Mittman, Stephanie (2 page)

Annie
knew that both Della and Francie were prettier than she was. Della had those
beautiful blond curls, fiery green eyes that beckoned men to seek their depths,
and peaches that resided permanently in her cheeks. Francie was a paler version
of her sister, her blond hair only wavy, her green eyes more mosslike than
emerald, her complexion fair and delicate.

Annie
was stuck with brown hair. It was on the light side, especially after the
summer she'd just spent in the fields, but not light enough to pass for blond.
And it was thin and limp, and despite all her trying a strand or two always
escaped her bun. Her eyes, too, were light brown. This time of year her skin
turned the same light brown as her hair and eyes.

Still,
she thought, even if the man was shocked to find she didn't have her sisters'
beauty, the least he could do was have the decency not to show it.

"I'm
Sissy Morrow," Annie said, an edge to her voice she couldn't hide.
"Francie's sister."

***

"You're
Sissy?"
Noah asked, fighting for control of his voice, which came out an octave higher
than usual. "Francie's Sissy?"

He
pulled his buckboard closer to her own. Words fought his thick tongue and he
stammered, unable to complete a thought.

"But
I thought. . . that is, Francie said ... I mean, the way she spoke of you, it
seemed—" He shook his head as if that might unscramble the thoughts and
make the words come out straight. She was so young. So pretty. So slim and
graceful sitting there with that ramrod-straight back. Before he could stop
them, more words poured out of his mouth. "I thought you'd be a lot older.
The way Francie talked about you, even the way Ethan did—they made you sound like
their mother!"

He
had expected her to be fat. That was the first thing. Anyone who could cook the
way Ethan described one of his sister's meals ought to weigh a couple hundred
pounds, at least. He'd tasted one of her incredible strawberry pies this
summer. Francie had brought it, and Ethan had been quick to give the credit to
his oldest sister.

Oldest.
That was it. He sat staring at the woman who faced him in the rickety wagon.
Why, she couldn't be more than twenty-four or -five! Her skin was unfashionably
tanned and it glowed with a healthy outdoorsiness he admired. She wasn't
lardydardy like Francie's other sister, who guarded her looks like they were
the queen's jewels. Her hair was the color of melted taffy; and he had a
ridiculous urge to taste it.

This
simply couldn't be Francie and Ethan's Sissy. Their Sissy was so strict that
Ethan washed his shirts out Saturday nights if he knew he'd be going home on
Sunday. She was full of wisdom that she doled out like castor oil and Francie
spouted half a dozen times a day. "Sissy says this. Sissy says that."
Sissy was someone who was always canning fruit. This woman sitting just out of
his reach couldn't be her. This woman didn't make him think of apples and pears
and plums. The only fruit that came to his mind when he thought of this woman
was the forbidden kind.

He
hadn't had thoughts like these in years. After Wylene, he'd tried not to think
of women at all. He'd resigned himself to raising their two daughters alone.
Now, looking at the woman he had spent all summer hearing about, new blood
pumped through his veins, bringing wild thoughts to his head and crazy feelings
to his heart.

"Mr.
Eastman," she said, extending her hand and letting him take it in his own.
It was rough from work, good hard honest work, and he wished he was the kind of
man who could put it to his lips gallantly and inhale the soap smell he knew he
would find. "It's nice to finally meet you. Francie spoke real highly of
you and your children."

"And
you as well," he stuttered, sounding like an idiot. She didn't have any
children. He tried to recover. "I'm honored to meet you, Miss Morrow.
You're kind of a legend around here."

"Aw,
don't go swelling Sissy's head any bigger than it already is," Ethan said
with a laugh. "Want me to take Hannah on Buckshot with me? I'm goin' out
your way."

Noah
asked the little girl if she'd like to ride with Ethan and her eyes lit with
excitement. Ethan took her out of the buckboard and put her on his shoulders,
then sauntered toward his horse. Once there he set her in the saddle and
climbed up behind her, handing her the reins.

