Darling Annie

by Raine Cantrell

  At the door, Kell found himself face to face with a petite dark-haired woman. He stood aside to let her pass once she recovered from seeing him. Her reaction made him take a closer look, and then he placed the shadowed eyes and scrawny form as belonging to the dressmaker who had refused his money when he ordered new gowns for the doves.

  Annie glanced up in time to see her best friend, Emmaline, inch through the open doorway, carrying a large basket in front of her. Emmaline had a delicate constitution, and Annie wanted to protest the intimidating stare that Kellian leveled at her as she sidled past him.

  It was on the tip of Annie’s tongue to call out reassurance to Emmaline that Mr. York wouldn’t touch her. He reserved that torment for Annie alone. But, having an idea that his reaction would be anything but pleasant, Annie kept silent.

  Her gaze met his, but she read nothing in his expression. With a flip at his hat brim he closed the door behind him. Annie released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

  “Thank goodness he’s gone. Emmaline, I have never been happier to see you. But where,” Annie asked, now free to rub the spasm in her calf, “have you been? I haven’t seen you since the night of the fire.”

  “My throat.” Emmaline freed one hand from the basket and pointed to the swathe of cloth around her neck. “What’s wrong?”

  Annie glanced up. “Cramps. But now that he’s gone, the pain’s easing.” She stamped her foot a few times, trying to wiggle her toes in the confining leather of her shoes. Concern for her friend’s pale skin made her set aside her pain.

  “I hope you haven’t been taking Biglow’s Kickapoo Indian Cough Cure. I know Ruth McQuary and her husband swear by his remedies, but Emmaline—” Annie stopped. Emmaline was shaking her head. Annie watched with interest as the woman peeled back the linen towel covering the basket.

  Inside were two pies, but it was a tin in the basket that claimed Annie’s attention. She withdrew the tin with one hand and reached for her forgotten spectacles with the other. Once the glasses were in place, Annie read the label.

  “ALLEN’S COCAINE TABLETS. For Colds, Sore Throats, Nervousness, Neuralgia, Headache, Sleeplessness, Dyspepsia, Indigestion, Heartburn, and Flatulency. Used by Elocutionists, Vocalists, and Actors.” Frowning, Annie slowly removed her glasses, then set them aside on the counter.

  “I suppose this is another of the wonder medicines that Mr. McQuary ordered from a newspaper advertisement? I have no doubt that this will cure sleeplessness, Emmaline. If you are drugged, you will sleep. As for indigestion, if you’re sleeping, you certainly couldn’t eat, so these tablets would eliminate that problem as well. As for the rest of these claims, I believe taking these will do you more harm than good.”

  With a slight shake of her head, Annie returned the tin to the basket. “You and Aunt Hortense will try anything that Mr. McQuary recommends. Has it helped?”

  “Sleep a lot.”

  “And your throat? Its claim is to cure a sore throat.”

  “Still sore.”

  Sympathy for her raspy voice made Annie pat the woman’s slender gloved hand. Despite the heat, Emmaline wore gloves, a golden-brown poplin pleated walking skirt, and a cream-and-brown striped basque. Alternating rows of ribbon and lace formed the yoke. Emmaline always sewed wide bands of ruffled lace to the yokes of her shirtwaists and basques. She felt that nature had cheated her of a proper feminine silhouette. Annie envied her. She had to bind herself due to nature’s generous endowment.

  Lifting the basket, Annie limped out from behind the counter. “Come into the kitchen with me. I’ll make you a strong tea of horseradish and yellow dock root sweetened with honey. It’s my grandmother’s recipe and will relieve your throat. We’ll have a nice visit, and I’ll tell you everything that has happened.”

  Walking slightly ahead of Emmaline, Annie silently amended the last with a vow not to tell anyone what had passed between herself and Kellian York. It was a good thing today was Friday. She wouldn’t be serving any meals for the next three days. Except to her boarders.

  “Emmaline, you must be as curious as the others about why I let those people stay here. I do hope that you won’t be judging me.”

  Annie set the basket down on the kitchen table. She folded the linen towel, then took out the pies. “Pecan! Oh, you are a dear to have made my favorite.”

