Sweet Annie

by Cheryl St. John

  The far-off jangle of a piano drifted to her from time to time, probably from one of the entertainment estab­lishments that her friends whispered about. The lonely sound of a train whistle echoed through the night, and Annie imagined travelers bound for exciting destina­tions. The most exciting far-off places she'd ever been to were to the hospitals and doctors' offices in the East.

  The hotel stays had been nightmares because of the flights of stairs and the people who stared at her with pity.

  Annie hated pity more than anything.

  The night sounds took on an unnatural stillness, and the hair on the back of her neck prickled. Awareness roused her from her musings and she glanced into the darkness.

  "Annie?" His voice, hushed, uncertain.

  She leaned forward and strained to see. "Luke?" she called softly.

  Chapter Four

  He emerged from the darkness of the side yard. "You're alone?"

  "Yes. They went to dinner at the Millers'. They never come home until after eleven. Where's your horse?"

  He climbed the porch stairs. "I walked."

  Annie had closed the door and the front drapes, shrouding the porch in darkness. If anyone passed by, they wouldn't be able to make out their shapes. "All that way?"

  "It's not so far. It's a nice night."

  "You got my note."

  "Yes." He sat on a wicker chair across from her. "You took a chance, Annie."

  "But you came."

  Silence hung between them for a long moment. Fi­nally he said softly, "Yes, I came."

  Luke had looked up from the horse he'd been shoe­ing when the young woman appeared in the doorway of the livery. She'd called out to him, and he'd wiped his hands and greeted her, thinking she needed to rent a rig.

  But she'd simply handed him the piece of paper. "This is for you."

  She'd been gone by the time he looked up from the unfamiliar handwriting on the outside.

  Luke had opened the fancy seal and stood in the doorway so that the sun caught the page, and read the simple words that had leaped from the parchment and into his heart: Dear Luke, I will be alone this evening. Annie.

  She wanted to see him.

  He hadn't set foot on this property in at least ten years. Looking out across the expansive grounds sur­rounded by a white fence, he could picture the spot where he had returned Annie after their ride and had promptly been set upon by her brother and his friends.

  He didn't fear Burdell Sweetwater. He never had. Skin grew back. Noses and ribs healed. He didn't fear the physical harm that could come to him because of his association with Annie. What he feared, and al­ways had, was that her parents would send her away. So he'd kept his distance, knowing that one day she'd be old enough to make her own choices.

  And praying that she would.

  The fact that she'd wanted him to come to her was almost too good to believe. Why he felt this attach­ment to Annie, he couldn't explain, but he'd been drawn to her since they'd both been young.

  “Luke, I—'' she began.

  "I've wondered—" he said at the same time.

  Both stopped and chuckled nervously.

  "Go ahead," Luke said.

  Annie smoothed the ruffles on her skirt. "I have wanted so many times to tell you how sorry I was for that day."

  "You don't have to apologize."

  "Please let me say this. The words have been in my heart forever."

  His chest contracted, and uncomfortably he kept his silence.

  “That was the best day I can ever remember. When I think back on how brief it was—how wonder­ful . . . well, I have no words to say what it meant to me.

  “When we got back and my father was so angry, I was shocked. And then when Burdy hit you, Luke...." Her voice quavered and her breath escaped tremu­lously. "I just wanted to die. I felt so helpless. I was angry. I cried and cried, because you took that pun­ishment so unjustly."

  "Annie, it's okay."

  "It's not okay," she argued. "I wanted to go to you."

  "I was all right. It was you I was worried about." He leaned forward, and the chair creaked beneath his weight. "I tried to get back to see you. I wanted to see if you were all right."

  "Me? I wasn't the one pounded to a bloody pulp!"

  "I wasn't a bloody pulp." He laughed at her dra­matic description, but then sobered. "I thought you probably hated me for embarrassin' you at your party."

  "Oh, pooh on my party. My parties were all dull, and they still are. How could you think such a thing? You were the only person who ever let me be myself. I never forgot that."

