Sweet Annie

by Cheryl St. John

  "Mama has sewn me dish towels and my great aunt Elsbeth made me a quilt before she died. Last year Papa bought me a set of dishes from a catalog."

  This was the first Annie had considered the notion. Lizzy had mentioned her hope chest, too, but Annie hadn't given it any thought at the time. Now here she was thinking about marrying Luke and she had noth­ing packed away for married life.

  Of course her mother wouldn't have started or en­couraged any such collection for Annie, since she didn't believe she'd ever be married. Not much hope there. But Annie's hopes had soared over the past months.

  Her interest in the table tripled and she selected two pairs of pillowslips, one embroidered with purple pan-sies, the other with delicate pale-green ivy, both edged with crocheted lace. She added a set of dish towels and a baby bib to her pile and paid Mrs. Krenshaw.

  Charmaine's brows rose into the middle of her fore­head, but she only grinned and carried Annie's pur­chases with her own.

  Occasionally throughout the afternoon Annie glimpsed Luke, watching games, tasting pies, drinking beer with the men. Before the sun started to set behind the mountains, people cleared the street to stand along the sides and horse races commenced.

  Annie hadn't expected to see Luke on one of the horses that shot past in a cloud of dust, but when she recognized him, she worked her way to her feet and cheered with the rest of the boisterous crowd.

  "Did he win? Did he win?" She jumped up and down in excitement, holding her cousin's arm for sup­port.

  "I can't see with you bouncing in front of me," Charmaine replied, and they laughed.

  After the races Lizzy and her new husband, Guy Halverson, greeted them. A glowing Lizzy stood be­side her young husband with adoration, clinging to his arm and giving him coquettish smiles as they shared talk of the day's fun.

  "That's enough to make you sick," Charmaine commented after they'd moved on.

  "I thought it was sweet," Annie replied. "You had that same look on your face when Wayne spoke to you."

  "I did not."

  “Did so. How do you know? I was looking at you. You were making goo-goo eyes at him."

  "You're making it up."

  "Am not."

  "Take it back or I'll push you into a pile of horse dung."

  They were still bantering, and Annie had started to edge out of her chair just in case Charmaine got se­rious, when Luke found them.

  "Ladies. Are you having a good time?" He wore the hat again, and Annie wished his eyes weren't shaded.

  "Oh, a wonderful time!" She sat back down in her chair. "Did you win the race? There were too many people in the way for me to see."

  "Sure did. Georgette is the fastest mount I've ever owned."

  "Georgette?"

  "She's a mountain pony I bought a couple of sum­mers ago."

  "I don't think I've met her yet."

  "I'll have to introduce you."

  "Now you have the look," Charmaine said out the side of her mouth.

  Annie ignored her.

  "See you at the dance later?" Luke asked.

  "We'll be there," Annie replied.

  He touched the brim of his hat and moved away in a loose-hipped ramble she couldn't help but admire. His movements were always sure and graceful. She didn't know if she'd ever seen anyone do such simple things with such riveting ease.

  "You still have the look, but now a line of drool is hanging from your lip."

  Annie took a swat at Charmaine's rump. "It is not!"

  "Is so."

  "Push me and hush up, or you're going to be the one in the pile of poop!"

  Annie couldn't remember a day that she'd had so much fun. She felt almost free, almost unrestricted, almost normal. Almost.

  "We don't go home to change or anything?" she asked Charmaine after their parents found them and they all got into Uncle Mort's wagon and headed for the barn where the dance was being held.

  "It's not fancy," Charmaine replied. "Just a simple barn dance."

  That was fine with Annie, because she'd worn her favorite dress.

  The same musicians who had played for Lizzy's wedding were there, as well as a few more. People came from all over the county for this celebration, so the throng packed the Stevensens' barn and flowed out the doors into the deepening twilight.

  Tables of food and drinks had been set up along one wall, but the dense crush of attendees prevented Annie from getting anywhere close. Her mother brought her a plate and a drink, and Annie thanked her.