Annie
Morrow's eyes were on her brother, but Noah knew she was well aware that he was
still looking at
her.
He tried to pull his gaze away, but he was still
trying to comprehend that this, this beautiful woman with caramel eyes was
Sissy Morrow. Sissy the spinster, who had stayed to raise her siblings and
given up any life of her own. Sissy, who had managed to keep five brothers and
sisters safe from harm from the time she was—how old had Francie said? Nine?

Even
after Ethan had turned Buckshot for his farm and Noah could hear the horse's
hooves fade into the distance, he still stared like a fool at the honey-colored
angel before him, her stiff back the only sign that she was aware of his
attention.

Bart,
whom Noah knew only casually, climbed up into the seat and picked up the reins.
There was a chorus of good-byes among the various brothers and sisters and
inlaws, which he watched unabashedly. What a family she had raised! What an
amazing job such a little bit of a thing had managed to do!

"Well,
good-bye, Mr. Eastman," she said, as her brother released the brake. Even
her voice was like penuche, smooth and silky with no hard edges.

"Good-bye,
Miss Morrow," he said, tipping his hat and trying to seem as though
meeting an angel were an everyday occurrence.

"Sissy
will do fine," she said. "Everyone calls me that."

"I
don't think so," he said. "A woman like you deserves a name of her
own."

***

Bart
huffed and snickered at the horses, telling them it was time to head back to
the farm. There was field work to be done and, with Ethan working at Noah's,
just Bart and Annie to do it. She smoothed the printed lawn of her skirt,
fingering the delicate fabric. She'd gussied herself up, as Bart would say, to
send Francie off in style. But she'd be back in her patched cotton wrapper
before lunchtime rolled around, and as dirty and tired tonight as she was last
night, before the sun met the earth.

The
ride home was a quiet one, her brother shifting often on the leather seat he'd
pulled from Pa's old buggy, Annie dreaming about the life that awaited her baby
sister.

"Well,
they're all gone now," Bart said, breaking the silence and pulling Annie
back from lessons she would never learn in a school she would never attend.
"'Cepting Ethan, and it won't be long for him."

"I
sure envy him," Annie admitted. "Bein' a man and all, he can just up
and go west with no never mind about it." Last year he'd missed the first
wave of open land in Oklahoma, but there were rumors that in less than a year
there'd be more, ceded by some Indians Annie had never even heard of. And Ethan
had a hunger for adventure, a need for excitement that Annie knew would never
be satisfied in Van Wert. She'd managed to keep him in Ohio this long, but now
that he was nineteen she knew it was only a matter of time.

"I
never did see a woman as green with envy as you been lately. What's eatin' at
you anyways?" Bart threw an eye in her direction and must have caught the
hurt on her face that she couldn't hide. She knew it was petty and wrong to be
jealous of her own brothers and sisters, and she certainly knew better than to
let Bart know even if she was. Always wishing he'd been the eldest, he liked to
point out to her as often as he could just how imperfect she really was.

"Nothing's
eating at me. I just meant that a man's got more choices than a woman, that's
all."

"But
it ain't all. You think it wasn't written all over your face that you wished it
was you, not Francie, goin' to that fancy college?"

He
shifted again.

"Those
pants need lettin' out?" she asked. Since he'd started courting Willa
Leeman, he was eating two dinners every Sunday and a few extra helpings of pie
during the week.

"And
ya sure envy Della. Always have," he said. He hadn't responded to her question
with words, but she noticed he sucked in his stomach and sat a little taller on
the seat.

"Della's
the most beautiful woman in all of Ohio, probably," Annie said.
"Ain't a woman who ever met her didn't turn green at the sight of those
pretty blond ringlets framin' that handsome face."

"And
she's livin' in town and got precious darlin' twin boys of her own," Bart
added. "Not to mention that Peter'll probably be vice president of the Van
Wert National Bank someday."

