Chapter 16 - Sent
Jeff looked his squad dead in the eyes and said, "We're going to learn today how to avoid debacles like our last outing."
His soldiers watched him in silence.
"Today there is a cease-fire, but I don't trust that it will last long. And since we didn't have time to train before the last battle, we will now do what we were supposed to do from the beginning: we train."
Rick Stephenson, his sergeant said, "But General Kearny said..."
Jeff glared at him. "I don't care what he said. We have free time, and I won't waste it on drinking and playing cards. Because we are not playing. Last week we lost friends because of it." He raised his voice enough for the whole squad to hear him, but just enough; he still remembered how to make men listen to him. As he expected, his soldiers leaned forward, straining to hear him. "I won't have that, damnit," Jeff said in a low voice. "And so we will train, learn to defend ourselves, and learn to work together and heed commands quickly. And with God's help, and if you listen to me - you will get to go back home, and tell your mothers, sisters, loved ones how you survived - thanks to Jeff Winger!" He slapped his thigh. "Soldiers!" He barked. "Split into pairs!"
He watched with satisfaction as they rushed to listen to him.
"Very well." He nodded to them. "And now Stephenson will show you how to use your weapon as a close-range combat tool. An empty rifle is not useless in the hands of men who know how to use it."
:::
They learned. He took advantage of the breaks between the battles and taught his class what he knew about combat, and two months after Jeff became commander, he felt that his soldiers learned. They practiced shooting at goals, while lying down, while standing. They practiced quick reaction time and falling to the ground when someone yells "Cannon!" They learned to fight with the handle and although they were tired, he saw them talking and laughing around the bonfire in the evenings. He didn't sit with them, preferring to eat alone and stare at the sky, wondering what Annie was doing at the moment. Sometimes he would let himself get swept away by his imagination, seeing her sitting with him, laughing at some stupid thing he said, stealing food from his bowl, snuggling with him at night... but it was just imagination. In any case, he didn't like being bothered when he thought of her.
"Winger? The glorious lawyer Jeff Winger?"
Jeff glared at the man who dared to disturb his dinnertime musings, and was surprised to find that it wasn't one of his soldiers. In fact, it wasn't anyone he'd seen in camp so far.
"I'm no longer a lawyer," he told the man before him. "And you are...?"
"You truly don't remember me?" The man answered. He had coffee-colored skin, black eyes and a smooth jaw, when no man in camp bothered to shave. Jeff narrowed his eyes at him, and the lean man lowered his voice: "Or are you pretending because you don't want to get caught?..."
And at once Jeff's throat closed and his chest chilled. He recognized the man he had worked with a long time ago, before he came to Greendale - in fact, just before he came to Greendale... when the raiders showed up.
"Stephen," he said, summoning his coldest tone. "How are you."
"Never better, never better!" Stephen James, a notorious lawyer and former friend, patted Jeff's shoulder and sat down on the log beside him. He kept his voice low so no one could hear him but Jeff. "Believe me, business is booming. You made a mistake when you left the raiders. Robbery business is dangerous, but there's a handsome profit in it."
Jeff knew. And he left it all behind when they arrived at Greendale. He didn't want to tell Stephen that. But he had to say something. "Yes. I'm not doing that anymore," he finally said.
"I know exactly what you're doing," Stephen said. "You made yourself into a hero, and you settled into a town that admires the ground you walk on. A very clever move. Don't think I don't appreciate the genius behind it."
"That's not exactly what happened.." Jeff muttered under his breath, but didn't elaborate.
Then he wondered why he's letting Stephen intimidate him. After all, Stephen admitted himself that he was still fraternizing with criminals. What is he doing in an army camp?
Jeff asked, "So the recruiters got to you, didn't they?"
"Ha!" Stephen snorted. "The best defense is an attack, isn't it?"
"Not everything is a battle," Jeff grumbled.
"Between us, it is."
"Is it?" Jeff sat up and turned to face him on the log they were sitting on. "I thought we were friends."
"I thought so too," Stephen said, his smile never budging, "but then you betrayed the raiders and ruined a raid that had been planned for months. You see why I'm suspicious."
"I won't turn you over to the commanders," Jeff said dryly, tired of the conversation even though they spoke for only a few minutes. "You don't have to worry. You can even be a bloody war hero, for all I care."
