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.”“Uh, Annie, Mr.Davis would like to receive the other stories immediately.It’s good news.Harper’s wants to publish them as soon as possible.”She sighed and dropped to the sofa.“I don’t know, Mr.Adams.”“Stephen, please.”“Stephen.I mean, I’m pleased, but I don’t want that Redmond name on them.”“Please, Annie.You must consider the widespread interest in—”“Ridiculous, that is.My father should have told me.I think I’m going to get some legal advice first.”“Oh, uh, I see.That does seem prudent.” He had the stories in his pocket.He couldn’t just hand them back now.He hesitated to follow her.Perhaps if he did what Davis asked and delivered them, Davis would not yet ask for the money Stephen borrowed.Of course, he’d tell him to hold off printing them until Annie signed a contract, and Davis was a businessman.He’d know that.And then with just a bit of wooing, he’d convince Annie and they would be all set to proceed.Annie would thank him in the end, certainly.“Are you coming, Mr.Adams?”“Thank you for the invitation.I’m afraid I’ve just remembered something of great importance I must attend to.Give Mrs.Hawkins my regrets.I will see myself out.”“Well, all right.Here, I’ll get your things.”His stomach turned as he waited.He wanted to bolt out of there.A great weight hung on his shoulders as he knew he’d chosen to secure his financial situation over Annie’s wishes.He’d had good reason, though.He could not allow himself to end up poor and broken like his father.He was doing what was best for them all in the long run.She would come to understand that.He just had to be quick about it.31KIRSTEN WAS A GROWN WOMAN, the doctor had stated.No one could keep her in the infirmary if she wanted to leave, and she was under no obligation to contact Hawkins House.That made Annie sad, but she knew people walked in and out of her life with frequency, and she would have to accept it.After washing up the supper dishes—and noting that the potato bin needed filling already, probably due to Aileen’s presence in the house now—Annie went to her room to relax.Reclining on her bed, she closed her eyes and imagined the soft green grass of Ireland, the ancient stones blue with age, the towering castle ruins, the glowing turf fires that engulfed every town with a sweet smell.She could still see the tumbledown abbeys where she and her father entertained townsfolk with stories of old under a canopy of ever-changing clouds.She could almost smell the fresh rain-misted air.She could almost dip her fingers in the blades of grass.She could almost hear her father’s lilting laughter.Almost.But like those mist-covered islands a younger Annie had thought she saw in the lough, none of it was real.A mirage.A long-ago memory.The past was gone.Her father was gone.She had been young and naive while her father was alive, but the more she thought about it now, it made sense that her father had additional income.They’d always had what they needed, despite the fact his storytelling had been paid for with bartered goods on fortunate days and just a slap on the back during hunger seasons.Marty Gallagher’s mysterious family never showed their faces, and if he’d had money from an inheritance, surely there would be more kin coming to lay claim.Why didn’t you tell me, Da?She hated that she would never know with certainty why he hadn’t trusted her with the truth.“Mine enemies would daily swallow me up.”Annie had been reading in Psalms where David continually asked God to protect him from his enemies.Could it be that was exactly what her father was trying to do for her? Protect her from Neil’s greediness? If you had only told me, Da, I never would have gone to the O’Shannons.His illness must have skewed his good sense.How could she blame him, as ravaged by fever and sickness as he was?Annie sat at her desk and rubbed her hands over the ragged pages open to the book of Psalms.Of course! He’d worked so hard through his illness to give her the stories, knowing they’d be valuable one day, the last works of a famous writer.He’d made sure of it by adding that hallmark.And then he’d hidden them in the desk’s secret compartment and confided in the priest.All that had been necessary because the stories were immensely valuable, as it seemed the New York publishers understood.Tears dripped down her face as she realized how her father had provided for her.She lifted the Bible to her forehead, wondering if it was possible that someday this hurt might heal.She didn’t want to think about it right now and open her raw heart.She returned to her bed and fumbled around underneath until she found the Wizard book and flipped to the last page she had read.She laughed at herself for having hidden it there.There was no reason to keep it under her bed, but folks hide things when they’re valuable.She lifted the book to her nose.A book had a smell more soothing than any of Mrs.Hawkins’s herbs.There was nothing like a good story to take her out of a world she didn’t much like.Sighing, she closed her eyes a moment, focusing her mind on the imaginary world described within those pages until she was ready to reread them.Ah, the Emerald City.Dorothy was waiting to see the Terrible Oz, and she was beautifully dressed, of course, in green silk.Dorothy entered the throne room to talk to Oz, who appeared as a mysterious talking head.“Why should I do this for you?” asked Oz.“Because you are strong and I am weak; because you are a Great Wizard and I am only a little girl.”Oh, she knew how Dorothy felt!Annie knew what came next.Dorothy and her friends would be given a monumental assignment, the one thing they were terribly fearful of doing.Oz wanted them to kill the Wicked Witch.None of them could have what they wanted until they did that.Dorothy told her friends there was no hope.She couldn’t kill the witch.Dorothy would never get home, or so she thought.Someone knocked on the door.“Who is it?”“Aileen.Annie, I want to show you something.”“Come in.”They sat on Annie’s bed.“I showed these to the postman too, but he did not stay long enough to tell me what he thought of them.” She spread some drawings on the bed.“Very nice.”“I made them for the Parker children.Grace is taking me over there tomorrow.She needs someone to watch them while she finishes sewing lace on her wedding veil.”“Oh.I’m sure they’ll like them.”“They tell a story.”“Truly?”“They do.Here, let me show you [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]