Mittman, Stephanie (24 page)

"What
are you doing back so early?" he asked. Ethan's shrug spoke volumes.
"What's wrong? Is it Annie?" His heart began to pound irrationally in
his chest. He yanked Ethan into the house and thrust him toward the table.

The
boy more or less shuffled his way and sat heavily in the chair, his eyes scanning
the letter that lay before him. Noah scooped it up and folded it. "I'll
tell you about Francie in a moment. First tell me what's got you acting like a
dying duck in a thunderstorm."

"She
means to marry him, Noah," he said shaking his head, "She really
does."

"I
know," he said quietly. She was not a woman who gave her word lightly, of
that he was sure.

"But
he's not right for her."

"No,
he isn't."

"I
told her, Noah. Told her straight out that he was a coot and she ought to be
marryin' up with you." The boy's eyes were wide and moist.

"You
did? And what did she say to that?"

"She
said he had a bathroom. Imagine that! Didn't argue none about him bein' old and
crabby. She just said he was a good man and she was tired. And he had a
bathroom." Ethan sat shaking his head.

"You
did real well, Ethan," Noah said, a genuine smile on his face. "Real
well."

"I
did?" Ethan asked, clearly confused. "But she says she's gonna marry
him, not you."

Noah
nodded. "But that was before. You ever hear of fighting fire with fire?"

"Oh,
not them damn furnaces again."

Noah
laughed, a hardy guffaw that clearly meant he had control of the situation.
"No, not the furnaces. But if you can fight fire with fire, why not fight
water with water?"

After
Ethan had made his sudden exit from Annie's table, a hush had fallen over the
group. Bart had taken to staring at Willa, sending her some sort of signals
that made her blush. Miller had seemed tense and irritated, and after two
helpings of her apple brown Betty, both with freshly whipped cream, he'd taken
his leave. When she'd offered to see him to his buggy he had declined, claiming
it was too cold a night for her to be outside on his account.

He
hadn't fooled her. Not for the first time, he had been uncomfortable with her
family. They were ill-mannered, uneducated, and high-spirited, but she loved
each and every one of them, even Willa now that she was family, and it hurt her
to see the disapproval in Miller's eyes. For one thing, they were no worse than
most of his parishioners. Van Wert had more farms than businesses, and farmers
just didn't have time to cultivate the niceties of life along with the soil.
For another, much as Elvira had managed to rise above them, her family was
certainly no better than Annie's, and for a good part of his life, Elmer Wells
was a darn sight worse.

Her
hand covered her mouth even though she hadn't uttered the word. If she hoped to
be a minister's wife, she had better learn to speak like one. And that meant no
cussing, and better grammar. Most of the women she knew spoke better than she
did. It was easier for farmers to spare their daughters for schooling than
their sons. And then there was the chance that their daughters, well educated,
might snare husbands that were better off than their families were.

Well,
there was too much for her to do on a brisk Monday afternoon than think about
her speech. The ground was getting harder every day, and she had to fight to
get the beets and turnips out of the soil. It was already proving a good year
for beets and she had been able to put by several dozen jars of pickled ones
for the winter and spring.

The
crop she pulled today she planned to can without pickling so the various
children could enjoy them in the months to come. Now only three little ones,
there would soon be five, and Annie was planning for all of them, despite the
fact that the two infants wouldn't be born for quite a while and would exist on
their mothers' milk for a good time after that.

Cara
hadn't been weaned until long after the doctor had said it was all right to
start her on solid food. Annie could tell it was because Risa hated to give up
the closeness of nurturing the child herself. Sometimes Risa would wince in
pain, but for the most part Annie had never seen a more contented look on anyone's
face than Risa had when she was nursing Cara. The painting of the Madonna that
hung in the church must have been made at such a time.

What
must it be like? she wondered. She was so deep in thought she didn't even hear
a wagon approaching until it was nearly on top of her. Startled, she dropped
the basket of beets and looked up to find Noah Eastman sitting there. One girl
stood on each side of him, tucked safely in the bend of his arms—the same arms
that had held her firmly yet gently against him only nights before. He said
something quietly to his daughters, then alighted and gently plucked each one
down, setting one and then the other firmly on the ground.

"Wait
here," he said to them and started toward Annie, who was busy picking up
rolling beets and hoping her face wasn't the same color as her vegetables. His
feet stood in her vegetable patch, two brown boots, caked with soil, inches
from her hands.

"Mr.
Eastman," she said, looking up and pushing the hair out of her face with
her forearm. She was a mess, her hair falling down, her dress dirty, her shawl
only half on her shoulders, one toe peeking through her left boot. "I
wasn't expecting visitors."

"I
haven't come to visit," he said. His voice shook and she took note of him
for the first time. Something close to terror was written on his face.

"Are
the girls all right?" she asked.

He
nodded curtly. It seemed he could hardly speak.

"What
is it then? What's wrong?"

He
looked at the children and then back at her, as if wishing he could bridge the
distance between them. The girls were shivering, and so was he. "Can we go
inside?"

"Of
course," she said, feeling like a fool, although he was the one to have
come out in the brisk October air with no jacket for himself or coats for his
girls. She walked past him toward the girls and smiled in welcome. One set of
eyes were bigger and more solemn than the other as they stared at her approach.
"Do you two like apple brown Betty?" she asked. There was still an
awful lot left over after she and Ethan had both lost their appetites the night
before.

"Oh,
God, Annie!" he said from behind her, his words catching in his throat.
She spun around and stared at him, but he seemed to recover himself. "Come
on, girls. Miss Annie'll give you something to eat while we talk." The girls
didn't move. "It's all right," he told them. "Come on."