"But surely there's something you want. The great Jeff Winger - always finds a way to get what he wants."
Jeff looked at Stephen. Is this who I was? Is this what I would've become if I hadn't changed my mind a decade ago?
In some weird way, Greendale saved him from himself.
Stephen patted his back again, but Jeff hardened his muscles and didn't respond. "Well, good," Stephen said, rising from the log. "You won't turn me in, I won't turn you in. Quid pro quo." He tutted and then nodded. "Good talk."
"Yes," Jeff said slowly. "Good.. talk."
He didn't feel at ease until Stephen left, and only then did he stood up of his log and went to bid his squad good night.
He was no longer the man he was a decade ago: egocentric, only looking out for himself, taking what he wants and running away as soon as the first sign of trouble appears. He wasn't even the man he was a year ago, before Annie came to Greendale and overturned his life even more, forced him to quit the way he treated women and made a respectable man out of him when she married him. The reward he received was the fact that now, when he performed his duties as a sheriff, was a law-abiding citizen and tried to protect his soldiers - he was able to sleep at night without self-hate, without wanting to drown his thoughts in alcohol.
It was a reward he feared Stephen would never know. Knowing that maybe, despite all his past crimes, he still deserved a woman like Annie - it was his private salvation, and it was more valuable than any fortune. He wasn't righteous enough to pray for Stephen's soul - he would leave it to the Riches and Ricks of the world - but he didn't need to. Stephen can find his own redemption, or jump off a cliff. To Jeff, there was no difference between the two.
:::
Annie woke up in the morning with pains that tugged at the base of her back as if they were ropes in a children's play. The cold and the rain took their toll, but she knew that the main cause of the pain was the secret in her stomach. She was sore and tired, but despite her fatigue, she couldn't get back to sleep. She stared at the inn's ceiling and let her thoughts wander.
"Jeff," she would whisper, and when that wouldn't help she would try again, "Jeff!" In his sleep he would murmur, "What is it? What happened?" And she will whisper to him, "it's my back..." and he will find the aching spot with his palms and rub and massage until the pain goes away, or until she decides that massaging isn't enough, and then she will turn and ask him to get rid of the pain in other ways.
It's been almost two months since the war started, since she found out she was pregnant, and there was no letter from him yet. Where was he now? God, keep him healthy and in one piece.
Last week she returned to their empty house and cleaned it. She didn't Troy ask for help, didn't want to be disturbed. His scent was still there, hanging in the air and while she cleaned, it was easy to pretend that soon he would enter and hug her waist, listening to all her complaints. She thought of going back to clean again, just to keep the dust from accumulating, but this week she became altogether exhausted, and she preferred to keep all of her energy for the rounds.
Work these days has been mundane, but satisfying. The rounds repeated every week, so by now she knew where she was going and whether she needed Troy's help or not. She collected the names of the needy and volunteers in a growing notebook, and as time went on she found better methods to organize the lists more efficiently. It was a tedious job until she would find the right order.
There was no excitement. No adventure, no danger, and no man to spin her head and steal her heart: just a long, never-ending task list.
When Abed asked to join her rounds, she happily agreed.
"So what did you say you wanted to do?" Annie asked Abed, who was walking beside her with an empty basket in his hands.
"Letters," Abed said. "I want letters from the men. To cover the war."
Annie's heart clenched. The thought of other men writing to their wives was depressing when she didn't hear from Jeff a single word. She swallowed her envy and told Abed, "here we are." She led him to Mrs. Duncan's door, knocking twice.
Florence Duncan opened the door. She was a pleasant-looking woman, with a sloped nose and a friendly smile. "Annie!" She exclaimed. "You arrived earlier than expected. We haven't finished with all the clothes yet."
"We?" Annie asked.
"Me and Rachel. Have you met Rachel, my daughter? Come on in. Mr. Nadir, you're welcome too. We're about to have some tea."
The girl sitting in the living room looked up from a pair of socks she held in her lap, and was unfazed at their appearance. Sandy curls around a lovely oval face - Annie remembered seeing her in town but never speaking to her. It occurred to Annie that she knew Greendale's adults and children, but not the youth. Troy and Abed were the only exception.
"Welcome," said the girl, abandoning her sock in the middle of a loop.
