Sweet Annie

by Cheryl St. John

  "I ordered the stove—the newest model with a wa­ter reservoir." He was babbling, and she wasn't saying anything. Didn't she like the house? Striding to the cast iron stove, he showed her the covered well at the back.

  "I like it," she said simply.

  An awkward silence stretched out. Luke glanced from Annie to Charmaine and up at the stove pipe he'd vented through the wall.

  “Would you mind if I went out to see if I can spot the deer again?" Charmaine asked, sidling away.

  "No," Luke replied. "I wouldn't wander into the woods if I were you."

  "No, I'll stay close." She hurried across the room and out the door, plainly giving them time alone.

  Annie opened the cupboard doors, inspected the cast iron pump he'd installed.

  "You won't have to go out to pump water," he said.

  "I see that."

  “Want to see the other room?''

  She raised those heart-stopping eyes to his, and to­day, because of the deep-blue dress and matching jacket she wore, they were more gray than green. His heart thumped erratically. They both knew the only other room was the bedroom.

  She nodded. "Okay."

  He took her hand and led her back across the room to the closed door. He leaned forward and opened it. Annie walked in ahead of him.

  The room seemed huge and hollow with no furni­ture. Guy had helped him place pegs along one wall and build a cabinet in one comer.

  "We haven't discussed furnishings," he said. "I didn't want to buy anything we didn't need. What will you be bringing?"

  She glanced away, and he realized her cheeks were tinged with color. Lord, he didn't want her uncom­fortable with him or this room or anything they'd planned for their life together. With a step, he moved behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders and bending to nuzzle her sweetly scented hair and neck. The uniquely feminine scent of lilacs enfolded him. "I love you, Annie."

  She turned her face to bring her warm cheek to his lips and raised her fingertips to his jaw. "Sometimes it seems too good to be true," she said softly.

  "I know it's not like the house you live in now," he began.

  "No. There's nothing to compare. Don't even think it. I love this house. And I love that you made it with your own hands just for us. I see the caring and...and the love that went into it. It's beautiful, Luke. Thank you so much."

  Luke closed his eyes, inhaling the presence of this woman he loved and desired.

  "I don't have much to bring." He heard the regret that crept into her voice when she spoke those words. "Not much at all. I don't want to ask them for any­thing."

  "It doesn't matter," he replied to reassure her. "I'll get a bed and a chest of drawers for you. I've been bartering carpentry work for shoeing horses and re­pairing wagons and plows. I can probably strike a bar­gain with someone for a few pieces of furniture."

  She turned in his arms, to face him and raise her hands to his shoulders. "It's really going to happen, isn't it? We're going to stand before Preacher David­son, say vows that bind us for eternity, and then live here together."

  "It's really going to happen."

  A silvery tear shimmered on her lashes. “I can for­get all the other hurts when I remember that."

  "What hurts so bad, Annie?"

  "That I have nothing to bring. That my mother won't believe in me. That my family doesn't accept us."

  "I wish I could change that for you. If I could I would, you know that."

  She touched his lip at the place where he bore a scar. "I know."

  Lowering his head, he covered her soft lips with his, testing, tasting, loving her with all his being, wishing he could change the things that saddened her and vow­ing to give her joy and pleasure at every opportunity from this day on.

  Her body curled against his so naturally, her breast pressed to his chest, her fingers kneading the flesh of his neck.

  The next instant she pulled away, pressing her palms to her cheeks. "I frighten myself."

  Luke breathed a calming breath, ignored the mes­sages of his body, and studied her face. “What do you mean?"

  "I mean..." She dropped her hands to her sides, studying his face. "I'm so bold with you, when I have no idea what this all means." She turned her body and gazed at the bare window as if avoiding his eyes. "It's natural for me to be a bit frightened, don't you think?"

  She meant the physical aspect of marriage, and it tore at him to think she was afraid. "It's a natural thing between a man and a woman," he said. What had she heard? What did young women learn and who told them? He hadn't a clue. "Natural and beautiful."

  "I'm sure it is. Do you know this firsthand?"

