Mittman, Stephanie (4 page)

"You
look real pretty in that dress," a voice said behind her. It was a low,
mellow voice, and though the words were perfectly respectable, the tone was
warm, intimate. They had only had one conversation, but she knew to whom that
voice belonged.

"What
do you say?" Risa prompted.

She
swung around, expecting to find Noah Eastman staring at her. Instead, her
niece, Cara, stood clinging to her mother and Noah was crouching beside her,
his hands holding on to his own girls.

"Thank
you," Cara said shyly, before tucking her face into her mother's skirt.

Noah
laughed and rose to his full height. He was tall and lanky and looked like he
could use a good meal.

"Sissy,"
Risa said, "have you met Mr. Eastman?"

He
reached for her hand and Annie had no choice but to give it to him. She noticed
that the child who had been attached to it now wrapped her arms around his leg,
and he spread his stance just slightly to accommodate her.

"We
met yesterday," Annie said to Risa, trying to keep her eyes from his. They
seemed to be magnetic; once she looked in them she found it very hard to pull
her glance away. "And, of course, I've heard plenty about him from Francie
and Ethan." Now it was she who knelt down. "And you must be Hannah.
And you, Julia."

***

Noah
was still holding on to her hand, reluctant to let it go, and he pulled her
gently until she was upright again. She was a vision in a pale yellow dress
that set her skin aglow with its goldenness. Her eyes were even with his Adam's
apple, and she kept them there while he spoke. "But we haven't been
properly introduced."

Risa
was watching her almost as intently as he was. While Annie's eyes strayed to
the minister, who was still busy greeting people and seemed to take no notice,
Noah couldn't take his gaze from her face.

"Noah
Eastman," Risa said formally. "May I present my sister-in-law, Annie
Morrow. Sissy, this is—"

"I
know who he is," she snapped at Risa, then raised her eyes to him and said
more gently, "What brings you suddenly to our church, Mr. Eastman?"

"Noah,
please," he corrected.

To
his disappointment, she stood waiting for his answer without repeating his
name. If she sensed his discomfort, she didn't show it. In fact, she seemed
embarrassed herself.

"Francie
thought the girls," he stammered, indicating Hannah and Julia, "that
is, she said you—"

Annie
stiffened and thrust her jaw forward in a gesture that, despite her size,
seemed formidable. After a big sigh that seemed to restore some calm, she said
with exaggerated patience, "Mr. Eastman, Francie has gone east to school.
If you think for one moment that I'd let her throw away this opportunity in
order to get mixed up with a farmer and live the same life I already lived when
she could have so much more, do so much better, you can just forget it. Comin'
to church is not going to change my mind about the kind of life I want for
Francie."

He
supposed he looked like an idiot, standing there blinking at her.
"Francie?" he said when he found his voice. "What does this have
to do with Francie?"

"Ain't
that why you're here?" she asked. "Why else would it matter what
I
thought about church?"

Risa
picked up little Cara in her arms and hid behind the child's head. Only her
wide eyes watched him, then Annie, and then him again.

"You
did a fine job raising Francie and Ethan," Noah explained. "I'd like
to do as right by my girls."

"And
you couldn't find a better example to follow, young man," Miller Winestock
said, coming up behind Annie and startling a gasp out of her. She grabbed the
minister's left arm to steady herself and then, surprisingly, left it there.

Mr.
Winestock patted her hand patronizingly and then extended his hand to Noah.
"It was a pleasure seeing you join us today. I understand better than most
how the loss of a loved one can test your faith. But it is only through God's
mercy that we can find the will to go on and forge new lives for ourselves in
the absence of those we hold so dear."

"I
didn't come for me, Mr. Winestock," he said bluntly. His eyes ran over
Annie, from the tip of her bonnet down to her button shoes. "I came for my
girls."

"Ah,
but if you open yourself to the Lord, He will heal your pain." He patted
Hannah's head, ruffling her dark hair. "I understand you're from back
east—Pennsylvania somewhere?"

"Johnstown,"
he said. It always evoked the same reaction.

"Oh,
my Lord!"

"Johnstown!"

"Then
your wife ...?" the minister said.

Noah
hung his head. So many people had been lost in the flood—family, friends, the
people he did business with. It had been a miracle that he and the girls had
been spared. If something was going to bring him back to God, the fact that he
and his children were thirty miles west of their home at the time the water hit
might just do it.

"It's
something I don't like to talk about," Noah said honestly.

"Well,
you're here now," the minister said. "You are among friends who will
help put the tragedy behind you."

Noah
nodded and said again it was something he didn't like to discuss. He looked up
at the blue sky and the trees. "Nice day," he said, despite the fact
that the minister had ended the service with a prayer for rain.

Winestock
took the watch from his pocket and flicked it open. "Getting late,"
he said to Annie.

Before
him the honey-eyed angel took a possessive step forward. "Will you be
comin' to supper?" she asked the minister.

"Mmm,"
Winestock answered distractedly. "Could anyone resist one of your meals?
And we can discuss the social and some other church business as well."

Annie
nodded. The look on her face gave her away. It seemed to Noah that she was
trying to show him she was spoken for, as Francie had told him, but the good
Reverend Miller Winestock wasn't so willing to do the speaking. A piece of him
went out to her in sympathy. But the rest of his feelings were doing an all-out
jig at Winestock's reticence.

"I'm
making your favorite," Annie said, as if she had him to supper every night
of the week and twice on Sundays. "Roasted chicken, sweet potatoes, and a
plum pie for dessert." If the fact that she cooked for Mr. Winestock on a
regular basis wasn't painful enough, the menu nearly did Noah in. He fairly
drooled on his freshly washed Sunday shirt.

