Mittman, Stephanie (16 page)

"Don't
know how many times I've had to tell them," Noah said, rising to his full
height, his knees cracking loudly as he did. "Nothing is more important to
a child than knowing they were loved."

Ethan
grabbed Sissy's hand and squeezed it hard. "Guess I was about as old as
Julia when Mama died. Did I ever thank you, Sissy? I don't remember."

Sissy's
eyes were filled with tears. Miller supposed that was understandable under the
circumstances, but he hadn't taken Sissy for one of those women who cried
easily. He was glad when she managed a smile.

"Of
course you thanked me, Eth," she said, squeezing his hand in return.
"You thanked me by turning out just fine and making me proud of you. Mama
would have loved you so."

"Please,"
Della said. "This talk is just too mawkish for a wedding. I hear music out
back, I think."

"Not
the organist, I hope," Charlie said, to a round of laughter and
wholehearted agreement.

The
group moved toward the door and away from Miller. He watched as Noah lifted his
littler one easily onto his arm and took the other one by the hand. Her father
leaned over and listened to something the older girl said, then nodded,
touching her cheek gently without letting go of her hand.

Miller
pulled the letter from his pocket and let the light from the window fall across
the words.

Dear
Reverend Winestock,

We
received your letter today and must admit confusion. We do get many requests
for memorial suggestions for victims of our tragic flood, but yours took us by
surprise.

Our
church records indicate that Wylene Eastman left Johnstown over two years ago,
shortly after her second daughter was born. A letter addressed to her mother
bore a New York City return address but was returned due to the death of both
of her parents.

In
addition to his in-laws, Mr. Eastman, who left Johnstown two days before the
South Fork Dam broke, lost his father, a sister, and several cousins.

Do
you wish to place a plaque in their honor?

Miller
folded the letter and put it back into his jacket. He'd already collected
almost twenty dollars for Mrs. Eastman's memorial. He was going to have to do
something about that. Elvira would have known just what was required. He
considered asking Sissy but realized how foolish that would be. This was, after
all, a matter of some delicacy.

Thwack
. The headboard
hit the wall, again and again and again. Annie heard it clearly despite the
pillow she clutched around her head to deaden the sound.
Thwack
.
Thwack
.
Thwack
.

"Oh,
God!" Bart groaned. "Oh, God!"

Thwack
.
Thwack
.
Thwack
.

"Oh!
Oh!" Willa chimed in.

Silence.
Then, "Did I hurt you? Are you all right?" The voices grew muffled,
then turned to moans.

Thwack
.
Thwack
.

"Uuuhhh!"
So loud Annie wondered why the builder had bothered to put up walls in the
house at all.

"You're
so beautiful," Bart whispered, and still Annie heard him. "Look how
you glow in the moonlight."

Look
how you glow in the moonlight
? Who did Willa have in there with her?
That Walt Whitman Francie was always quoting? Or the other one, Sidney Lanier?

Mumbled
words followed, and Annie released her grip on the pillow. She knew, vaguely,
what had transpired between Bart and his new wife. Anyone who lived on a farm
had the basics down before they were five or six. But there was more, of
course, to it when people did it. Animals couldn't really touch or talk. They
couldn't look into each other's eyes, or kiss, or do whatever she imagined put
a cocky smile on a man's face or the blush in a woman's cheek.

Thwack.
Thwack.

Not
again! Annie threw her feet over the edge of the bed and grabbed up her pillow
and quilt. Without bothering to find her slippers she opened the door to her
room and stepped out into the hall.

"Ssh."
It was Willa's voice.

"It's
only Sissy. Take the damn thing off! I want to see you. All of you."

She
slipped quickly through the hall and hurried down the stairs. She'd try the
divan first. If that didn't work, there was always the barn.

In
the nearly total darkness she made herself a bed on the sofa and snuggled down
into it, wrapping her arms around her middle. Well, Bart was in love. It
occurred to her that it was somehow different from being married. He didn't
just have a partner now. He had someone whose skin glowed in the moonlight.

Well,
she thought wickedly, your skin may glow in the moonlight, Willa Leeman, but
mine is the color of honey in the sun and makes a man's mind turn to mush.

She
nearly choked on the thought, coughing and sputtering and sitting up on the
divan in the dark. Noah Eastman. She pulled the covers up to her chin. Everyone
had silly thoughts in the dark. Minds turning to mush, indeed!

***

Noah's
hand hurt. After he'd put the girls in their beds, unhooked the wagon, bedded
down the horses, and sat on the edge of his bed, he was sorry he hadn't asked
Ethan to leave along with him, but it was the boy's brother's wedding, after
all. In the quiet of the house he thought about the wedding. Lord, his hand
hurt.

He
wondered where in hell he'd hidden the whiskey. After Wylene left him he'd
learned the hard way that you could either be a good father or a good drunk but
not both. An ache in the heart couldn't be cured with anything that came in a
bottle, but his palm was surely calling for help now.

Clutching
his left wrist within the crook of his right arm, he headed for the kitchen. A
drink, maybe two, and he'd rest easier for the night. By morning, no doubt, his
hand would be nearly as good as new.

It
didn't take him long to find the hard stuff or to down it. He'd forgotten just
how much liquor could burn. It charred his tongue before searing a path down
his throat, across his chest, and down into his belly. Damned if it didn't feel
awful and wonderful at the same time.

By
the time he'd gotten off his Sunday clothes and climbed into his bed his hand
no longer ached; in fact, he was hardly aware of it. The only sensation that
was clear to him was a blaze in his stomach that was still heading lower.