  “Friends,” Emmaline whispered, reaching out to squeeze Annie’s hand.

  “Of course we are. The best. I’m sorry. I know you won’t judge me. I’ve been on edge since they arrived here.” Annie pulled out a chair. “Set yourself down while I put up the kettle.”

  Tempted to have a slice of the pie now, Annie resisted. This was her punishment for allowing Kellian liberties that no lady who called herself one should. She wouldn’t be much of a friend to indulge herself with pecan pie when Emmaline couldn’t swallow a bite. Taking the pies to the pie safe, she set them on the empty shelf.

  It took her a moment to realize that the pie safe was empty. Not a crumb remained of her baked goods. Annie closed the door with a bit more force than necessary.

  “It’s a good thing I don’t have meals to serve today. There would be no desserts offered. Gone, Emmaline. Pies, breads, muffins, and all.”

  Moving from dry sink to stove, then to the pantry, Annie kept up a running commentary of all that had happened. She did not reveal that Kellian had blackmailed her into letting him stay. Even to her best friend, Annie couldn’t reveal her own weakness.

  Grating the horseradish into the mixture of honey and powdered yellow dock root, Annie said, “Now that was all bad enough, being accused of starting that fire, but when Bronc—” A rap on the table made her look at Emmaline. “He’s the barkeep. The tall, skinny one. He found my cap near the burned remains. Mr. York threatened to haul me to the sheriff. He—Mr. York, that is—didn’t know that the Marlow brothers had escaped jail again. But he did inform me he would see justice done.”

  Emmaline’s startled move made Annie hasten to reassure her. “No, he didn’t do anything more. I really can’t blame him for being angry, dear. Much as I wanted to see that place closed down for good, I didn’t want anyone’s life put at risk.”

  Glancing down at the bowl just as the kettle whistled, Annie decided she had the mixture about right. She poured the boiling water into the teapot and added two spoonsful of the thick, clouded honey mix.

  “Just a few minutes more and you can have your cup of tea. Truth to tell, Emmaline, aside from having money to fix the leaks in the roof, I will have enough to make a sizeable contribution to our church fund.”

  Annie drew a chair around the table so she could sit next to her friend. Keeping her voice to a whisper, she continued, “I hope to have an opportunity to speak to those women about finding a new direction. This life of sin they lead may be all they know. I am counting on you to help me with them, Emmaline. You’ve been widowed. You know what it is like to make your own way and remain respectable.”

  Pouring out the tea, Annie was not comforted by the look Emmaline gave her. If she couldn’t convince her best friend to help her, there was little hope of gaining the other women’s support. And if she thought any more about Emmaline’s strange look—near to horror, Annie thought—she would stop right now.

  “I’ve given a great deal of thought to this, and I believe that Mr. York has no real direction in his life, either. The man appears to live for pleasure and little else. Perhaps I should invite him to attend our service on Sunday. I could find a most fitting passage to read. Something that would enlighten him. What do you think, Emmaline?”

  Choking, Emmaline rattled the cup in her attempt to set it down without spilling the tea. “Not wise. The ladies—”

  “I suppose his presence would upset them. But we have never limited attendance.” Noticing how dark the room was becoming, Annie rose and lit the coal oil fixture above the table.

  A sudden gust of wind swept through the open doorway, bringing with
it a gritty dust. Annie rushed to close the door, sending a searching glance at the clouds piling up dark and roiling for a summer storm.

  She had no sooner returned to Emmaline’s side than the door burst open to admit two of the doves and Bronc crowding behind them.

  Emmaline knocked over her chair in her rush to stand. “Leaving.”

  “Emmaline! You can’t leave. If you get soaked, you’ll end up in bed again.” Puzzled by her friend’s strange behavior, Annie stared at her.

  “Gonna rain like a sonofa—” Bronc caught Annie’s warning look—“hard. Gonna rain real hard, ma’am.”

  “Won’t stay here with them.”

  Annie felt her mouth open, but no sound came out. She faced Emmaline. Raspy as her voice was, Emmaline had made herself heard. How could her friend, her very best friend, do this to her after she had told Emmaline her plans? Annie was counting on having Emmaline’s support with the other ladies. How could she act as if being in the same room with the doves would taint her?

