The Woodsman's Rose

by Gifford MacShane

  “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

  “I guess I’m just tired.”

  “Do you feel all right?”

  “My head aches.”

  “Annie...”

  “No, it’s not here.” She touched her right temple, where the pains that could rock her into unconsciousness would occur. “It’s more up here.” Her fingers flicked across the streak of flour. He touched his lips to it as she settled in against his shoulder once more.

  “You need some rest,” he told her. “How long will this cake take?”

  “At least an hour.” Her eyelids began to droop.

  “Aroon,” he murmured, “do you want to lie down? I could wake you in an hour.”

  “Hmm?”

  When she didn’t raise her head, he realized she was half-asleep already. “Shhh. Never mind. Go to sleep, my love.”

  He roused her when he could smell the cake. He hadn’t been concentrating on the time, but had lost himself in the sweetness of having her so close to him. She’d stirred once, and her head had fallen down to his breast. He’d turned in his seat and cushioned her, as he’d seen Adam do for Jesse, and heard a soft murmur as she settled into a deep sleep.

  Lowell had come in once and smirked at Daniel from the door, then left the house again. He trusted his friend as he’d have trusted no other—were it not for the necessity of protecting her reputation against the gossip of the old cats, he wouldn’t have hesitated to leave them alone indefinitely. But since his father was out of town, the responsibility for Annie had devolved to him. Just like when we were kids. Only then it was to see she didn’t break her leg. This time the damage might not be so easily repaired.

  When he returned, Lowell found them in the kitchen, the cake pan emptied of its contents, and a touch of vexation in Annie’s voice.

  “But how long was it in?”

  “Aroon, I don’t know.”

  Annie was obviously trying to control her temper, which had been unusually short of late. She was pulling at her fingers, a sure sign of distress.

  “What time did you put it in?” Lowell asked.

  “I forgot to look.”

  Lowell gave her a pointed stare. “What time did you take it out?”

  “About five minutes ago.”

  “Well, when I came in before, it was three o’clock. So that’s an hour ago.”

  “And it was about a half-hour before that when you fell asleep,” Daniel put in. “So it must have been an hour and three quarters. Maybe a little more.”

  “Let me write it down. It’s close enough, anyway.” She fumbled for a pencil, found her recipe covered in flour, and gave a little laugh. “Guess I’d better be more careful next time.”

  Lowell stuck a finger out toward the cake. Annie slapped it with the recipe and flour went flying up in a cloud. “Don’t you dare touch that! I’ll cut off your fingers!”

  “I thought this was the practice cake.”

  “It is, but we’ve got to get it put together first. Then you can have all you want.”

  “And when will that be?”

  “Soon as you get out of the kitchen,” Daniel informed him. “We’ve got serious work to do here and you’re holding us up.”

  “Ex-cuuuse me,” Lowell drawled. “I guess I’ll just go on out to the barn, where somebody appreciates me, anyway.”

  They laughed as he stalked out in mock indignation.

  Chapter 14

  It took Daniel and Annie another hour to put the columns in the first layer of the cake. She’d wanted four of them, as in the picture, but the woodsman convinced her the cake would be steadier if there were twice that many. The cake in the picture, he opined, had been built where it stood. Annie’s cake would have to be moved, if only from the kitchen to the porch. She’d accepted his logic, but insisted the columns be set in a circle and not in the diamond pattern he suggested.

  So they cut holes in the cake and placed columns of various lengths and diameters, until she was satisfied. Then he marked the base, and from those markings made a pattern out of another sheet of brown paper. He assembled the whole thing again, then placed the next smaller base on top of the columns and put the second cake pan on top of that to see the effect.

  “It’s going to work!” Annie clapped her hands and another cloud of flour went flying. “Now I have to make the other two layers, and you can cut the columns for them too. Oh, Daniel...”

  He took her shoulders in his hands and turned her to him. “Tomorrow, aroon. We’ll finish it tomorrow.”

  After a moment, she asked, “Would you like to stay for supper?”