  She turned her head then, damn her, and looked him directly in the eye. Open and candid, his Annie. He doubted many fiancees had the balderdash to question their prospective husbands on the intimate partners in their pasts.

  "Well..." Nothing to speak but the truth. "The nat­ural part I know about."

  One slender eyebrow went up. "Not the beautiful part?" she asked.

  "That must be for husbands and wives."

  "Oh."

  "I was young and—and—well, young men don't always use their heads."

  "Prostitutes?" she asked. Straightforward. Honest.

  "A couple."

  She turned her gaze back to the window. "Any woman you ever loved?"

  "You're the only woman I've ever loved."

  Her hand went up to her cheek and rapidly brushed beneath her eye. Lord, he'd hurt her. His stomach balled into a knot.

  She turned back then. "You will be the first. For me."

  He moved to hold her by her upper arms and stare into her eyes. "That didn't have to be said. I knew that without you saying so."

  "Because no one ever wanted me before you, you mean."

  "No! Because I know you. I know your parents! God, Annie, be a little kinder to yourself." He drew her against his chest and held her fast. "I'm sorry my being with those others hurts you. You have to know that wasn't anything like what you and I have together. No comparison."

  She hugged him back and he sensed her trembling against his frame. “At least one of us will know what to do," she said.

  He couldn't suppress a chuckle.

  She raised her face to his in invitation. Before he could lower his head, she wrapped one hand around his neck and pulled him to her, kissing him fiercely, possessively.

  "When did you first know you loved me?" she whispered against his ear.

  He squeezed her gently. "I'll have to think on that."

  "Well, what are the possibilities?"

  "Maybe when I saw you eating peppermint ice cream."

  "Maybe?"

  “Maybe. Or maybe when you smiled at me across a stack of denims in the mercantile."

  She drew back to see his face. "When was that?"

  He shrugged. "A long time ago. You were with your Aunt Vera and Charmaine. I remember that be­cause if it had been your mother she'd have dragged you from the store as soon as she saw I was there."

  "Maybe then, huh? It must have been a good smile."

  He grinned. "It was."

  "Or when else?"

  He twined a ringlet of her satiny hair around his finger. "Or maybe when you cried because Burdell punched me."

  She frowned. "After the Fourth of July dance?"

  He shook his head. "No. After I took you for a ride."

  Her eyes searched his. "I was only ten years old."

  "I was fourteen. Not that much older. I told you I'd have to think about it."

  She pulled from his arms and took his hand. "All right. But I'm going to ask you again."

  "I'm sure you will."

  "Let's go rescue Charmaine from the sun."

  "Your cousin is a gem."

  "I know. She deserves the next too-good-to-be-true man." Annie hooked her arm through Luke's and he led her through the house to the door.

  "I love the house," she said, stopping him before he opened it. "Truly. Thank you."


  "I just want you to be happy," he told her with all the sincerity he felt in his heart. "I never want to see you hurt or unhappy again. I want to give you so much."

  "You have," she assured him. "Already you have. I don't need much more than your love and accep­tance."

  He knew she believed that now. But she still needed a nice home and comfortable furnishings and the ac­ceptance of friends and family. He prayed he could give her all she deserved.

  The night before the wedding, Annie couldn't sleep. She'd lain awake for hours, staring at the moonlight on the ceiling and telling herself all the reasons why she shouldn't be worried. Finally, she got up, donned her flannel wrapper, and went out to the kitchen to see if any warm water remained.

  A sound from the other room startled her, and she limped into the sitting room where a soft light glowed.

  Her mother sat in an elegant velvet-upholstered chair, her hair down around her shoulders.

  "Mother? Are you all right?"

  "I'm fine."

  "I wasn't going to bother to make tea just for my­self, but if you'll join me I'll kindle the fire in the stove."

  "I've already brewed a pot. Help yourself."

  "Oh." Annie hadn't noticed the silver service on the low table. Only Mildred Sweetwater would prepare tea in a silver pot in the middle of the night. She poured herself a cup and sat on the divan. "This feels good. It's a chilly night."

