Mittman, Stephanie (8 page)

She
was standing with her back to the hill when he spotted her, the pale green of
her dress hiding her within the grove of young oaks. From her motions it
appeared she was repairing the damage done to her dress by her exuberant
nephews.

His
reaction to her touch had surprised him. True, he was no ladies' man. He'd only
sown a handful of wild oats before settling down with Wylene and starting a
family. Still, he'd touched a woman's arm, held a woman against him, and been
able to breathe at the same time.

But
not so with Annie Morrow. She wasn't soft like other women, but firm. Her skin
was smooth and she smelled of vanilla and soap. He'd felt the silky strands of
hair that had escaped her efforts at looking fancy, and it took all his control
not to pull the pins from her hair and bury his face in it.

"Miss
Morrow?"

Her
hands were on her breasts and she dropped them to her sides and stood perfectly
still.

"I
saw you go over the hill and I... I just, that is ..." He expelled a
powerful breath, full of frustration. "Damn it, I can't seem to get two
words out in a row when I talk to you."

"Why's
that?" Her head was down and she kept her back to him, unaware of how the
sunlight lit a spot on her neck as though directing him just where to place his
lips.

"Awe,"
he admitted, as much to himself as to her. "Awe, plain and simple."

Her
head snapped around and she looked at him with disbelief written all over her
delicately bronzed features. "Awe?"

"The
way Francie talks about you, how you raised all your brothers and sisters when
you were just a baby yourself. And Ethan, the way he talks about your cooking,
and the way you made the house a home. I just couldn't wait to meet you. I knew
just what I was going to say."

But
then he'd seen her and it had taken his words away. Admiration had given way to
awe. And affection was giving way to something he was afraid he wouldn't be
able to control.

"I
meant to tell you how much I admired you, and how I sure would like your help
and advice from time to time, and when they talked about you I got this picture
in my head of this angel..."

"And
then you saw me," she said flatly, as if she expected that he would have
been disappointed. Her eyes searched his and seemed to be surprised by what
they found.

"And
then I saw you," he said finally, his smile broadening as though just
seeing her had made him happy. "And you were ... you are—"

"Mr.
Eastman? You down there, Mr. Eastman?" a voice called out from the top of
the ridge.

"Damn."
He turned from her and shouted back up toward the hill, "I'm here!"

"Hannah
with you?" the voice yelled back.

Annie
looked around them. There was no sign of his little girl.

Annie
followed Noah up the steep
parched slope, taking two steps for each one
of his, the breeze whipping her skirts around her and impeding her progress. He
looked back for a moment as if he thought perhaps he should wait for her, but
she waved him on with her hand. By the time she caught up to him he was
surrounded by several people all talking at once.

Peter
Gibbs seemed to be in charge. Noah had left the girls with him and Della when
he'd gone looking for Annie. Now Della, blond and beautiful in her
apricot-colored shirtwaist, stood with Julia in her arms, the little girl's
face streaked with tears.

"One
minute Hannah was here," Peter said, running his fingers through his
well-kept brown hair, "and the next she was gone. Mrs. Lutefoot said she
saw her go off toward the ridge, so I checked there. No one over there has seen
her."

Noah
was listening to Peter without looking at him. Chin raised, he was searching
over the tops of everyone's heads, scanning the field for traces of a little
girl dressed in pink. Annie knew well the fear he felt, the knot in his stomach
that tightened with every breath as he thought of Hannah alone.

The
sky was a deep clear blue. At least they didn't have to worry about the
weather. She went over possibilities in her mind. Devil's Lake was at least a
mile away, too far for Hannah to walk, by Annie's reckoning. While her
heartbeat grew faster and faster she thought of one awful possibility after
another. Snakes? She couldn't remember the last time anyone was bitten. Wild
animals? An occasional fox, a small coyote, nothing that would threaten an
adult. But Hannah was just a child. How far could she have gotten on those two
chubby little legs in just a few minutes?

"Where
could she be?"

"Whatever
would possess a child to simply walk off like that?"

"What
if she gets lost?"

From
the crowd's tone it was easy enough for Julia to sense that her sister might be
in danger, and the poor baby sobbed and stretched her arms out to her father.
For a moment she commanded all his attention. "Shh, now," he told
her. "Everything's all right, honey. Daddy'll find Hannah."

It
reminded Annie of the time Ethan had been missing. He couldn't have been more
than four or five. He'd scared the daylights out of the whole family, but no
one as much as Annie, who had a gift for imagining the worst. Despite that, or
because of it, she fought now to stay calm.

"Mr.
Eastman," she said. "What was Hannah talking about before you
left?"

"What?"
He was organizing searchers, sending some in one direction, some in another,
all the men fanning out from the meadow while the women minded the children
with more than the usual care.

"Before
you came down to the trees, what was the last thing Hannah said to you?"

His
eyebrows came down close to his eyes, leaving several wrinkles in their wake.
He wasn't following her thoughts, but Charlie, who along with Risa had made his
way to the front of the crowd, nodded at her.

"Ethan,"
he said, a smile on his face at the memory.

"Exactly,"
Annie said.

"Would
someone mind explaining to me what you're talking about?" Noah said
tightly. If there was something that could help him find Hannah, he wanted to
know
now.

"When
Ethan was a young boy," Annie explained, "about Hannah's age, he got
it into his head that he wanted to be a cowboy."

At
the surprise on Noah's face, she shrugged. "Don't ask me. It's a stage
little boys go through. Charlie did too. Anyway, he wanted to be a cowboy and
nothing we said would change his mind. Then one day Charlie and Bart were
arguing about whether the sun rose in the east or set in it, and Pa settled the
argument by announcin' that the sun set in the west and would be doin' it in an
hour or two, and they'd best be finishin' their chores before dark. Well, just
before dark we noticed Ethan was missing. We looked everywhere: the barn, the
pasture, everywhere."