  “Ump-umm.” Her face fell, but he ran his hands down her arms. “You’ve been working too hard, Annie. Let’s go into town and eat at Joe’s Café.”

  “What about Lowell?” Since Evelyn was working with Molly and Moira, Annie had said that she’d see her brother got supper.

  “He likes Mexican food, too,” Daniel reminded her. “Besides, he’ll appreciate you more if he has to eat someone else’s cooking once in a while.”

  Annie enjoyed her dinner more than she’d anticipated. The crowded cafe was bright, its white-washed walls hung with colorful weavings. Over spicy tamales and beans washed down with beer, the two men teased her a bit, and Daniel repeated a story he’d told many times, of taking his eldest brothers out hunting during the previous drought years and of their inability to bring home any game whatsoever. They were all laughing as they left the restaurant, and Annie realized she’d always resented these stories on Brian’s behalf, though in truth the big man hadn’t seemed to mind the jests at his expense.

  As she walked home with her hand in Daniel’s, she was very quiet. The woodsman noted her face was serene, though. He looked ahead at Lowell, who’d again managed to give them some privacy.

  “Tired, aroon?” he asked.

  “A little.”

  “Annie, do you ever think of home?”

  She looked up at him. “Home? You mean in town?”

  “I mean Wales.”

  “Oh. I guess I do. Sometimes. I was so young when we left. It was after Mama died. I don’t really remember it that much.”

  “Do you ever want to go back?”

  Silence greeted his question, then she answered in a wistful voice, “Sometimes I wish I could go back in time. I wish I could remember her better. Sometimes I think if I went back, it would be easier to remember her.”

  “Aroon, I’m sorry.”

  After a moment, she added, “Mama died having a baby.” And more quietly, “The baby died, too.”

  His arm tightened around her and her head drooped against his shoulder. This must be it. She’s been so reluctant to set a wedding date. She’s afraid she’ll die, as her mother did, in childbirth. Yet she accepts the inevitability of the pain in her head, knowing one day it may kill her. It’s not logical. But I think I understand.

  When they reached the farmhouse, he sat with her on the porch, his arm still around her, her head resting again on his shoulder. The breeze played with a few stray locks of her hair as the katydids began to sing to the rising moon.

  “Aroon, we all must die some day. It seems to me we start to die the minute we’re born. For each of us, there’s granted a longer or shorter time. My brother Henry died when he was two years old, yet my grandmother was eighty-nine. There’s no way for us to know how long our lives will be.

  “I think life shouldn’t be measured by length,” he continued, “but by happiness. By how much happiness we have, and how much happiness we give. Henry didn’t live very long, and yet he made my mother and father very happy. And Gran, well, sometimes it seems to me she spent her whole life making us happy.

  “She was really good at it, too, if you ask me, and it seems she had a pretty wonderful life. Not because it was easy—I don’t think life for a widow with a baby could ever be easy. But because she found a way to be happy, and to make other people happy, too.”

  Annie didn’t reply, but he hadn’t expected anyth
ing else. He knew that her way of reflection was to turn inward, to study and consider. After a few moments, he stood to go.

  “Get some rest, aroon. I’ll be back tomorrow to finish that cake stand, all right?”

  “Yes. Thank you, Daniel.”

  He kissed her on the lips. “I love you, Annie. You make me very happy.” Her bright smile trembled. “Sleep well, sweetheart,” he added as he kissed her hand. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” she echoed. Later that night, she wept into her pillow, then dreamed of her mother. And of her mother’s smiling face, beautiful and serene as a Madonna.

  Chapter 15

  The day before the wedding, when the ranchhouse was redolent with the scent of vanilla and a hint of mace, the parlor behind the stairs was confiscated by the cake-builders. Daniel hung a “No Trespassing” sign and posted Jake at the door as guard. Irene was kept out, for they couldn’t trust her to keep the secret from Patricia. She was bursting with curiosity and begged Jake for information, but he was silent. Finally, she screamed at him and inside, Daniel was concerned—Irene’s temper could be an awesome sight. But he heard Jake’s voice, low and calm, “Over my dead body.”

