Mittman, Stephanie Read Online Free PDF

No, she would not see. Not if she could help it. She'd paid
attention to the whispers of the older women in town and knew all about how the
calendar worked and when and when not to encourage a husband's affection. She'd
raised all the children she was going to. This was no time to start a new
family. She was too old, too used up. All her children were gone, and she intended
to keep it that way.
    "Sissy?"
It was Charlie talking, but she hadn't heard what he said.
    "What?"
    "I
asked if you was gettin' your own life in order now that Francie's outa your
hair and all your chickens have flown the coop."
    "My
life is always in order," she snapped. What was the matter with everyone
lately? Bart trying to marry her off in a matter of weeks, Risa suggesting she
have babies at her age, Charlie telling her to get her life in order. And
hadn't Della brought her out two positively ridiculous dresses last week and
told her it was time for her to repackage the merchandise before it went stale?
At least Francie and Ethan weren't trying to tell her what to do.
    "There's
Ethan," little Hannah cried out and broke away from her father to run to
him. Ethan scooped her up and came toward the group, a big smile on his face.
Annie had a soft spot in her heart for Ethan as big as would fit in her chest.
    "Hear
you're comin' for supper," Annie said. "Got fresh plum pie coolin' on
the windowsill right now."
    Ethan's
eyebrows came down and he looked at Eastman, who was quick to speak. "Gave
Mrs. Abernathy the day off. Went to Grand Lake."
    "But
I thought—" Ethan started.
    Eastman
interrupted him. "Guess she left after you did. Mr. Winestock'll be there,
too."
    "But
I was the last one to leave," Ethan said.
    Eastman
busied himself with Julia, who was beginning to rub her eyes. "You
tired?" he asked the little girl and lifted her against him, letting her
head drop onto his shoulder.
    Francie
had been like that, Annie thought. She could always tell the child was tired
when she began to rub her eyes. So Mr. Eastman knew his youngest well. Francie
had said he was a good father. That was a rare quality in a man, and she had to
admire it, however begrudgingly.
    "Bart's
going courtin'," Eastman explained to Ethan, as if that meant something.
    Apparently
it did, for Ethan's head began to bob like it was on a spring. "Oh, yes.
Courtin'," he said. "What time's supper, Sissy?"
    ***
    If
there was a style to the decor of the Morrow farmhouse, it would have to be
called "old." If there was a theme, it would be "used." And
if there was a look Annie was trying desperately to achieve, it would be
"clean." The farm succeeded on the first two counts. The last was
hopeless, though Annie never stopped trying.
    But
what the house lacked in beauty, Annie tried to make up for in warmth and
hospitality. There was always an extra plate for company, and her cooking was
designed to make everyone forget that farming meant dirt, dust, and despair. It
was hard to remember the drought with Annie's meal on the table.
    At
least she hoped that was so as she watched Miller Winestock push back his
chair. It grated on the old wooden floor and stuck in a rut. "That was
some good meal there, Sissy," he said. "You're sure to make a fine
wife someday."
    Annie
froze, the forkful of pie halfway to her mouth. This was the closest he had
ever come to a proposal. Still, he hadn't said she'd make him a fine
wife.
    "Ethan,"
she said, "the gate on the coop's been catchin' my apron all week and I
can't get Bart to fix it. Do you think you might have a look at it?"
    "Sure,
Sissy," he agreed easily. He made no move, though, to do it.
    "Maybe
you best have a look before it gets dark," she suggested. Shoo! her
eyes said. Go. Go.
    Ethan
looked outside as if to judge the darkness. There was at least an hour more of
light, maybe more.
    "Tell
you what," he said. "You give me another piece of pie and I'll not
only look at the gate, I'll fix it." He smiled at the minister.
    "You
can eat pie in the dark," Annie