Sweet Annie

by Cheryl St. John

  Annie's Aunt Vera cast her daughter a knowing look. "The answer is the same as last time and the time before. Annie and I get along just fine while you're in school."

  Charmaine pouted prettily for all of thirty seconds, then turned to Annie. “What shall we do after school tomorrow?''

  Annie's heart gave a little leap. “Would you like to shop?"

  Charmaine appeared to be thinking. "I'll bet there are more interesting places to shop in Denver. Wouldn't you like to go with your parents one of these days?"

  Annie pushed some turnips around on her plate. "I don't know. I don't much like going into cities—there are too many people. I feel awkward."

  "Well if you should ever want to, you know I'd be happy to accompany you."

  Annie gave her cousin an amused smile. "Thank you for the offer. We could go to the library."

  "All right. Let's help Mama with the dishes, and then she'll have more time to work on the dress she's making for me."

  Annie was always more than glad to help with the dinner chores. The Renlows didn't treat her as though she were an invalid; they allowed her to help with meals and dishes and any household task she put her hand to. Here it was as if her help was expected, and that tiny measure of normalcy gave Annie a deep-down sense of value.

  Mort went off to the barn, and the ladies completed the dishes, then Vera had Charmaine try on the bodice of the new dress. The creation was a lovely moss-green print, with a high collar and a cinched waist.

  Annie fingered the fabric of the basted skirt lying on the dining room table. "Oh, this is just lovely."

  Charmaine and her mother turned their heads to­ward Annie at the same time.

  "It's a simple pattern," Charmaine said. "And not an expensive fabric."

  Annie glanced at her own dress: silk taffeta with outsize cap sleeves and three layers of ruffles around her neck and at the hem. People had seen her dressed like this her entire life; why it should matter now, she didn't know. But it did. She wondered how others saw her—how Luke saw her. "My clothes are childish," she said honestly.

  "They're elegant, Annie," her aunt said.

  "And expensive," Charmaine added.

  Vera nudged her daughter.

  "Well, they are."

  "I stand out enough in this chair." Annie tapped the arm. "But combined with the dresses, I'm a car­nival act. I should learn to juggle."

  "Stop it, Annie, you are not a freak." Charmaine came and knelt beside her. Charmaine picked up An­nie's hand and brought the backs of her fingers to her cheek. “You are the most special person I know, and I love you. Please don't belittle yourself."

  Annie caressed Charmaine's soft cheek. "You're my best friend, you know that."

  "Mama could make you a dress like this if you'd like one."

  Annie looked to her aunt hopefully. "Would you, Aunt Vera?"

  Vera dropped her gaze to the basted fabric on the table. "I'm not a seamstress, girls. Annie, your clothes are exquisitely made by professionals. My sewing doesn't hold a candle."

  Annie's initial hope ebbed back into complacency. "And you're busy, I know. You have many important things to do, as well as things to make for Charmaine. It's all right, really." She drew her hand from her cousin. "What can I do to help? I can sew a straight seam, or I could iron the hem for you."

  Vera and Charmaine exchanged a glance. "Annie, would you really like a dress like this?" Vera asked.

  Tears smarted behind Annie's eyes at the fierce longing for something so normal and grown-up look­ing. Somehow it symbolized a passage to adulthood that she longed for. Keeping her eyes averted, she nod­ded.

  "Well then, we'd better have you stand up here and let us measure you."

  Annie met her aunt's eyes. Understanding passed between them. A lump formed in her throat and she swallowed past it.

  "Better yet, let's go into your room and measure you without your dress. I'm sure those ruffles add inches."

  Annie laughed and wheeled herself toward the mod­estly furnished room she used when she stayed at the Renlows'. Vera measured and jotted numbers, while the girls discussed colors and fabrics. Annie planned to buy fabric during their visit to Copper Creek.

  The following day after Charmaine returned from school, she and Annie set off for town in the wagon.

  "Missy Sharpe is such a flirt," Charmaine called over her shoulder. "She had all the boys gathered around her today because she brought lemon tarts to share."

  "Maybe we could bake something for you to take," Annie suggested.

