Mittman, Stephanie (3 page)

"We'd
like to be married soon," he said. "Real soon."

There
was a sense of urgency that was unmistakable. "Of course," she said.
"I'll talk to Miller after services tomorrow." And tell him what?
That Willa and Bart had to get married, and that meant that Annie would lose
her home and she wanted his?

It
was the God's honest truth. She did. Miller's home had rugs in every room.
Annie had taken care of his wife often, during her last years, and had seen
them all. He had a genuine Sterling range in the kitchen and a heater in the
bedroom. Best of all, he had a separate room for bathing that had running
water, a porcelain-lined tub, a toilet, and a steel sink. And as if all that
wasn't enough, in a few months he'd even have electricity.

Why,
if there was anything more a woman could want, Annie Morrow just didn't know what
it could be.

***

Noah
found Ethan and Hannah waiting for him in the barn when he got home. Crouched
down to her size, Ethan was wiping tears from the child's face with his
handkerchief when Noah entered the barn.

"What's
this?" he asked. Hannah rarely cried, and it was a good thing, too,
because it tore at Noah's guts to see the little girls unhappy. "Are you
hurt?"

Hannah
shook her head solemnly. Noah looked at Ethan, who shrugged his confusion.

"You
want to tell me what's wrong?" Noah asked.

Hannah
shook her head again.

"Well,
then, how about we wash up and have some supper? Mrs. Abernathy left us some
stew going that ought to be ready right about now." He hated stew, but he
tried to make it sound inviting for Hannah's sake.

"I
miss Francie," Hannah said. So did Noah. She'd been a ray of sunshine in
their lives, always smiling, eager to be helpful, kind to the children. She was
as sweet a child as he hoped his own would grow into. And the fact that she was
not much more than a child herself hadn't prevented her from being a real help
to him during the hot summer when he'd had to replant so much of his crop
because of the drought. And she'd somehow managed to keep the children cool and
fed and out of his hair.

Now
that he'd met her sister he wasn't surprised. Anyone raised by Annie Morrow
couldn't help but be special. With the exception of Della, who seemed to be
consumed with herself to the exclusion of most everything else, he liked the
whole family, spouses included.

"Me
too, cutie," he admitted, reaching for his daughter's hand. "If I
were Ethan, I'd hightail it home so fast the dust wouldn't get there till
Tuesday."

"Francie
ain't home, Noah," Ethan said, as he took Hannah's other hand.
"There's just Sissy and Bart, and he ain't there but to plow and reap and
then he's off to Willa Leeman's house in town."

They
stopped by the buckboard and Noah lifted out a sleeping Julia. "That'd be
enough for me," Noah said. It had been a long time since a woman had been
waiting for him. Until now he hadn't given any thought to its ever happening
again. He planted a kiss on his daughter's sweaty forehead and swore at Ethan.
"Hell, you could have told me she was beautiful. That way I wouldn'ta just
stared like a dimwit and tripped over my tongue."

"Who?"
Ethan asked.

Noah
just shook his head. He supposed with Della and Francie in the house the boys
had never noticed Annie's special brand of beauty.
Annie.
Maybe that was
it. They were only seeing Sissy, good old reliable Sissy. How on God's green
earth had they missed
Annie?

Mrs.
Abernathy's stew filled the small farmhouse with a heavy odor, making the air
feel hot and the walls close. Her meals and her presence both had that effect
on him. The children didn't seem overly fond of her either. Of course, it could
just be the stark comparison of Francie's chipper voice, her small frame, and
her easy way, with Mrs. Abernathy's sharp commands, her bulk, and her
discontent.

It
seemed to Noah that in the few weeks she'd been with them, Ruth Abernathy's
nose had been out of joint more often than Julia could wet a diaper.
Desperation had made him hire her, and desperation was keeping her there.
Desperation and his conscience. He thought of how Francie had begged him to let
her stay on, pleaded with him to think of his children and how attached they'd
grown to her, even flirted with him to consider her for a wife. Of course, that
was out of the question.