  To Annie’s mortification, she found four pairs of eyes avidly watching her to see what she would do.

  Chapter 9

  Emmaline snatched up her basket and spun around to march from the room. Annie jumped up from her chair and ran to stop her.

  “Please don’t go. You’re my best friend. If I can’t count on you—Emmaline, you’re not listening to me.”

  “Those women—”

  “Aren’t doing anything wrong.” But even as Annie defended them, she looked to where the two women stood, both watching her. They were decently gowned, if she discounted the expanse of bare skin from the rounded scoop necklines up to their chins. The gowns were ready-mades from the mercantile, plain as could be, and neither woman wore paint on her face. The wind had left their hair mussed, but Annie didn’t find their appearance offensive.

  And they were her paying boarders. Emmaline was her friend. She caught Bronc’s gaze on her from across the room.

  “If you’d like, I’ll escort her home,” he volunteered. “That’s if she don’t mind.”

  Annie ignored Emmaline’s whispered refusal. “Come with me to get the umbrella.” Not giving her friend an opportunity to protest, Annie latched onto Emmaline’s wrist and pulled her along after her.

  “Honestly, Emmaline, you didn’t have to be rude. I know you don’t like them, but they are boarders in my house. I have enough to contend with. Jumping up like you’d sat on a hot griddle!”

  “Annie!”

  “Don’t try talking now. Your throat hurts, remember? You won’t stay and I won’t ask you to, but you will accept his escort home.”

  Annie found the umbrella, tucked behind the corner chair in the lobby. She still wouldn’t let go of Emmaline. The parlor doors were still closed, but Pockets was no longer playing a sweet tune. The music was lively, and as Annie marched back into the dining room with Emmaline in tow, she thought she heard singing. Surely, that can’t be Aunt Hortense? She glanced back, but thunder pealed and rattled the windows.

  “Still want to leave?”

  “I won’t stay here with those women.”

  “Suit yourself, Emmaline. But frankly, I’m disappointed.”

  “Don’t understand.”

  “I do, Emmaline. But I thought our friendship—never mind. Take my shawl.” Annie made sure the light wool was wrapped to cover her friend’s neck and throat. She avoided Emmaline’s pleading gaze and turned to Bronc.

  “Mrs. Rutland has been ill, so do try to keep her dry since she insists on returning home now. And if you would, Bronc, please stop by the mercantile and see if Fawn is ready to come home. Storms frighten her.”

  “I’ll take care of her, ma’am.” Bronc gazed down at Emmaline’s heart-shaped face. He never had any truck with the town women, spending his days off in Graham. But this woman’s brown eyes made him think of a wounded creature. She was tiny. The top of her head just reached his shoulder.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “You’ll be safe with me, ma’am. Won’t give your husband no call—”

  “Oh, Emmaline’s a widow, Bronc.” The shy looks Bronc cast her friend’s way had not gone unnoticed by Annie. Even if Emmaline had angered her with her unbending attitude, Annie did wish she could find some happiness. When she had arrived in Loving almost four years ago, Annie thought her the saddest woman she had known. But loving and losing someone dear accounted for her grief. And her bitterness, Annie added to herself, recalling that too.

  “Best be off,” Annie said.

  Bronc found the catch and started to open the umbrella.

  “No!” Emmaline cried out, striking his hand.

  Annie rushed to grab the umbrella as a started Bronc let it go. “It’s bad luck to open one in the house,” she told him, pushing Emmaline aside to get it first. She remembered Aunt Hortense’s warning that a woman who picked up a fallen umbrella would remain a spinster all her life. Since Annie was already considered one, it didn’t matter for her.

  She handed the umbrella back to Bronc. “Wait till you’re outside to open it.”

  “Li said that silly superstition started in his country.”

  “Cammy,” Bronc warned.

  “Well, it’s true. He did so say that.”

  Annie shooed Emmaline and Bronc out the door, closed it behind them, then turned. Neither young woman showed any intention to leave the kitchen. She saw that one was eyeing the teapot.