  “It can be arranged, you know. But tell me one thing—is it something good?”

  “You bet! You’re gonna love it! Why, it’s... it’s phe-nom-enal!”

  “And you’re not going to tell me?”

  “Nope. You’ll see it tomorrow. You’ll love it.”

  “Does Frank know?” she wheedled. Daniel heard no answer, but then she continued, “All right, but I’ll remember this. I’ll remember it for a long time.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Jake moaned, as Irene laughed and scampered away.

  Turning to Annie, Daniel announced, “She’s gone! I had a feeling Jake could handle her.” He slid supports into the braces he’d attached to the base of his structure. He’d painted all the pieces white, squared off the ends of the dowels and was using his penknife to mold a hollow that would hold each one top and bottom. A thin coating of Annie’s icing served as glue for the stanchions. They were building the cake on a small sturdy table already covered with a rose-colored cloth and a length of white lace, and he was sure the cake would be secure enough to transport.

  Annie, however, was fluttering around the room, flapping her apron, then smoothing it down, only to worry at it again. She wondered aloud if there’d be time for her to complete all the decorations she’d planned—she’d already made a hundred pink sugar-icing roses as ornaments. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes too bright, as Daniel tried to soothe her.

  “Annie, there’s plenty of time. It’s only ten o’clock, and we already know it’s going to fit together. The hard part’s done.” She moved closer and he caught her around the waist, pulled her close to kiss her cheek. “Relax, aroon. I’ll have this put together in ten minutes. Why don’t you start to make the icing?”

  As soon as she began to work, Annie’s demeanor calmed. Daniel watched her for a moment—her slender right arm whirled like a dervish. Whip, whip, whip! until the whites of eggs stood in stiff peaks, then beat, beat, beat as she added to the sugar and powdered almonds she’d already prepared.

  By the time the icing became a spreadable paste, he’d slipped the first layer of cake over the posts. Annie bit her lip as she smoothed the frosting on, then with her pastry bag began to decorate. The plain, cream-colored landscape became a miracle of confection—garlands of white with tiny pink nosegays set off with green leaves. Layer by layer they worked until, finally, she circled each of the dowels with another white garland, then propped a pink rose at its base. Daniel stepped back to admire it.

  “It’s beautiful. Just like the picture.”

  “It still needs something. It doesn’t look finished.” She picked up the picture again and held it up to the cake. “Look at this. I didn’t make anything to put on top.”

  “Annie, your cake’s much more beautiful than that one. No one’s going to complain anything’s missing. No one’s even going to notice.” Still she frowned. “Let’s go eat and think it over. Don’t worry, aroon, we’ll come up with something.”

  Locking the door behind them, they helped themselves to the pot of stew Molly always kept simmering, then went along to the front parlor where Molly was arranging autumn-colored ribbons on the picture hat Patricia had borrowed from Evelyn. Jake sat cross-legged at her feet.

  “Well,” Molly asked, “have you finished?”

  “No... yes...”

  “My dear, it cannot be both yea and nay.”

  “Well, it’s yes because I’ve done everything I planned to do. But it’s no because I didn’t plan for everything.”

  “I see,” Molly said. “And what is it that you did not plan for?”

  “In the picture, there’s a kind of ornament on top. I didn’t even notice it until the cake was finished. I guess I was too worried about whether or not we could put it together.”

  “I understand. I saw a cake once with two small birds on it. They hung from a bower of evergreens. Is it that you have in mind?”

  “Yes, anything like that. But I don’t have time...”

  Molly patted her hand. “Daniel, in the attic there are three hat boxes of oval shape— striped, I believe black and gold. At any rate, they are the sole oval boxes you’ll find. Please bring me the largest of the three.”

  In moments, he returned with the box.

