Mittman, Stephanie (39 page)

"You
spend your whole life making sure they're safe," she said, so quietly that
he had to bend to hear her at all, "and then in a moment, an instant, you
turn your back for just a second—and all the years you watched don't matter.
They don't count for anything."

The
warmth of the fire burned his face. The hair that had been singed had not yet
come back and the skin was sensitive to heat. Yet he wouldn't have moved one
inch from her at that moment no matter what the pain. For she had reached out
and taken his hand and seemed to draw strength from it.

She
gave him a weak smile. "Where are the girls?"

"Asleep
in the wagon," he said. Her hand was softer than when he had last held it.
He supposed gardening was over for the season.

She
went to rise. "They must be cold." She shivered and new tears fell.
Samuel would be cold forever after they placed him in the ground.

"They
have warm blankets," he assured her with a squeeze of his hand. "But
I can't stay long. I'm afraid I've already intruded."

Miller
returned and placed a proprietary hand on Annie's shoulder. "I'll get you
some tea," he said, then turned to Noah. "Can I get you
anything?"

Noah
thanked him but declined. Eventually Miller went on to the others—Risa,
Charlie, Willa, Bart.

"There
must be something I can do," Noah said. "How can I help?"

"Francie,"
Annie said softly. "Could you let Francie know? She sent me a telephone
number for emergencies. I've got it somewheres ... I never thought I'd really
use it. There's a telephone in Hanson's." She looked over at Risa and
Charlie, who were huddled together with Cara between them. Risa's face was
white and Charlie was consumed with calming her. "I can't ask them."

"I'll
telephone her," Noah said. "I'll stop there on my way home."

"Mr.
Hanson lives upstairs," Annie told him as she rose and went to her desk to
find the number.

"I
have it," Noah said, stilling her hand.

Her
eyebrows came together in a question, but she didn't care enough at the moment
to voice it. There would be plenty of time to tell her all that Francie had
done for him. For now, he had to call her with the Morrow family's sad news. He
wondered if telephones were the marvelous invention they were touted to be. So
far, they seemed to reek of death and disaster. It was no wonder they looked
like little wooden coffins, filled with black ribbons of wire.

***

Mr.
Archie Hanson rang up the operator and gave her the telephone number Francie
had sent to Noah. With one eye he guarded the stock of his store from what he
perceived as Noah's sticky fingers, and with the other he pinned Noah to the
counter and checked out his features.

"New
York College for the Training of Teachers!" Hanson shouted into the
mouthpiece. "It's a school there for girls that don't know their
place!"

Noah
reminded himself why he was there.

"Hello?"
he shouted again. "This the college?"

He
nodded and Noah took the phone from his unwilling hand. Hanson stayed where he
was and Noah had to lean his body sideways to speak into the mouthpiece.
"I need to get in touch with Francine Morrow of Van Wert, Ohio," he
said loudly. "Can she come to the telephone?"

A
voice crackled over the line. For all his sophistication and book learning,
Noah still felt his insides bubble up as a woman in New York City, some
thousand or so miles away, told him that Miss Morrow was at an evening lecture
along with the other girls.

"Can
I leave a message for her?" he asked, pronouncing each word carefully and
distinctly.

The
voice assured him that a message would be delivered.

"Please
tell her Noah Eastman called and she is to come home as soon as possible. Tell
her to wire her arrival time, and I will meet her at the train."

The
voice repeated roughly what he had said.

"Tell
her, please, that it is an emergency."

The
voice crackled again and then the line went dead.

He
looked at the earpiece in his hand and knew he was holding the future. From now
on the world would get smaller and smaller because of Bell's invention. The
receiver was still warm from his touch and he pressed it to his chest before
giving it back to Mr. Hanson, who rang up the operator and asked for the
charges.

"Just
put it on my bill," Noah said as he headed for the door. There was a
mannequin on his way, and he stopped to admire the soft yellow dress she was
clad in. The price tag read $4.85, a hefty sum for a man who was still paying
off the wind wheel with which he hoped to win Annie. He touched the satiny
fabric and imagined Annie in it. He could feel Hanson's eyes on his back and
let the fabric drop.

He
thought of poor Samuel, whom he never really liked, but who surely deserved a
chance to grow up and taste what life had to offer. For the child, life had
been much too short, but then how long did anyone have?

For
some people yesterday was too late. He wasn't going to be one of them.

***

Miller
checked again on the other twin. Which one had died and which one still lived?

He
had removed himself from his community with Elvira's death, as if his grief
relieved him of his duties. But watching the child on the bed before him
reminded him that God's mysteries kept unfolding and it was his duty to help
his parishioners cope.

The
boy slept uneasily. A rigidity would come over him; then, just as abruptly, the
stiffened arms and legs would soften and his breathing would ease. Wasn't that
what life was like? The soul hardening with each hurt, only to soften once
again and be open to yet another pain?

Life
was God's greatest gift, and to squander it with years of grief was to
trivialize its worth. He would miss Elvira fervently until they were reunited
in the kingdom, but he would live every day until then to the fullest of his
ability. Samuel Gibbs—yes, that was his name—would not have died in vain.

He
pushed the curly hair back from James's brow and made a promise to watch over
him.

Then
he tucked the covers under the child's chin and descended the stairs to the
living room. Risa and Charlie had taken Cara and gone home. Willa was asleep,
her breathing deep and even as she lay in the curve of Bart's arm, her head
resting on his chest.

Sissy
was putting away the dishes from the meal no one ate, her arms and legs moving
through the quicksand of grief. Silently he fell in beside her and helped
gather the silverware, the glasses, the pitcher of still cool water.