  "I had a wonderful time today," she told her.

  Mildred looked her over, studying her hair and face, the green brocade of her now rumpled skirt. "Where did you get that dress?''

  “Aunt Vera showed me how to cut it out and baste it together. I did the sewing myself." Annie ran a lov­ing hand over the white chiffon bodice, the only ruffle on the entire garment.

  "And you're feeling well?"

  Annie returned the perusal. It was almost as if she didn't know this woman who'd cared for her her entire life. "I'm just fine."

  Mildred raised her chin, but said nothing.

  “Did you have a nice day?'' Annie asked.

  Her mother gave a curt nod.

  Glenda's girls found her.

  "Mother, do you know Gwen and Gerta?"

  "I didn't know their names. Mrs. Harper's daugh­ters, I believe."

  The girls told Annie and her mother about a sack race they'd run in that day. Mildred watched them as they spoke, but didn't comment. Later, when they moved off into the throng, Annie studied her mother's face.

  "Did you ever feel robbed because you didn't have a healthy, whole daughter?''

  "Of course not," her mother replied. "Don't dis­parage yourself."

  "I've thought a thousand times, and berated myself for it, that you liked having me this way so that you could control me. But of course, you would have rather had a normal child. What mother doesn't want a perfect child?"

  Her mother's features tightened and she brought her hands together over her chest.

  "And isn't that what I've always been?" Annie asked. The music had started, but she paid no attention to it. "All these years, submissive, obedient, staying where I've been placed and wearing what I've been given and not causing any problems? I've been the perfect child."

  The idea came as a revelation to Annie. The friction between them had only started when Annie had be­come dissatisfied with her situation, when her frustra­tion had mounted to an unbearable level and she'd begun expressing it. Now it seemed as though her mother didn't know how to handle the change—how to relate to the more mature, more opinionated Annie.

  "I'm sorry if I've been upsetting you, Mother," she said softly. "It's not because I don't love you and Daddy or that I don't appreciate everything you've done for me and how well you've taken care of me. It's just that I've grown up. I've grown up and you haven't let me."

  Tears had formed in her mother's eyes, and she blinked them back, keeping her face composed. A few dancers moved in graceful motions on the sawdusted floor several yards away. "Don't be foolish. You need us, Annie."

  "I'll always need you. It just might not be in the same way, or to the same extent."

  Mildred looked at her daughter as though she didn't recognize her.

  Annie handed her the empty plate she'd been hold­ing. "Thank you."

  Her mother accepted it, looked at it for a full min­ute, then gracefully walked away.

  Annie watched the dancers, thinking about all the enjoyment in life she'd missed, reflecting on all the times she'd wanted to do things but had kept silent, not wanting to cause a problem, always keeping peace and being acquiescent.

  Dozens of imagined scenes flashed in her mind: School. Dances. Parades. Friends. Horseback rides. Will. Luke.

  Luke.

  The only time she'd ever defied her parents, ever allowed her own wants and wishes to prevail had been to see Luke. And even then she'd done it in secret. As though it was wrong. Or dirty.

&n
bsp; Studying the dancers, she spotted Charmaine with Wayne, and she admired her cousin's confidence and. polish. Glenda danced with Tim, and she looked ten years younger in his arms. He smiled down at his wife, and Annie wondered how she'd missed his handsome smile.

  Levi Cutter took a turn around the dance floor with one young lady after another; right now Doneta Parker was his blushing partner. Doneta's steel-gray-haired father appeared on the side of the floor and watched with stem attention.

  Letting her gaze scan the bystanders, Annie found Luke in a cluster of young men, a metal cup in his hand. His piercing blue gaze touched on the dancers, flitted to her, and a moment later one of his friends spoke and he replied, turning his face away.

  He was as aware of her at all times as she was of him. They craved being together. They were missing out on something new and wonderful—the beginning of forever—because she was a coward. Because she didn't want to ripple the waters. Because—her heart convulsed—because she feared Burdy doing some­thing harmful to Luke.

