Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
“We think we know what struck us, and it was not the hand of Providence. Our misery is the work of man. A rat caught in a trap and placed in a bucket would not be more helpless than we were.”
~George Swank, Johnstown resident, to the Tribune
Annamae’s laughter lifted into the trees above them like tinkling glass.
Even the hemlock enjoyed it, wagging its branches in the breeze, making the sunlight flicker about.
It was strange, sitting on a blanket on the forest floor, enjoying the company of a beautiful woman near the very spot he’d wrapped himself inside a petticoat for warmth. Had it really been only a month ago?
Aside from the flashes of memory reminding him of that awful day, Monty was content. He was alone with Annamae, except for God’s creation, the noises and smells of town in the distance.
She tilted her head back as her laughter built, and his fingers itched to know if the skin at her throat was as soft as it looked.
The sound of her mirth helped chase away the screaming voices that often surfaced when he found himself in a familiar place that involved the tragedy.
He’d hesitated to come here, but this place was the best to steal away together without the prying eyes and ears of others to witness their exchange.
They needed to discuss his uncle, and they needed privacy.
Her laughter eased to chuckles, and she attempted to catch her breath. She placed a hand on her stomach. “That’s the funniest story I’ve heard in ages. So funny it hurts. Though, I imagine your poor mother must’ve been livid.”
He grinned. “She was. Not only did I receive a good spanking but so did the neighbor boy.”
Annamae dabbed at the tears spilling over the corners of her eyes. What would it be like to make her laugh every day for the rest of their lives? The thought was premature in light of the short time they’d known one another. Life was a vapor, and Annamae was a remarkable woman.
She leaned back on her palms and closed her eyes, mouth upturned. Her breath left on a sigh.
Was she as content as he?
One eye peeked open to catch him staring at her. “The moral of that tale goes along with your sermon this morning. You should have shared it with the congregation.”
He barked a laugh. “I will never share that with the congregation.”
She twisted to face him, mischief radiating from her face. “Why not? Are you afraid they’ll find out you’re human?”
Monty opened his mouth to speak, but nothing escaped.
Something thrummed inside his chest, like a plucked harp string.
He knew the members of his congregation well—their backgrounds, likes and dislikes, weaknesses and strengths.
But other than his character and comings and goings in Johnstown, they didn’t know him at all.
In fact, he couldn’t recall a single time he’d shared a personal story or memory with them.
Always scripture, always something that pointed them to the Almighty.
That was what his calling was about, not about bringing attention to himself.
He’d also kept his personal life and background concealed because if they knew he was raised in a mansion with every possession and opportunity at his whim while they worked sixteen-hour days in deplorable conditions for wages that barely fed their families, they’d send him out of town on the next train.
They’d never see past his gilded surface to hear the messages God laid on his heart.
“Did I say something wrong?” The joy fell from Annamae’s features, and she stared at him with those big innocent eyes.
“No. You said something right.”
A small mound formed between her brows as she waited for him to continue.
He stared into the tree line. “I don’t share things about my life with the congregation.”
“Why? Is your past scandalous?” she teased.
“Far from it.” By the grace of God, he’d seen what his future would have been like with Frick Coke and had fled from Clayton.
“Share things with me, then. Were you a naughty but good-hearted boy like Huckleberry Finn? Or were you hard and mysterious and always seeking adventure like Captain Nemo?”
“Neither.”
She sat erect, hands plopped into her lap, ready to listen with rapt attention. “Then what were you like?”
Melancholy.
Monty plucked a blade of grass and twisted it in his fingers.
“I lost my parents and younger sisters when I was fourteen. They’d gone to England on business.
I’d whined about staying home with my cousins, and my aunt agreed to let me stay with them for the summer.
On their return trip to the States, they sailed right into a hurricane. No survivors.”
“Oh, Monty,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
Tiny branches on the hemlock trees danced in the warm breeze.
After a respectable amount of silence, she asked, “Who took care of you?”
They’d circled around to things he didn’t share with other people. He didn’t want to hold back from Annamae. He wanted to know everything about her, which would require divulging everything about himself in return.