She
made trip after trip between kitchen and living room on legs that were ready to
buckle beneath the weight of her fatigue and her sorrow. He tried to carry the
brunt of it, tried to make her job lighter, but nothing stopped her until he
laid a hand on her shoulder and forced her into a chair.

"Enough,"
he told her. "Everything else can wait until morning."

It
was a mistake to stop her. Keeping busy had been holding her together, as he
should have remembered from his own grief. With hollow, empty eyes she looked
at him.

"Why?"
she asked. Her voice croaked and she tried to clear her throat. "Can you
tell me why?"

"God
has a plan," Miller offered, meager though the answer seemed even to him.
"I can't tell you what it is, but He has a plan."

"Is
James in my bed?" she asked.

He
nodded. James could count on her to take care of him. Everyone could count on
Annie. "You should get some sleep," he said softly. It would be nice,
he thought, if
she
could count on
him.

"You
know I didn't want the wine here," she said.

He
nodded. He knew there'd never be wine in the house again, but it was like
locking the schoolhouse after the fire.

"I
should have been out there, watching the children."

"Don't
be silly," he said. "You were making supper. There were six adults in
that room. If anyone is to blame, it's us."

She
looked stricken. "Oh, no, I didn't mean to say that it was anyone's fault.
You mustn't blame yourself. Children do things, stupid things, and no one can
stop them."

"You
managed to stop all those brothers and sisters," he said. "You
protected all of them from harm."

She
tried to smile, but her face cracked and the tears rolled down her cheeks.
"Until tonight. All the years I kept Della safe, let her be carefree and
irresponsible because she was so lovely and full of life. And look what I did.
Della would cry over a broken iris stem. She's not ready for pain like
this."

Miller
wondered how she could look at Della and see such goodness and softness where
everyone else saw self-centeredness and pride. "She'll be fine," he
said. "She's stronger than you think."

She
shrugged and rose. "There's a lot to do tomorrow. I wonder if Noah reached
Francie."

"Will
she be coming home?"

She
nodded. "You know what they say, Miller. Be careful what you wish for, you
might get it. Well, Francie's been begging me to let her come home."

From
the top of the stairs came a small boy's shriek.

"That'll
be James," she said and hurried toward the steps.

"I'll
see myself out," Miller said, but he doubted Sissy even heard him. She was
going up the stairs two at a time toward a child who needed her.

He
wondered what the chances were of their having children of their own.

Condolences
were being paid at Della and Peter Gibbses' house in town. Wagons lined the
streets, reflecting both Peter's position at the bank and the warm feeling of
the townsfolk for the Morrow family. Noah took Hannah's hand and, with Julia in
one arm, made his way to the front door of the Gibbs home.

"I'm
so sorry," he told Peter, letting go of Hannah's hand to take Peter's
extended one. "Is there anything I can do?"

Peter
was dry-eyed. He appeared composed in his business suit with his well-groomed
hair. Only the trembling of the hand Noah held gave away his grief. He shook
his head in response to Noah's question, then seemed to remember something.

"Francie.
Were you able to contact Francie?" he asked.

Noah
had stopped at the Western Union office, and a wire from Francie said she would
be home early the next morning. He told Peter he would meet the train at 6:02 a.m.

"I'll
just tell Della," Peter said and excused himself, leaving Noah to greet
the next mourners and direct them inside. He put Julia down and directed her
sister to keep an eye on her as he shook hands with the Kelly family and
pointed out to Brian and his wife where Peter and Della now stood.

"Hannah,"
the silky voice for which he was waiting said, "you and Julia are to stay
right by your father or with me. You understand?"

"Yes,
Miss Annie."

"No
wandering around."

"No,
Miss Annie."

He
greeted Tessie Willis and her aunt and then turned to speak with Annie, but she
was gone, as were his girls. He caught a glimpse of them, holding Annie's skirt
and following her toward the back of the house where he supposed the kitchen
must be. He tried to follow her, but Charlie stopped him to ask about Francie,
and then Risa, looking rather tired, asked him for a glass of water, and it was
one thing after another as the afternoon wore on and he had to settle for a
glimpse of Annie here, a flicker of Annie there.

"Would
you like to come back to the farm for supper?" Annie asked him when the
gas jets were lit and the world turned as black outside as the dresses the
women around him were wearing. "I'm afraid there's nothing for you to heat
up at your place." Her sad eyes searched his for answers he didn't have.

"I'd
like that," he said, about supper. "Very much."

"I'll
be leaving soon," she said, looking around at her brothers and sisters.
"Della ought to rest, and surely Risa and Willa need to get off their
feet. One tragedy is about all I can handle."

She
bit her lip and Noah snapped into action. "I'll get your coat," he
said. "Just wait here with the girls. I'll tell Della and Peter I'm taking
you home."

Surprisingly,
since Annie didn't like to be told what to do, she nodded. "Tell Bart too.
I don't want him searching for me after I'm gone and holding up poor
Willa."

With
a quick nod he took off, gathering coats and children and delivering messages
and condolences. In a short time he had the girls and Annie out at the wagon,
and after lifting in Hannah and Julia, he gave Annie his hand.

She
steadied herself and raised her skirts to find her footing on the wheel hub.
She leaned ever so slightly on his shoulder and then sat daintily on the wooden
seat. He made a mental note to add some padding—either to the seat or her
behind or both.

"Girls,"
she said over her shoulder, "you sit up close to the front now. No dangling
those feet off the edge."