  Her mother stared at the embers in the fireplace.

  "Did you have trouble sleeping, too?" Annie asked.

  "I haven't slept a night since this ordeal began."

  "I assume you mean since Luke's been courting me."

  "Courting," she sniffed. "I haven't seen flowers or gifts."

  "He's spending all his money on our house and furnishings, Mother."

  "Harrummph."

  "Why won't you give us a chance?"

  "Because I don't want to be disappointed," she said stiffly. "Like you're going to be disappointed." She raised a hand and flicked her fingers. "When all your fanciful dreams go up in smoke. When you discover he can't take care of you like we can." She arched one brow and delivered a stinging prediction. “When you can't please him."

  Chapter Twelve

  Annie mulled those words over. Couldn't please him? "What do you mean?"

  "Men are carnal creatures, Annie. Their tastes are not as delicate as a woman's. And you—you're just a girl."

  Annie's lungs burned when she drew a deep breath. "Are you speaking of passion, Mother? Because I want Luke as badly as he wants me."

  "Maybe you do, little girl. But will his supposed love for you last? If a crippled girl can't keep up with a strong man while walking or running, how will you please him intimately?"

  Pain twisted in Annie's chest. She set her cup down so hard, liquid splashed over the edge onto her mother's starched and pressed doily. She wanted to cover her ears and refuse to listen to this foolishness and cruelty. "I don't—I don't think that comparison is fair. Yes, he's strong and he's healthy, but he's tender and—and he's loving."

  "You're not listening to me," Mildred said, her voice once again low. "You've never wanted to listen to reason. Do what you like, what you're determined to do, but don't cry to me when you learn I was right."

  Annie scooted to the edge of the chair. "You're not right. He loves me. He sees me as a whole person."

  "Believe what you must."

  Annie stood. In the dim light of the lamp, she stared at her mother for a full minute, but the unrepentant woman met her gaze with icy superiority. "Thank you so much for your gracious help and motherly guid­ance. A woman always remembers her wedding, and I will remember that you refused to take the smallest measure to support me."

  "I'm not going to be responsible when this 'mar­riage' breaks your heart."

  “That would be impossible. You have already done that." Annie limped from the room, wishing she could walk gracefully, knowing this was the best her gait would ever be, and praying her mother was wrong about everything else.

  She sat on the edge of her bed until dawn crept under the window shades and cast a tangerine glow on the floral carpet. A knock sounded once the sun was up.

  Had her mother had a change of heart? "Come in."

  Glenda peered around the door. "Morning. Did you sleep?"

  "Maybe a wink or two."

  "I was the same way, I was so excited."

  "You're not usually here on Saturday."

  Glenda came toward her. "I heated water for your bath and I'll help you wash your hair and dry it."

  Annie stood, holding the hem of her night-rail and hugged the other woman. "Thank you," she managed to say in a throaty voice.

  Glenda led her to the bathing chamber off the kitchen where she had a fire going in the fireplace and hot water steaming in the copper tab. "Here are your bath salts and your lilac water. There's a stack of clean toweling."

  Annie smiled her appreciation and Glenda turned away while Annie removed her cotton gown and stepped into the water. The tab had only been filled half-full because Glenda had several buckets of warm water ready for the rinse.

  Annie lathered her hair and Glenda poured water over her head. Once she was bathed and wrapped in a warm robe, they sat before the fire and Glenda gently worked the tangles from her hair and helped it dry.

  "I wish I could brush some of these curls out for good," Annie said.

  "No, no, don't brash them out—let them spring. The charm of your lovely hair is the way it curls around your face and neck. Us ordinary-looking women would give anything for hair like yours." She finger-wove a few spirals into place.

  Annie held up her silver-backed hand mirror. "I've always thought this mop was atrocious because it wasn't dark and lovely like Mother's."

  "Your mother is beautiful, but you have a beauty all your own. Inside and out."

  Their eyes met and neither said any more about Mil­dred. "Luke thinks I'm beautiful."

  "He's right."

