Part 29 (2/2)
”What's wrong?” he asked, concern etching his lean features. He knelt in front of her.
”You're so tired,” she said, touching his face. ”And I'm so-fat.”
He chuckled. ”You're not fat. You're carrying a baby, there's a difference.”
”But I'm clumsier than ever. You must see that.”
”No, I don't,” he denied. ”You're beautiful.”
She smiled at him through her nonsensical tears. ”It's been a hard winter, hasn't it?”
He shrugged. ”We've paid our bank notes each month. We haven't lost an animal, and we're going to have stock to sell this summer. I knew it wouldn't be easy at first. We both did.”
She sighed. ”I know. I'm just being a silly woman.”
He kissed her. ”I need a bath, you silly woman. How about helping me heat some water?”
She did, pouring warm water over him as he sat in the copper tub in the kitchen. She took the soap and cloth and caressed him with the premise of getting him clean. She ended up without her clothes on, s.h.i.+vering as he dried her in front of the fire, his touch creating an internal blaze.
”You're beautiful, Annie,” he said, and kissed her round belly, her tender b.r.e.a.s.t.s, caressed her with his hands and his tongue and loved her well and splendidly until she had no doubts about his thoughts of her beauty.
She made a simple supper of sliced beef and bread and cheese, and they ate it before the fire, her in her chair, Luke at her feet. He surprised her with oranges a customer had given him that day. No dessert had ever tasted as sweet or as good.
They slept wrapped in each other's arms, the world at bay outside their home.
Spring rains came, pelting the already green and muddy land, and one afternoon the sky grew so dark that Annie lit lanterns and stoked the fire. She had a cookbook open on the table, and worked at rolling noodles as thin as the directions instructed. On some level of consciousness, she noticed that the horses in the corral had been restless for a time. Luke always left the sliding door open so that they could get in out of the weather during the day, so she didn't give the disturbance much thought.
An earsplitting cracking noise startled her so badly she dropped the rolling pin and grabbed the back of a chair for support. Horses whinnied in high-pitched shrieks.
Grabbing a jacket from a peg, Annie opened the door to peer out through the gray rain. One corner of the corral smoldered, dark smoke curling into the heavy air. The horses milled and reared in fright.
Lightning struck again, an enormous jagged arc that hit a tree on the hillside with a crack and disappeared into the heavens in a split second. Annie's heart raced painfully. The terrified horses s.h.i.+ed and knocked together, and one of the colts fell and struggled to its feet, covered with mud.
Annie sloshed toward the corral, trying to hurry, but needing to watch her balance in the mud. She reached the gate and let herself in, closing it securely behind her and inching her way along the fence toward the building. If she rolled the door open wider, maybe they'd run into the building instead of trampling each other.
The mud inside the corral was slicker, churned by the animal's hooves and it took all the strength in her legs to pull her feet out with each step. She reached the doorway and balanced herself on the door, then strained against the wood to roll it open wider.
She stood panting, staring at the horses, that still reared and whinnied in panic. From the corner of her eye, Annie caught movement at the edge of the woods, and she squinted at the skinny doglike creatures slinking back and forth in a predatory fas.h.i.+on. Wolves!
If she could get one of the horses inside, perhaps the others would follow. Clinging to the fence for support as well as safety, she slowly edged her way, knowing she should be hurrying. ”Here, boy,” she said to Wrangler, reaching a hand toward him. His ears p.r.i.c.ked back, but he remained where he stood, his flanks trembling.
Wrangler was used to her, and she knew he was docile and would easily follow her lead if she reached him.
Annie released the fence and slogged through the mud across the corral to reach the animal. She grabbed his halter and led him toward the barn. He followed as she knew he would. ”Good boy, easy now. Let's get the others inside where it's safe, all right?”
As she neared the doorway, she heard the sucking sounds as the other animals' hooves moved in the mud behind her. A horse shot ahead into the barn. Relieved, Annie hoped the others would follow now. She would get them into stalls and stay in the barn until she was sure the wolves were gone. She had no idea what kind of a threat they were to humans, but she wasn't taking any chances.
