pulp." He laughed at her dramatic description, but then
sobered. "I thought you probably hated me for embarrassin' you at your
party."
"Oh,
pooh on my party. My parties were all dull, and they still are. How could you
think such a thing? You were the only person who ever let me be myself. I never
forgot that."
"I
don't know why anybody'd want to change you." She was the most delightful
person he'd ever met.
"It's
like everybody wants to put a rock on my head and keep me in this chair. Why do
they do that?"
He
shook his head, because he'd wondered the same thing. What did it hurt for her
to get up and walk if she wanted? "Have the doctors said it's bad for you
to walk?"
"No."
"Well,
I'm no doctor, but I know if you don't let a horse exercise, he can't build
strong muscles and he tires easily. But if you run him regularly, his strength
builds. Seems like your legs are the same. I'll bet if you exercised them,
they'd get stronger."
"I
think so, too. I've read about some forward-thinking individuals who believe
exercise is the key to vitality." She sounded excited about the
possibility. "But my parents don't allow me to move about, let alone do
calisthenics."
"Annie,
is there any way you can contact one of the doctors you've seen and ask if he
thinks walking or exercising is harmful for you?"
She seemed to think his
question over. "I do remember one of the kinder doctors. He has even
written me on a few occasions."
"Could we telegraph
him?"
"I
don't know why not. But how would I get to the telegraph office without my
parents knowing?"
"I
could take your message and send the telegraph."
"Splendid
idea! Tomorrow? I can write it tonight."
The
excitement in her voice pleased him. "Why not?"
"I
baked you an apple pie," she said abruptly. "Wait here and I'll bring
you a big slice."
Surprised,
he agreed and held the screen door while she rolled her chair into the house.
Several minutes later, she returned with a small tray in her lap. "I
couldn't fill the glass, because I spill when I cross the doorway," she
apologized, handing him a partially full glass of milk.
"I
don't mind," he said, taking the cold tumbler from her.
"The pie tastes pretty
good. I tried a bite earlier."
He
accepted the plate and seated himself on the wicker chair, placing the glass on
a small table. He tasted her offering, the apples still warm from the oven.
Cinnamon sweetness melted on his tongue. “No one has ever baked me a pie
before."
"No?"
He
shook his head and enjoyed another mouthwatering bite.
"It's my first one. I
just followed a recipe."
"It's
better than the pies at Dora Edgewood's cafe. You could give her a tip or
two."
Annie
laughed, a delicate ear-pleasing sound of delight. "Are you flattering
me?"
"Yes,
but it's true." He finished the slice of pie and drank the milk.
"Mother
says it's improper to welcome flattery." She set the empty tray on the
floor, and Luke placed his dishes on it.
"I
guess your mother'd know about things like that."
“A
lady may accept a delicate compliment, but she should not appear to expect or
encourage them."
"I hardly think you
expect compliments, Annie."
She folded her hands in her
lap. "I want to go write the telegram, but I don't want to miss another
minute with you."
Her honesty warmed him.
"Why don't you just tell me what it should say then, and I'll
remember."
"But I'll have to find
the doctor's address."
"Will it take
long?"
"No."
He placed the tray on her
lap and opened the screen door for her. "Hurry."
Precious minutes ticked by
before she returned with an envelope and handed it to him. He folded it and
tucked it into his shirt pocket. "How will I get the reply to you when it
arrives?"
"Glenda comes every
afternoon. You could catch her on her way here and give it to her. She promised
to keep my secret when I sent you the note this afternoon. I trust her."
A comfortable silence
settled between them. Distant piano music drifted on the night air.
"Luke?"
"Yes."
"It's probably
sobered. "I thought you probably hated me for embarrassin' you at your
party."
"Oh,
pooh on my party. My parties were all dull, and they still are. How could you
think such a thing? You were the only person who ever let me be myself. I never
forgot that."
"I
don't know why anybody'd want to change you." She was the most delightful
person he'd ever met.
"It's
like everybody wants to put a rock on my head and keep me in this chair. Why do
they do that?"
He
shook his head, because he'd wondered the same thing. What did it hurt for her
to get up and walk if she wanted? "Have the doctors said it's bad for you
to walk?"
"No."
"Well,
I'm no doctor, but I know if you don't let a horse exercise, he can't build
strong muscles and he tires easily. But if you run him regularly, his strength
builds. Seems like your legs are the same. I'll bet if you exercised them,
they'd get stronger."
"I
think so, too. I've read about some forward-thinking individuals who believe
exercise is the key to vitality." She sounded excited about the
possibility. "But my parents don't allow me to move about, let alone do
calisthenics."
"Annie,
is there any way you can contact one of the doctors you've seen and ask if he
thinks walking or exercising is harmful for you?"
She seemed to think his
question over. "I do remember one of the kinder doctors. He has even
written me on a few occasions."
"Could we telegraph
him?"
"I
don't know why not. But how would I get to the telegraph office without my
parents knowing?"
"I
could take your message and send the telegraph."
"Splendid
idea! Tomorrow? I can write it tonight."
The
excitement in her voice pleased him. "Why not?"
"I
baked you an apple pie," she said abruptly. "Wait here and I'll bring
you a big slice."
Surprised,
he agreed and held the screen door while she rolled her chair into the house.
Several minutes later, she returned with a small tray in her lap. "I
couldn't fill the glass, because I spill when I cross the doorway," she
apologized, handing him a partially full glass of milk.
"I
don't mind," he said, taking the cold tumbler from her.
"The pie tastes pretty
good. I tried a bite earlier."
He
accepted the plate and seated himself on the wicker chair, placing the glass on
a small table. He tasted her offering, the apples still warm from the oven.
Cinnamon sweetness melted on his tongue. “No one has ever baked me a pie
before."
"No?"
He
shook his head and enjoyed another mouthwatering bite.
"It's my first one. I
just followed a recipe."
"It's
better than the pies at Dora Edgewood's cafe. You could give her a tip or
two."
Annie
laughed, a delicate ear-pleasing sound of delight. "Are you flattering
me?"
"Yes,
but it's true." He finished the slice of pie and drank the milk.
"Mother
says it's improper to welcome flattery." She set the empty tray on the
floor, and Luke placed his dishes on it.
"I
guess your mother'd know about things like that."
“A
lady may accept a delicate compliment, but she should not appear to expect or
encourage them."
"I hardly think you
expect compliments, Annie."
She folded her hands in her
lap. "I want to go write the telegram, but I don't want to miss another
minute with you."
Her honesty warmed him.
"Why don't you just tell me what it should say then, and I'll
remember."
"But I'll have to find
the doctor's address."
"Will it take
long?"
"No."
He placed the tray on her
lap and opened the screen door for her. "Hurry."
Precious minutes ticked by
before she returned with an envelope and handed it to him. He folded it and
tucked it into his shirt pocket. "How will I get the reply to you when it
arrives?"
"Glenda comes every
afternoon. You could catch her on her way here and give it to her. She promised
to keep my secret when I sent you the note this afternoon. I trust her."
A comfortable silence
settled between them. Distant piano music drifted on the night air.
"Luke?"
"Yes."
"It's probably
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