"Hello," Annie said. "I'm Annie Winger, nice to meet you."
"Hello, Miss Duncan," Abed said, eyes fixed on the girl's face.
"Abed," Annie asked, "do you know each other?"
"No," Rachel Duncan replied. "I know you, Miss Winger, but not your companion. Abed what?"
"Nadir." Abed answered before Annie could respond.
"Sit," Rachel motioned. "Mom is bringing the tea."
Abed sat in a chair next to young Miss Duncan.
Annie sat down next to Abed, a slight smile stretching her lips. This was pleasant. It's been a long while since she made an official courtesy visit to friends. Initially she had no friends, then she did, but the war started. But in midst the the ongoing activities, it seemed the Duncan women have decided not to give up decorum.
"Have we met before?" Annie asked the girl.
"No, but I've seen you in town. And everyone knows our teacher."
"Thanks for not saying 'everyone knows the sheriff's wife,'" Annie said genuinely. "I am somewhat tired of my husband being the first thing people think of me." Granted, it was better than the rumors.
"Oh?" Rachel said. "Why? Aren't you proud of him?"
"I…"
"She means," Abed told Annie, "that you should be proud that you caught such a husband."
"That's not what I meant," Rachel rushed to say, straightening in her chair. "Not at all! I was just referring to him being a commander... Aren't you glad to know that he is helping the country?"
"Well, of course." But I'd rather he wouldn't risk his life in doing that...
"Tea?" Florence entered the living room with a tray full of cups, and in the next few minutes served Abed and Annie tea at their request, and the only sound was the clinking of the china cutlery.
Abed slurped his tea. "Mrs. Duncan, I was wondering if you have received letters from your husband, which you might be willing to share with me."
Florence gave him a look.
Annie added, "For the newspaper. Abad likes to use authentic sources in his paper, don't you, Abed?"
"Readers connect more with authenticity. It's true in newspapers and it's true in literature."
"I have one letter." Florence said, tapping a finger on her chin. "Though I'm not sure if it has any information to help you."
"Every letter will help," Abed said.
Florence stood and put her cup aside. "Annie, won't you be a dear and come with me?"
Annie nodded and stood, wondering what Florence had to say to her in private. She followed to the other room, where Mrs. Duncan was already rummaging through drawers in a tall dresser. Annie stood next to her. "How may I help?"
"No need, honey," Florence replied. She opened and closed several drawers, and in the fourth drawer she found it: a cream-colored folded letter. She turned to Annie.
"How may I help?"
"Um... what?"
Florence tilted her chin toward Annie's body. "I noticed the way you touch your stomach," she said quietly. "You are expecting."
Annie blushed and lowered her eyes to the floor. She hadn't even told Shirley yet.
"I can tell. And I remember what it was like to be pregnant, although Rachel was the only one who made it." Annie heard the words not said, the pregnancies that didn't go on, the silent births, but Florence didn't linger on it. "The beginning is the worst part, isn't it?"
Annie let out a moan and let herself lean against the dresser, which she wanted to do from the moment she entered the room. "I'm tired from nothing!" She quietly whined, aware of people in the other room. "And though I don't throw up, nausea still comes out of nowhere and knocks me off my feet... It's awful! Objectively, it's awful."
Florence said gently, "And your man isn't around, so you have no one to complain to because no one knows yet."
Annie nodded, smiling gratefully. "It's nice to know that someone else knows how I feel."
"Well, soon everyone will know. In the meantime, tell me if you want help. I can't offer you my man, and I doubt you would want him. You probably miss your own."
Annie murmured, "so much."
Florence surprised her and kissed the letter absently. "Dear man," she sighed.
This was... strange. Mrs. Duncan... loved her husband?
"What's with the look?" Florence exclaimed. "Are you judging me?"
Annie wasn't aware she gave away her surprise. "No, of course not..."
"You wonder why I married Duncan. You know, we can't all find the most beautiful man in town."
She wouldn't describe Jeff as 'beautiful'. And in any case it wasn't his only virtue, but Florence went on. "Some of us have to settle for what we can have. Decide what's important to us. Is it important to have a man who is taller than me? No. Is it important to have a man I can use his chest as an anvil? No again. But Duncan... he's alright. Absolutely alright. I let him woo me for a while, and after a while realized I liked his smile. And that he does everything I tell him, even if sometimes not at the pace I would like. And he delivers in bed, even if he took some time to learn how."
