But even as she stared at the words, she knew she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t sell this house. It was her spirit, her life. It was filled with memories, with the echoes of Douglas’ song. With sweat and blood, with the sweet ring of laughter and bitter tears of grief, with all the music of work and love and life that had been lived within these walls. She couldn’t leave that, could she?
She crossed out ST. LOUIS and dropped her pencil. She would have to face her challenges here in Pecan Springs, not somewhere else.
It had rained that afternoon and the smell of wet leaves hung heavy on the air. Now, the evening sky had grown very dark, and the wind was picking up. Another storm was blowing in from the south, and Annie could hear one of the wooden stable shutters banging. She found a match and lit the kerosene lamp that hung over the table. Then, pulling her wrapper closer around her, she went to the open kitchen casement, thinking to latch it. But just as she put out a hand to pull the window shut, there was a blinding flash and an ear-splitting crack of thunder. Not thirty feet away, the large cottonwood tree beside her garden exploded in a violent shower of sparks, hurling chunks of splintered wood like flying rockets. Limbs crashed to the ground and the tree swayed and began to topple toward her house.
Annie gave an involuntary cry and stumbled back. For one heart-stopping moment, she thought the cottonwood was going to fall across the roof. But when it crashed to the ground, she saw that it had just missed. There was no immediate danger, but that didn’t dispel the effects of her fright. Her heart was pounding and she was still trembling when, a moment, later, she heard someone banging at the kitchen door. She opened it to Adam, bareheaded and wet, his shoulders hunched against the rain. Behind him, she saw whipping trees, illuminated by flashes of blue-white lightning.
“Are you all right?” he asked urgently. “That cottonwood nearly took out your chimney.”
“I’m fine,” she said, opening the door wider. “Just a little scared.” With a shaky smile, she put her hand on his arm. “Do come in, Adam. You’ll be soaked to the skin.”
His startled gaze took in her figure, and she dropped her hand, clutching the wrapper a little tighter against her, remembering that she wasn’t dressed. A flush rose in her cheeks, and she half turned away.
“I’m not exactly presentable,” she said in a low voice, “but you’re welcome. The kettle’s still hot. We can have tea.”
He hesitated as if he might not accept the invitation, then seemed to change his mind. “Thanks,” he said, and stood by the door, dripping. “When that lightning bolt hit, I was at the stable, fastening the shutters. I thought it had struck your house.”
“Everything’s all right out there?” Annie asked, disturbingly aware of the male scent of tobacco and something else. Whiskey? Yes, whiskey. She was surprised. Delia often said that she didn’t allow drinking in her home. And then she remembered. Delia had taken little Caroline and gone to Galveston to visit her sister.
“There’ll be some cleanup,” Adam said. “That tree literally exploded. But once all the pieces are dried and cut to size, it’ll be good stove wood.”
Annie felt herself trembling. “You’re wet,” she said. He was wearing a light blue shirt, the sleeves rolled to the elbows, and dark canvas trousers. The shirt was plastered to his shoulders, and raindrops glittered in his dark hair. Still clutching her wrapper, she opened a drawer and pulled out a towel.
“Here,” she said, holding it out to him. “Dry off. I’ll find you one of Douglas’ shirts.”
She had given most of her husband’s clothing away, but she had kept two of his favorite flannel shirts that she herself wore to sleep in on cold nights. She found one and took it to the kitchen and busied herself wordlessly with the teapot while Adam turned away from her and stripped naked to the waist. He rubbed himself down with the towel and shrugged into Douglas’ plaid shirt. A few moments later they were sitting across the table from each other, cups in front of them. The rain was pounding against the windows. The thunder was a continuous mutter and the lightning flashed wildly. The air in the kitchen felt close and charged, somehow. It felt, Annie thought, as if something was going to happen.
“Tea’s good,” Adam said, not looking at her. Caught in a draft, the flame of the kerosene lamp flickered, and Annie was struck by the realization that he was very like Douglas. Not physically, of course. Her husband had been dark-haired and sun-browned and large. Adam’s hair was fair and he was slender and wiry. But both were strong men of generous heart and optimistic vision who gave themselves fully to work and play. She remembered the many times the two of them had sat at this table, laughing, while she bustled around making sandwiches for them, or pouring coffee or slicing pie.
But tonight Adam’s mouth had a grim set, and his forehead was furrowed. He reached into his pocket for a cigarette, and she got up to fetch him one of Douglas’ ashtrays. Again, she caught the scent
