Mittman, Stephanie (27 page)

"Don't
cry," he said, as he stroked her hair and lifted the edge of her apron to
wipe her tears. "Please don't cry. Tell me what you want, Annie my sweet.
Tell me and I'll make it so."

"I
want to marry Miller Winestock," she said, her voice cracking with the
words.

"I
know," he said, smoothing her hair out of her face. "I know."

"I
don't want to like you, or your children, or care what happens to all of
you."

"I
know," he said again. "I know."

"I
don't know what's wrong with me. I'm either laughing or crying or fretting all
the time."

"I
know," he said once again, wiping at still more tears.

"You
have to find someone else, Noah," she said, letting the name she had used
in her head finally pass her lips. "You have to let me go."

His
breath fanned her hair and sent the loose ends across her face. His lips brushed
the side of her head, and she turned her face so he could reach her temple.

He
kissed it gently over and over again while he murmured words of sympathy.

"I'm
sorry. I'm so sorry," he said over and over again, as if he really
regretted barging into her life and confusing her. "I'll do whatever you
want."

"Then
stop," she said, even though her head tilted farther back and pressed
against his chest. "Promise me you'll find someone else to take care of
the girls. Promise me you'll do it right away."

"Don't
ask me that, Annie," he begged. "Please, don't ask me that." He
kissed the top of her head, took handfuls of her hair, and pressed them against
his nose as if he could inhale the very essence of her, took gulps of air as if
he could swallow her whole.

"There's
no other way. You have to find someone else. It can't be me. Do you understand
that it can't be me?"

From
the other side of the door they clearly heard Ethan's voice. "I'm goin'
back out to the fields, Noah. You comin'?"

"What
should I tell him?" Noah asked, his hands running up and down her arms in
time to her breathing.

Tell
him you're staying with me. Tell him you're never letting go.
"He's
coming, Eth," she shouted through the door. She wrenched herself from
Noah's arms. "Take a cookie and tell the girls how good they are,"
she said, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hands.

"Are
you coming?" he asked, pausing at the doorway and turning back to look at
her. Etched in his face were the new pain lines she had put there.

She
shook her head without saying a word.

He
nodded. Somehow the two gestures spoke volumes.

***

In
the morning the stubborn woman he was in love with stood on the porch waiting
for him to come out of the house. When he did, she nodded curtly in his general
direction and gave him a wide berth as she went in and shut the door firmly
behind her.

What
had he ever done to merit the trials he was living through? Not that he was one
to feel sorry for himself, but there were times when it seemed to him that life
ought to owe him some compensation for what he'd been through, all he'd lost,
all he'd suffered. And he really believed deep in his heart that Annie was that
compensation.

As
he harvested corn with Ethan he let his mind have free rein with what his eyes
could see. A beautiful woman hanging out clean sheets, her honey hair blowing
in the breeze, the bedding slap-slapping against the wind, his two little girls
handing her up the clothespins. Their songs drifted to him on the currents of
air.
If only
played in his head like a litany, over and over again.

The
truth was, he had rushed her. Pushed himself on her when he should have held
back until she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Of course, she would never
want him as much as he wanted her, for there was no measurement for that. What was
the word astronomers used, infinity? That was how much he wanted her, and more.
Infinity to the infinite.

And
Annie? What was it she wanted? A dull minister who would offer her a rest after
all her toils and little else.

"I'm
going to town, Ethan," he said suddenly, stopping the horse and jumping
from the seeder.

"Noah,"
Ethan sighed, sensing that the sudden errand had nothing to do with farming and
everything to do with his sister. "Farmers gotta farm, dammit. Are you a
lover or a farmer?"

"I'm
a farmer in love," Noah called over his shoulder as he unhooked the horse.
"And unless you want Miller Winestock for a brother-in-law, you'll wish me
luck and do what you can while I'm gone."

"You
know," Ethan said, coming over to Noah and putting a hand on his arm to
stop his motions, "Sissy raised me since I was a baby. If it turns out you
hurt her, even without meanin' to, I won't never forgive or forget."

Noah
thought one of the most wonderful things about the marriage he knew in his
heart would take place between himself and Annie was that he would have the
great good fortune of being able to call Ethan Morrow his brother.

"Ethan,"
he said, "if I do hurt your sister in any way, I won't need you to never
forgive and forget. I will never forget or forgive myself."

"That
won't change anything," the young man said, "except there will be two
of us."

***

"A
wind wheel?" Risa asked him, as though she wasn't sure she had heard
correctly. "You want to order a wind wheel?"

She
was beginning to look like she was carrying, just a little. There was a
softness to her body, a roundness to her face he dared not mention. The glow,
though; he thought it was all right to comment on that.

"You
look especially pretty today," he said. "There's a—"

"Plumpness,"
she supplied with a smile. "I look like I swallowed a balloon from the
fair, and I've hardly started. The doctor says this child isn't even as big as
my thumb"— she held up her hand—"and look at me already."

"Really,
Mrs. Morrow," a woman standing near the counter said with disgust.
"This is certainly not an appropriate topic to be discussing with a
gentleman, especially one you barely know."

"Oh,
but—" Risa started, then stopped herself. "No, of course, Mrs. Webb,
you're right. I guess I'm just feeling— that is, a wind wheel, you said?"

"Yes."
He nodded. "I'm hoping to put a bathroom into the farmhouse."

"What
a good idea!" Risa beamed. "A bathroom! Why, anyone would be happy
about that!"

"I
know I am," Noah said, smiling politely and biting the inside of his
cheek.