  "I don't know why anybody'd want to change you." She was the most delightful person he'd ever met.

  "It's like everybody wants to put a rock on my head and keep me in this chair. Why do they do that?"

  He shook his head, because he'd wondered the same thing. What did it hurt for her to get up and walk if she wanted? "Have the doctors said it's bad for you to walk?"

  "No."

  "Well, I'm no doctor, but I know if you don't let a horse exercise, he can't build strong muscles and he tires easily. But if you run him regularly, his strength builds. Seems like your legs are the same. I'll bet if you exercised them, they'd get stronger."

  "I think so, too. I've read about some forward-thinking individuals who believe exercise is the key to vitality." She sounded excited about the possibility. "But my parents don't allow me to move about, let alone do calisthenics."

  "Annie, is there any way you can contact one of the doctors you've seen and ask if he thinks walking or exercising is harmful for you?"

  She seemed to think his question over. "I do re­member one of the kinder doctors. He has even written me on a few occasions."

  "Could we telegraph him?"

  "I don't know why not. But how would I get to the telegraph office without my parents knowing?"

  "I could take your message and send the tele­graph."

  "Splendid idea! Tomorrow? I can write it tonight."

  The excitement in her voice pleased him. "Why not?"

  "I baked you an apple pie," she said abruptly. "Wait here and I'll bring you a big slice."

  Surprised, he agreed and held the screen door while she rolled her chair into the house. Several minutes later, she returned with a small tray in her lap. "I couldn't fill the glass, because I spill when I cross the doorway," she apologized, handing him a partially full glass of milk.

  "I don't mind," he said, taking the cold tumbler from her.

  "The pie tastes pretty good. I tried a bite earlier."

  He accepted the plate and seated himself on the wicker chair, placing the glass on a small table. He tasted her offering, the apples still warm from the oven. Cinnamon sweetness melted on his tongue. “No one has ever baked me a pie before."

  "No?"

  He shook his head and enjoyed another mouthwa­tering bite.

  "It's my first one. I just followed a recipe."

  "It's better than the pies at Dora Edgewood's cafe. You could give her a tip or two."

  Annie laughed, a delicate ear-pleasing sound of delight. "Are you flattering me?"

  "Yes, but it's true." He finished the slice of pie and drank the milk.

  "Mother says it's improper to welcome flattery." She set the empty tray on the floor, and Luke placed his dishes on it.

  "I guess your mother'd know about things like that."

  “A lady may accept a delicate compliment, but she should not appear to expect or encourage them."

  "I hardly think you expect compliments, Annie."

  She folded her hands in her lap. "I want to go write the telegram, but I don't want to miss another minute with you."

  Her honesty warmed him. "Why don't you just tell me what it should say then, and I'll remember."

  "But I'll have to find the doctor's address."

  "Will it take long?"

  "No."

  He placed the tray on her lap and opened the screen door for her. "Hurry."

  Preci
ous minutes ticked by before she returned with an envelope and handed it to him. He folded it and tucked it into his shirt pocket. "How will I get the reply to you when it arrives?"

  "Glenda comes every afternoon. You could catch her on her way here and give it to her. She promised to keep my secret when I sent you the note this after­noon. I trust her."

  A comfortable silence settled between them. Distant piano music drifted on the night air.

  "Luke?"

  "Yes."

  "It's probably highly improper, but would you mind holding my hand, so I can move over there and sit beside you on the glider?"

  "That would be my pleasure," he replied.

  She took his hand for support, and using it and the arm of her chair, pushed herself up. Then, with only a few awkward steps, she made it to the padded glider and sat.

  Luke lowered his weight to the seat next to her, unwilling to release her hand. She smelled wonderful, an enticing combination of vanilla and lilacs and starched cotton. Her voluminous skirts draped across his knee. He closed his eyes and joyfully inhaled her presence.

  "I've thought a lot about the night of the wedding," she said softly.