  The doorbell sounded.

  "I'll get that." Glenda hurried from the room and returned with Charmaine.

  "Oh, Annie, I'm so excited, I think I'm going to burst! How can you look so calm?"

  Annie laughed at her cousin's exuberance. "Lack of sleep perhaps?"

  "Let's go get you dressed."

  Glenda remained to clean up the bathing chamber while Charmaine led Annie to her room. Charmaine helped her pack her belongings and Glenda went for Tim who took the trunks and boxes to the livery.

  Hours later, dressed in her white satin gown and slippers, the beaded headband and veil upon her head, Annie emerged from her room and met her father in the foyer. Dressed in a black frock coat and striped trousers, he made a dashing picture.

  Eldon stared at Annie, his expression softening and his eyes misting with unshed tears. "You are so beau­tiful, my daughter."

  "Thank you, Daddy. Thank you for everything." She swept forward in a rustle of silk to give him a careful hug and a peck on the cheek.

  "All I want is for you to be happy."

  "Luke makes me happy."

  Clearing his throat against the tide of emotion, he nodded.

  Annie voiced her newest concern. "I don't want to take that dreadful chair, but there is only one door­way—the one at the back of the church. Would I be too cumbersome in this dress for you to carry me up the aisle?"

  “Carry you?'' His brows shot up in surprise. “Why on earth would I carry you?"

  "Well, so I don't have to—to walk down the aisle in front of all those people, of course."

  His expression grew stem. "Suddenly you don't want to walk in front of people? Nothing stopped you from walking across the floor at the social hall in front of a hundred eyes. What's different about this?"

  "This is my wedding! I don't want everyone to see how clumsy I am." Her mother's criticism had raised her self-consciousness.

  "Do you want to appear fragile? Incapable?" He made a clucking sound. "I'm shocked."
/>   She stared, amazed at the challenging words he'd spoken. "Are you telling me to walk down the aisle in front of the whole population of Copper Creek?"

  He raised his chin. "With your head held high."

  Of course. She wanted to walk down the aisle to her husband. "You're right, Daddy." Tears blurred her vision and he handed her a handkerchief. “Thank you."

  He turned and called up the stairwell. "It's time to leave, Mildred!"

  Annie'd been wondering all along if her mother would actually attend, but there was no room for ar­gument in her father's authoritative tone.

  Mildred appeared at the top of the stairs in a lavender silk taffeta gown that emphasized her slender waist and dark hair. She examined Annie as she de­scended the stairs, her gaze neither approving nor dis­approving. Annie knew she'd chosen well, from her elbow-length gloves to her slippers and veil, but she didn't expect her mother's approval at this late date.

  "Your mother and I have something for you." El­don turned to the cherry table behind him and picked up a small flat box, which he handed to Annie.

  Inside the silk-lined jewelry case lay an elegant pearl choker. "It's beautiful!" Annie breathed.

  "It was my mother's." Her father placed it around her neck, fastening the clasp, and stepping back to admire the pearls. "Thank you."

  Her mother said nothing, merely picked up her hem and started forward.

  Once she was out of hearing, Eldon asked, “Does the chair go at all?''

  Annie shook her head. "No. I don't want that chair spoiling anything about this day."

  "Very well."

  Charmaine was waiting on the porch, and in no time they were in the buggy and on their way in the warm fall sunshine.

  Leaves crunched beneath the wheels as Eldon drove the buggy to the steps of the church and got out to assist the women.

  Burdell and Diana had been waiting, and Burdy stepped forward. "Oh, Annie, you look beautiful!" Diana said from beside him. "Doesn't she?"

  Burdell nodded. "Are you sure, Annie? It's not too late to call this off. I can go send everyone away if you say the word."

  "This is what I want, Burdy," she replied. "Thank you for being here. It means more than you know."

  He offered his arm until she neared the church building, then left to move the buggy for his father. Diana and Charmaine ushered Annie into the tiny cloakroom where they stood amongst the scents of leather and wool until Burdell returned and the organ­ist began the first notes of the wedding march.