  "Oh, they're just silly boys," her cousin replied. "I'd much rather bake something for someone more mature. Say, Luke Carpenter, for example."

  Annie blinked her surprise, but said nothing.

  "He's ever so handsome, don't you think?"

  "I guess so." He was so handsome, she could hardly breathe when she looked at him.

  "And ambitious, with his own business, even if it's a livery."

  "Yes, he's ambitious." Not enough for her parents' standards however.

  "He's become the best part of coming into town, don't you think?"

  She'd thought of little else and knew without a doubt that Luke was the best part of coming to town. He was the best part of any week in which she saw him, and thinking about him was the best part of the numerous days she didn't see him. She looked toward town in anticipation and said, "I haven't really thought about it."

  Chapter Five

  They entered Copper Creek and Charmaine guided the horse to the livery. To Annie's disappointment, a fatherly looking man with a dark beard greeted them and assisted Annie and the chair from the back of the wagon.

  Charmaine stood beside Annie's chair. "We were expecting to see Mr. Carpenter."

  "Guess he had business this afternoon."

  "Do you work for him?"

  "I help him out once in a while."

  "We'll be back for the wagon when the library closes."

  "I'll be here."

  The library was only a short distance from the liv­ery, but the building itself had several stairs. Annie stood by while Charmaine wrangled her chair up the stairs and inside the library, then came back for her.

  She clung to Charmaine's arm, managed the steps, and went inside. It didn't matter that her cousin couldn't lift and carry her, because Charmaine didn't mind her awkward stumblings, and was always ready to offer her strength as support.

  "Good afternoon," Mrs. Krenshaw said in the loud whisper she used even when not in her natural habitat. She stood behind the loan desk, a pencil tucked into the lopsided graying bun on the top of her head.

  The cousins greeted her quietly.

  Annie seated herself in her chair and Charmaine handed the librarian a few books they were returning.

  Annie rolled herself across the spacious open floor toward one of the sections of wooden shelving.

  She had been spending an hour a day, in twenty-minute intervals, standing and walking in the privacy of her room. So far, the practice had had no ill effects aside from a few sore muscles.

  Today it gave her a feeling of accomplishment and independence to leave her chair at the end of a row of shelves and inch along the books, examining spines, reaching tomes on the top shelves.

  "Goodness, Annie, look at you!" Charmaine said. The building was large and open, with wooden walls and ceiling, and sound carried clear to the desk.

  Annie placed her finger to her lips to silence her. "I've been practicing," she confessed.

  "Standing?"

  "Walking."

  “What does your mother think?''

  "She doesn't know. Don't tell her, please."

  "You know I won't. I think it's positively wonder­ful." After voicing her approval, she moved away, browsing though the books.

  Annie found a few she wanted to borrow, placed them on her chair and began another search. Many she'd read before, but she didn't mind reading them again. Some were beloved old friends she visited of­ten. Locating a favorite she'd borrowed
half a dozen times, she opened it and scanned the familiar worn pages.

  She'd become engrossed in the scene in which a young boy who has raised a colt is forced to sell him when a step behind her caught her attention. The back of her neck prickled.

  "Hello, Annie." The greeting was whispered so near her ear that warm breath touched her neck and scattered shivers across her shoulders. The masculine voice was unmistakable.

  She turned and found Luke standing so close, her skirts brushed his pant legs. He smiled, deep crevices slashing his cheeks and making him appear rakishly handsome.

  Annie pressed the book to her pounding chest. "Luke," she whispered.

  A faded blue shirt encased his broad chest, open at the throat, and he wore a pair of dark trousers. "Af­ternoon," he said softly.

  A tremor of excitement passed through her. She glanced behind him, seeing no one. "What are you doing here?"

  "I saw the Renlows' horse and Burt told me you and your cousin came over here."

  And he'd come away from his business to see her? His interest flattered her like nothing else could. Her neck and cheeks warmed.

  "Shouldn't I have come?" he asked, doubt etching his brow.

  "I—I'm just surprised," she managed. "I'm glad you came."

  "And I'm surprised to see you standing."

  "I've been practicing," she told him.