  Thoughts of her kisses had driven him crazy every night since. Even today, he'd found himself staring off into the forge, letting a piece of iron cool, and having to heat it over again. "Me, too."

  "Good thoughts?" she asked.

  He smiled at her delightful frankness. "Very good thoughts. Was that a delicate enough compliment?"

  She smiled and nodded. "Would you mind—kiss­ing me again?"

  The question was laughable. "Let me think about it. Hmm. No." He pulled her hand, which brought her face to his, and leaned toward her. She met his lips with hers, a sweet, eager union that immediately had his blood pounding.

  He released her hand, and she placed it tentatively on his shoulder. He'd never known she returned his feelings; he'd only hoped, maybe just dreamed. Find­ing out like this that she was drawn to him, too, gave him so much pleasure, his heart swelled to bursting.

  Their lips parted and Luke remembered to draw a breath.

  "You taste like cinnamon," she said.

  "You smell like lilacs," he replied.

  She leaned closer, placing her nose against his neck. A wispy curl grazed his cheek. A shudder passed through his body. "You smell like..." she said, her breath against his neck exquisite torture, "...I don't know...heaven. You smell like heaven."

  He turned his face, so that his lips and nose were a scant breath from her ear. “You think there are horses in heaven?"

  She moved as though to see his eyes, though it was dark and she couldn't possibly read his expression. "You don't smell like a horse."

  "I must. I even sleep in the livery."

  "Well, you don't. You smell like...like you shaved."

  "Mm-hmm," he agreed. He had shaved before he'd come to see her. "And how would you know what that smells like?"

  "My father shaves. But he doesn't smell nearly as good as you do."

  "Your mother probably thinks so."

  Annie sat up straight and her eyes widened in the moonlight. "What a thought! Don't you ever place another thought like that in my mind! Goodness, if I imagine my mother sniffing my father, I'll die of laughter and you'll never get to kiss me again."

  "Well, we can't have that, so forget all thoughts of your parents. They probably don't even sleep in the same room."

  "Luke Carpenter, you're incorrigible!" She laughed out loud that time, however. Lord, she was fun.

  He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, felt her delicate bones beneath the fabric of her dress, and pulled her toward him. She came willingly, eagerly, all softness and sighs.

  Luke nuzzled the springy curls at her temple, the delicate skin behind her ear, and placed a kiss there. She leaned more fully into him, pressing her breasts against his chest, and he tried to feel and taste and smell every vivid sensation and press it into his mind for later.

  Their lips met again, this time more forcefully, and when he touched her lip with his tongue, she intui­tively allowed him access. Her whole body stilled and her breathing grew shallow, as though she were con­centrating fully on this exploratory kiss.

  Luke had to bracket her face with his palms and end the torture before he allowed himself more liber­ties. Because she was willing. And he was weak.

  "I'm going to leave, Annie," he whispered hoarsely.

  "But we still have time."

  "That's what I'm afraid of."

  "What are you afraid of?"

  "If I don't go, I might do somethin' very ungentle-manly. And I think too much of you to let that happen. So I'm leaving."

  He stood, swept her up into his arms, and deposited her in her chair. He leaned over her, his palms on the armrests.

  She placed her soft hands on the backs of his, and slowly, he backed away until only their fingers were touching, even that tentative contact a tactile pleasure.

  "There will be a next time," he promised.

  "It'll seem like forever."

  "I'll be thinkin' of you."

  "And I of you."

  "Good night, sweet Annie."

  "Night, Luke."

  He released her fingers, moved to the stairs and dis­appeared into the night. Annie placed her empty palms over her racing heart. Adrift in heavenly sensations and riotous feelings, she slowly came back down to earth, the chair beneath her a cold reality.

  But Luke didn't care. He didn't see her and this chair as one. He saw her as she saw herself, as she dreamed to be. A whole, unfettered person.

  How would she ever sleep again?

  * * *

  For a week, Annie anticipated Glenda's daily arri­val. The weekend seemed endless and unbearable, be­cause the housekeeper didn't come on Saturday, and it wasn't her Sunday to help with dinner. But on the following Monday, as Annie sat waiting on the shady porch, Glenda climbed the stairs with a sly smile.