  “Ah, this is just the one we need.” Tissue paper crinkled as Molly dug through the contents and removed a large and ornate hat, decorated with myriad fruits and vegetables, huge green leaves and trailing golden tulle. Daniel covered his reaction with a cough, but Jake sputtered with laughter.

  “Mother, that’s awful! You didn’t wear that, did you?”

  “Nay. In my day, hats were not so simple.” She heard her son’s snort of disbelief as she searched the surface of the hat and closed her hand over her prize. “Have you your knife, Daniel?”

  “Do we want an apple or a cabbage?”

  “It’s help that you’re wanting, or so I heard. Stop your foolishness and bring your knife.”

  “Sorry, Mother,” he said with no real contrition in his voice. He cut where she indicated, then took the hat and put it back in its box on the floor. When he looked up, Annie was radiant.

  “Look!” She held out two tiny birds, fashioned of feathers and nearly life-like.

  “Love birds,” Molly told them. “Now all that remains is to build for them a bower. You can manage that, can you not, Daniel?”

  He bent to kiss her cheek. “Thanks, Mother.”

  “Yes,” Annie joined in. “These are beautiful, and just what I need. Thank you.”

  So Daniel formed a bower out of wire and covered it with greens and, with the two miniature birds nestled within, he placed it on the top of the cake.

  “It’s perfect,” Annie told him with eyes that shone.

  Chapter 16

  The wedding of Patricia Ann Flaherty and Francis Patrick Donovan took place at two o’clock on the afternoon of the hottest day of the year. It was so crowded and stuffy in the tiny chapel, both Annie and fifteen-year-old Helen Flaherty fainted. Preacher Hayes took a cue from the incidents and began to talk to the influential about building a larger church.

  After Doc Barber examined his patients and declared them recovered, the throngs adjourned to the Donovan ranch, where vast quantities of food awaited them and a wooden platform had been built to accommodate the bride’s wish for dancing.

  Adam sang to his sister-in-law while she danced with her husband, whose expression for once was frozen in sheer happiness. Geordie claimed the second dance, kissed the bride on the cheek as he delivered her back to her groom. He retired to the punch table & didn’t move from his chosen place all day, his face wearing a smile as thoughtful as his twin's was ecstatic.

  As the afternoon shadows grew long, the wedding cake Annie made was presented and admired even beyond her dreams. Seven-year-old Kathleen Flahe
rty, who’d served as her sister’s flower girl in a dress of fluffy pink organza, made a pig of herself, eating her piece, most of Patricia’s, half of her father’s, all of John Patrick’s, and then asked for another. Moments later, she staggered up to Alec Twelve Trees, who she considered her very best friend.

  Alec wore a new black suit, a white shirt, and a bolo he’d borrowed from his father. His hair was tied back with a leather thong. Engrossed in conversation with Irene when Kathleen tugged at his pant leg, he glanced down in annoyance to see the glazed look in the child’s eyes. Her skin, he noted, was pale and slightly green.

  “What’s the matter, darlin’? Too much excitement?” He led her to the shade of the orchard where she was promptly sick all over his new black shoes. “Ah, too much cake.”

  He knelt to wipe her face with a handkerchief while Irene giggled at him.

  “That’s what you get for wearing a suit!”

  He passed the moaning child into her arms, then stood and removed his shoes and socks. He took off his jacket and tie, rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows and sat on the bench beside his young friend. As he touched her golden hair, she looked up at him. “Little piggy.”

  She gave him an embarrassed look, part smile and part frown, then hid her face against Irene’s shoulder.

  “It’s all right, baby,” Irene assured her. “Alec’s not mad at you.”

  “Are you?” Her voice was muffled.

  “No, darling, I’m not mad. But it’s a silly thing to make yourself so sick, isn’t it?”

  Kathleen’s blonde head nodded against her.

  “Feel better now, sweetheart?” Alec asked.

  The child nodded once more, but still refused to look at him. After a few minutes, Kathleen was snoring delicately. As he turned her face away from Irene’s shoulder to ease her breathing, she moaned a little but didn’t wake.