After a few moments, she began to take in the details of the room. It was ten feet square, the bed sitting in a corner. On the opposite wall, under the small triangular window, low shelves stood. His books and hers, his toys and the music box that had been her mother’s. Their shoes lined up together in the corner. She smiled at the neatness, at the mingling of their things.
In the far corner, more pegs held her pots and pans, a metal rack her utensils. Dishes and cups, spices and foodstuffs, jams, dried berries, canned vegetables, jars of rice and flour. And a contraption she recognized as a small forge Tommy had discarded years ago—it seemed to be a brazier that would serve as both stove and furnace. Against the front wall of the tent stood a table and two chairs.
He’s thought of everything. He’s brought his rug, the pelts for the walls. And all these beautiful flowers. Four, no five vases full of them. It’s so beautiful, so warm and cozy. So perfect. I could live here for the rest of my life. With him.
She felt the pattern of his breathing change and lay quietly. But the very stillness of her wakened him.
“Aroon,” he murmured against her ear.
“Daniel, I love you.” She turned for his kiss. “This room is so perfect.”
“You really like it?”
“It’s perfect.”
“I have a plan for a cabin—I thought we’d build it here on the hill. This level shelf is just wide enough for it. And maybe a little garden for vegetables. Want to see?”
“Yes. Right now.”
He slipped over her and out of the bed. She hadn’t noticed his desk at the foot of it. He brought a scrolled paper back to her, flipped it open, and began eagerly to explain the design to her. A large room, divided into kitchen and parlor. The fieldstone fireplace went from floor to ceiling and had bookshelves built in on each side. Two separate bedrooms on the east side, with a loft above that looked down on the big room, a narrow stairway leading up between them. Water would be piped to the cabin from the stream. He’d build the house of squared peeled logs, and thought he could make a sealant from the resin of the pines to use in place of mortar. The cabin would be the light yellow of natural pine and he’d trim it in white. There were windows in every room.
She touched the drawing, the large front bedroom they’d share. There was a window in the side wall. “A window to the east, so the morning sun comes in.”
“I love the feeling of the new day, when everything starts over. It seems to me every day’s a new chance—no matter what happened in the past, a new day is a new beginning. Even when the sun doesn’t shine, it’s the east that brightens first.” Softly, he added, “It gives me hope.”
Her hand reached for his and she found herself in his arms again. He held her close for a few moments, then stroked her hair and said, “Better get up, aroon. No telling when we might have company.”
Laughing, she agreed. Evelyn wasn’t the only one curious about their new home, and they both knew the extent of her impatience.
But they were left alone for a week. They spent the days much as they’d spent their first day there—laughing and playing like children, making love in the flowers or under the pines. Or talking of the future. He wore neither shirt nor bandanna, and she left her shoes in the corner.
Annie couldn’t get her fill of the view from the hill—the vale of flowers filled her heart with joy. She asked Daniel to add a wide front porch to his plan so they could just sit and look at the end of the day. He sketched in the garden on the east side of the cabin and an orchard on the west. A small corral for horses behind it. Perhaps a chicken coop. At that, they both agreed nothing could be done to make the plan more perfect.
ON SUNDAY, THEY WALKED to the Donovan ranch. It was less than four miles over the fields to the ranchhouse, and just over six in the opposite direction to the dairy farm. They walked hand in hand, sharing a smile now and again. As they entered the yard, they waved at Adam and Jesse, who were sitting on the porch. Jesse tripped lightly down the steps as Annie broke into a run. Laughing, Daniel sprinted behind her.
Evelyn and Lowell arrived in a buggy, just as Brian and Jake came out of the barn. Adam helped his sister to alight—she was round and awkward in the advancing stages of her pregnancy. He’d scarcely let her go when Annie and Jesse fell on her with glad cries. Adam looked over their heads to his brother-in-law, shared a rueful smile.
“Women,” said Lowell, but there was fondness in his tone.
