Sweet Annie (37 page)

"You
were right, Annie," he said from behind her.

She
lowered the barrel and turned.

"What you said in your
note. I was hiding. I expected you to be so brave and overcome your fears, but
at my first mistake I turned and ran."

She looked at the weapon in
her hands. "Well, this is definitely the most unusual—and practical—birthday
gift I've ever received." She handed him the rifle.

He
unloaded it and laid it down.

"You
didn't make any mistakes, Luke."

He gestured with an
outstretched hand. "There are wolves out here. Bears, too. I knew that. I
should have prepared you. Taught you what to do. That was my mistake."

"It's
not your fault. I blamed myself for being clumsy, too. What good does blaming
ourselves do? I'm the one who left you, remember?"

"You needed your
family."

"You're
my family," she said firmly. "I needed you. But I ran, because I
thought I failed you."

"You
could never fail me," he assured her with his eyes as well as his words.

"What
about afterward?" she asked, allowing her anguish to push the feelings out
into the open. “What about me letting you take care of the baby alone— grieve
alone? That was wrong. I'm so sorry."

"Annie,
I had to do it. You were too weak, and I didn't mind. You had the
whole—physical thing to deal with. I couldn't help with that. I don't even know
what you went through really."

"I
should have shared it with you. We should have done our crying together."

"I
don't think it's too late," he said hoarsely. "I know I have tears
left."

"Oh,
Luke," she said, rushing forward to wrap her arms around his waist and hug
him tightly. "Luke, I'm so sorry."

He held her tightly, his heart
beating comfortingly beneath her cheek.

"Luke, can you forgive
me?"

"Annie,
if we say we forgive each other, then that means there was blame somewhere, and
there's no blame. Let's just start over."

"All
right," she whispered.

"I
have one more present for you."

She
released him, and he stepped away, peeled back a blanket to reveal a mahogany
box with a horn attached.

Annie
had seen one similar on a trip East. “A gra-phophone! How extravagant!"

"We
can dance anytime we like," he said and wound the crank on the side.

Tinny
music rang from the horn. Wrangler raised his head and shook it. Annie laughed.

"May
I have this dance?" her husband asked, bowing before her like a proper
gentleman.

She
gave him her hand. He extended one foot. She stepped on it and he guided her
across the carpet in time to the music. The music slowed and Annie placed her
head against his chest.

"We
lost our child together," he said, his voice low against her ear. "We
can't let it be something that drives us apart."

She raised her head to look
at him. "That day at the livery you said you pushed me too hard. That's
not so. You encouraged me to become who I wanted to be all along. Loving you is
what gave me the courage to try."

"We'll
have more babies," he promised. "They won't replace the one we lost,
but they'll help us get over the sadness."

“Was he very beautiful, our
John?'' she asked.

The
music had stopped, and Luke brought their movements to a halt. “Like a
beautiful little man. Perfect in all ways, but too tiny."

"Did he have black
hair?"

"Yes. Let me take you
to his grave."

He
lifted her to Wrangler's back and walked, leading the horse. They made their
way down the hill, below the timberline, around knee-high prickly plants and
bright patches of buttercups and fireweed. Several feet from the last patch of
aspens, with a view of the house below and the horses in the corral lay a small
mound of smooth rocks.

Luke
helped her down, and they made their way in silence to the tiny grave.

"This
is a beautiful spot," she told him after a few minutes of silence.

"I
chose it because you can see our house from here."

"Well,
it's perfect." She looked at the stones so lovingly selected and placed,
and her arms ached for the child she would never hold. She reached for Luke's
hand and lowered herself to the ground. "I never thanked you for thinking
of the blanket for him."

"Seemed
only right. I put him in a pretty box—one I'd saved and stained."

A
tear made its way down her cheek. "Didn't have to be very big, I'd
guess."

He gripped her fingers hard.
"No. He was tiny."

Annie
looked up and saw his throat working, his mouth clamped in a hard line. She
pulled him down beside her and they wept in each other's arms. Tears of grief
and sorrow, but also reviving, cleansing tears. Annie kissed his beautiful
face, the scar on his lip, his damp lashes. "I love you...more than
ever."

"I
didn't think I could love you more, but I do," he replied. "I was
miserable without you, my sweet Annie."

"I'm
home to stay." She turned in his arms and surveyed their land, the
foothills, the brilliant sky, and the grave where they knelt. Her attention
caught on the delicate blue flowers bordering the stones. “Diana told me about
the forget-me-nots. Thank you for planting them."

"I didn't plant them,
Annie."

She pulled away to look at
him. “Who did then?''

His
mouth inched up and those dashing dimples flashed her a smile. "I was
curious about that myself," he replied. "Seems a certain woman bought
seeds and a spade at the hardware store."

"What
woman was that?"

"Your
mother."

Her
mother?
"How did she get here?" she asked in
amazement. "How did she find the grave?"

"Burdell
and Diana asked about it so that they could come visit. Maybe she heard them
talking." He shrugged. "I don't know."

She imagined her mother
finding someone to give her a ride to their land—Annie's father?—then traipsing
through the mud and undergrowth to find the mound of stones. Annie couldn't
have been more shocked—or more pleased. To think that her mother cared enough
to make such an extravagant gesture touched her deeply—and gave her hope for
the years ahead.

She let the tears fall
freely, for herself, for Luke and their baby, for her mother whose dreams had
been lost somewhere along life's way but who had encouraged Annie not to lose
hers.

When
Luke turned her face up to his and kissed her, her tears turned to joy, because
her dream was still very much alive. Loving him was what had given her the
courage to try in the first place. Loving him would give her the courage to
start over. She and Luke faced a bright future—together.

Epilogue

The spring sky was a
dazzling shade of blue that contrasted starkly with the fleecy white clouds,
the dense pines on the foothills and the faded purple of the distant mountains.
Annie studied the bright expanse, reminded as always of her husband's eyes,
and filled with unspeakable joy. Once she had wanted to reach out and touch
that distant glory. Now she held heaven in her heart, in her arms, in each day
and every moment of her life with Luke.

Closing her eyes, she lowered
her face to the warm bundle lying against her breast and breathed in life and
love and happiness.

"He's
a beautiful boy," her mother said softly from beside her.

Annie
nodded. Conversation and laughter swelled around them.

"May I hold him for a
while?"

Annie
smiled and handed Mildred her chubby two-month-old son.

Her
mother's face took on a soft adoring expression as she cradled the sleeping
baby.

"Watch,
Mama! Watch!" an elfin voice called gleefully.

At the call, Annie turned.

Her
three-year-old daughter, Rebecca, ran toward a croquet ball, clumsily wielding
a mallet, and managed only to soundly whack her father in the shin.

Wide-eyed,
Luke grabbed his injured leg and