The Bartered Bride (The Brides Book 3) (13 page)

In the meantime, she supposed she could simply cinch the waist in with a length of wide ribbon... Lorelei had owned plenty of that. Lots of colors to choose from. Lots of pretty stockings too.

What she lacked was a single pair of outdoor shoes or boots.

There were none in the trunk, only one pair of pink ladies’ house shoes that swam on Annie’s feet. For now they’d have to do. For inside anyway.

Had Jem not saved any of Lorelei’s shoes? Or perhaps there was another trunk in the attic?

Annie couldn’t very well produce the words to ask him. Even if she could, she doubted she’d feel comfortable asking for more. It had obviously been very difficult for Jem to retrieve this one trunk and give it to her. She’d simply have to brush off her old boots so she’d have something to wear outdoors.

Her thoughts were arrested when she noticed Mae standing beside her. She took Annie’s elbow in hand and led her over to the stool before the mirror.

“Sit,” Mae said, tugging until Annie obediently sat down, giggling at the little girl’s imperious tone. There was a certain sweet innocence about it all that she found so endearing and adorable.

Had she been as confident as Mae at that age? Never.

Had she ever been that confident in her life?

Truth be told, she still wasn’t. Maybe someday she’d feel brave enough to act in such a way. It seemed very far off.

Mae gently lifted Annie’s braid into her hands, for a moment appearing very much like a proper lady’s maid—or what Annie envisioned a proper lady’s maid must look like.

She waited mystified as Mae untied the ribbon holding her braid together, then threaded her tiny fingers through her hair, loosening each strand until the full weight of it hung free, wavy and full over Annie’s shoulder. Mae then scooped it up in her hands and splayed it out across Annie’s back.

“Pretty,” she pronounced with some satisfaction, as if she’d been planning this event for quite some time. She smoothed her hands down Annie’s hair at first, then bounced it up into her cupped palms, playing with its texture and fullness. “Soft,” she said approvingly.

Annie looked at herself in the mirror, trying to see herself as Mae saw her, a full-grown woman. Was her hair pretty? In a child’s eyes, perhaps it was. To her, all she saw was her face jutting out. It looked too bare, too exposed. Uncomfortable.

She never wore her hair back like this. It felt...wrong.

It would be like walking around with nothing on at all.

And why? She paused to ask herself. Back home in Tennessee, Ruth Ann and Coralie had often worn their hair pulled back, and she’d thought nothing of it. Except they’d looked so pretty with theirs tied back in a simple ribbon.

She hadn’t thought their faces were too exposed. She hadn’t thought them naked or improper.

But she felt that about herself.

Here, just with Mae, it was fine, but she didn’t want Jem to see her face. Or Ben. Or Ray. She didn’t want anyone to see her. She’d been this way since she was little. She’d worn her same old braid—the same old way—for as long as she could remember. Mrs. Ruskin had tried a time or two to get her to wear it a different way. She’d ironed curls into Annie’s straight hair and pinned it up, but Annie had always laughed nervously and put it back the way it should be.

She did the same now, quickly pulling her hair forward and beginning to braid it.

“No,” Mae said, almost frantically, her hands fluttering, grabbing for Annie’s hands. “
No
.”

Annie grunted in protest as the little girl pushed her hands out of the way and again arranged Annie’s hair the way she liked it, hanging loose and free down her back.

Annie shook her head at her, wishing she could tell Mae that it wasn’t proper for a young lady to wear her hair down to her waist when there were men in the house. Perhaps Mae knew more than she imagined, for the little girl picked up the ribbon, gathered all Annie’s hair in her arms, and tried—very awkwardly, dropping pieces in the process—to tie it back at her nape.

Annie grew utterly still.

It wasn’t just the way Mae was doing her hair, but how Annie could see her working away at it in the mirror. How she saw her own face. How distressed she looked over such a small thing.

Then it was like she became a new Annie, looking at herself through different eyes. Why was she so upset? Why did she feel so strongly that she couldn’t give up her braid?

It felt like death. Like she’d die if she had to go downstairs with her hair like this, with her hair pulled back, her face exposed. Why?

I don’t
want
to be seen
.

The answer came so insistently, so like someone else speaking to her—almost as if she were two entirely different people: the one who knew better, and a much smaller child on the inside who was terribly, terribly afraid.

The woman side of her heard that voice very clearly, was surprised by the answer.

The child inside her was near tears.

She couldn’t—couldn’t—let them see her.

And if no one ever sees you
, a small quiet voice spoke to her, perhaps her own,
how do you ever expect them to “hear” you? To love you?

The question shook her to the core.

She couldn’t have both.

It didn’t work that way.

She’d have to choose: hide or be seen.

How could she?

Yet she’d looked at Jem earlier, hadn’t she? She still felt the warmth of his gaze. That hadn’t been so terrible, had it?

And she wanted so much to be heard—not by using her voice, which was impossible, but by
any
means. It was the thing she wanted the most, wasn’t it? The desire to be heard and listened to burned like a hot fire in her belly.

If she wanted to be loved, if she wanted to belong—and she did, desperately—then there was one thing she needed to do: she must lay her fears down and step outside. She had to step out into the open, with her chin lifted, and allow herself to be
seen
.

Annie balled her fists under the cover of her skirts. She’d sooner fall off the ox road into that rocky ravine.

And yet...wouldn’t she want Mae to be brave if she was the grown woman sitting on this stool and not her?

I’m scared, Father
, Annie prayed silently, with a sudden fierceness that startled her.
I’m scared and I can’t do it. I can’t. I can’t do it without you. Would you do it for me?

She suspected the answer to that was a resounding
no
. God didn’t move people around like string puppets.

But he cared. She’d learned that from the Bible and from every sermon she’d ever heard:

God cares.