  "Any problems?''

  She shook her head. "A few aches in the unused muscles, but it's getting better—and easier. I can stand for longer periods of time now."

  "I'm proud of you."

  Everything inside her warmed at those words, but the sentiment embarrassed her, too. "Nothing most people don't take for granted."

  "Most people don't have the same challenge."

  She smiled, his appreciation for her small achieve­ment a joy she felt all the way to her toes. “I guess not."

  "Maybe you could stay in town for supper?"

  "Aunt Vera is expecting us back. She would worry."

  His expression fell. "Oh."

  “But tomorrow. We could plan it for tomorrow and tell her ahead of time."

  He raised a brow as though having second thoughts. "What if someone sees us and tells Burdell or your parents?"

  "Someone will see us, that's for sure." She thought a moment. "What comes after that, I don't know."

  "Maybe we shouldn't then. If you're afraid of what will happen."

  Annie studied the concern in his sky-blue eyes, the scar on his lip, weighing her parents' anger against the pleasure of spending time with him. "I'm only afraid for you."

  "I'm not afraid," he replied. "I was never afraid except that I thought they might send you away."

  "I'm a big girl now," she said, a soft declaration, a pronouncement of the maturity and independence she craved. "Even if they don't acknowledge the fact."

  “Then you want to? Meet me for dinner?''

  There had never been a doubt. "I want to."

  "And if they find out?"

  "Then we deal with that."

  "Okay, Annie." He took a step closer. Her heart skipped a frantic beat. She looked up into his eyes, glad she was standing on his level and not staring up from her chair. His slow smile turned her insides to liquid.

  A footstep sounded in the next row of books. Mrs. Krenshaw's loud whisper echoed from the desk, in­structing someone where to find a volume.

  The sound of swishing fabric and footsteps came up behind her, and Annie stepped away from Luke.

  Charmaine rushed to her side. "Mr. Carpenter! What a pleasure to see you."

  "You too, Miss Renlow."

  "I didn't know you came here."

  He glanced from Annie to her cousin. "It's a li­brary. A lot of people come here."

  Charmaine giggled. "Of course. How silly of me."

  "I was wondering if you and Annie would meet me for dinner at Mrs. Edgewood's cafe tomorrow night? Not very fancy, but the food is good. I would sure like your company."

  Charmaine blushed to the roots of her hair. “Why, that would be delightful! Wouldn't that be delightful, Annie?"

  "Shhh!" came an admonition from the front of the library.

  "Yes, it would," Annie whispered. "What time, Mr. Carpenter?"

  They settled the details and he wished them a good day, turning away and walking toward the door, his boot heels loud in the echoing silence.

  "Oh, my gracious, Annie!" Charmaine said, lean­ing on her cousin's arm and nearly toppling her over. Annie grabbed a shelf for support. "Oh, oh, I'm sorry. You must be getting tired. Here." She retrieved An­nie's chair from the end of the aisle and Annie picked up her books and settled into it. "He invited us to dinner! This is the most thrilling event! Can you even imagine?''

  "Shhh!" came the expected admonition from the front of the building.

  "Keep your voice down," Annie shushed her.

  "I've never been invited to dinner before." She glanced at Annie. “Well, of course, neither have you, but it's ever so flattering. He's not even a boy, he's a grown man!"

  Annie had been flattered, too; naturally Charmaine would be ecstatic. She thought Luke was a prince. And she had no idea that Luke had invited them so that he could see Annie. Hadn't he? Or was Annie attributing too much meaning to the kisses that had passed be­tween them? It was almost too good to be true that he thought of Annie as fondly as she thought of him.

  Perhaps he shared kisses and dinners with other young ladies all the time. Or perhaps it was actually Charmaine who'd captured his interest and Annie was a harmless distraction.

  No, no, he had voiced his interest on more than one occasion. He genuinely wanted to see her in spite of her family's disapproval. She almost wrapped her arms around herself and laughed. Her! Luke Carpenter was interested in her!

  "We'll have to decide what to wear," Charmaine said from behind, pushing her toward the loan desk. "We'd better go home and plan."

