Mittman, Stephanie (18 page)

She
seemed self-conscious in the dress, not surprisingly. It was twice the fullness
of anything he'd ever seen her wear and it shined in the light as though lit
from within. Had he not been so familiar with her, known the strength in the
arms hidden by the full sleeves, the sensible brain beneath the silly bow, the
permanent stain of canning berries on the hands that escaped the lacy cuffs, he
might have thought she looked as attractive as any woman in the room. Instead,
he saw her looking as foolish as she no doubt felt, dolled up in her sister's
dress, no doubt, trying to be someone she most certainly was not.

She
caught his eye and smiled at him. He smiled politely back. And then she did the
queerest thing he could imagine. She raised the hem of her dress ever so
slightly and gestured toward her feet. They were tapping to the rhythm of a
waltz, and he thought she might be asking him to dance. He shook his head
slightly as if to indicate that he would not be dancing, as he was still in
official mourning. It took him a moment to realize that she was actually
showing him her shoes. His head shake turned to a nod. They were lovely. Still,
he thought it very odd for her to be pointing them out to him from across the
room.

Her
skirts billowed around her as the door swung open once again. Several people
entered the hall, laughing, straightening themselves out from the wind that
blew them in, smiling and talking all at once. Among the crowd was Noah
Eastman. His two little girls were nowhere in sight.

***

Mrs.
Abernathy hadn't been happy about it. Despite the fact that she spent her
nights at the farm during the week, she still felt that her duties ended when
the dinner dishes were done and the children were bathed. Noah was content with
this arrangement. It allowed him to read to his girls, cuddle them and give
them the love he felt they craved (which was only a small portion of the love
he had for them), and put them to bed himself.

But
this night he wanted to be at the Harvest Social without the children clinging
to his legs. He hoped to dance unencumbered and, if his brain could manage to
control his tongue, maybe even have a normal conversation with Annie. He wanted
to concentrate solely on the woman who had begun to invade his days and nights,
without having to keep one eye on each of his girls.

The
first thing he saw when he entered the Grange Hall was the spun-sugar hair
flying in the wind and whipping people within two feet of her. He had forgotten
it was so long. The silky strands looked lighter against the russet fabric that
hugged her back and nipped her waist. When the door was shut and her hair
settled down he fought the urge to rush up to her, prostrate himself before
her, and beg her to let him kiss her feet.

Instead
he shook the hands of several neighbors, each of whom said something vague
about his loss and seemed uncomfortable about bringing up the flood, as if
somehow he didn't or shouldn't know about it. Risa saw him and smiled so brightly
that he couldn't help but smile back. She had been so encouraging over lunch
that he almost believed Annie would be happy to see him tonight.

Just
looking at Annie's back was driving him wild. He was almost afraid to see her
face. Before he was fully prepared she had turned to see who it was Risa was
smiling at, and he got a view that stopped his heart. He couldn't breathe. He
couldn't swallow. He couldn't talk. He stood absolutely motionless, unless one
counted the dropping of his jaw.

He
expected, if he expected anything at all, for her to speak to him in her usual
way. She would ask about the girls, comment on the weather, ask if he'd heard
from Francie, and then, when he was unable to answer, she would call his name
using that honey voice of hers and ask if anything was wrong.

Instead,
she stared back at him as openly as he was staring at her. But in her face he
read a hundred questions he wanted to spend the rest of his life answering.
Yes,
you look so beautiful it takes my breath away. Yes, you are the loveliest woman
in the room—in the world. No, you should never put your hair up again. I don't
know if I can keep my fingers out of it.

He
found his tongue with great difficulty. "You look lovely," he said.
"The color of your dress suits you well." It wasn't what he wanted to
say, but it seemed to please her.

She
shifted her weight shyly, like a schoolgirl, and fussed with her hair. "I
feel a bit silly, to tell you the truth," she admitted, then blushed
furiously at the word
truth.

"If
we must be truthful," Noah said, "then you are surely the finest
woman in the hall." It wasn't her dress or her hair he was confining
himself to now. It was the very essence of the person before him.

"It's
no wonder Francie is so fond of you," Annie said, biting her lower lip
self-consciously. "You do have a way with words."

"I'm
grateful to be able finally to get them out." He laughed and she did too,
and he relished the feeling of sharing a joke with her. She smoothed her dress
and lifted the skirt slightly as if getting ready to move away. He saw the toe
of her slipper and the slight bit of stocking that covered the top of her foot.
A bolt shot through him as strong as any pain he had ever felt.

"Well,"
she said, unaware of her effect on him, "I'd better go say hello to Risa
and Charlie and the others."

Don't
go!
he
wanted to shout, like some kind of fool. "Of course," he said, bowing
slightly at the waist. "I do hope you'll save me a dance."

She
smiled at him but didn't commit herself, and he watched her cross the room and
be hugged to her sister-in-law's bosom, then passed to her brother for an
equally strong embrace. His arms ached to hold her himself. His heart ached
even more when he saw her approach the minister.

Winestock
stood near the punch bowl. Noah supposed he was making sure that no hotheaded
young man dared spike it with applejack instead of cider. When Winestock saw
Annie coming toward him he smiled a benevolent smile that spoke of tolerance
more than appreciation, affection more than love.

She
raised her skirts with one hand and held out one foot slightly, wiggling it at
the ankle and holding his arm for support. Noah imagined the conversation from
the questioning look on the minister's face and the slight shake of his head,
followed by the crushing sadness of Annie's face as the smile faded away.