  He'd told her a dozen times he wasn't afraid of her brother—never had been, and finally the reason dawned on her. Luke had been raised on a ranch, worked in a livery, pounded iron and trained horses for a living. Burdy sat in a bank. Luke could hold his own in a match with just about anybody, she figured, even Burdy. Especially Burdy. Luke was still younger, but now youth was in his favor.

  He feared her parents would send her away.

  That would never happen. Not now. Noyiow that she knew what she wanted and had stopped being afraid to voice it.

  Annie thought long and hard, the music thumping through her veins. She made a decision and acted on it before she had second thoughts, before she had time to think about people staring at her, before she pic­tured the horrified look on her mother's face.

  Pushing herself up with her arms, she moved her feet in front of the rest on her chair and gathered her balance to stand. That part was easy, she'd done it a hundred times lately.

  She brushed the wrinkles from her skirt, confident of how she looked in the new green dress, and took a step toward the dance floor. The next step took a little more convincing, but she ignored the doubts in the back of her mind and moved ahead.

  One step. Two steps. Slow, awkward. Her gait was a clumsy kind of step-limp, step-limp that was neither graceful nor agile nor any of the things she imagined it could be. But it got her where she was going—and it got her there on her own.

  Her mother had made her so self-conscious of what people thought, that she had to fight the urge to turn and look at faces.

  The only face she kept in her line of vision was Luke's. His was the only regard that mattered.

  He didn't see her at first, because he'd been engaged in a conversation with two men, but when one of them looked her way, and then the other, he turned his head and spotted her. Conversation died on his lips, and an unfamiliar expression softened his already heart-stopping features.

  Annie kept up her steady step-limp, step-limp, dis­covering the sawdust beneath her shoes, seeing con­cern on his face turn to a question and then to a wel­come and finally to something else—pride. She didn't take her gaze from his eyes for a second.

  She became aware that she'd drawn attention; that talk had hushed and that the dancers on the floor barely shifted. She felt every eye in the building fo­cused upon her ungainly approach.

  The song changed, but the dancers no longer moved.

  Luke didn't take a step toward her; he waited pa­tiently. She drew near, and he smiled, the smile she loved that creased his cheeks and crinkled the corners of his eyes. He handed the tin cup to the man beside him.

  She stopped in front of him, breathless not from walking, but from the exhilaration of doing such a bold and daring thing.

  "I don't know how to dance," she said, her voice airy with nervous tension. "I don't even know if I can...but I'd like to learn."

  He didn't answer right away. He studied her eyes, her hair, his blue gaze a sensual caress that made her remember all their private moments together and feel the familiar heat. "I'd like to teach you," he finally replied. "But first I have something for you."

  She watched curiously as he reached into his trouser pocket and withdrew something blue—a ribbon of some sort. He held the ribbon in both hands and placed it over her head, around her neck, let it fall against her breast.

  Annie looked down at the ribbon fashioned into a first-prize award, the number one in shiny gold paint.

  "You're the winner tonight, Annie," he said softly.

  Her gaze rose from his racing prize to the blue spar­kle in his eyes, and she smiled hesitantly.

  He placed her left hand on his shoulder, took her right one in his and took two small steps toward her. She was forced to move back. He took two small steps to the right. She followed, then turned when he turned, the steps small and easy, but not too graceful.

  "Mind trying something?" he asked.

  She shook her head.

  "Put your right foot on top of my boot."

  "Step on your foot?"

  "Right on my boot and put your weight onto it if you can."

  "I can."

  "Okay."

  She tried it and he led again, her good leg first, taking the step, then his left leg doing the work of her bad leg for her. She didn't have to lunge to correct her gait this way, and with his agile steps and strong body doing the work, she followed as gracefully as a prin­cess in a fairy tale.

  "Is everyone looking?" she asked.

  He glanced over her shoulder and nodded.

  "Are my parents looking?"

  A heartbeat and he nodded again.

  "Burdy?"

  "He looks like a rabid dog about to attack."