  Guiltily, she hoped Charmaine's feelings wouldn't be hurt when she realized that it was Annie whom Luke wanted to see. Perhaps she should tell her. But that would seem as though she were full of herself— and she wasn't. She could hardly believe it herself.

  What would her cousin think if she knew about the kisses she had shared with Luke? She'd better wait and see what happened next. She could be wrong about his intentions.

  And if she was, she would die of disappointment.

  Her emotions were in turmoil for an entire day. Charmaine told her mother about their dinner plans and proceeded to try on every dress she possessed, as well as arranging her hair and holding earbobs to her ears and turning this way and that before the mirror. Annie felt like a traitor. She didn't want Charmaine to get her hopes up. She didn't want to get her own hopes up. She didn't want Charmaine to be embarrassed. She didn't want to be embarrassed herself.

  What a predicament she'd landed in.

  By the time they were dressed and ready to take the wagon into town the next night, Charmaine's whirl­wind chattering and primping had Annie's nerves frayed. She surveyed the scenery between the ranch and town and took slow calm breaths, tuning out her cousin's continual stream of girlish talk.

  They entered Copper Creek and Annie's heart kicked into a frenetic beating. Luke, dressed in dark trousers and a white shirt and black string tie, met them at the livery. "Evenin', ladies. Aren't you the prettiest creatures in these parts?"

  Annie had borrowed a blue shirtwaist dress from Charmaine. Charmaine thought the dress was too plain, but that was exactly why Annie loved it. She didn't feel like a child in the garment.

  "Stay where you are," he said and climbed up to sit beside Charmaine. "I'll leave the wagon in the alley while we eat."

  He drove the horse and wagon to the cafe and as­sisted the ladies to the door, then left to move the wagon.

  "Isn't he charming?" Charmaine asked breath­lessly.

  Annie nodded.

  "I wish Mary Lou could see me," she said. "She's always bragging about that Nelson boy calling on h
er."

  "This isn't exactly calling," Annie dared to men­tion.

  "Of course it is," her cousin argued. "He's court­ing minded."

  "But there are two of us," Annie reminded her.

  "That keeps it proper. Watch how outrageously he flirts."

  "He's simply being nice."

  "No. He's of an age to be married. Don't be so dull, Annie. When a young man shows interest in a young lady, it's courting."

  Luke came toward them and the conversation ended. He led them into the cafe, held Charmaine's chair while she sat, and moved a chair aside to wheel Annie up close.

  Noting the high color in Annie's cheeks, Luke sat between the cousins and glanced from one to the other.

  Annie was lovely in a dark-blue dress with a ruffled collar standing up around her ivory throat. The color set off the red-gold highlights in her curly hair and brought a sparkle to her eyes. "You look—you both look so pretty."

  Annie smiled and blushed, and Charmaine thanked him.

  Dora took their orders and brought the ladies cups of tea and Luke coffee. He stirred in a spoonful of sugar.

  “Rachel Maye said she ate at an elegant restaurant when she went to Denver with her family," Char­maine said. "Have you been to any of those types of places?"

  "Restaurants, you mean?" he asked.

  She nodded.

  "I've eaten in some nice places. Dora's cookin' is right up there with the best, though. 'Course it was always just Gil and me cooking for each other, so I'd probably think anything was good if we didn't fix it."

  "Your uncle doesn't have a wife?" Annie asked.

  "Guess he had one once, but she ran off. He never talked about her. I never knew her—that was before I came here."

  Annie's gray-green eyes studied him as he spoke, her sincere interest obvious. "You weren't born here, were you? In Colorado?"

  "No. I was born in Illinois. My father worked in a newspaper office. My mother died when I was about six or seven, and my father was killed when I was fourteen. That's when I came to live with my Uncle Gil."

  "It must have been awful for you, losing your par­ents like that," Charmaine said.

  “My mother and my younger sister died of whoop­ing cough. After that I sort of took care of myself when I wasn't in school. I was fortunate that Gil asked me to come out here. I'd been workin' at the paper, just doing the clean-up jobs, but when I got to Colo­rado I discovered how much I loved horses."