Annie tried her hardest not to imagine Ian Duncan in bed.
Florence sighed, her eyes on the letter in her hand. "Look, he's not much of a romantic, but he writes to me, because he knows I'm worried. And in the end, that's enough for me."
Annie didn't expect so much honesty at once, but it was refreshing to talk to someone about the real things. She asked quietly, "Do you love him?"
Florence laughed. "After twenty years of marriage? Of course. I would be crazy if I didn't." She sighed. "I pray to God he comes back from the war."
Annie sympathized. She sighed, feeling again how the fatigue settled between her shoulders and in her arms. "Maybe we should..." She said, looking at the other room, and Florence took the hint and pulled herself together. "You're right, we better go back."
They entered the room just as Rachel was saying, "Authenticity isn't the most important thing in a book."
Abed said, "It is. If you have no authenticity, you've got nothing."
"And what about plot?" Rachel asked. "And characters you root for?"
"They are important, of course," Abed said, "but if you have authenticity you have good characters. And plot doesn't always matter."
"Yes," Rachel said doubtfully. "I've read books without plot. I wasn't particularly impressed."
"Just because we want the story to have progress. But in life, there is not always progress, which is why books without a plot are successful: they are authentic to life."
"But who wants to read about a life without progress?" Rachel called, clapping her hands on her knees.
Annie thought, Here's something I never thought I'd ever see: A girl who can keep up with Abed.
"Different people want different things," Abed said.
Rachel asked, "But can we agree that without characters there is nothing?"
"Obviously, characters are important."
"Even though you can write a story without characters?"
"Maybe, but who wants to read a story without characters?"
Annie looked between the two, raising an eyebrow. Curious... Rachel smiled at Abed, a sincere smile of pleasure. Abed, being Abed, didn't smile, but tilted his head as he looked at her without looking in her eyes.
Rachel had the last word, as she softly agreed, "Exactly."
After saying goodbye to the Duncan ladies and going out to the cold street, Annie affected nonchalance when she asked Abed , "So... what did you think of Miss Duncan?"
"She's an interesting woman. I wonder what Duncan did to convince her to marry him."
"Not Florence! I meant... the young lady. Miss Duncan."
"Oh." Abed contemplated. "She's strange."
"Really? Why?"
"She thinks a story doesn't need authenticity. It's a ridiculous claim."
"That's not what I..." Annie gave up. "Yes, I reckon it is strange." She poked his side with her elbow. "So you got your first letter. Does it say anything interesting?"
Abed snorted. "You'll have to wait and read the paper like everyone else, Miss Annie. You don't get special treatment just because you're my friend."
Annie accepted the verdict without complaint, and asked him no further questions.
:::
"Questions?" Jeff asked at the end of the workout, and hoped there would be none.
He was tired, so tired. Even if he slept ten hours, it wouldn't satisfy him.
Being a commander was a never-ending job, and it was infinitely more difficult than serving as a sheriff in a small town where nothing ever happened. He knew he had made a good deal when he became sheriff - most of the time he didn't have to do anything, and what little work he did gave him an almost endless reward in the form of the Greendale people's love. There was no such luxury in the army; He missed the days he could nap at his desk and be home at noon, but no more. The absurdity was that he tried, really tried to maintain a routine of maximum rest and minimum work, but as death breathed down his neck, taking out soldiers left and right, kicking riders from horses and knocking over marching soldiers in mid-stride, the result of minimal work became clear to him in all its glory. The only way to avoid death-by-ignorance was to teach people everything possible, until they were skilled enough to know where to hide, how to shoot, and even when to duck. And even though skilled people were destined to die eventually, he couldn't help but try to do something about it.
Thus, in the days when they didn't go out to the battlefield, instead of napping in his tent - Jeff gathered his squad for training. Afterwards, in the few minutes left to rest, there was always something that required his attention: an immediate and urgent need to answer a question, resolve a dispute, or give an order that no one else could give. At least it kept him from constantly thinking of Annie, like some teenage boy smitten for the first time.
