing more instead of sitting around and writing everyone in Van
Wert letters."

Risa
stopped walking and turned to look at Annie. If she was waiting for an
explanation, she wasn't going to get one. Risa knew who she meant, and she
didn't see any need to use his name any more than she had to around her
sister-in-law. Someone at Hanson's had to have helped Mr. Eastman put those
notes in her groceries, and Risa wasn't fooling Annie any with those wide
innocent eyes.

"The
reverend here yet?" Annie asked casually as they made their way toward the
sprawling house on the edge of town. Miller's house, its whimsical gingerbread
facade belying its serious occupant, was just down the road. Since he was still
officially in mourning, it was possible that he would only come to perform the
ceremony.

"Mm-hm,"
Risa answered. "He's inside with Willa. I think he's counseling her about
her duty to Bart. A little late, if I don't miss my guess. She's so stuffed in
that silly white dress I think Bart's gonna need a cooper's adze to get her out
of it."

Annie
felt herself blush, but Risa paid her no mind.

"I
haven't seen that handsome Noah Eastman and those adorable girls of his
yet," she went on. "I wonder if they were invited."

"From
the looks of things," Annie said, "there ain't a person in Ohio who
wasn't invited."

"Well,
maybe he's inside," Risa suggested as she climbed up the stairs, leaning
somewhat heavily on the railing. "Nothing like carrying to make you feel
older than your years." She smiled at Annie, a shared smile that seemed to
say, Wait and see!

Annie
purposely ignored her and squinted her eyes in search of Miller. When she saw
him, she lowered Cara to the ground and smoothed the front of her dress, a move
apparently not lost on her sister-in-law.

"Why
didn't you wear one of those dresses Della gave you, Sissy? That rust one would
be so good with your coloring." She pushed a lock of Annie's hair behind
her ear and patted it in place. Annie felt it come loose to tickle her chin
immediately.

"Not
appropriate," Annie said, her eyes trying to connect with Miller's without
success. He was standing with Mrs. Leeman, his head nodding solemnly as he
fought to swallow her cake. He coughed, his hand over his mouth, and reached
for some punch a young girl was passing around on a silver tray.

"For
what?" Risa asked, still bothered about the dress. "Maybe not appropriate
for a funeral, but this is a wedding. It's all right to look happy."

There
was a commotion out on the back lawn that drew several people to the window.
"Oh, mys" were followed by tsks and sighs.

"Don't
tell me," Annie said, trying to see over Risa's head. "Samuel
again."

Risa
nodded her head and sighed so hard that the hair against her forehead rose in a
wave before landing back exactly where it belonged. Why was everyone's hair so
agreeable but Annie's? "Peter's got his hand halfway down Sammy's throat,"
Risa explained. "I wonder what he's got in there now."

"Probably
Thomas Lutefoot's tricycle tire," someone suggested.

"Or
the whole darn bike," Charlie said, as he joined his wife and sister.

Annie
gave him a quick peck on the cheek and made her way into the parlor.
"Miller," she said when she'd finally gotten through the crowd and
found herself face to face with the minister at last. "It's nice to see
you."

"About
the other day," Miller said without introduction. "I'm sorry, Sissy.
It's good of you to understand."

She
nodded curtly. "I thought you might not be here until it was time for the
ceremony." Not that she objected, of course. It was just that it seemed to
her either he was in mourning or he wasn't.

"I
thought about not coming," he admitted. "But Mrs. Leeman was quite
pertinent."

"Oh,"
was all she could manage.

"It
means she refused to give up," he explained, assuming she didn't know what
he meant. Her cheeks reddened at his words and deepened when he patted her
hand, as if to say it didn't matter that she was so uneducated.

"Actually,
Reverend Winestock, I believe you meant to say persistent." The voice came
from behind her, but she knew to whom it belonged without turning around.
"Pertinent, of course, means relevant. We all mix up our words sometimes.
The important thing is to speak so we are understood, don't you agree?"

Miller's
face colored and he scratched his neck. "Mr. Eastman," he said,
something apparently on the tip of his tongue. "I'm glad to see you. There
is something—"

Annie
felt a small hand slip into hers and looked down to find Hannah next to her.
She smiled at the little girl, but when her father patted her head, Annie
gasped.

"What
happened to your hand?" she asked him.

***

If
he'd ever seen eyes that big before, he didn't remember them. Big. and the
softest, smoothest brown imaginable. Prettier than he remembered, too.

"Darnedest
thing," he admitted, shaking his head. "I was taking apart the
furnace this morning, making sure the cold weather didn't catch us by surprise,
when I found the pipe had rusted right through." He held up his hand to
show the result.