How
she'd smarted when he'd admitted he thought of her only as a little sister, or
even another of his children some of the time. She accused him of simply being
noble and not wanting to stand between her and her education. She refused to
believe the truth—that while his children loved her, he did not. At least not
in the way she wished.

There
was so much ahead of her in life that he couldn't rob her of, not even for his
little girls' sake. Not many things were as important as a good education. Even
if in the end you didn't put it to use. Even if you gave it all up and spent
the rest of your life battling with nature for a few acres of corn and a grove
of apple trees. For Francie there was college and a big wide world where
someone would love and treasure her the way she deserved. The way every woman
deserved. And every man, for that matter.

Wylene
had had the same dark hair that surrounded his little girls' faces. But rightly
or wrongly, it was a woman with honey hair and skin and eyes who was dancing
through his mind.

The
Morrows had been attending
the Pleasant Township Methodist Church since
long before Annie's mother had passed away. Zena Morrow had taught her oldest
child the importance of worship, and Annie, without much help from her father,
had raised her siblings to be faithful churchgoers. Every Sunday found them in
their regular pew, third from the back on the left, and this Sunday was no
exception.

Miller
was well into his sermon, and Annie's thoughts were drifting, when the door
opened at the rear of the church and Noah Eastman walked in. One of his girls
was high on his arm, the other was clutching his trouser leg. He dipped his
head to the minister and took the last available seat in the back pew.

"Welcome,
welcome," Winestock said, giving Noah a chance to settle down with his
children before continuing with his sermon. "You picked an excellent day
to join us. We speak now, in this time of harvesting, to remind the farmer what
the Lord has told us of the harvest.

"'Thou
shalt not wholly reap the corners of thy field, neither shalt thou gather the
gleanings of thy harvest. And thou shalt not glean thy vineyard, neither shalt
thou gather every grape of thy vineyard; thou shalt leave them for the poor and
stranger.'"

Miller
always rose to a fuller stature when he had a new parishioner. His voice
deepened to a full baritone, his gestures became more meaningful. He was good
looking enough when he was leading his congregation in prayer: trim,
distinguished, his gray hair full and wavy. When he was caught up in his
sermon, he was masterful, commanding, wondrous.

Annie's
view of the pulpit was blocked by Jane Lutefoot's blue bonnet. She leaned
closer to Risa, her sister-in-law, in order to get a clearer view of Miller at
his best.

"Isn't
he handsome?" Risa whispered near Annie's ear.

Annie
nodded. Miller was thinner than Bart, his hair even thicker than Charlie's, his
dimples deeper than Ethan's.

"I
think that little bit of silver in his hair is very appealing," Risa said.

"Mmm,"
Annie agreed. It was more than a bit gray. And while Risa was a couple of years
older than her husband, Miller was as old as Charlie and Ethan combined.

"He's
staring at you," Risa said, nudging Annie slightly.

Now
Jane's hat was out of the way and Mr. Witherspoon's head, two sizes too big for
his body, blocked her view. She leaned in the other direction.

"We
should," the minister said, "take our neighbor to our bosom, take his
troubles as our own, and delight in his joys as our own."

"I
think he'd like to take this neighbor to his bosom," Risa said, poking
Annie, who felt her cheeks color.

"Risa!"
she said under her breath.

"And
those children of his," Risa continued. "Did you ever see such little
darlings?"

Children?

"What?"
Annie asked, sure she'd heard wrong.

"The
Eastman girls. Aren't they the dearest?"

"The
Eastmans?"

"Ssh,"
Charlie admonished.

Annie
resisted the urge to look over her shoulder. She sat straight in her seat and
stared at the back of Mrs. Lutefoot's hat. Who was staring at her? Mr. Eastman?
But that was ridiculous. She didn't even know the man. They'd met only
yesterday.