"Commander," Garrett said, and Jeff prepared himself for another inexplicable concern of Garrett's perpetual anxiety. But the flushed guy pointed behind him and said, "Commander, it seems you got a letter!"
"What?" Jeff turned on his axis. "From whom?"
The soldier carrying the letter asked, "Jeffrey Winger?"
"That's me," Jeff confirmed. The name on the envelope made his heart skip a beat. Annie Winger. He waved his hand in the general direction of the squad. "Dismissed. Go and do something useful, I guess."
He walked to his tent, a place without wandering eyes, holding the envelope as if it could crumble between his fingers.
He tore the envelope open and his eyes swept over the first words.
"Dear Jeff. What we hoped for came to be..."
The next words were blurry. Jeff collapsed to the floor behind his tent, the words repeating in his brain. What we hoped for came to be. It came to be.. what we hoped for.
He never wanted children. Never. Not a sliver of a thought had crossed his mind all these years, but he was crying nonetheless. Over the thought that one week made a difference. That Annie got what she wanted: a chance for the life she dreamed of. That God may have answered her prayer.
And his private salvation continued to surprise him. Marriage to a good woman. Abstinence and finally giving in to her, to pleasure, to joy. And now... a child. An offspring who would be legal and would be his. It seemed inconceivable, and yet the words "what we hoped for came to be" came to his eyes, and their meaning was clear.
At last he wiped his eyes and forced himself to read the letter.
"I admit it is a little early to know for sure that this is it, but all the signs indicate that we are on the family way. It is strange to think that I am glad that I feel bad... But that is how I feel: I feel bad! Hurray! It has been two weeks since you left, but I reckon it is probable you haven't written to me, so no letter is delaying to reach me. Well, you stubborn man, I am writing you, and with good reason: I am pregnant.
You all are missed here in town, but the women work hard to make up for it. I walk a lot going house to house, and I meet a lot of new people, since I volunteered to help deliver food and clothes for anyone who needs help. People are happy for the help, and I see a lot of tired smiles. It warms the heart.
Don't think I'm straining myself too much for my condition, because Troy is helping me. He takes his role as my guardian seriously - maybe too seriously... Couldn't you have asked Abed to protect me? Or Pierce? Don't fret, I am not being serious. I know Troy is your right hand in such matters, the one you trust. He is a decent lad indeed, and he also helps me carry heavy things. In any case, some walking is healthy for an expecting woman.
I had an idea about an organization that would take care of all the help needed, and I started discussing it with Shirley. At the moment there are no outcomes, but if I sit and write everything down, I am certain the whole situation will go much more smoothly.
I miss you. I know you think emotions are stupid, but that is how I feel. I wish you were here. With me in bed. I miss you... I miss my pillow... I am jesting, of course, but not fully. You are truly comfortable and now I have no one to cuddle with at night. Or do other things (that a decent lady shall not mention in letters). You know what I am implying. You are a smart man...
I wish you would answer me and not ignore or forget. I want to know you are alright. Even a short letter will satisfy me. Tell me you are healthy and that everything is in order. I need to know.
Yours, A. Winger."
He smiled at the letter, hearing her voice in the words, sharing what she was going through, scolding him gently, whispering in his ear. She missed him. And not just as a pillow. I'll be damned. And he did promise to write to her. Time to be a man and do something about it.
He found Garrett and told him, "Get me some paper and ink. And an envelope."
"Yes sir!"
:::
It's been three months since the war started, three long months without him, and winter was in full swing.
Annie knew the fourth month has begun, because this was when the nausea had hit her the strongest - as it was in her last pregnancy. That was when Shirley started to suspect, and forced Annie to tell her. "I knew it! All women get sick around this time, so no point hiding this from me, my sweet dumpling!" To Annie's surprise, the nausea wasn't as bad as last time, when any strong smell made her want to empty her stomach contents as quickly as possible. This time she would wake up early in the morning, vomit once, and then it was over for the day. And a week later all that was left of the vomiting was nausea that went away with Shirley's hot tea, which had herbs that helped greatly.
It's been three months and there were still new things in Greendale.
On a rainy Thursday, Annie walked into Pierce's saloon, lowered her gray umbrella and shook the drops on the saloon floor, careful not to wet her purple skirt. Abed came in after her and waited patiently for her to lead inside. The place was full of people - women, old men and boys - and Annie found Shirley a few tables away, talking to Vicki, Sheila and Florence. Rachel was standing behind them but didn't seem to be in the conversation. Annie made her way to them.