  Annie's heart fluttered. "Do you have something for me?"

  Glenda glanced through the open doorway. "Where's your mother?"

  "She's upstairs packing. I'm to be shipped off to my aunt and uncle's again while Mother and Daddy travel to Denver."

  Glenda slipped folded papers from her pocket and handed them to Annie.

  Opening them quickly, Annie discovered there were two pages to the missive, the first a Western Union telegram from Dr. Mulvaney: "I wager that the ben­efits of exercise would greatly strengthen muscles. Stop. To my knowledge there is no damage that can be done by walking. Stop. I should be interested to know results after an adequate period. Stop. Regards to your family. Stop."

  Giddy at the encouragement, Annie pressed the pa­pers to her chest and grinned. She hadn't been wrong. She could walk and not harm herself as long as she was careful.

  Remembering the piece of brown paper, Annie opened it and read the words scrawled in black ink: "Sweet Annie, I should be interested to know the re­sults, too. I believe you can do anything you put your mind to. The scent of lilacs fills my dreams. Luke."

  She must have been grinning foolishly, because Glenda chuckled. "Your cheeks are pinker than the snapdragons beside the porch, Miss Annie. Your mother will suspect something for sure."

  "She'll just think I'm still put out over our argu­ment about letting Charmaine come here and stay with me for the week, instead of me going to their house. I lost—again." Annie quickly tucked the papers be­neath the folds of her dress. "You won't tell?"

  "What's to tell?" Glenda removed her bonnet. "You and Luke Carpenter exchanged letters. Nothing scandalous about that. Besides, your folks are far too protective. Pretty thing like you should have been courted by now."

  "Did your husband court you?" Annie asked.

  “Lands, yes. He brought me flowers and trinkets of all sorts. My mama liked him right off, but my father took a while to come around."

  "What convinced him?"

  “I think it was the fact that Tim plucked him from the midst
of a saloon fight and brought him home without my mama being any the wiser."

  "I doubt my father will be in a saloon fight any time soon," Annie said dejectedly.

  "I 'spect not. Well, I have chores to do."

  "Thank you, Glenda."

  Glenda patted her arm. "You're welcome. Now you'd better get in there and pack your things before your mother starts doin' it for you."

  Glenda held the door and Annie wheeled herself into the house. She hid her note and the telegram in between the pages of the Bible on her night table.

  She would be staying at the Renlows' until Friday. Surely she could find an occasion in those three days and nights to see Luke. Perhaps Charmaine would want to go into town again, like they'd done the last time. Charmaine loved to shop, or Annie could suggest a visit to the public library. It was open every week­day. Packing took on more excitement at the hope of seeing Luke soon.

  That evening she sat at her aunt and uncle's table, a more relaxed affair than dinner at her home, and joined her uncle in a conversation about the man who was running for governor.

  "How do you know about such things, Annie?" Charmaine asked.

  "News of the upcoming election has been in the newspaper every day," she replied. "I can't talk about it at home, though. Mother has a fit."

  “Does she have something against one of the can­didates?"

  “No, you know Mother. She thinks ladies are sup­posed to avoid pretentions of learning."

  "My friends had instructions on that, too," Char­maine offered. "Young women aren't supposed to let on that they know as much as gentlemen. It's pedantic, they say."

  "So you're supposed to pretend to be dumb?" Un­cle Mort asked the girls. “What kind of man wants a dumb wife? Or daughter for that matter?''

  "A gentleman, I guess," Charmaine said with a sigh.

  "What about Diana? She's not one to hold her opin­ions to herself," Mort said. "My nephew obviously didn't take to that thinkin'."

  "Diana drives Mother crazy," Annie said with a grin. "Although she does know a lot of influential people, and Mother is impressed by that. There's bitter mixed with the sweet, I guess."

  "Mama, may I stay home from school while An­nie's here?"