  "Can you take him?''

  "I think so."

  "Then don't stop until someone makes us or until the music ends."

  His smile whispered to her heart. "This was a big step."

  "I know."

  "You're a brave woman, my sweet Annie."

  "Not so brave. Just sure of what I want."

  "I think I like that stubborn streak."

  "We'll see if you say that a year from now."

  The smile left his lips. His eyes took on a serious­ness she found endearing. "We're talking about a fu­ture," he said.

  "A future together, right?"

  He squeezed her hand. "Oh, yes."

  Songs changed, dancers moved around them, and they became part of the celebration.

  “How long can you dance with me on your foot?'' she asked.

  "Until there's a winter in the Rockies with no snow."

  With her heart full, she smiled. “Have you always been a poet?"

  He gave a half shake of his head and his ebony hair glistened in the light of dozens of lanterns. One comer of his mouth edged up in irony. "Hardly."

  To her he was a poet. And a dancer and a lover and a prince. He was everything she'd dreamed of and more than she'd hoped for. When she was with him she could do anything, be anyone. He gave her cour­age and optimism and made her feel like any other woman of worth. This was the happiest night of her life.

  Annie Sweetwater was dancing with the man she loved. The crowd had folded around them, their atten­tion no longer focused on the unlikely couple.

  Eventually the warm evening took its toll and Luke asked her if she'd like a drink. He led her to the row of chairs along the wall and she sat gratefully while he went for two cups, then returned and sat close.

  Annie sipped tart lemonade, watching his eyes smile at her over the top of his cup. I love you, she wanted to say, but she held it to herself for a while longer and touched the ribbon hanging around her neck.

  Luke's attention shifted, and she sensed someone beside her. Annie looked up to see Burdell standing over her. Luke stood slowly.

  "We're going to talk," Burdell said.

  Chapter Ten

  "Outside," Burdy added.

  Luke stood. "Do you really think now is the time for
this?"

  "You chose the time, buster, not me," Burdell re­plied, anger making a vein stick out on his temple. "Walk or I'll drag you."

  "Burdy!" Annie straggled to her feet. "Don't do this."

  Diana had appeared directly behind Burdell, and she, too, tried to reason with him. "Maybe we could all have coffee at the house and talk this over."

  Luke clomped toward the door with Burdell on his heels. Annie grabbed Diana's arm and they followed. Annie had to half run, an awkward stumble with Diana supporting her, to stay behind the men.

  "I don't want any trouble with you," Luke said, stopping in the side yard and facing Annie's brother.

  "Then you should have left her alone like you've been warned," Burdell replied. "This family has had enough of your interference."

  "Burdy, please," Annie called. "Don't do this. This is a big mistake."

  "The mistake is his," Burdell hissed.

  A few more people came up behind the clinging women, and Annie recognized her father's angry voice. "What did you think you were doing in there, Carpenter? Haven't you caused enough trouble?"

  "I don't want a fight with your family," Luke said calmly. "I don't want any hard feelings."

  Burdell rolled back his shirtsleeves.

  "Don't do this," Luke warned.

  "Burdy, don't!" Annie called.

  "You're going to leave my sister alone," Burdell threatened.

  Luke drew a hand over his mouth, down his chin, then lowered it. "Why don't you let Annie decide what's best for her?"

  "She doesn't know what's best for her!"

  His words infuriated Annie. "I do so! I know ex­actly what I want! I'm the one who asked him to teach me to dance, remember? Did you see me, Burdy?" Holding Diana's arm, she spun around and found her mother and father only three feet away. “Did you see me, Mama? I walked over there and I asked him to dance! That was what I wanted!"

  Charmaine and her parents had come to stand at the front of the gathering crowd.

  "We can work this out without any violence," Un­cle Mort said sternly.

  Charmaine covered her mouth with her hands and stared.

  "He's got a lesson coming." Burdell took an angry step toward Luke.

  Luke sidestepped. "Don't do this, Burdell. Think of your sister."