Mittman, Stephanie (26 page)

"Little
Women,"
she
said as her hand stroked a volume bound in red leather.

"That,"
he said with relief, "is a wonderful story of four sisters and their
mother. They are a very close family, and I think you'll like all of the girls
and even see some of yourself and your sisters in them. I know I've often
thought that Della is more than a little like Amy."

"I
know," she said softly. "I think so too."

"Then
you've read it?" he asked. He was disappointed that he couldn't open a new
world for her. It was a small thing, reading, but it was something he could
give her that she had seemed willing, even eager to take.

"I
started it when Della was in the eighth grade," she admitted. "She'd
leave it at home when she went to school and I would read a page or two when I
finished my chores. She took it back to school before I got too far."

"That
was a long time ago," he said, noting the longing in her voice still after
all these years.

"Well,
Francie had it out of the school library too. I got a little farther with it
then."

He
pulled the book from the shelf and put it in her hands. "Take as long as
you need. I don't want it returned until you're done."

"Oh,
but that could take a long time," she argued.

"I
can wait," he said. "As long as it takes." Even, he thought,
without saying as much, if it took the rest of their lives.

The
next morning she arrived
with the red leather book tucked under her arm,
blue smudges under her eyes, and a smile that made him warmer than the autumn
sun.

"I
got almost a chapter read last night," she said proudly, waiting on the
porch for him to kiss the girls good-bye and head for the fields.

"I
told you there was no rush," he reminded her. "Hannah won't be ready
for Louisa May for years and years."

"Well,
I didn't really want to put it down. She sure is a wonderful writer." She
yawned, daintily covering her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Sorry."

"The
reading going slowly?" he asked.

She
nodded.

"Any
words in particular I can help you with?" He reached for the book, his
knuckles touching the sleeve of her coat. He was pleased when she didn't back
away.

"Oh,"
she said, "I've got a dictionary for that. It's just that I have to read a
page more than once to get the sense of it."

He
took the book from under her arm and opened it randomly. "Read," he
ordered and held the book in front of her.

She
looked shyly at him and then again at the book.

He
softened his tone and reminded her of their bargain. He could hardly hold up
his end if she refused to be a pupil. She started at the top of the page, oddly
enough in the middle of a sentence. But it didn't seem to matter, since she
paid no mind to periods, commas, or prepositional phrases. She was so intent on
recognizing every word that she had trouble knowing where to put in the pauses,
running word after word and sentence after sentence until nothing made any
sense.

He
was keeping Ethan waiting, he knew, on this dry warm day perfect for
harvesting. He could teach her about reading some other time. He had corn to
get in. She stopped reading and looked at him with her eyes full of
embarrassment.

"I'm
not a good reader, I know," she said.

"You
didn't miss a word," he praised honestly. "But you did run them all
together. Pause here." He made a mark with the pencil he was holding at
the point of a comma to show her where to break the thought. "And here.
And here."

She
gasped. "What are you doing? Don't write in it!" She looked at the
book he held out to her with horror. "Oh, but you've ruined it!"

"Ruined
it? How have I done that? Books are for reading, Annie, for savoring, for enjoying.
They're not for saving. Do you think when Miss Alcott wrote this book she meant
for it to stay on some shelf untouched? Or did she wish, in her deepest self,
that someone like you would do to it whatever it takes for you to understand
her meaning?

I
bet if she were here, she'd circle phrases and draw arrows and pictures and
cross out words and make changes and say, 'I could have done this better, if
only I'd known I was writing for Annie.'"

Annie
stared at him with such astonishment he had to laugh.

"Hey,
Noah," Ethan yelled as he neared the porch with the broadcast seeder.
"Lesson one: a farmer works in the light and plays in the dark.
Remember?"

It
was endearing, the way her face turned red at the implications of Ethan's
comment. Much as he wished he could sit all day and watch as each of her
emotions marched across her face like placards revealing her inner thoughts, he
knew that whether he got to play at night or not, Ethan was right about what a
farmer had to do with his days.

He
eased the girls from his lap and stood. Three beautiful faces looked up at him,
and only with great effort he said, "I've got to go help Ethan now. You
girls mind Miss Annie and do as you're told."

He'd
used the same words to them about Ruth Abernathy, and he saw the fear on their
faces. Kneeling in front of them, he looked at first one and then the other of
his precious children. "This is Miss Annie we're talking about. There's
nothing to be afraid of when Miss Annie's here."

***

She'd
planned on doing the wash she hadn't gotten to yesterday, what with all the
settling of children and finding her way around the Eastman farm. One look at
those sad faces and she knew the wash would have to wait.

"I
don't suppose anyone would like to help me make cookies?" she asked. If
only she'd brought her cutters with her they could make cowboys or party belles
or some such thing. Without them she'd have to think of something
extraordinary. "Snowmen!" she exclaimed, figuring that glasses could
make circles and the rest would be easy. "Would you like to make snowman
cookies?"

The
girls looked to their father first, caught his nod, and eagerly bobbed their
heads up and down. Noah patted first Julia on the head, then Hannah, and then
Annie, as well. His fingers tangled in her hair, which caught on the rough
calluses.

"I'd
better go," he said and hurried from the porch.

She
stood looking after him for a while, until Hannah called her name and she
realized how foolish she must look. "Well, ladies," she said, taking
them by the hands. "Shall we?"

The
morning went faster than it seemed to at home. Hannah was old enough to be of
some help, and Annie put her in charge of the rolling and cutting with the edge
of a cup, a drinking tumbler, and a small glass Annie thought might be used for
whiskey.

