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The wedding date was set for early October. It was unusual for a farmer’s daughter to be married during harvest season, but Frank planned to take his bride to the Grand Canyon for their honeymoon, and he wanted to be home before cold weather set in.
“Geordie’s got everything under control,” he assured his father. “I’ve made arrangements for the feed we’re shipping out. Adam’s ready to take the extra corn and store it, and the root cellar’s been cleaned out. There’s enough farmhands hired, and Geordie knows just what to do.”
His father tapped his pipe against his palm. He’d turned the management of the farm over to the younger twins two years ago and hadn’t regretted his decision. Frank loved to keep the books, totaling the columns of figures spent and earned, estimating the harvest yield right down to the peck. He wasn’t above pitching in when his help was needed with the planting and plowing, but it was Geordie who had the green thumb, who could persuade every kernel of corn to send up a shoot, every bean to blossom, every cabbage to grow tight and plump beneath the summer sun. So John Patrick turned to him and asked, “All right with you?”
“Sure, Dad,” Geordie agreed. “We got it all figured out. It’ll be fine.”
“Mmmm.” It was the only permission they’d needed.
Now the wedding was less than three weeks away. Both families gathered at the Donovan home on Sunday, and the conversation turned to the final stages of planning. Patricia was talking over the honeymoon plans with Jesse.
“Your trip sounds wonderful,” Jesse said. “I’ve always wanted to see the Grand Canyon.”
“But, Jesse, you live in a canyon, don’t you?” School had meant nothing to Patricia, geography a concept never grasped.
Adam answered her. “I think you’ll find it a bit different from our canyon, Patricia.”
“Really? How?”
“Well, for one thing, it’s a lot deeper. And the Colorado River runs right through it.”
“Don’t you have a river?”
“Just a stream,” said Jesse. “But you go see it, then come back and tell us all about it.”
“Oh, I will! Maybe I can draw you some pictures.”
“What a nice idea! If you make some special drawings, Daniel can frame them for you and you can hang them in your house, so you’ll always have a reminder of your trip.”
That Frank was proud of her talent amazed Patricia, as her father had always called it childish and useless, pressing her to more practical activities. She was thrilled to find Jesse encouraging her, too. But...
“Didn’t Frank tell you? We’re going to live here. Your parents said we could have the two rooms that were your grandmother’s. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Oh, I think that’s a wonderful idea!”
“I’m sure Gran would approve,” put in Adam, then smiled at Patricia’s sigh of relief.
***
DANIEL FOUND HIMSELF drawn inexorably into the planning for Frank’s wedding. He was amazed at the energy his mother and sisters poured into the smallest of details, and chuckled when his advice on such things as the color of Irene’s dress was accepted. But when Evelyn asked him to help stitch the hem of lace on the crinoline she and Molly were making for Patricia, he simply stared at her.
“Daniel,” she begged, but he was reaching for his hat and rifle.
“I’m going for a walk.” He heard her muttering behind his back about useless men and ungrateful brothers.
Some minutes later he laughed aloud, for his feet had taken the trail that led to town and he was on his way to Annie. Owen had gone to Tuba City on business and the shop was closed, so he knew he’d find her at the dairy farm. But he hadn't, after all, managed to escape the lure of the impending marriage.
“Oh, Daniel, I’m so glad you’re here.” Annie was flushed with excitement, her ivory skin glowing peach. The few light freckles across the bridge of her nose made a startling contrast to the streak of white flour on her forehead. She wiped her hands ineffectively on her apron, then pulled him through the door and into the kitchen.
“Look at the cake pans Tommy made for me.” She flitted from the counter to the table, talking all the while, gesturing with her long, slender hands, sending a small flurry of flour out to coat every surface. “And look at this picture—see how this cake is—I want to do it for Patricia. I don’t know how. I need your help.”
The sweetest words she has ever said. I don’t care what she wants. I’d go to hell for her. And crawl all the way back if she’d just say it again.
“Daniel, I need you.”
He put down his hat and rifle and stood in front of her, lifting her face with a gentle hand.
“Anything in the world, aroon.” He caressed her cheek and tweaked a small curl that had escaped its braid. Her eyes fell as her hands came up to rest against him. He bent to kiss her.
Annie jumped back at the sound of footsteps at the kitchen door, then turned to find her brother Lowell.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Lowell said with a wink at Daniel.
“Oh, no,” Annie said swiftly. “Daniel’s helping me with the cake.”
“You might want to get him an apron.”
The white imprint of her hand showed plainly on Daniel’s shirt. She turned back to her brother, saw that he was laughing, and stamped her foot.
“You...” She sputtered and tossed her head so hard her braid flew up and slapped against her cheek. Her hands flew to her face. She turned and fled from the room.
Daniel’s arm shot out as she passed but missed her by inches. “Annie!”
“Let her go,” her brother advised. “She’ll get over it soon enough.” He looked his friend up and down, handed him a towel and gestured at his shirt. As Daniel sheepishly wiped the flour off, Lowell imitated his father’s crisp dialect, “Am I to understand your intentions are honorable, young man?”
“Yes, sir,” Daniel answered, then laughed. “As if you didn’t know.”
“Just checking.” He was, in reality, three years younger than Daniel, but the two men had been friends since childhood. If they’d ever acknowledged a discrepancy in their ages, the time had long since vanished.
“What’s the story with the cake?” Daniel inquired.
The dairyman chuckled. His sister’s rare outbursts of temper had always amused him.
“Annie found this picture—I don’t know where.” He pushed it along the table. It was a daguerreotype depicting a couple in formal wedding regalia, and in the background was a triple-tiered cake. “She got Tommy to make the cake pans in three different sizes, but she doesn’t know how to put it together.”