It
had been a good day, he thought. A fine day. He'd seen Annie. Talked to her.
And any day in which he had seen her and talked to her and not made an ass of
himself was a fine day, indeed.

Yellow
suited her, though she deserved a finer dress. When he'd noticed the tear near
the hem, so carefully stitched, he wanted to rip the garment off and present
her with the best dress in Hanson's Mercantile. And her boots! She was ashamed
of them, he could tell. Such dainty little feet should be clad in satin
slippers or nothing at all.

His
eyelids grew heavy. Must be powerful stuff, that whiskey, to make him think he
could give Annie Morrow what she wanted, what she needed. She also needed a
good, thorough kissing, he was sure.

The
thought brought a smile to his face. In just moments he would be dreaming about
her, about her soft skin and her firm body and about what those honey lips
would taste like when he pressed his own against them.

"Sweet
dreams," he whispered in the dark, but whether it was a wish for her or a
promise to himself, he wasn't sure.

***

The
patter of rain smacking at the windows woke Annie just before dawn. Every
muscle complained as she stretched out to her full height on the sofa, the
heels of her feet reaching over the padded couch arm. It had been a terrible
night, and not just physically. Twice she'd woken up in a cold sweat, unable to
remember what had happened in her dreams.

The
one dream she did remember turned her cheeks red with embarrassment. In it, she
was seated in her regular pew in church and Miller was well into his sermon.
She hadn't been paying attention because she could feel Noah Eastman's gaze
resting on her back, undressing her with his eyes, until she sat there in her
chemise and Miller pointed his finger at her. As she went to rise, even the
chemise disappeared and she stood naked before the congregation. Amid the gasps
and cries, a familiar voice said that her skin was the color of baked bread and
could sustain him for life.

Annie's
head fell into her hands. As if it wasn't bad enough that thoughts of him were
invading her days, now he had found his way into her nights. No wonder Francie
fancied herself in love with him. He was a man who got right under a woman's
skin, the kind of man Annie should have warned Francie about, not sent her to
work for.

Well,
Francie was in New York, safe from Noah Eastman's charm. And that was just
where she was going to stay. If Miss Orliss and the school board thought Annie
would seriously consider passing on their offer of a position to Francie, they
ought to be tied to their beds and locked away for a good long time. Her
letters were just beginning to reveal a new Francie, one that was looking to
the future. What had her last one said?

Annie
rose and went to the old combination bookcase. Opening the drop leaf, she
pulled out the packet of letters from Francie and chose the last one.

Dear
Sissy,

Last
night I went to an exhibit of photographs by a reporter from the "Evening
Sun" named Jacob Riis. He is going to put them together to make a book
that documents the terrible conditions in which some people in New York City
live. It truly made me angry to see children and old people so without hope.

Poverty
in Van Wert is nothing compared to poverty in this city, where no one knows or
cares who you are. I hope someone will take their cause up and help them. I
would if I were to stay in this city, which I don't intend to.

I
still miss home a great deal and wish I could sit at our table and feast on the
apple pies I know you must be baking by the dozen.

Noah
wrote that he sees you at church (that was a surprise!) and that Hannah and
Julia are getting very attached to you. Knowing you, the attraction must be
mutual. Does he ever ask about me? I write him nearly every day, except in the
last week or two as J have been very busy.

Tomorrow
I have an exam and after that I am going to a rally at City Hall. New York is
full of interesting people and things to do, but no one and nothing compares to
what I left in Van Wert.

Give
my love to everyone,

Francie

Annie
clutched the letter to her chest. Francie was making the adjustment, just as
Annie had known she would. How proud their parents would be if they could only
see how well all the Morrows had turned out. In just a few more years Francie
would be a certified teacher, Ethan would be settled down somewhere with a
wife, no doubt, and Annie would be married to Miller Winestock.

Soft
feet padded down the stairwell, and Annie looked up to see Willa coming down
the steps in her white muslin bridal nightgown. Her feet were bare and she took
each step carefully, the hem of her gown raised so that she could see her feet
hit each stair tread.

At
the bottom of the steps she looked up and her mouth formed a small O at the
sight of Annie sitting on the couch. She clutched the neckline of her nightdress
closed and looked embarrassed.

"I
didn't realize—" she started. "Good morning, Sissy. I was just going
to get some water. What are you doing down here?" She looked at Annie
oddly and then, when she realized what must have driven her sister-in-law from
her bed, her eyes widened and she gasped. "Did we . . . that is, could you
... I mean ..."

"I
had a little trouble sleeping," Annie said evenly. "It must have been
all the excitement of the wedding, combined with the new bed. I thought I'd
come down here and look at Francie's letters, and before I knew it I'd fallen
asleep on the divan." She smiled at Willa and stood up, wrapping the
woolen blanket around her shoulders. "Can I make you some coffee? You
could take a cup up to Bart."

"He's
still asleep," Willa said in a whisper, as though suddenly their talking
might wake him up. Hastily she added, "I don't know why he's so
tired."

Annie
fought to keep her expression under control. From what she'd heard last night,
it would be a miracle if they could get Bart up before noon. "Well, tired
or not, we've got church in a little while. I suppose it's not my business
anymore, but I expect he'll want to be going, so you best get him up
soon."

"Do
you think he'd like it if I brought him up some coffee?" she asked.

"Well,
yes, I do," Annie answered. "You wanna make it, or should I?"

Willa
stood looking at her feet for a moment, then mumbled, "I'm not really sure
how to do it."