As
she went through the cabinets searching for flour, sugar, raisins, and the
like, she kept a sharp eye out for any alcohol but found none. Whatever would
Miller think if he found her helping out in a house where a man, a man alone at
that, indulged in the very spirits the decent people of Van Wert were organized
to oppose? She herself had attended many temperance meetings, and despite her
brother-in-law's views on the subject, she was convinced the only alcohol that
belonged in a home was that which the doctor prescribed.

Since
Julia was allowed to do the decorating of the cookies, Annie made a mental note
to tell Ethan and Noah what each one was intended to be. They made girl
snowmen, and boy snowmen and cow snowmen and cat snowmen, and when they were
down to just a little dough, they made melted snowmen too.

Noah's
foodstuffs left a great deal to be desired. Most of the food on his shelves
came canned from Hanson's. Annie wished she'd brought some ham from home or at
least a couple of chickens to serve the family dinner. As it was, she had to
make a hash that she was nearly ashamed to serve.

The
men (Annie let Noah come into the house since Ethan was with him), didn't seem
to think the meal was less than wonderful. Or, if they did, they didn't let on.
And if clean plates were any sign, the food was well received.

"Ah,
Sissy," Ethan said when he finally pushed himself away from the table,
"you sure can cook."

"And
you sure can hunt," she reminded him. "So why ain't—"

"Isn't,"
Noah interrupted, then wiped his mouth with his napkin and reminded his girls
to do the same.

"Isn't,"
she
corrected, "there any meat around here? Where are all them—"

"Those,"
he said very quietly, just to her.

It
was like learning to speak all over again. Only this time each word he said seemed
to give her chills, as if he was saying something meant only for her.
"Those
rabbits and quail and such?" She waited for another correction. When
none came, she smiled and laughed at herself. "Phew! I didn't think I'd
ever get that question out!"

"I'm
sorry," he said. "If you'd prefer that I didn't—"

"Oh,
no," she said shaking her head adamantly. "We've got a bargain. I
watch after the girls, and you watch after my talking."

"And
who watches after you?" Ethan asked of Noah. Was it her imagination, or did
Noah's cheeks turn just a little pink?

"We
best get back to work," was all he said. He stood, stretched, and placed a
kiss on Julia's head, one on Hannah's, and then came toward Annie.

She
backed up quickly, too quickly, and upset her chair, lost her balance, and went
crashing to the floor, smashing her elbow against it and letting out a howl.

In
less than an instant, Noah and the girls had her surrounded, taking very
seriously what had her brother holding his sides from laughter.

Her
elbow tingled and pins and needles ran up and down her arm while her hand felt
numb. Whoever named it a funny bone sure had a strange sense of humor. She
gripped her elbow tightly and he insisted on examining it. Gentle hands ran
down her arm from her shoulder to her wrist, squeezing here or there as if he
knew where each bone should be right through her skin—skin that tingled and
produced little bumps of goose flesh along the length of her arm. Cautiously he
bent and unbent her elbow, taking pains to make sure it was not seriously hurt.

"Is
she all right, Pa?" Hannah asked.

"Are
you?" he asked her, still resting on his haunches and bending over her.

"Of
course," she said, trying to get up despite the girls on her skirts and
the closeness of a man who made it hard for her to breathe.

"What
about her bum?" Hannah asked.

"My
what?" Annie said swallowing hard. The child couldn't have said what she
thought.

"Your
bum. Pa could kiss it and make it better like he does for me and Julia."
She stood there with wide innocent eyes while the adults around her seemed too
shocked to say anything.

Then
Ethan began to laugh. Not a polite, easy laugh but a guffaw born in the gutter
that seemed to be at Annie's expense.

"I'd
be happy to," Noah offered, trying to keep a straight face, "if Miss
Annie would like it."

"Get
away from me," Annie said, pushing at Noah and knocking him down so that
he lay sprawled on the floor with her, while Ethan stood laughing and pointing,
and the girls looked from one adult to another, growing wary as Annie huffed and
snorted trying to get up, and Noah lay motionless except for his stomach, which
bounced up and down as if he had swallowed a joke but wouldn't let it out.

Julia
wagged her finger in Annie's face. "Cookies," she said with a deadly
seriousness that struck Annie's funny bone like nothing else had.

She
looked around her. Noah was sprawled on the floor, convulsed with laughter.
Ethan was sliding down the wall, honking with amusement. Hannah and Julia were
standing very still, confusion written across their innocent faces. Annie's
giggles bubbled up and she reached out and pulled the girls against her chest,
tickling them softly as she did.

Soon
all five of them were laughing easily on the floor of the Eastman farmhouse.
The smell of cookies filled the air along with the sounds of laughter and the
warmth of five happy people. In an instant Annie realized how simple it would
be to just give in. The thought flashed across her mind like a slap that
sobered her. With a smile she didn't feel she lifted the girls and headed them
for their father, then stood and ran, blinded by the tears that were flooding
her vision, toward the kitchen.

She
fumbled with the door and fought her way in, rushing to the sink and pumping
water to cover the sounds of her sobs. She was not, not going to give up
everything, now that she was so close to the life she had always dreamed about.
She lifted the apron she wore, stained with Hannah's spilled juice, marred by
Julia's chocolatey hands that had smeared her skirts when they hadn't found her
apron.

She
didn't hear him come into the kitchen, wasn't aware that he had snuck up behind
her until she felt the strong hands on her shoulders and the pull that left her
back resting against his chest.