"You
know," Risa said, looking at Mrs. Webb and clearly thinking aloud,
"sometimes people sell their old ones. Do you know anyone who might be
selling a wind wheel, Mrs. Webb?"

"Why,
I would think you'd want Mr. Eastman to order a new one," she answered,
very surprised. Then she leaned over the counter and said in the lowest of
voices, "You won't make any money, dear, if you tell people to buy used
goods."

"That's
true," Risa agreed, "but I know how much Mr. Eastman must want this
wheel, with the weather getting colder, and he'd surely be better off if he
didn't have to wait for it to be delivered and then risk the ground being
frozen and not be able to get it in until spring." She said the last
several words pointedly as if she was trying to tell him that time was of the
essence. As if he wasn't so aware of it that he'd left Ethan in the field
without a horse just to rush into town to order the damn thing.

"Yes,"
he said as evenly as he could, "I am anxious to get it set up and running
before the year is out. Would you know of one for sale, Mrs. Webb?"

"Well,"
she said, scratching her chin, "let me think."

"Of
course. And may I say that I can't remember when I've seen such a lovely
bonnet? The blue certainly compliments your eyes." What could be seen of
them between the rolls of fat, anyway.

She
preened as only fat ugly women can, and then her face brightened. "Why, I
think that Warren Stevens out toward Bellefontaine just got a whole new system
for bringing water into his place. You check with him. I'm sure he had at least
one windmill. Maybe more. Yes," she said, nodding her head and quite
satisfied with herself, "you check with him."

"Thank
you," he said. "Thank you very much." He turned to leave and
halfway across the store was struck by an attack of conscience so strong it
nearly pulled him back to the counter.

"Mrs.
Webb," he said, capturing her attention again, "you seem exceedingly
well informed. Might you know of someone willing to watch two children and cook
meals?"

"Then
that
was
Ruth Abernathy I saw hustling onto the noon train
yesterday," she said. "I thought it was her. Well, that must have put
you in quite a bind, I'd say, her running out on you like that."

"Yes,"
he agreed and thought better of bringing up the circumstances under which Mrs.
Abernathy had left his employ. There were those who believed in her methods and
would see him as some foolish man bent on spoiling his girls. "Quite a
bind."

"Maybe
Sissy—" Risa said, then stopped when she saw the look on Noah's face.

"Miss
Morrow has other plans," Noah said diplomatically.
She doesn't know
she's marrying me.

"Of
course she does," Mrs. Webb said. "She's marrying the reverend come
the new year. Everyone knows that. Just as soon as his mourning's up, I expect
they'll be tying the knot."

"Oh,
do you think so?" Risa said.

"Yes,"
Mrs. Webb said definitely.

"No,"
Noah couldn't stop his mouth from saying.

Mrs.
Webb turned to him in surprise. "No?"

"Mourning
is a hard thing to measure," Noah said, suddenly pontificating. "And
one must be allowed his full cycle of grief. It is not a thing to be tied to
the calendar and put behind one as an obligation."

The
older woman looked at him with sympathy. "But then, of course, you would
know, poor dear. A woman's value is always underrated until she is gone,
wouldn't you agree?" she asked Risa, who was taking his measure with her
eyebrows low over her eyes and her hands on her hips.

As
if Risa's stares weren't enough, he watched Mrs. Webb's eyes narrow as if she
suddenly remembered something that had been evading her. "Aren't you the
man with the furnace?"

"I
suppose I am," he admitted with half a smile.

"The
one from church?"

"That
would be me."

"Well,
my husband went down to the cellar after church and wouldn't you know it? We've
a Wells furnace."

"Really?"
he asked, not hiding his interest. "Have you had any trouble with it
before?"

"We're
not having any trouble with it now, young man. I just feel that, as you
suggested, it is better to be safe than sorry. I still have two children at
home, and a grandchild that spends more time with me than with his own mother,
but that is another kettle of fish, isn't it?"

"Did
your husband check the pipe?" he asked.

"Well,
that's why I brought the whole matter up. Do you think you might drop by one
day, before the weather really turns, and check it for us? My husband doesn't
know his pipes from his cigars, and I'm afraid he's just made hash of it. He
didn't know what he was looking for, so I thought maybe you could come by and
have a look."

"I
would be happy to," he said truthfully. "If only everyone would let
me check, I would feel a whole lot better about the winter coming on."

"Friday
would be good for me, Mr. Eastman," she said with a bat of her eyelashes.

"Friday
it is," he agreed.

"Excellent."
Mrs. Webb beamed. "And Mr. Eastman, I know just the girl for you."

Before
dawn Annie got up
and made her way down to the kitchen. Bleary-eyed and
bone tired, she put up water for tea and formed loaves of bread for Willa to
bake while Annie was at the Eastman farm. Then she pared the vegetables for the
stew and headed for the cellar, where there was still some sacked beef on the
bags of ice. If she got everything together in the pot, Willa ought to be able
to cook it up with very little trouble.

The
cellar was cold. Even in summer it rarely reached sixty degrees, and now, with
the weather turning colder every day, it wasn't much above freezing even by the
foot of the stairs. Lighting the lamp she kept there, Annie warmed her hands
around it for a moment and then, pulling her robe tighter to her body, made for
the far corner where the ice stood beneath the chute.

Despite
the tray in which it rested there were puddles of half frozen water spread
across the floor, and she shivered as the cold water seeped into her worn
slippers and bit at her toes. The Acme icebox in the kitchen barely had room
for a pitcher of milk and a dozen eggs, never mind chunks of meat. With all the
room the ice took up, there was hardly any room for the butter she had hoped to
take into town yesterday.