Annie's Song Read Online Free PDF

when they had callers, Alex had heard that Edie had still been snubbed more than once by other ladies of her station because of her daughter. Rumor also had it that the Trimbles’ other three daughters visited home infrequently, not because of the distance, as the Trimbles maintained, but because their husbands felt uncomfortable being around Annie.
    Though impeccably turned out in a green alpaca shirtwaist, her graying sable hair swept up and twisted into a tidy knot atop her head, Edie looked exhausted. Her blue eyes were puffy from weeping, and her delicately sculpted face was pale, the skin drawn tautly across her high cheekbones, her finely drawn mouth pursed and bracketed by deep crevices. She was startled to see him but managed to hide it fairly well, the only telltale sign a nervous plucking of her fingers at her skirt.
    “Mr. Montgomery.” She inclined her head as she addressed him, her manner stiff and formal. “To what do we owe this ... honor?’’
    That last word sounded as though it nearly gagged her to utter it. Not that he blamed her. The Montgomerys couldn’t be at the top of her list right now. He imagined it was her fondest wish to claw his eyes out. If Annie were his daughter, that was how he’d feel. Enraged. Violent. Wanting his pound of Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    flesh.
    “I came to speak with your husband,” Alex managed. “I trust he’s at home?”
    She nodded and opened the door more widely, beckoning him into the foyer, albeit with obvious reluctance. Feeling like a weevil in the flour sack, Alex turned his hat in his hands, wishing to God he were anywhere but there. What did one say to the parents of a girl his brother had violated? I’ve come to make amends? As if he could. An apology wouldn’t begin to undo the damage that had been wrought.
    He’d felt ashamed a few times in his life, but this took the prize.
    Usually self-assured and oblivious to what others might think of him, Alex regarded the fine cut of Edie Trimble’s gown and found himself wishing he had taken the time to dress a bit more formally. Bad enough to be the brother of a rapist without appearing tasteless, to boot.
    Ah, well. It was too late now. Though blessed with substantial amounts of money and a home that could encompass this one on its first floor, Alex spent most of his time with the hired hands, working his horses or the fields. When he socialized, which was rarely, he preferred the company of common people who eked their livings from the soil. Unless he planned a trip to town, he usually dressed in blue denims and a sensible shirt, collar open, sleeves rolled back to the elbows. Before coming here, he had washed up, shaved, thrown on knee breeches, and a suit jacket, and called himself presentable. With all else that had been on his mind, he’d forgotten that Trimble was a man who placed a lot of importance on appearances. After having been a judge for over thirty years, he didn’t even keep livestock on his place, let alone stoop to getting his hands dirty.
    “The judge is in his study,” Mrs. Trimble informed him, her manner faultlessly gracious but frosty.
    Acutely aware that she hadn’t offered to take his hat, Alex followed her from the foyer into a long, door-lined hallway. Halfway down the corridor, she paused and tapped lightly on gleaming oak. “Judge?
    You have a caller.”
    An indiscernible grumble came from within. Mrs. Trimble opened the door and moved back to let Alex enter. As he stepped into the room, some of his tension eased. It was a study very like his own, with large, comfortably stuffed chairs positioned strategically around colorful tapestry rugs. A room where a man could relax and feel at home. Leather-bound books lined gleaming oak shelves along three walls, the fourth boasting a river-rock fireplace. Firelight flickered cheerily in the grate, the only other illumination that of two gas jets above the mantel.
    The judge sat