Part 16 (1/2)
They were still bantering, and Annie had started to edge out of her chair just in case Charmaine got serious, when Luke found them.
”Ladies. Are you having a good time?” He wore the hat again, and Annie wished his eyes weren't shaded.
”Oh, a wonderful time!” She sat back down in her chair. ”Did you win the race? There were too many people in the way for me to see.”
”Sure did. Georgette is the fastest mount I've ever owned.”
”Georgette?”
”She's a mountain pony I bought a couple of summers ago.”
”I don't think I've met her yet.”
”I'll have to introduce you.”
”Now you have the look,” Charmaine said out the side of her mouth.
Annie ignored her.
”See you at the dance later?” Luke asked.
”We'll be there,” Annie replied.
He touched the brim of his hat and moved away in a loose-hipped ramble she couldn't help but admire. His movements were always sure and graceful. She didn't know if she'd ever seen anyone do such simple things with such riveting ease.
”You still have the look, but now a line of drool is hanging from your lip.”
Annie took a swat at Charmaine's rump. ”It is not!”
”Is so.”
”Push me and hush up, or you're going to be the one in the pile of p.o.o.p!”
Annie couldn't remember a day that she'd had so much fun. She felt almost free, almost unrestricted, almost normal. Almost.
”We don't go home to change or anything?” she asked Charmaine after their parents found them and they all got into Uncle Mort's wagon and headed for the barn where the dance was being held.
”It's not fancy,” Charmaine replied. ”Just a simple barn dance.”
That was fine with Annie, because she'd worn her favorite dress.
The same musicians who had played for Lizzy's wedding were there, as well as a few more. People came from all over the county for this celebration, so the throng packed the Stevensens' barn and flowed out the doors into the deepening twilight.
Tables of food and drinks had been set up along one wall, but the dense crush of attendees prevented Annie from getting anywhere close. Her mother brought her a plate and a drink, and Annie thanked her.
”I had a wonderful time today,” she told her.
Mildred looked her over, studying her hair and face, the green brocade of her now rumpled skirt. ”Where did you get that dress?”
”Aunt Vera showed me how to cut it out and baste it together. I did the sewing myself.” Annie ran a loving hand over the white chiffon bodice, the only ruffle on the entire garment.
”And you're feeling well?”
Annie returned the perusal. It was almost as if she didn't know this woman who'd cared for her her entire life. ”I'm just fine.”
Mildred raised her chin, but said nothing.
”Did you have a nice day?” Annie asked.
Her mother gave a curt nod.
Glenda's girls found her.
”Mother, do you know Gwen and Gerta?”
”I didn't know their names. Mrs. Harper's daughters, I believe.”
The girls told Annie and her mother about a sack race they'd run in that day. Mildred watched them as they spoke, but didn't comment. Later, when they moved off into the throng, Annie studied her mother's face.
”Did you ever feel robbed because you didn't have a healthy, whole daughter?”
”Of course not,” her mother replied. ”Don't disparage yourself.”
”I've thought a thousand times, and berated myself for it, that you liked having me this way so that you could control me. But of course, you would have rather had a normal child. What mother doesn't want a perfect child?”
Her mother's features tightened and she brought her hands together over her chest.
”And isn't that what I've always been?” Annie asked. The music had started, but she paid no attention to it. ”All these years, submissive, obedient, staying where I've been placed and wearing what I've been given and not causing any problems? I've been the perfect child.”
The idea came as a revelation to Annie. The friction between them had only started when Annie had become dissatisfied with her situation, when her frustration had mounted to an unbearable level and she'd begun expressing it. Now it seemed as though her mother didn't know how to handle the change-how to relate to the more mature, more opinionated Annie.
”I'm sorry if I've been upsetting you, Mother,” she said softly. ”It's not because I don't love you and Daddy or that I don't appreciate everything you've done for me and how well you've taken care of me. It's just that I've grown up. I've grown up and you haven't let me.”
Tears had formed in her mother's eyes, and she blinked them back, keeping her face composed. A few dancers moved in graceful motions on the sawdusted floor several yards away. ”Don't be foolish. You need us, Annie.”
”I'll always need you. It just might not be in the same way, or to the same extent.”
Mildred looked at her daughter as though she didn't recognize her.
Annie handed her the empty plate she'd been holding. ”Thank you.”
Her mother accepted it, looked at it for a full minute, then gracefully walked away.
Annie watched the dancers, thinking about all the enjoyment in life she'd missed, reflecting on all the times she'd wanted to do things but had kept silent, not wanting to cause a problem, always keeping peace and being acquiescent.
Dozens of imagined scenes flashed in her mind: School. Dances. Parades. Friends. Horseback rides. Will. Luke.
Luke.
The only time she'd ever defied her parents, ever allowed her own wants and wishes to prevail had been to see Luke. And even then she'd done it in secret. As though it was wrong. Or dirty.