“My aunt and uncle were gracious enough to take me in.” He smoothed the bent blade.
“You were blessed to have family and avoid an orphanage.”
Her words hit him square in the mouth. She’d had no one to take her in when her father died. She’d survived and succeeded on her own.
Monty’s admiration for her grew.
“The tension in your face makes me think your memories aren’t fond ones. Were they not good to you?” She scooted closer on the blanket, giving him her full attention the way she did with her patients.
“They gave me refuge in Pittsburgh, but they tolerated my presence more than wanted it. My aunt’s intention was to be helpful, but she was constantly trying to make me into a man I was not.
My uncle, well, he raised me with the objective that I would show my appreciation one day by joining the family business.
When I bucked at the idea of being his puppet, he became downright vicious. ”
Her hand covered the top of his, numbing the stab of memories. She was a nurturer to her very center. And she was good at healing his broken places. “What was the family business?”
“Depends on which one you’re referring to. My ancestors succeeded in almost every endeavor: flour merchants, distilling whiskey—”
“Ah, that makes sense. Liquor contradicts your calling.” She tapped her finger on the Bible resting beside them.
She’d agreed to accompany him on a picnic after the service. They’d gone straight to the commissary to retrieve their lunches, and he’d skipped the extra time it would take to drop the Bible off at his room in the Red Cross hotel.
“I’m glad you chose the church over alcohol. I’ve seen it destroy too many lives.”
He started to correct her misconception of the business his uncle wanted him running but decided it was best to let it go for now.
Revealing too much too soon might cause him to lose her before he proved his worth with a courtship.
There would be time later to tell her when she believed without a doubt that the complication with his family wouldn’t affect their future.
Monty tossed the blade of grass aside. “You’re great with Ernie, and I appreciate that. Most folks, even ones in the congregation, ignore and ridicule him for being weaker than the bottle.”
She uncurled her legs hidden beneath her skirt and stretched them out in front of her, pointing and flexing her toes. “He told me about his wife and daughter. I would think the others would show more compassion for him as many understand the loss of a spouse and children now.”
“To my knowledge, you’re the only other person he’s shared his story with besides me.”
She asked him about Joanna’s progress and the adoption service scheduled in a few days. Nothing had changed, and he dreaded telling her goodbye. The girl would leave Johnstown the afternoon of the service, whether it was with another family or on a train to the nearest orphanage.
Annamae leaned back, supporting herself with her arms. “I’m sorry if my questions put a damper on this otherwise wonderful day. My inquisitiveness is a character flaw that needs improvement.”
“Don’t. I like you just the way you are.” He slid his hand over hers, gliding his fingertips up to her wrist. Scars marred the back of his hands and looked incongruous beside her perfect flesh.
Her lashes blinked away her surprise then fluttered languidly over her cheeks that had heightened in color.
When she didn’t pull away, his thumb grazed her knuckles.
She stared at their hands, her chest rising and falling in quick succession.
Her pulse raced beneath his fingertips. His pumped hard too.
It was foolish to court a woman who would leave when she finished her volunteer work, but the pull between them was strong. It could take months to rebuild Johnstown. Maybe it would allow enough time for her to fall in love with him, and she’d stay when he asked.
As if she’d tugged an invisible string around his neck, he moved closer. His gaze flicked to her lips, and her mouth parted slightly. Just another inch.
She spun away. “I went to the newspaper office on Friday.”
Her blurted confession doused his yearning. Was this her way of rejecting him? Surely he hadn’t misread the desire in her eyes.
Monty leaned away and rubbed his hands along his pant legs, clearing his throat. “Why?”
She worried her lip. “I was curious how the investigations were going. I wanted to find out if they knew about Colonel Unger and the spillway and if they’d discovered the identities of the secretive club members.”
He rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. “You didn’t tell them anything, did you?”
“No. But I came close.”
“You promised to let me handle it.”
“And have you?” Her accusatory tone sparked his ire.
Monty tugged at his collar, his neck growing hot. How had they gone from almost kissing to an argument? “I’ve written to someone who has sway in the matter.”
“And?”