"Did I miss it?" She asked the women as she stood approached them. Abed took his place next to her, and Annie saw Rachel waving at him from the corner of her eye. Abed ignored, his eyes focused intently on the other side of the room.
"No," Shirley told her, pointing to the front of the room, where Pierce was talking to the mayor and his sister Miss Dart, beside a stand on which was something covered with white cloth. "But I think they're ready to start."
A few minutes later, the mayor approached the stand and cleared his throat. It didn't halt the talk in the room, which caused Pierce to bellow, "The mayor wants to talk, you animals! Shut your mouth!" It silenced the people in the room, though some murmurs testified that most didn't appreciate the offense. Pierce ignored them, or didn't notice, and nodded to the mayor.
The mayor spread his hands to the sides. "Dear citizens! In these difficult times, it is important to stay level-headed." He leaned against the stand, onto the thing covered with the white cloth, missed and started slide, and managed not to fall at the last minute. He straightened. "Although our dear men have been sent away from us, we stand firm and take care of... what remains behind." His gaze passed over the people filling the room, and for a moment passed over Annie's face. She was relatively far away from him and he didn't seem to recognize her.
The mayor's sister, standing next to him, muttered something under her fixed smile.
The mayor said, "Yes! Of course. I am honored to present you with the latest town procurement, courtesy of Mr. Hawthorne, for the benefit of the town. I am proud to present you…" he reached for the top of the white cloth, held and took it off with one pull, "The Telegraph!"
The townspeople politely applauded.
Annie leaned over to Shirley and whispered, "A telegraph! I'm surprised Pierce can afford it..."
Someone called, "What is it?"
"It's a telegraph," Pierce said as a way of explanation.
"It's a telegraph receiver, to be exact," the mayor said happily. "It receives flash messages from a second device - the transmitter - which is thousands of miles away!"
Shirley whispered to Annie, "Pierce could afford to buy the town if he wanted to."
The mayor performed a little dance and pointed to the various parts of the device. "This is the handle that is turned, this is the copper coil that… we do not touch, better not to touch what you don't know! And here is the paper with the message - this technology will allow us to keep in touch with the army, and we can receive messages in real time!"
Someone else asked, "Can we send letters with this?"
"No, um, no." The mayor said, and perhaps a little of his enthusiasm waned. "Only short sentences can be sent. And right now we only have a receiver. So, um, no."
"Oh," said the someone whose question was answered.
Pierce said, "marvelous, isn't it? We can get messages from the army!"
Someone coughed into their hand.
Pierce raised his eyebrows and said intently, "you're welcome, people of Greendale!"
Annie felt bad for him. He invested money in the telegraph, and even though it was just a receiver and not a transmitter, it was an amazing progress for the town. And the people seemed angry that their time was wasted.
Annie turned to Shirley and whispered urgently, "Help me thank him!"
"What?"
"Just say thank you! That's all! Tell others to join in!"
Shirley nodded and whispered to Rachel, and then turned to the other side and whispered to Abed, who nodded and passed the message on. Sheila and Vicki passed the message to whoever listened. After a few seconds of the whisper passing through the room like a ripple, Annie spoke slowly to allow people to join her: "Thank you very much, Mr. Hawthorne!"
To her relief, nearly half of the people in the saloon joined in, and it seemed to satisfy Pierce.
And with that, the assembly was over.
The women — minus Abed, who left quickly, and Rachel, who went the opposite side — continued to stand on the saloon porch for some time, since they had things to discuss. Also, it was still pouring.
Sheila said, "Money, money, money. In the end we always come back to money."
Annie nodded. The women's efforts were noteworthy, in cooking and doing laundry and sewing, but however they tried they couldn't cover up for the fact that more than half of Greendale's workforce left for war, and most of the survivors were elderly and women, and children who couldn't work. And somebody had to pay for the food and the time of the women who compensated for the others.
Shirley said, "What about a fundraising event?"
"Who can we collect donations from, Shirley?" Vicky said, a little too snappy for Annie's liking. "Nobody has money!"