He
watched her return to Risa and point at the shoes. He watched as Risa shrugged
her shoulders, true to her word as he knew she would be. He watched as Annie
put her hands to her hips, demanding the truth, and turned to her brother, who
shrugged in genuine bewilderment.

She
glanced in his direction, then looked away, embarrassed. Her eyes scanned the
room and settled on Ethan with a frown turning down the corners of her mouth.
She walked over to him and gave the woman he was standing with a polite nod.
The woman looked a lot older than Ethan, even from across the Grange Hall, and
there was something about the way Annie held herself that made Noah think the
woman was trouble. What was her name? Tessie? It was clear that Annie didn't
think very highly of her as she turned her back to her and questioned Ethan.

And
then he saw her turn in his direction, seek him out, as he knew she would, and
he nodded.
So, it occurred to you that it could be me. Does that mean you're
thinking about me, too?

He
crossed the floor and offered his hand. The band was striking up and she
hesitated, but he wasn't taking no for an answer. Gently, wordlessly, he
escorted her to the floor while her head turned toward Miller as if begging him
to put a stop to her movements. The minister smiled the same patronizing smile
and lifted his cup in salute as if to say, 'Have a good time.'

And
then she was in his arms, every muscle in her back tense beneath the hand he
splayed against her. He cursed his bandage, wishing he could feel the hand it
barely held and feel the strength there.

"You're
beautiful in the candlelight," he said, watching the light flicker against
her hair.

"They'll
be getting electricity here before the new year," she said, as if to take
away the compliment he had paid her.

"Pity,"
he replied.

They
danced in silence for a turn or two, while he got used to the feel of her in
his arms, the smell of her just inches from him, the taste of her name on his
lips.

"Ah,
Annie." He sighed.

"The
notes, the gifts," she said, so quietly he had to bend his head to hear
her, "they will have to stop."

"They
will," he agreed amiably. "After we've been married fifty years. Then
it will be your turn to shower attention on
me."

She
stopped dancing, and he nearly tripped over her frozen feet. "What?"

He
felt people's eyes on them and bowed, loudly announcing his oafishness.
"Forgive me. I have never been accused of being graceful. But then, 'Two
stars keep not their motion in one sphere.'" She stared at him, unmoving.
"They are all watching," he whispered. "Just follow my
lead."

He
danced with her in his arms as if she had wings on her shoes, her feet flying
over his, barely landing before he lifted her and swung her around gently to
land again.

"What
did you mean," she asked when she could catch her breath, "about two
stars?"

"It's
Shakespeare.
Henry the Fourth.
Do you know any Shakespeare? He wrote the
most wonderful sonnets of love. Have you heard them?" His lips brushed
against her ear and he couldn't help himself. "'If I could write the
beauty of your eyes / And in fresh numbers number all your graces, / The age to
come would say, 'This poet lies; / Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly
faces.'"

She
moved in his arms as though she were in a trance, letting him take her in one
direction and then another with no resistance and no will of her own. Finally
the band stopped and he was forced to release her.

"Thank
you," he said, watching the top of her hair move with his breath. "I
enjoyed that very much."

Her
head nodded slightly at his words, but her eyes were glued to the ground.
Finally she raised a face to him that was a mask of confusion. "I enjoyed
the Shakespeare," she admitted shyly. "I saw
Romeo and Juliet
once
at the recital hall when I was very young."

"Did
you?" he asked, anxious to simply prolong the conversation. "When was
that?"

She
started to reply but the band began to play again, and just as he was reaching
for her waist, Bart appeared and took her hand.

"You're
a real picture tonight, Sissy," he said. "I bet Mr. Winestock just
wishes he could be in my shoes." With that he whisked her to the dance
floor with more grace than Noah would have thought him capable of.

He
considered it only polite to ask Willa to dance but found her dancing with Peter.
That left Della, who was dancing with Charlie. Risa stood by herself, her foot
tapping to the music. He approached her and held out his hands.

"Oh,
I don't really think I'm up to it." She sighed. Her face brightened.
"I saw you dancing with Sissy. Did she tell you how much the slippers
pleased her?"

"I
think she likes the gift much more than the giver," he admitted. "She
told me the notes and gifts should stop."

Tapping
her pursed lips, Risa was silent for a few moments. When she spoke it was with
a determination Noah knew was born of love. "I hope you won't listen to
her," she said. "In all the years I've known that woman, she has
always put everyone else first and done what was expected of her. There is
nothing I'd like to see more than Sissy Morrow happy." Her eyes searched
the floor for her sister-in-law with a sadness Noah could almost taste.

"Don't
you think the minister will make her happy?" he asked. He held his breath,
waiting for her response. He had a lot of respect for Risa and she knew Annie
so very well.

A
grimace was his answer. "I don't think that man knows or cares about
happiness. If the Lord didn't say specifically that we should be happy, then
no, I don't think it would be a concern of his. Oh, he'd keep Sissy fed and
dressed and taken care of, he'd see that she wanted for nothing, but happiness?
Love? What that woman deserves after waiting so long for everyone else to find
what they wanted? No, Noah. I don't think Miller Winestock will make her
happy." Her answer should have stopped there. He'd have been very happy
himself if she hadn't added, "No matter what
she
may think. And
that's where your problem lies."

The
song ended and the dancers came wheezing from the floor, laughing and trying to
catch their breaths. Bart escorted Annie to the minister, who smiled and handed
them each a cup of punch. Annie touched the cool cup to her chest and then
raised it to her lips, her eyes darting to Noah's and then returning to
Winestock's. She put down the cup and fanned herself with her hand, saying
something to her companion about the heat, no doubt. He nodded and she crossed
the floor and joined several others who were headed for the door to get some
fresh air.