But
he had stared at her then. Gaped at her, his mouth falling open. Something
about her had taken him by surprise. She couldn't imagine what it could be. She
surely wasn't so ugly that he had come to the Pleasant Township Methodist
Church to get another look. What in the world had Francie told him that had
gotten the man to church?

"He
doesn't go," Francie had said when Annie asked why she hadn't ever seen
Noah Eastman in church. "Since his wife passed on, his faith's been
wavering." Their own father had been much the same. When Zena was alive he
had somehow made it to services every Sunday, but after her death there was
always something—the planting, the harvest, his rheumatism—that made it
impossible to attend.

Was
he watching her now? She refused to turn her head to check but held herself
straight and kept her eyes toward the pulpit, though all she could see was the
flash of Miller's hand every now and then as he gestured toward the Lord.

Once
she and Miller were married she would sit in the front pew and be able to watch
the fire in his eyes when he called out to the Lord, see the dimples in his
cheeks when he smiled at the smallest member of his congregation. Never again
would a button pop from his shirt as it had last week in the middle of
"Nearer my God to Thee." She would test them all on Saturdays while
he perfected his sermon and rehearsed it before her.

"The
Women's Missionary Society asks that I remind you all of their booth at the
County Fair. Miss Orliss asks that those of you who have promised pies and
cakes get them to her place before eight o'clock next Saturday, and she and
Mrs. Wilkins will see that they get to the fair.

"The
Sabbath school picnic is scheduled for two weeks from today." The minister
paused, and behind her Annie heard the rustling of movement. No doubt Noah
Eastman, a stranger to the ways of the P.T.M.C. and its minister, was rising to
leave.

"One
more thing," Miller said. "It has been eight months now, to the day,
since Mrs. Winestock was called to the Kingdom of God. It has been a hard time
for me. While all of you have endeavored to make my grief lighter, one or two
of you have crossed my bridge of sorrow and reached out your hands to me in the
spirit of love and friendship." A murmur of sympathy swept through the
congregation, and several eyes, including those of her family, strayed in Annie's
direction. "You have been there to help me, to soothe me, to comfort me,
and without your support I could never have served this congregation or the
Lord. And now I have an announcement to make."

Annie
was as surprised as the rest of the crowd, and as expectant. While she and
Miller had an understanding, nothing had been said, no vows pledged, no public
declarations made. Her heart raced as he continued.

"Our
first Harvest Social since Elvira died is upon us, and we will have to plan
without her help." Risa's hand patted her thigh in sympathy. No doubt Risa
had known what she expected Miller to say. She was never any good at hiding her
feelings. "In all the many things both great and small, we miss her. But
the Lord directs us that life goes on, and someone must take her place. Should
any of you wish to fulfill Mrs. Winestock's responsibilities regarding the
Social"—he paused—"please see me after the service and I will—"

"Sissy'll
take care of it," Bart said loudly. "She did all the arrangin' last
year, what with Mrs. Winestock feelin' so poorly."

"Miss
Morrow is one of those people who take their obligations as seriously as I do.
We owe to the Lord, we owe to each other, and we all owe a debt of gratitude to
Miss Morrow. Would you help us out again?"

A
subdued Annie nodded her assent, and the people who were sitting nearby clapped
in her honor. It was obvious to her what Bart was trying to do. With his plans
linked to her own, he was hoping to give the minister a gentle push. He
probably hoped that with the town's acceptance of her as a helpmate, Miller
might marry her and get her out of her house all the sooner.

She
looked at the oldest of her brothers, seated just beyond Charlie, but Bart's
gaze went over her left shoulder and she turned her head to follow it. Willa
Leeman was returning his smile with one of her own. And just beyond her, Noah
Eastman sat with his eyes unabashedly glued to Annie Morrow.

The
blessing said, the service was concluded and Annie hurriedly made her way to
the door. Miller was shaking hands with parishioners and Annie failed to catch
his eye. She stood slightly off to the side, waiting for him to seek her out.