  “Would you like some tea?” Annie’s impulsive offer was met with an exchange of looks between the doves. “Emmaline brought over pecan pie too. I was going to save it for supper tonight, but we can have some now.”

  Annie, what are you doing? I don’t know, she answered herself, but whatever it is, those two smiles say it was the right thing.

  “I’d like to hear more about the umbrella—Cammy, is it?”

  “Yeah. I’m Cammy and this here’s Blossom.”

  “And I’m Annie.” Bustling about the kitchen to make fresh tea for them as well as Aunt Hortense, Annie knew the Lord had given her the perfect opportunity to begin her role. She had been forced to take the position of leadership among the town’s women, now she would prove to them that she was worthy of it.

  “Cammy, I really would like to know what Li told you.”

  Licking her lips at the generous slice of pecan pie that Annie set before her, Cammy looked up. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Well, he didn’t say it was an umbrella. He called it a—”

  “Sunshade,” Blossom supplied, wondering how long they had to wait until they could have the pie.

  “Yeah, that’s it. He said that only rich folks used them in China. That’s where he’s from, you know. Anyhow, he says if you had to use a sunshade out in the sun and the sun don’t come inside, it was bad luck to open one ’less you were out.”

  Annie, having finished fixing the tea tray for Aunt Hortense, added another cup and saucer, along with a plate and fork. “Pockets,” she explained, although no one asked, “has been playing the piano for my aunt all morning. He might enjoy some refreshment, too.”

  “I could take that to them. That’s if you don’t mind.”

  Blossom’s shy offer caught Annie by surprise. “Ah—I—”

  Ducking her head, Blossom added, “Guess you think it wouldn’t be fittin’.”

  “No, that’s not why I … I hesitated.” The kettle’s whistle gave Annie the excuse to turn her back. Dear me, what would Aunt Hortense say? She’s dressed decent enough, and maybe Aunt won’t notice. But for the moment, Annie did not understand why it mattered that she not offend Blossom.

  Pouring out the boiling water into the pot, Annie knew they watched her every move as she added the tea leaves to steep. She repeated the process for their tea, set the kettle and tea tin back in their places, and cut a slice of pie for Pockets.

  “I didn’t accept your offer because you are a paying guest here. But I would be grateful i
f you would carry the tray in to them. Just don’t let my aunt start questioning you. She doesn’t hear well—won’t use her ear trumpet—and you’ll have to yell things over and over. Even then,” Annie finished with a sigh, “she’s likely not to understand what you were saying in the first place.”

  Annie watched Blossom take the tray and leave.

  “She won’t drop it,” Cammy said.

  “I guess I was a bit anxious.” Goodness! Now she was apologizing! “I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Casting about for something safe to talk about, Annie pulled out a chair and sat across from Cammy. “Can you tell me why Li was talking about umbrellas? It seems a strange choice—”

  “For women like us, you mean?”

  The young woman’s directness was disconcerting. Meeting the gaze that was leveled with the same directness on her, Annie’s innate honesty made her nod.

  Cammy smiled. “You’re not like the rest of the old biddies in town.”

  “Thank you, I think. But you mustn’t have a hard opinion of them. They want a good place to raise their families and feel that drinking, gambling and … and—” Annie stopped and stared at Cammy. What did one call what she did to her face?

  “Kell said we wasn’t allowed to get your back up about what we do. Guess talking about umbrellas is better for both of us.” A smirk tilted the corner of her mouth when Annie merely nodded.

  “It started ’cause of Laine’s new parasol. She sings—we all do some—an’ wanted to use it. It was the prettiest thing you ever did see, all black lace ruffles with bright red bows. Even had her name spelled out in silver beads underneath. But Kell said no. He didn’t want any bad luck—”

  “Mr. York believes in superstitions?”

  “Kell’s a gambler. They all do. He ain’t no knave, either. Kell’s an ace.” Cammy eyed the pale tobacco-colored liquid that Annie poured into her cup. It was hot, but that was the only good thing she could say about it.

  “Don’t suppose you have something stronger to flavor it?”

  “Stronger?”