Florence snorted. "Ha! You know that's not true." She caught Annie's eyes and nodded to the saloon.
Annie recalled Shirley's words, and said slowly, "Pierce could buy the whole town, if he wanted to."
"Inheritance money," Sheila said. "Some people get all the luck in this world..."
"Then we'll ask Pierce," Annie said. "nd of problem."
Shirley, Sheila, Florence and Vicki responded with various levels of amusement and disdain.
"What?" Annie said. "What am I missing?"
"He'll never let us," Vicki said. "Pierce sits on his money like… like…" She looked desperately at the others. Shirley said gloomily, "Like a pig on his mud. He enjoys wallowing in it too much."
The women nodded.
"That is not fair," Annie said, shocked by the ugly picture they painted. "Have you tried at all?"
"Several times," Sheila rolled her eyes. "A stubborn man."
The man in question decided to show his face at that moment, and stepped out onto the porch. The women fell silent.
"Ladies," Pierce said with a wide smile. "Exciting, isn't it?"
Annie, standing close to him, responded the fastest. "Indeed, a joyous development for our town."
"I was happy to help," Pierce folded his hands on his chest. "Excuse me," he said to Annie, "I believe we haven't been officially introduced yet. Are you Mrs. Winger?"
Annie nodded. "Mr. Hawthorne. But I've heard about you from Jeff."
"He talks about me?" Pierce for a moment looked like a kid who was offered a basket full of candied apples. Then he remembered himself and puffed his chest like a rooster. "Of course he does! We're good friends."
"That's what I hear," Annie smiled, and to her surprise it was true, at least from Pierce' side. "Mr. Hawthorne, I wanted to ask you, would you be so kind..."
Shirley cleared her throat and stuck a well-aimed elbow to Annie's back. It hurt, and Annie cried out in surprise. Shirley caught her and asked with feigned concern, "Are you okay?"
Annie gave her a look that said, I'm not and you know exactly why. Florence stepped up to her and put her hand on Annie's waist, as if trying to support her.
Pierce said with a red face, "Mrs. Winger! Are you quite alright? Do you want to go into the saloon? Have a glass of water?"
"No, no," Annie rejected his suggestion, pushing Shirley away from her, confused by her friend's reaction. But she trusted her enough not to embarrass her. "I'm merely... tired. It has been a long day. I should go home."
"I'll go with you," Florence said. Vicki and Sheila quickly made excuses and left.
As Shirley, Florence and Annie walked to the inn, Annie asked sharply, "Why did you do that? I wanted to ask him for help for the women's organization!"
"He would have said no," Shirley said, "and then you'd just upset him. Remember, we've asked him a few times before! What makes you think you're different from all the other women who tried to ask him for help?"
"I didn't think," Annie admitted. "I went with my gut. It occurred to me that Pierce would be more open to helping me because he admires Jeff."
"He does seem to fancy you," Florence said thoughtfully from Annie's other side. "As if you were his granddaughter. Or daughter? I'm not sure how old he is..."
Shirley shook her head. "I admit he might fancy you, but he's Pierce. And as much as he admires our sheriff, he is still very attached to his money. You will need more than a sweet smile and a vague promise to give him the company of a man who isn't even in town right now..."
Annie giggleed. "You mean I should have promised Jeff's friendship?" The thought of Jeff's face when she asks him for such a thing made her giggle, but sadness returned swiftly when she remembered she won't be able to ask for it any time soon.
"Maybe? Who knows what this man wants..." Shirley chuckled too.
Florence said, "Maybe... there's something here. Maybe you should think about it, Annie. If you can make Pierce want to help you. Maybe we can get some money out of him, at last."
They arrived at the inn, and Florence turned to say goodbye. Before she left, Annie told her, "You're right. I'll think about it."
"What are you thinking about?" Shirley told her as they walked inside. "You look like you have something on your mind."
"I do have something on my mind," Annie said. She saw herself falling, maybe slipping, maybe being pushed by an evil man... and Pierce running to her aid. And while he feels sorry for her, he offers to help in every way. In every way… But how will she fall in a way that will make him believe her, and also feel sorry for her?
Annie turned to Shirley and said, "I'm going to need Abed's help."