“Looks pretty easy. I’d be willing to bet the columns between the layers are dowels painted white. The layers must have some kind of platforms to support them. Looks like two sheets of wood would do. With holes cut in the cake to put the dowels through. Yeah, it’s pretty simple.”
“Well, don’t tell her that. Let her think you’re some kind of genius.”
Later, Daniel was sitting alone in the kitchen. Lowell had supplied him with a pencil and a large piece of brown paper. On the edges of the paper, he’d marked off the diameters of Tommy’s cake pans, and was trying to estimate the height of the dowels by comparing the dimensions in the picture to the pile he’d made of the cake pans. He was frowning over his drawings, dissatisfied with his work, when Annie came in. She was pale and it was obvious she’d been crying. He went to her and drew her into his arms.
“I’m sorry, aroon. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know. It’s not your fault. I’ve been so excited, I guess, and nervous... worried about the cake. I haven’t been able to sleep, I just lay awake and worry. I guess I’m too tired to think straight.”
“Come here then. Take a look at this and tell me what you think.”
He’d sketched the framework for the tiered cake on the brown paper. She looked at it, then up at him.
“Will it work?” she asked breathlessly.
“No reason why not. I’m just not sure if the columns are the right size.”
“I was going to make one today,” she told him, with renewed excitement in her voice, “to try out the pans and see how long it would take to bake. Maybe we could try putting it together, too. Then, if the columns are too long, you could chop some off. Do you think we could?”
His arm was still around her shoulders, she was leaning against him, half-facing him. He bent over her and finished the kiss he’d started some hours earlier.
“Whatever you want, Annie,” he said.
“Please let’s try it.”
"All right, aroon. I’ll go see if Lowell’s got any boards I can use. Otherwise I’ll have to go into town.”
He was back in moments for his hat and rifle. “Your brother’s pretty worthless. Doesn’t save a thing!”
She was deep in thought, studying her recipe, and looked up at him in abstraction. Another streak of flour adorned her forehead.
“Back in a while.”
Her golden head bent to the recipe again.
He returned an hour later, having stopped off at the livery to use some of Tommy’s tools. He couldn’t find a board wide enough for the bottom layer, so he pieced together two half-circles for the base. He’d picked up dowels in several diameters, and carried the whole conglomeration in an old saddlebag he’d borrowed from the smith.
As he strode into the kitchen, Annie was struggling with the largest pan. She’d filled it with batter and was trying to slide it off the table onto a stool. It hung precariously on the edge. Daniel saw that her frustration had again resulted in tears.
“Hold on.” He dropped the saddlebag on the floor and relieved her shaking hands of their burden. “Open the oven first.” When she had, he picked it up, surprised she’d been able to move it at all.
“There you go,” he told her, closing the oven with a flourish. Tears still gleamed in her eyes. With an arm around her shoulders, he led her into the parlor and sat next to her on the chintz-covered couch, guiding her head to his shoulder.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“I guess I’m just tired.”
“Do you feel all right?”
“My head aches.”
“Annie...”
“No, it’s not here.” She touched her right temple, where the pains that could rock her into unconsciousness would occur. “It’s more up here.” Her fingers flicked across the streak of flour. He touched his lips to it as she settled in against his shoulder once more.
“You need some rest,” he told her. “How long will this cake take?”
“At least an hour.” Her eyelids began to droop.
“Aroon,” he murmured, “do you want to lie down? I could wake you in an hour.”
“Hmm?”
When she didn’t raise her head, he realized she was half-asleep already. “Shhh. Never mind. Go to sleep, my love.”
He roused her when he could smell the cake. He hadn’t been concentrating on the time, but had lost himself in the sweetness of having her so close to him. She’d stirred once, and her head had fallen down to his breast. He’d turned in his seat and cushioned her, as he’d seen Adam do for Jesse, and heard a soft murmur as she settled into a deep sleep.
Lowell had come in once and smirked at Daniel from the door, then left the house again. He trusted his friend as he’d have trusted no other—were it not for the necessity of protecting her reputation against the gossip of the old cats, he wouldn’t have hesitated to leave them alone indefinitely. But since his father was out of town, the responsibility for Annie had devolved to him. Just like when we were kids. Only then it was to see she didn’t break her leg. This time the damage might not be so easily repaired.
When he returned, Lowell found them in the kitchen, the cake pan emptied of its contents, and a touch of vexation in Annie’s voice.
“But how long was it in?”
“Aroon, I don’t know.”
Annie was obviously trying to control her temper, which had been unusually short of late. She was pulling at her fingers, a sure sign of distress.
“What time did you put it in?” Lowell asked.
“I forgot to look.”
Lowell gave her a pointed stare. “What time did you take it out?”
“About five minutes ago.”
“Well, when I came in before, it was three o’clock. So that’s an hour ago.”
“And it was about a half-hour before that when you fell asleep,” Daniel put in. “So it must have been an hour and three quarters. Maybe a little more.”
“Let me write it down. It’s close enough, anyway.” She fumbled for a pencil, found her recipe covered in flour, and gave a little laugh. “Guess I’d better be more careful next time.”
Lowell stuck a finger out toward the cake. Annie slapped it with the recipe and flour went flying up in a cloud. “Don’t you dare touch that! I’ll cut off your fingers!”
“I thought this was the practice cake.”
“It is, but we’ve got to get it put together first. Then you can have all you want.”
“And when will that be?”
“Soon as you get out of the kitchen,” Daniel informed him. “We’ve got serious work to do here and you’re holding us up.”
“Ex-cuuuse me,” Lowell drawled. “I guess I’ll just go on out to the barn, where somebody appreciates me, anyway.”
They laughed as he stalked out in mock indignation.