“Looks like a family reunion,” declared John Patrick from the porch. Descending the steps, he took his turn hugging the young women. “Your mother says lunch is waiting. Brian, you’d best stay out here—I don’t know that she was expectin’ all this company.”
The big man laughed and followed them inside. They all knew Molly’s meal would be generously served. The memory of starvation had never been eradicated, and her family wouldn’t go hungry as long as she lived. Yet there was no waste, ever. She prepared carefully, managed left-overs frugally, and wasn’t averse to packing up a generous basket and sending it home with the preacher when he came to call.
At the end of the meal, Daniel regarded his huge brother. “I think you’ve been outdone. I think Jake finally managed to eat more than you.”
Jake grinned as Brian’s brow furrowed.
“It’s ’cause I ate breakfas’ so late,” the big man complained. “Put me offa my feed.”
The ensuing hilarity was broken by Irene’s question. “Annie, where are you living? Daniel wouldn’t tell us anything!”
The whole family clamored for details, so Annie described the field and the tent which was now her home.
“A tent!” Evelyn turned a look of accusation on her brother. “Daniel, you’re making her live in a tent?”
“He’s not making me,” Annie retorted. “I love it! It’s the most beautiful room you’ve ever seen.”
“Come and see it,” Daniel said.
“Me, too?” asked Irene.
“Can we come?” echoed Frank.
“Sure. Everybody’s welcome.”
So they helped Molly with the dishes, then set out across the open fields. Lowell insisted that Evelyn go in the buggy, but the others decided to walk. The day was warm and breezy, the air fresh and clear. Only Brian grumbled.
“Shoulda brought my hoss. This walkin’ jus’ ain’t no good for my legs.”
As they laughed at him, Jake stuck out a buckskin boot. He’d run upstairs to change into them before setting out. “Oughta make you a pair of these. Makes walkin’ a whole lot easier!”
“Catch me makin’ boots!” Brian scoffed. “I been a cowboy for thirty-four years, never had t’ make my own boots yet!”
“You’ve had sore feet for thirty-four years, too!” laughed Adam. “Better take the kid’s advice!”
But Brian’s laments continued until they stood on the crest of the hill overlooking Annie’s valley.
“Now, ain’t that purty,” he said, breaking the few moments’ silence, realizing he hadn’t taken the time to really look at the scene when he was helping Daniel with his plans. “Miss Annie, you jus’ fit right int’ this place. Jus’ like the Lord made it especial for you.”
“Thank you, Brian,” she said shyly, her cheeks coloring. “But you don’t have to call me ’miss’ anymore! I’m your sister now.”
“You’ll never convince him,” Jesse said, smiling fondly at her husband’s twin. She was still “Miss Jesse” to him, in spite of the fact they shared a home.
“Well,” he boomed out, “let’s see this here tent you call home!”
She took them proudly, then showed them the plans for the cabin and, in the end, even Evelyn was satisfied. She sat on the edge of the bed, taking it all in once more.
“It’s perfect, Annie. It’s just like you. He thought of everything, didn’t he? I should have known.”
They joined the others outside. Patricia and Suzette were sitting on the edge of the meadow with their husbands. Irene was lost in daydreams, staring out at the
acres of flowers. The men had looked at Daniel’s sketch and agreed the plan needed no improvements, while Molly and Jesse whispered about roses for the front porch. John Patrick put their thoughts into words.
“A little bit of heaven, right here in Arizona.” And he asked no more why his son had laughed about this worthless piece of land.
Chapter 44
Daniel asked for help in cutting the logs he needed for the cabin and snaking them down through the hills to the homestead, promising in return to help build Geordie and Suzette’s new home. So each day John Patrick and one of his younger sons would arrive. The woodsman chose his trees carefully, for not only should they be tall and straight, but he wouldn’t leave an obvious gap in the forest.
At the end of the last day of cutting and hauling, Annie was making dinner while Jake introduced his frisky black to Daniel’s buckskin mare. The woodsman sat with his father on the steps to the tent.