In
the kitchen she pulled the brown Betty from the pie safe and dished out two
servings. When she gestured with a plate toward Noah, he shook his head.
"Milk?" she asked the girls. Without waiting for an answer, she
reached into the icebox and removed the pitcher, poured two glasses, and set
one in front of each of them. "Your papa and I will be in the
parlor," she told them, and led the way.

"Annie,"
he began, pulling a chair close to the couch, its legs scraping noisily on the
wooden floor.

"Shh!"
Annie said, her finger to her lips. "Willa's takin' a nap." She sat,
just close enough to hear him but far enough to be proper. It took him a moment
to collect himself, and her mind raced to guess at the problem. Suddenly she
felt all the starch seep from her backbone. "Oh, my God! It's Ethan!
What's happened to Ethan?"

"No,
no," he assured her, his hand reaching out and rubbing her arm in just the
same way her mother had when she was a little girl and frightened of something.
But instead of soothing her, his touch only made her breath harder to catch,
her fear harder to control. "Ethan's fine. He's taking Mrs. Abernathy to
the train." His face hardened at the woman's name.

"How
come you're here then?" she asked, still trying to keep calm when just his
nearness was enough to rattle her nerves. It seemed that the children were
fine, he was fine, Ethan was fine. So what did he want in the middle of a
Monday afternoon? And what would be Bart's reaction when he came upon first
Noah's rig and then Noah himself in their parlor, alone with his sister?
"I don't think you should—"

"I
need you to watch after my girls."

"What?"

"Hannah
and Julia. To take care of them."

"To
what? You mean you want to leave them here while you go take care of something?
I suppose I could, just this once, but you can't go makin' a habit of it. I got
enough work to do without surprise company in the middle of my day."

Noah
studied his hands, tracing the scar that still looked red and sore. Then he
reached out and took one of Annie's hands in both of his. He traced her
calluses with the tip of his finger and examined the blister that was forming
on the inside of her thumb. "You should wear gloves when you work. This
must hurt."

She
pulled her hand away from his, but his warmth still surrounded every finger.
"I'm used to it. What are you doin' here, Mr. Eastman? What do you really
want?"

"I
want you to come work for me. Like Francie did. I want you to look after the
girls while I get the harvesting done."

She
jumped away from him as though he were the serpent himself come to her door
with the apple. "That's out of the question. I can't do that."

"It
would only be temporary," he added. "Just until I find someone
else."

That
he would even suggest such a thing! "I got my own home, Mr. Eastman. I
ain't sitting here in my parlor, day after day, reading dime novels and whiling
away my hours."

A
look of pain crossed his face that was so raw she was immediately sorry,
although she didn't know what for.

"I
know that." His Adam's apple bobbed furiously in his throat. "I
wouldn't have asked you otherwise. Believe me."

"Well,
it's no matter. Why don't I keep the girls here with me and you can go stop
Mrs. Abernathy from leaving? How come she's goin', anyways? She got some
problem with her family? Or was her problem with you?"

"Me?"
he yelled. "Me? A problem with me? What would make you think—"

"Sissy?
What's going on down there?" Willa called from the top of the stairs.
"Is everything all right?"

"Yes,
Willa," Annie began, but Noah interrupted.

"No.
Nothing is all right. Don't you see I have no choice? Do you think I'd put you
in such a position? I'm willing to meet any of your terms, do whatever you
like, but you've got to help me."

There
was desperation in his voice, in his body, his eyes. It was more than just
wanting her, for she was sure he did, fat lot of good it would do him. It was
more than just needing someone to watch his girls. Something had gone horribly,
terribly wrong, and he was turning to her to fix it.

The
door to the kitchen creaked and opened slightly. "Daddy!" Julia cried
and threw herself toward him. Hannah followed soberly, her eyes on Annie all
the while. And any doubt Annie had evaporated at the sight of the girls.

Heavy
steps on the porch warned Annie that there was still more trouble to come.

"What
in the world is goin' on in here?" Bart shouted. "Eastman, what are
you doin' here?"

Over
Julia's howls, Annie could hardly make out Noah's plea. "Will you help
me?" he asked.

"I
ain't hired help," Annie explained. "I can't drop everything here and
just—" She stopped when she saw the tears gather in his eyes. Had he
really thought he could just ask her and she'd drop her own life and take up
his? "You shouldn't have let Ruth Abernathy leave."

He
stood Julia on the couch and gently undid the buttons to her dress, all the
while cooing at her and telling her it would be all right. When he slipped the
dress down her arms and turned her back to Annie, the first thing she noticed
was the raw red marks on the child's pale skin.

The
second thing she saw was the tear that landed there from Noah's eye.

"'Spare
the rod,' she said to me," he said as his voice cracked. "That was
her explanation. 'Spare the rod'—"

"Oh,
my God!" It was all she could get out before her throat seemed to close.
She turned and walked toward Hannah as if in a trance. Beside the girl, she
knelt and opened the top two buttons on the back of her dress. It was enough to
tell her what she wanted to know.

"Willa,
get the Kickapoo Indian Salve from the kitchen," she directed. "Bart,
pack up the laundry and put it into Mr. Eastman's wagon. I can do it over there
along with theirs." She turned to Noah. "Get her dress off, and we'll
put some ointment on to make her more comfortable." She unbuttoned the
rest of Hannah's dress and helped the little girl step out of it.

"Sissy,
you can't go over to Mr. Eastman's place. What will the reverend think?"
Bart asked.

"You
ever seen a more clear example of Christian duty? Because I sure ain't,"
Annie shot back. "Besides, Ethan's there if I need him."

Willa
stood by, looking rather faint, while Annie saw to the girls' backs. Even Bart
seemed moved by the stoic acceptance of the two babies and, though grumbling
all the way, he carried the laundry out to the wagon.