He loves you.

He wants what’s best for you.

“God moves in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform.”

Would you help me find my way?
Annie whispered silently.
Would you do something mysterious and wonderful in me?

Was it even possible?

She took a breath, forcing herself to sit straighter, put her shoulders back, lift her chin.

She didn’t have the courage.

She couldn’t do it.

It wasn’t possible, but she was going to do it anyway. For Mae, partly, but mostly for the girl she’d always wanted to be. For the woman she suspected God had always intended her to be.

Her stomach flipped nearly upside down at the thought of taking the stairs one at a time down to the kitchen, of walking in with her new hair. Could she?

She gently took the ribbon from Mae’s fumbling fingers and, with a gentle smile, finished tying her hair back. It hung in a thick mass down her back, leaving her face bare.

After that one small but terrifying leap, it was a matter of a full afternoon to transform the dress as well. As she worked, Annie noticed how Mae kept stroking the blue dress with the whimsical bees and daisies. She quickly tucked that observation away, her thoughts touching briefly on birthdays and dolls. Mostly, she wondered what the men would think when they saw her. And, even more so, what Jem would think.

SEVENTEEN

A
nnie walked into the kitchen that evening wearing something red.

Jem had to blink a few times, because he didn’t recognize her.

He barely recognized the dress, though it must’ve been Lorelei’s. He had a tantalizing memory of a dark red dress with yellow flowers...and something more. What was it? It hung just out of reach.

Annie had obviously done something to it, cut it down to something completely different. Somehow stitched it up to fit her smaller frame.

And, land’s sake, did it fit.

He’d had no idea.

He saw Ben gawking at her too, and felt the sudden urge to stand and step between them to block the younger man’s view.

As if Ben would look at her with any sort of interest. As if he—Jem—truly had any feelings for the woman himself. Despite that one confusing moment they’d shared out back. Where she’d touched his hand so innocently, as if she’d never touched a man’s hand before and wanted to see what it was like, but in a way that had deeply affected him. Despite that, the truth was he hadn’t even known she existed two days ago.

He’d married her, but she was hardly his wife in any sort of real way.

Still. He didn’t like Ben looking at her if for no other reason than he shouldn’t be gawking at a married woman that way.

Jem cleared his throat meaningfully, and Ben gave a start. His face immediately flushed red, and he looked down at his plate and utensils as if they suddenly required all his attention. Good.

Looking her over again, Jem couldn’t say there was anything indecent about her. She was covered up in all the ways she should’ve been. She was just—not the way she’d been before. Not dingy in the least, for one. Not a street urchin. Why, some might even say she was pretty.

And what had she done with her hair? Her braid was no longer blocking half her face and he could make out the pleasing shape of her face. She had delicate features, a small nose and chin. Nothing like Lorelei’s fuller, more striking beauty, but a nice face. Nothing she needed to hide.

“Annie,” he murmured by way of greeting.

“Why, Miss Annie,” Ray said, catching sight of her as he turned, holding a cloth-lined basket filled with fragrant yeast rolls in one hand. “Don’t you look pretty?”

There was no sign of turmoil in his expression, none that Jem noticed. So something had evidently transpired since Ray’s accusations of this morning, for he was looking at Annie with much more favor than he had previously. Jem could only conclude that he believed the story about Creed. He had obviously also determined to be more pleasant to Annie. Whether his change in attitude had anything to do with her new style of dress and her hair, Jem rather doubted, although perhaps it seemed that way to Annie.

She stood frozen in place just inside the doorway to the kitchen, her bottom lip nipped between her teeth in a way that suggested she was mortified by the sudden attention.

Jem remained seated in his chair, though some inner voice told him he should stand up because a lady had entered the room. Politeness dictated it, but he couldn’t seem to stir himself. He felt suddenly as solid as a statue in his chair, reluctant to move. He watched the interaction between Ray and Annie though, not bothering to hide his curiosity.

His daughter felt no such reluctance, for she jumped down from her seat and skipped over to Annie’s side. The puppy circled them both, madly wagging its tail.

“Pretty,” Mae declared. “Pretty hair.” At this, she turned her gaze on Jem, as if expecting him to say something appreciative too.

As if he could. Even if Ben weren’t sitting there judging him, how could he?

Jem mumbled something incoherent that hopefully passed as a polite comment.

Ben seemed equally struck dumb, applying himself to buttering a roll. He kept half his attention on Annie though as she drifted silently across the room and took her place at the lonely end of the table.

Should he say something about that? Jem wondered. Invite her down closer?

He opened and closed his mouth, uncomfortably reminded of the moment that had passed between them out back—that moment they’d stared at each too long. When she’d touched the back of his thumb and it had felt too nice.

Did he really want to feed anything into that?

Let her think theirs was any sort of true marriage?

A commitment of hearts.

As if he had anything left in him for that.

Instead, he smiled at Mae with a sense of grim determination, facing her petulant gaze, and said, “Time to eat, lamb. Take your seat.”

“I’m not lamb,” she said grumpily, as she flounced down at his right. The puppy perched like a sphinx beside her chair, as if waiting for any morsels that might drop to the floor.

Jem waggled Mae’s head playfully, tweaked the end of her nose, and said, “You’re a lamb to me. Now, Ray, what is that delicious smell coming out of the oven?”

“Roasted chicken. Potatoes.”

“That’s what I hoped.” Jem continued conversing with Ray about this and that for the rest of the meal. He ignored Ben’s probing gazes, Mae’s obviously put-on bad behavior, and especially Annie.

He forced himself not to look down her way. All he’d see was how shockingly pretty she looked in that red dress—the one that had been Lorelei’s—and he wasn’t prepared for that right now. Just how was he supposed to function with her walking around like that all the time?