:::
That evening Annie walked up the stairs to her room, stopping to rest as she reached the top of the stairs. Her legs ached - a kind of dull pain that stretched into the muscles, resonating with the flesh, making even a simple standing position unpleasant. When she reached the door of her room, she was stopped by Elijah Bennett. The boy returned to being as jolly as he was before the spoons incident, and Annie was delighted at the small victories they managed to achieve, despite the war.
"Letter for you, Ms. Winger," he said, shoved a brown envelope in her palm, and hopped away cheerfully.
She entered her room and sat on her bed with a grateful huff, and looked at the letter. The handwriting was unfamiliar, but on the other side of the envelope, at the bottom, was written in thick black ink: J. Winger.
Her fingers tightened on the envelope and a lump rose in her throat. Jeff answered her. He answered her! The unbelievable happened. He sat and wrote a letter, put pen to paper and wrote words. It was a small miracle. It had been three months without a word from him, no news from the battlefield, but now there was proof in her hand that he was still alive and was thinking of her. She breathed deeply. At the very least, he was still alive at the time of writing the letter.
"Dear Annie.
Emotions aren't stupid. They're human. And I don't blame you. I would miss me too. After all, I'm the most handsome man you have ever seen."
Annie chuckled at his silliness.
"On a more serious note, I was glad to hear the news. You got what you wanted, and that's all I want. It's a shame you feel so bad, but you knew it would happen, didn't you? I feel fine, thank you for asking.
I got a squad, only half of whom know the right side to hold a rifle. Half the time, I'm afraid they'll shoot themselves before the Mexicans have a chance to reach them. I worked with them a lot until they learned to defend themselves properly.
I'm being careful, I remember I promised you. It's a bit difficult when the commanders send us to the front, but for now we're fine. There are some wins: We conquered Santa Fe. In blood sweat and tears. Don't believe what the songs tell, it's not fun around here. I miss a soft bed that's not on the ground, a bath you can sit in. The thought of your food makes me want to leave everything and come back, but I have a reasonable fear they would notice if I suddenly disappear.
I'm shocked at the things you wrote me, is that what a decent lady writes in letters? Yes, the truth is that I'm also thinking about 'doing other things' and everything I'll do with you when I come back, but we'll have to settle for words in the meantime: I'm sending you a kiss below the ear... you know where."
Annie wondered if he meant just below the ear, on the sensitive skin where she loved his lips, because the kiss there was erotic and affectionate at the same time, and it meant that his face was nestled perfectly in the crook of her neck. Or maybe he was referring to her whole body below the ear line. She was probably overthinking it, but a pleasant thrill passed through her back, even if it wasn't his original intention.
"I promised to try writing. I'm afraid writing isn't one of my virtues. I don't know what to write to you, what do you want to hear. That I'm covered with mud at all times? That we eat potatoes all day, every day? That I miss you? It's true, I got used to your face in the mornings, and in the first few weeks it was hard not to think of you. But I'm fine now. And I hope you are, too. Don't miss me too much. Seriously, Annie, I'm not worth it. I wish you didn't hurt, little one."
Annie's heart beat fast in her chest. She didn't believe Jeff wrote this to her. Affectionate nickname, no cynicism, and a phrase he had said in the past: I wish you didn't hurt. She wondered if he meant: I pray you won't hurt. Otherwise, why would he tell her that?
"Don't take it to my detriment that my writing isn't orderly or coherent. I'm trying, and I don't have a lot of paper to write on, so I'm writing whatever comes to mind the moment I think of it, and that is what you will get. I'm fine, that's what you wanted me to write to you, didn't you? I'm fine, safe and sound. Yet tired, and my muscles hurt (I admit it, I struggle too) and I look like a pirate with a beard two-fists long, and dirt under my fingernails. But for now, I'm fine.
Yours, Jeff."
Annie folded the letter and pressed it over her heart. Mine.
:::
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AN: Letters received - Check. Brie Larson cameo - Check. And Jeff gets reminded that he was once up-to-no-good kind of guy, and shocked to realize that he's not that anymore... Check.
Still appreciate and enjoy your reviews, so thank you so much! You rock!
Next up: A lot, actually. Conversations around the fireplace, Jeff meets the camp's nurse, Annie carries out her plan, and the longest battle-sequence I've written in a while. Also, it will be the finale part of "J+A in wartime".
DFTBA