Mittman, Stephanie (7 page)

"You
can't save a cookie," Hannah's father told her. "It just won't last,
honey. Some things just aren't meant to last."

Annie
snapped back to the present and reached in the basket again, this time taking
out a broken cookie she had passed over on her first foray. "Eat this one,
sweetheart," she said, offering it to Hannah. "And you can still save
the other."

Tears
glistened at the corners of Hannah's bright blue eyes, as if she was touched by
the gesture. Annie knew how ridiculous that idea was. After all, the child was
no more than a baby. And yet when Hannah reached out and touched Annie, her
little finger trembling as it approached Annie's cheek, Annie read something in
her eyes. A kindred spirit, the look said. Just the look set Annie's heart
pounding.

Where
was Della, anyway? Annie had been conspicuously alone for over an hour while
family after family poured into the meadow. Even Noah Eastman, who hadn't made
it to church on time yet, had arrived before her sister. Alarms went off in
Annie's head. Della, loving mother though she was, was so easily distracted.
What if something had happened to one of the twins?

Her
fear must have been written across her face, just as every emotion she'd ever
experienced had been, because he knelt down at the edge of the blanket, his
face too, revealing worry.

"What's
wrong?" he asked. "What is it?"

She
shook her head and brushed away his concern as if it were a fly buzzing around
her head. "Della's late. I just thought something might be amiss."

"From
what Francie says," he said, settling himself on the quilt uninvited and
accepting a bite of cookie that Julia pushed into his mouth, "Della is
always late. Francie says she likes to make an entrance."

According
to Francie, Noah Eastman spent his days in the field while she minded his
children. Annie wondered when it was the two had so much time to discuss her
family's habits. The thought of them deep in conversation didn't sit any better
with her than the fact that he seemed to be quite at home on her blanket, his
children climbing over the two of them as if they belonged there. Of course,
the children couldn't be blamed. No one had taught them any better.

"Francie
seems to have told you a whole lot."

He
shrugged in response, lifting one shoulder and one eyebrow almost
apologetically. "Heard anything from her?" he asked. He seemed
genuinely interested in her response.

"She
seems kind of lonely, but that's to be expected, I'm sure," Annie said.
"She ain't never been away from home before, and I guess I didn't do too
good a job gettin' her ready to be on her own."

"I'm
sure that's not true," he replied. "Why, from what she writes, she's
already been all over that city, from Morningside Heights all the way down
to—"

"Oh!
There's Della now," Annie interrupted, pointing toward the Gibbses' wagon
with her sister and her nephews in it. Peter, Della's handsome husband, eased
the boys to the ground.

Having
spent more than their fair share of time with their Aunt Sissy, the boys made a
beeline for Annie, almost knocking her over with their enthusiasm. At nearly
three, the two boys had all the force of a tornado. Between kissing and hugging
and diving into the picnic basket, which they were sure contained goodies baked
especially for them, Samuel and James Gibbs managed to push their aunt right
into Noah Eastman's lap.

He
was hard. His thigh was like the stones that bordered the stream. Each rib felt
like the railing of the headboard on her bed. The hand that grabbed one arm to
steady her was like the pliers Bart used to fix the chicken coop. But he didn't
smell like the chicken coop, or even like one of her brothers. He smelled warm,
and slightly pungent, and faintly like bay rum. His cheeks were cleanshaven.
And his heart was pumping every bit as fast as hers.

She
tried to right herself by putting her weight onto her elbows. A low groan
warned her that the point of one elbow rested squarely on his most private
parts. "Oh, my!" she gasped.

"No,"
he said in a rather strained voice. "Definitely mine!"

Embarrassed,
she tried to roll off him, but that put her breast in contact with his knee.
She jerked back, taking him by surprise. In his effort to help her, he had
begun to reach toward her, so when she rolled back, and he leaned forward—

"Sissy?"
Della said, staring down at what must have appeared to be a man and a woman
engaging in some rather heavy sparking amid four children, two of whom had
begun to cry about broken cookies.

"What
is going on here?" Peter asked, looking down at the flurry of activity and
reaching out to stop James—or was it Sam?—from grabbing what was left of
Julia's cookie from her hand.

Annie's
cheeks went from merely warm to searing hot as Peter's loud question attracted
the attention of families on the neighboring blankets. Noah Eastman got a hand
under her back and pushed her to a sitting position. She tried to straighten
her hair and clothes, but Della kept staring at her as though she had disgraced
the family. When she looked at Noah Eastman he was staring at her chest, his
own rising and falling much too visibly for Annie's own good.

Annie
looked down at her blouse and saw the gaping opening where a button should be,
smack where her breasts were the fullest. Her hand went up to cover herself at
the same moment that Samuel began to choke and flail his arms. His little face
became mottled and he got on all fours like a dog, coughing and coughing before
anyone realized what had happened.

"The
button!" Annie yelped.

Noah
Eastman's eyes widened and he grabbed the boy and raised him by one foot,
pounding him on the back until the little white pearl came flying from his
throat and three children and four adults all dove for it at once.

It
was Hannah who landed on it, and she turned it dutifully over to her father
while nearly the whole Pleasant Township Methodist Church stood staring down at
Annie's blankets and the chaos that was occurring on them. Annie was too
mortified to look up. Shocked out of their tears by all the commotion, Julia
and Hannah sat staring first at their father and then at Annie.

"Oh,
thank heavens," Della finally said, swooping down to pick up a rather
shaken Samuel.

"What
happened?" someone asked.

By
the time the story got to the Reverend Miller Winestock, and he'd made his way
to the front of the crowd, the two principals were laughing so hard they could
hardly sit upright. Della, having been told the circumstances, was smiling
indulgently, and Peter was scolding the twins.