“Did I tell you I found a small stand of wafer ash near the lake in the canyon?” Daniel asked.
“Ah, good. Hops seem not to be thriving this year—the merchant in Flag sends excuses in lieu of goods. I’d come to the conclusion we’d have no porter for this winter. And your mother was complaining just yesterday that her stock of stomach remedies is low.”
“So I’ll pick her some leaves next time I go up there, and I’ll look for the seed pods come fall.”
“A good plan,” his father said, then waved his pipe to encompass the meadow at their feet. “It keeps growing prettier, does it not?”
Daniel answered in a sly voice, “A worthless piece of land.”
“Aye, as some would say Tara is these days.” For the ancient home of the Irish High Kings had fallen to ruin long ago. John Patrick had taken Molly to see her ancestral home before they departed for America, and the sadness he found in the memory crept into his voice. “A view of heaven that was. The green for miles around, the sky blue as a robin’s egg. But this... This comes as close as anything I’ve seen.
“The flowers are a difference, yet the feeling is the same. You should be naming this place, lad, the way the old ones named their homes.”
“When I look out at it, I think of the stories Gran used to tell of the little people. There was a word she used—I’ve tried to remember it—it meant the hill they lived on.”
“Sidhean. That’s a fairy hill.”
“Then we could call this place ‘Sidhean Annie’, and it would mean ‘Annie’s fairy-hill’, wouldn’t it?”
The old man reached out to ruffle his son’s long hair. “Aye. And you’ll be building her a little fairy-cabin to go along with it.” He stood and stretched, tapped out his pipe and ground the ashes beneath his foot. “Sidhean Annie. Your Gran would approve.”
With that blessing, the cabin began to take form. Daniel squared off his logs, saving the long slices of bark for the roof. He tapped the resin from a dozen trees, experimented with mineral spirits, turpentine, and various heavy oils until he found a combination that would spread smooth and dry hard between the logs. He had help he hadn’t counted on, for his father sent one of his brothers a few days a week and Alec came often, intrigued by the building process. Annie was eager to help; he taught her to use a plane to smooth the rough spots, and she’d help him spread the sealant, or sometimes hold a support while he built the walls higher.
Her illness created a disharmony in her body—her energy came in spurts. In no time, Daniel realized her strength followed the same pattern as the waxing and waning moon. Ten days of normal activity would be followed by three or four days during which she was tense, nervous, and high-strung. Then ten days of quietude as the moon faded, followed by a period of listlessness and fatigue, amounting at times to total exhaustion.
He began to plan their days around the rhythm of her cycle. For ten days they’d work side by side, then he’d distract her—taking her visiting or shopping, or exploring in the foothills behind the house. He taught her to ride a horse, to read the signs of weather and mark a trail. They worked on their plans on her days of lassitude, or he’d regale her with folklore. One of her favorite stories concerned the willow trees near the stream that flowed behind the house: a willow once heard a cat mewling in distress, so she reached down into the water to save the cat’s kittens from drowning. In remembrance of the tree’s good deed, wherever the kittens’ feet touched her branches, catkins would grow. Annie could never hear this story too many times.
If Alec came to visit on her quiet days, he’d sit with her beneath the trees and talk to her about his mother. Or sometimes Daniel would spread a blanket in the field so she could lie down. He’d tell her stories of Ireland or of the Navajo traditions, while he wove chains of flowers for her to wear. Or he’d lie beside her in the sun and empty his mind of every thought except her love, leaving her to sleep peacefully in his arms. He’d hold her, cosset her when she was ill. He made no demands whatsoever on her strength.
She didn’t realize the extent of his care, yet Annie knew that a stress she’d never fully recognized was removed from her life. She no longer felt the need to live as she’d seen other women do, to fill each day with chores and domestic accomplishments.
At the end of July, the rains began. The roof of their new home wasn’t quite finished and Annie was restless with confinement to the tent. Early one morning, she started to work in the corner kitchen. Her hands were trembling with nervousness—she dropped the skillet and then the coffeepot. When Daniel bent to pick it up, she snapped at him.