"Then
Annie put two and two together," Charlie said. "As usual. Ethan
wanted to go west, and now he knew which way that was. We followed the sun and
found him about a mile from the house, sittin' by the side of the road eating
one of Annie's cookies from a sack he'd taken with him."

"The
point is," Annie said, "Hannah must have been going somewheres. All
you gotta do is figure out where she wanted to go."

Noah
looked impressed, but to Annie it was a simple matter of experience. If
seventeen years of watching little ones didn't make you some kind of expert,
she didn't know what would.

Noah,
his breathing a little more regular, his shoulders slightly more relaxed,
looked at the little girl in his arms. "Julie honey, did Hannah say where
she was going? Did she say what she wanted?"

Julia's
deep blue eyes got big and round and her chubby finger came out of her mouth
and pointed at Annie. Well, that wasn't much help. Here Annie was and there was
no sign of Hannah. And she hadn't been down by the oak grove, either.

"Della,"
Annie said, turning to her sister, whose attention was focused on her own
children. "What was she doing before you noticed she was gone?"

Della
answered without looking up, busy with the twins. Apparently, Samuel had just
put something in James's mouth and Della demanded that he spit it out. When an
earthworm landed in her palm, she swayed slightly. With a sigh, she said,
"I really didn't notice. She was going on and on about cookies, but the
boys were—Samuel!" Her hand was below her son's chin. "Spit yours
out. Now!"

"Well,"
Charlie surmised. "Sounds like Hannah's got a crush on our Annie."

"Or
her cookies," someone in the crowd said, laughing. "I know I'd walk
clear to Columbus for one of her pies!"

"You
don't think she'd try to walk all the way to the Morrows' farm, do you?"
someone else asked.

Charlie
was scanning the horizon looking due south toward his sister's home. "I wouldn't
think she'd even know the way."

Risa,
one finger in the air as if she was pointing at an idea, said something about
being right back. While Annie tried to soothe a very frightened Julia and keep
Noah calm at the same time, she watched her sister-in-law make a beeline for
Annie's wagon.

"No,"
she said, shaking her head. "How would she know which one was mine?"

But
Risa was already there, pulling back a blanket that was tucked under the seat.
Soon it was clear she was talking to someone, but the words were lost in the
distance. A small head emerged over the wooden slats of the buck-board and
there was a flash of pink in the sunshine.

"Hannah!"
Noah yelled, as much in relief as anger. "Well, I'll be damned!"
Without asking, he deposited Julia in Annie's arms and in just a few strides he
was at her wagon and lifting Hannah over the side. Annie rushed after him,
along with most of the crowd that was left.

Noah
was clutching his daughter to him, his features relaxing. Gently, without any
of the anger Annie expected, he asked the girl, "What in the world were
you doing in this wagon?"

Hannah
looked around, frightened eyes wide, as she took in all the people gathered
about her. Most of Annie's family, the Lutefoots, Miller Winestock: they were
all waiting for her to answer. She trembled and her lower lip quivered so badly
Annie wasn't even sure she could talk. Her heart went out to the child.

"Were
you looking for more cookies?" she asked, keeping her voice low, tenderly
cupping Hannah's chin in her hand. The tiny chin didn't belong to one of her
own brood, but it had an awfully familiar feel in Annie's palm.

The
girl shook her head. A tear was knocked loose from her eye and crawled down her
cheek.

"Good
children don't worry their parents," the minister told her. "I know
you are a good little girl, and you must never do something so thoughtless
again."

Noah
stiffened beside Annie, shifting slightly so that Hannah's back was to the
minister. "I don't think Hannah was trying to worry me. I think she had
something else in mind altogether." His arms wound protectively around his
daughter while he glared at Miller Winestock.

Somehow,
and not just because she stood between the two men, Annie felt as though she
were a part of a dance they seemed to be doing, as though Hannah's actions and
the proper response to them had something to do with her. She took a step
backward, as if that would take her out of the line of fire, but Hannah reached
two shaky arms out for her and she couldn't move away.

***

Noah
tried hard to keep the smile off his face. Had anything ever fit together as
perfectly as this? Annie, so smart to know that a child, his child, would be
seeking a dream. Hannah, picking Annie out like that, hiding in her wagon,
stretching out her arms to her. And all just a day after that remarkable letter
from Francie. It was as if he'd planted trees in his fields, gone to sleep and,
after an evening of rain and a morning of sunshine found a harvest of apples
just ready to be picked.

He
might not be much of a farmer, not yet, but he knew this was the time to pluck
the fruit God had offered him.

"I
think Hannah was hoping Miss Annie might just take her home if she hid out in
her wagon. Can't say I blame her. I only wish I thought of it first."

"Me
too," little Julia chimed from within Annie's arms.

The
color rose in Annie's cheeks. My, how that woman could blush! And the pink of those
cheeks against that golden complexion would be enough to warm a man's heart in
January.

The
minister wasn't satisfied. "Well, yes," he said. "I'm sure the
little girl misses her mother, as I know you do. Still, it's a parent's duty to
raise a child with a firm hand."

If
Miller Winestock was waiting for Noah to take that firm hand and lay it on his
daughter's bottom, he'd be old and gray and toothless before it happened. The
child missed a mother, all right. Who could blame her? She'd never really had one,
and now that she'd laid eyes on Annie she didn't seem about to let her go.
There was something about the woman that was so natural, so nurturing, so warm,
even a child could feel it. Without any effort at all she could make a person
feel safe.