"I
don't envy no one for their children, Bart," she said, picking at a small
pull on her dress. "Much as I love 'em, raisin' five children was enough
for me."

Enough
for a lifetime. If she never washed another diaper or braided another head of
hair, if she never had to explain why the sky was blue or why there wasn't
enough food on the table ... oh, she loved every one of her brothers and
sisters, but she was grateful that time was behind her. She was grateful that
now she could look forward to being the lady of the house instead of the family's
mother hen.

Bart
stopped the wagon and turned to her. "Don't you think you'll be havin' any
children of your own when you marry Reverend Winestock?" he asked, and
waited for her to answer as if it mattered a great deal to him.

"Well,"
Annie said, her eyes on the tips of her worn Sunday button shoes, "he and
Elvira were never blessed. And he's nearly forty and not likely to—"

"Is
that what's been troubling you, Sissy? You know Elvira Winestock was a sickly
woman all her life and the fault probably laid with her. And bein' forty don't
hardly stop a man from wantin' to be with a woman in that way. Hell, look at
Pa, makin' all those trips to town after supper."

"He
liked a good walk after dinner, and he was always runnin' outa tobacco,"
Annie said, but the minute the words were out of her mouth she realized she'd
been naive to take her father at his word. Her cheeks grew hot. Bart, her
younger brother, had apparently known the truth and while she had been
foolishly doling out nickels for tobacco money, her father had been enjoying a
very different vice indeed.

"Miller
Winestock is a man, Sissy," Bart said, returning to the subject. "And
a man has needs."

"I
know that," Annie said. "But he doesn't seem . . . that is, he's not
like Pa. He's more like you—serious, hardworking, devout."

Bart
looked at her strangely. "Men are pretty much the same," he said.
"We all got needs. And sometimes they make us lose our heads."

Now
what did that mean?

"And
that brings me to somethin' I want to discuss with you," he continued, but
now he was the one looking at his boots. "Comes a time in a man's life
when work ain't enough. Especially workin' alone."

"Alone?"
she asked. Where had she been if not next to him, in the fields and in the
barn?

He
squirmed yet again and Annie wanted to scream at him. What was he getting at?
Did he want her behind the plow too?

"Well,
not alone now. But once you're married . . . when
are
you gettin'
married, Sissy?"

She
shrugged. Elvira Winestock had been dead about eight months. She supposed
Miller would want to wait at least a year out of respect for his first wife.

"Do
ya think it'll be soon?"

She
shrugged again. The tone of his voice surprised her. Clearly he was eager to
have her marry the minister. But that didn't make sense at all. Then she'd be
out of the house and he'd be truly alone. Unless— In an instant she was no
longer in the dark about where the conversation was going. She just didn't want
it to get there.

"Like
maybe in a few weeks?" he said hopefully.

"No,"
she said, with all the finality she could muster. "I don't think it'll be
in a few weeks. Why?"

"Well,
me and Willa," he started, but she didn't need to hear any more. Her
brother was going to get married. And once he did, he'd bring Willa Leeman home
to Annie's house. And they'd take her parents' bedroom, the one Annie had moved
into after her father had died. And it would be Willa's house, Willa's and
Bart's.

Now
he was saying something about how he and Willa would be happy to let her stay
as long as she liked. She'd always be welcome in her own home. But she knew it
wouldn't be her home anymore.

Of
course, it wouldn't matter. After all, she'd be moving into town, getting
married, taking over the duties of a minister's wife real soon. She'd be
putting on a clean dress in the morning, serving tea to the ladies, checking on
the welfare of the congregation, seeing to her husband's supper. And at the end
of the day that dress would still be clean. What more could a woman want?

Annie
studied the dirt under her fingernails that, no matter how hard she tried,
never seemed to go away completely. "That's wonderful for you," she
said to Bart, whose relief was spread across his face. "For you and Willa
both. I'm sure you'll be very happy."