"Miss
Morrow," the minister said, and the crowd seemed to part as though Moses
had come to the Red Sea. "Is everyone quite all right?"

Annie
was still clutching her blouse closed, but her shame had melted. That was,
until she heard Miller's voice. The future wife of a minister didn't sit around
on a blanket with some man with whom she was barely acquainted, her clothing
askew, and laugh about it. In fact, she didn't laugh about anything. That was
why Annie thought herself perfect for the role. Until this afternoon, she
couldn't remember laughing since she was a small child.

She
took a deep breath. So many faces seemed to hang on her words. She opened her
mouth, but nothing came out.

"This
was really all my fault," Noah Eastman said. "You see, I just stopped
by Annie's—Miss Morrow's—blanket to tell her—" He halted and turned to
Annie. "I have a message from Ethan. That was why I came over." He
turned back to the minister. "I was just going to tell her that Ethan
asked that she save some dinner for him, but then she"—he turned back to
Annie—"very generously, I might add"—he again raised his face to the
minister—"of course, you know how generous Annie—
Miss Morrow
—can
be."

If
it was possible, Annie felt her face turn redder still.

"We're
fine, Mi—Reverend Winestock. Somehow one of the boys knocked a button lose from
my shirtwaist, and then Samuel decided it was more appealin' than my cookies
and choked on it."

"Good
Lord!"

Annie
nodded. "Mr. Eastman got it out. Everything's over except for the
starin'."

And
staring there was. Miller stood there looking at her until she realized that
her knee was touching Noah Eastman's thigh. She scooted back, but that took her
hand from her blouse, and the gasp that rose when she did made her wish she had
never come to the picnic in the first place.

Noah
Eastman stood to take his leave. With the show apparently over, the crowd broke
up.

"I'll
make you girls some new cookies," Annie promised. "I'm sorry the boys
crushed them." She looked sternly at her nephews.

"Sorry,"
James mumbled. Samuel just shrugged. Well, he'd been through enough, she
supposed.

"Miller,
I've cooked enough for all of Ohio, it seems. Would you like to sit and have
some roasted chicken with me and my family?" She gestured toward her
blankets, but this time she kept one hand firmly on the front of her
shirtwaist.

Miller
looked at Noah Eastman, who was still standing by the blanket, his two girls in
his arms. Without saying anything he nodded and pulled up slightly on the front
of his pant legs as he lowered himself to the ground.

"I'll
be seeing you," Noah Eastman said, his sparkling eyes trained on her chest
as though he had made a private joke.

Annie
merely nodded at him; the words stuck in her throat. She wiggled her fingers at
the girls, who waved back.

"He's
a strange one," Peter said, once he had settled Della and the twins. From
their picnic basket he pulled a green bottle that Annie suspected was one of
those new fine wines Peter had taken to buying lately in Cincinnati. As he
worked at the cork he kept up a steady conversation. "Friday he came into
the bank and opened an account. Imagine, lived here for over a year and
suddenly he says he needs to establish credit. Can't imagine what for."

"Peter,"
Annie began. "You know how I feel about the drinking of alcohol. Why, even
Della's been coming to the Temperance Society meetings."

"Sissy,"
Peter said, with an impish grin that no doubt worked on Della a lot better than
it worked on her, "if it's good enough for George H. Marsh to peddle, it's
good enough for me to drink."

"I
can't be responsible for Mr. Marsh," Annie said sternly. "But—"

"If
you don't complain to him—" Peter began.

"Well,
when you build a park and put a fountain in it, I'll stop trying to reform you.
Maybe."

"Samuel
has something in his mouth again, dear," Della said, and Peter calmly
reached over, fished out a rock, and threw it toward the trees.

"Didn't
swallowing that button teach you anything?" Peter said with an exasperated
sigh.

"Aren't
we going to eat?" Della asked. Peter poured a glass of wine for himself
and gestured to Della, who looked at Annie and declined. "What did you
bring, Sissy?"

"That's
another thing," Peter said, looking at Annie. "Why does he call you
Annie? Everyone knows your name is Sissy."

Annie
couldn't serve up lunch with her button missing. And Della didn't seem of a
mind to do it. Miller, Peter and the boys all looked at her expectantly. On the
next blanket, Jane Lutefoot sat primly, her umbrella shading her from the sun.
In the center of the spread was a vase of flowers the likes of which Annie had
never seen before and which had no doubt been grown in that new glass house
Mrs. Lutefoot was so proud of. Imagine, Annie thought, a house just for
flowers! Annie wondered if she might have a needle and thread with her.

"Her
real name is Annie," Della said when no one else answered Peter. "But
she's always been Sissy."

Annie
hardly heard them. "I'm going to see if I can borrow a needle and
thread," she said absentmindedly.

Mrs.
Lutefoot, after giving Annie a flower she called an orchid, proudly showed her
the chatelaine that had been her mother's. The sterling clasp held her house
key, a small pair of scissors, and a little silver case containing several
needles wound with thread.

Annie
made her way over the rise and walked slowly to the far meadow, her mind
sifting memories the way a prospector pans for gold. Here, in the meadow, away
from the children's shouts and the neighbors' prying eyes, her parents had
come. Ethan had been a June baby. Had they conceived him here, in the copse of
trees where she now hid to mend her dress?

Her
hands worked the needle between her breasts, and she imagined a man's hands
there. Her father would no doubt have accompanied her mother if she'd lost a
button. If they were married, would Miller have come to help her? Would his
hands stray and forget the task they had come to do?

Foolish
thoughts, all of them. Miller Winestock was a minister, a man of God. He
wouldn't have the same lustful thoughts her father must have harbored about her
mother. The two men had nothing in common whatsoever.

***