A crack of lightning split the air, her surroundings flashed blindingly white, and Annie's ears popped. Horses screamed and bolted. Wrangler sidestepped, and she lost her hold on his halter. In a split second she was smashed painfully against the doorway, and instinctively rolled into a ball.
Hooves flashed and mud flew. Annie covered her head and endured the whirlwind of legs and hooves. Dimly, she noted that the corral was empty, and dragged herself up to roll the heavy door closed, shutting the horses safely inside, closing out the dim light of day. How long would it be before Luke came home?
Pain wracked her abdomen and she bent over with a cry, falling to her knees on the wet straw-covered earth in the darkness. The smell of horse and straw and blood was strong. She closed her eyes and succ.u.mbed to darkness.
Luke would never be sure if he'd done the right thing. Perhaps if he'd carried her to the house and warmed her first, the baby would have made it. But when he'd found her there inside the barn in a brackish puddle of blood, his first thought had been to get her to help-to get her to town and to the doctor. He'd hitched a horse to the buggy, laid her gently on a pile of horse blankets on the floor and driven like the devil was on his backside.
”I'm sorry,” Dr. Martin said, his gla.s.ses on his head, his sleeves rolled back and his face drawn. ”The baby didn't make it.”
”Annie?” Luke asked first, ignoring his breaking heart to find out about his wife. ”How's Annie?”
”She's fine. The bleeding has stopped. She's pretty bruised, but nothing is broken.”
”Should I have not moved her?” he asked. ”Maybe I should have taken her to the house and tried to stop the bleedin' myself.” He jammed his fingers into his scalp painfully.
”We can't know what would've made a difference,” the doctor replied. ”You saved her life by bringing her here. That much I know. Whatever happened to her, I don't think the baby had much of a chance.”
In agony, Luke dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling for a moment. ”Can I see her now?”
The doctor nodded. ”I've given her something for pain, so she's not too alert. That's for the best, right now.”
Luke entered the small room where his wife lay against white sheets, her hair loose and tangled, her face as pale as death. His heart ached at the sight. ”Annie,” he said, sitting beside her and taking her hand.
Her eyelids fluttered open. She recognized him and a ghost of a smile touched her lips. ”Luke,” she whispered.
”I'm here.” He brought her hand to his mouth, pressed his tear-streaked cheek to the back while regret and heartache seeped through his bones. He wanted to scream and rage aloud at the injustice. His throat ached with unshed tears. He imagined Annie's fear, her pain, and he wondered repeatedly what had happened. He'd seen the singed corral and knew the horses must have been terrified of the storm.
He'd ridden home to check on them, thank goodness, for that's when he'd seen the corral and the closed door and found her inside on the floor.
Annie slept and he thanked G.o.d for that small mercy. At least she didn't have to face their loss while her body was weak and bruised.
Annie awoke and stared at the ceiling, unwilling to move because of the pain that shot through her body. Something was different. Something was wrong. She moved her hand to her belly and found only soft flesh beneath the blanket. She knew immediately. Her physical pain was only a degree of the torturous agony slicing through the inside of her-like someone had taken a rusty knife and cut out her heart.
”O-oh!” she wailed aloud, and Luke leaped from a chair beside her to kneel at her side and take her hand away from her belly. He pressed the back against his lips.
Tears coursed down his cheeks and everything inside her went numb in self-preservation. She couldn't look into his red-rimmed eyes. She couldn't endure his pain and hers, too. She couldn't bear to know she'd failed him and brought such suffering and anguish to a man who deserved better.
”Annie, I'm so sorry,” he said, his voice ravaged.
She sobbed until her chest hurt and her tears were exhausted. Dr. Martin came and forced her to drink a powder he'd dissolved in tepid water. She slept again and when she awoke, Luke hadn't moved from her side.
”I saw the corral where lightning struck,” he said.
”There were wolves,” she told him, her voice oddly calm.
”Wolves, too?”
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