He looked up at her from his crouch, saw her fist jam itself hard against her mouth and her eyes fill with tears. He pulled himself up and gathered her into his arms.
“It’s all right, aroon. Don’t cry.”
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed out. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. Sweetheart, don’t cry.”
With an effort she controlled her tears, then whispered again, “I’m sorry.”
He hugged her close. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I didn’t mean it.”
“I know, sweetheart.” He kissed her forehead. “Come sit down a minute.”
She followed him to the bed and sat beside him, her head drooping on his shoulder.
“What’s the matter, Annie?” he asked. The face she raised to him was streaked with tears. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I just... feel... so...” Her hands were restless again, trying to explain what she didn’t have a word for.
“Confined?”
“Yes...” The fluttering hands were still once more. “Sometimes it’s like I can’t even breathe.” She said it softly, as if afraid he’d laugh.
“I know what you mean. Alec and I got stuck in a cave in the mountains one time during a blizzard. We were in there for four days and by the end, we both felt the walls closing in. We knew it couldn’t be true, but it sure did feel that way.”
She took a deep, shaky breath and held it for a moment before she let it out. “Yes. Like I’m a bird in a cage that’s too small.”
She looked up quickly—she hadn’t meant any criticism of him or of her temporary home.
“It’s all right, aroon. I know what you mean.” He held her close for a moment, felt her relaxing against him. “I’ll bet there’s someone else who’s feeling the same way right about now.”
“Who?”
“Evelyn.” In her last month of pregnancy, Evelyn had been house-bound even before the rains. “By now she’s probably chomping at the bit. What say we go see if we can cheer her up?”
Annie’s arms crept up around his neck. “I love you, Daniel. You always make me feel better.”
He bent to kiss her, felt her warm response. It was quite some time later in the day when they set out in the buggy for the dairy farm.
As he’d surmised, Evelyn was beside herself with boredom. She had difficulty getting to her feet and the doctor had cautioned her about overexertion, so she was spending most of her days on the couch. She begged her brother to
let Annie stay for a few days.
“Aroon?” Daniel asked. The eagerness with which she accepted the offer made him chuckle. “I’ll go get some things for you. Or am I invited to stay, too?”
Evelyn had the grace to blush. “Of course you are, you big dope! Do you think I’d dare to separate you two?”
He bent to kiss her cheek. “I really wouldn’t advise it.” He touched his wife’s hair. “I’ll only be a little while. Don’t spoil her too much!”
He left them giggling as Lowell walked him out.
“Thank God you’re here,” Lowell said fervently. “She’s been going crazy! And I’m about at my wit’s end. She wants these things to eat—oh, God, all kinds of things—braised potatoes one day and celery soup the next, then something else the next day. I’ve been begging Carolyn for help—but how many times in a week can she drop everything?”
“Celery soup?” Daniel’s face screwed up in disgust. “What did that taste like?”
“Beats me. I just make the stuff—I don’t have to eat it.” Then he repeated, “Thank God. At least Annie knows how to cook—maybe she can show me how to make some of this stuff. Trouble is, you never know what she’s going to ask for next!”
For a week Annie indulged her sister-in-law’s culinary whims while Daniel helped Lowell with repairs to the house and barn. At the end of that time, the rains began to let up. When the morning dawned with a warm mist rising from the ground, he told Annie he wanted to finish the cabin roof. “Do you want to stay here a few more days? I could come back tonight.”
“Would you mind? I think just a day or two. I think this baby’s getting a little impatient!”
“Think so? You think I should tell Lowell to let Doc Barber know?”
“And maybe tell your mother, if you don’t mind going all the way out there.”
He had to laugh. Sometimes her perceptions took him by surprise. Having lived in the village all her life, she considered the Donovan ranch the outskirts of civilization. To him, it was still part of the town. He wondered how she’d react if he told her he’d once run almost the entire distance. “I think I can make it that far. I love you, aroon.”
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