"That'll
be nice, Sissy," the minister said, and then caught himself. "Miss
Morrow. I'll be happy to take supper with you and Bart."
Sissy?
He
was calling her
Sissy?

"Bart
ain't joinin' us," Annie said quietly. "I believe he'll be down to
the Leemans' tonight." She gestured with her head toward Bart, standing next
to Willa, his arm possessively resting on her waist.

"Oh,
I see," Winestock said. "And Ethan?"

***

Annie
looked at Noah Eastman. Like Risa, he'd stayed there listening to every word
she and Miller had exchanged. She raised her eyebrows at him as if to ask
whether he knew Ethan's plans. Ever since her brother had started working
there, he took most of his meals with the Eastmans. Money was tight in Van Wert
County, and Ethan's room and board was part of his pay. It was ridiculous,
really. There was plenty of room for him at the farm, and if she was cooking
for herself and Bart, what was one more mouth? But Ethan valued his
independence and he did make some money, all of which he was able to put by for
the moment he could strike out on his own.

"I'm
sorry," Noah Eastman said, "but I'm afraid I did give Mrs. Abernathy
the day off to go visiting her family in Grand Lake. I expect Ethan will be
showing up at your place for supper."

Miller
looked visibly relieved. "Well, then," he said, waving to a
congregant and taking a step away from the group, "I'll see you at
four-thirty."

"That'll
be fine," Annie said.

Charlie
came over to where they were standing and took his daughter from Risa's arms.
"You shouldn't be picking her up anymore," he chided.

Risa's
face flushed and Annie knew in an instant that her sister-in-law was once again
pregnant. If there was one thing a Morrow man could do, it was propagate.
Sometimes it seemed the Lord was talking just to the Morrows when He said to be
fruitful and multiply.

"Risa!"
Annie said knowingly. "You lettin' out your waistbands again?"

Charlie's
smile was like new shucked corn, wide, white, and even. Of course he was happy.
Planting the seed was the easy part. It was Risa who'd have to bring forth the
fruit of their union, Risa who'd have to devote the next seventeen years or so
to rearing the child, Risa who'd stay up nights with him when he was sick, Risa
whose heart would ache when the child suffered even the slightest pain.

"That's
wonderful!" Noah Eastman said, pumping Charlie's arm. "Nothing like
children. Nothing!"

Nothing
for a man but pride and vanity. Nothing for a woman but work and worry. "I
hope it all goes well," Annie said to Risa, stroking her arm gently.
"If you need anything, anything at all, you just send Charlie for me, you
hear?"

"I'm
fine," Risa assured Annie. "This is when they give you the least
trouble. You'll see."

Annie
smiled politely. No, she would not see. Not if she could help it. She'd paid
attention to the whispers of the older women in town and knew all about how the
calendar worked and when and when not to encourage a husband's affection. She'd
raised all the children she was going to. This was no time to start a new
family. She was too old, too used up. All her children were gone, and she intended
to keep it that way.

"Sissy?"
It was Charlie talking, but she hadn't heard what he said.

"What?"

"I
asked if you was gettin' your own life in order now that Francie's outa your
hair and all your chickens have flown the coop."

"My
life is always in order," she snapped. What was the matter with everyone
lately? Bart trying to marry her off in a matter of weeks, Risa suggesting she
have babies at her age, Charlie telling her to get her life in order. And
hadn't Della brought her out two positively ridiculous dresses last week and
told her it was time for her to repackage the merchandise before it went stale?
At least Francie and Ethan weren't trying to tell her what to do.

"There's
Ethan," little Hannah cried out and broke away from her father to run to
him. Ethan scooped her up and came toward the group, a big smile on his face.
Annie had a soft spot in her heart for Ethan as big as would fit in her chest.

"Hear
you're comin' for supper," Annie said. "Got fresh plum pie coolin' on
the windowsill right now."

Ethan's
eyebrows came down and he looked at Eastman, who was quick to speak. "Gave
Mrs. Abernathy the day off. Went to Grand Lake."

"But
I thought—" Ethan started.

Eastman
interrupted him. "Guess she left after you did. Mr. Winestock'll be there,
too."

"But
I was the last one to leave," Ethan said.

Eastman
busied himself with Julia, who was beginning to rub her eyes. "You
tired?" he asked the little girl and lifted her against him, letting her
head drop onto his shoulder.

Francie
had been like that, Annie thought. She could always tell the child was tired
when she began to rub her eyes. So Mr. Eastman knew his youngest well. Francie
had said he was a good father. That was a rare quality in a man, and she had to
admire it, however begrudgingly.

"Bart's
going courtin'," Eastman explained to Ethan, as if that meant something.

Apparently
it did, for Ethan's head began to bob like it was on a spring. "Oh, yes.
Courtin'," he said. "What time's supper, Sissy?"

***

If
there was a style to the decor of the Morrow farmhouse, it would have to be
called "old." If there was a theme, it would be "used." And
if there was a look Annie was trying desperately to achieve, it would be
"clean." The farm succeeded on the first two counts. The last was
hopeless, though Annie never stopped trying.

But
what the house lacked in beauty, Annie tried to make up for in warmth and
hospitality. There was always an extra plate for company, and her cooking was
designed to make everyone forget that farming meant dirt, dust, and despair. It
was hard to remember the drought with Annie's meal on the table.

At
least she hoped that was so as she watched Miller Winestock push back his
chair. It grated on the old wooden floor and stuck in a rut. "That was
some good meal there, Sissy," he said. "You're sure to make a fine
wife someday."

Annie
froze, the forkful of pie halfway to her mouth. This was the closest he had
ever come to a proposal. Still, he hadn't said she'd make
him
a fine
wife.

"Ethan,"
she said, "the gate on the coop's been catchin' my apron all week and I
can't get Bart to fix it. Do you think you might have a look at it?"