Catherine Anderson - Annies Song

Annies SONG

Catherine Anderson

To our wonderful son John and his lovely new wife, Deanna. May God, in His goodness, bless you with a future filled with joy,laughter, and wishes that come true.

Hooperville, Oregon

Sunday, April 6, 1890

When he was sober, Douglas Montgomery was bearable to be around, but when he drank, Alan Dristol was afraid of him. Why, Alan wasnt certain. As far as he knew, Douglas had never done anything truly vicious to anyone. But even so, Alan couldnt shake the feeling that he might.

It was an unsettling thought because it forced Alan to examine his own character. If he didnt like Douglas, why did he associate with him, let alone drink with him? It was a question Alan had asked himself a dozen times, and the answer, though unpleasant to admit, was that he was afraid to tel Douglas no. Nosuch a simple word. But saying it to someone like Douglas wasnt simple.

Slowing his horses pace, Alan squinted against the bright morning sunlight to study the backs of his four companions as they rode along in front of him. Douglas Montgomery, a head tal er and broader across the shoulders than the others, led the group. As though to emphasize his authority, he frequently sank spur into his geldings flanks and continual y jerked on the poor beasts reins. Observing the mistreatment, Alan felt a little sick.

The gelding was wel -behaved, and there was absolutely no need for Douglas to handle it so harshly.

Shifting his gaze, Alan observed James Radwick, Roddy Simms, and Sam Peck, the other three young men who preceded him. They had been his best friends since way back when he stil wore knickers, and he felt he knew them nearly as wel as he knew himself. He suspected each of them feared Douglas as much as he did. What a pitiful lot they were, forsaking everything theyd ever been taught, fol owing along behind Douglas last night like ducklings in a queue, visiting the brothels with him, then drowning their guilt in drink, only to pay the price this morning with fierce headaches. Christ. It was Sunday. Their families would be at church right now, wondering where they were. Did none of them have a wil of his own?

Wheeling his mount sideways in the road to block their way, Douglas swept off his gray felt derby and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve. It was an uncommonly dry April; there had been little rain the last two weeks, and the road was dusty. He grimaced at the dirt that came away on his white cuff. I say we sober up with a swim, he said with a chal enging air. Last one in is a mamas boy.

Misty Fal s and their favorite swimming hole were nearby. Scarcely able to believe he had heard correctly, Alan glanced in that direction.

Douglas loved to do wild, crazy things, the more daring, the better. But coming on the heels of last night, this was too much. A swim? Have you lost your mind? Wel freeze our asses off.

Jesus, Alan, youre such a little mol ycoddle. Its hotter than blazes out here. Im sweating and so are you.

Ful y clothed and dry, yes, I am sweating, Alan conceded. But I wont be if I get in that swimming hole.

The water in that pool is melt off from the snow in the mountains, Roddy pointed out. Itl be uncomfortably cold, Douglas, without a doubt.

Uncomfortably cold? Are you a man, Roddy? Or a mewling girl dressed up like one?

Roddys face flushed with humiliation, but he said nothing in defense of his manhood. None of them ever stood up to Douglas.

With a snort of disgust, Douglas spurred his gelding off the road and into the drainage ditch that ran alongside. Waving his derby, he let out a caterwaul as his horse sprang up the bank. Alan looked dubiously at his three friends, knowing without asking that none of them wanted to go swimming. Sadly enough, he also knew theyd kowtow to Douglass whim because no one had the guts to buck him.

Wel ? Roddy said.

Sam sighed. Sometimes I wish it was just us again, that wed never gotten involved with him.

Il second that, James put in.

Alan shared the sentiment, but it seemed a moot point. The fact was, Douglas had not only joined their group but had taken over. The four of them turned their horses and headed reluctantly toward the fal s. As if in forewarning, the wind suddenly picked up, brisk and refreshingly cool on Alans face. Against wet skin, he knew it would feel icy.

Instead of taking the trodden path, Douglas cut through the woods to reach the swimming hole, and it was rough terrain. Madrone, laurel, stunted oak, and twisted fir tangled together like an old womans arthritic fingers to block the way, their stout, gnarled trunks shooting up from thick clumps of undergrowth. It was impossible to see the ground. Afraid his horse might stumble into a chuckhole and break a foreleg, Alan slowed his pace to a cautious walk. His friends, fearful of getting on Douglass bad side if they dal ied, made no such concession. The cost of a ruined horse aside, Alan felt they showed no humane regard for their mounts by pushing them across such uneven ground. But he was only a fol ower, not the leader.

Whatever Douglas insisted upon, the others did, no questions asked, their horses and everything else be damned.

Arriving last, Alan heard the voices of his four companions drifting back to him through the pine and fir trees. Whoops and hol ers. Despite his resentment of Douglas, he smiled, imagining Sam, Roddy, and James leaping naked into the freezing water. Crazy fools. Theyd get pneumonia for this days work, and al only to humor Montgomery. Blast the Montgomerys. Blast their fancy house up on the hil . Blast their money. Sometimes Alan wondered if their self-appointed leader didnt come up with these outlandish suggestions just to see how far he could push them.

Breaking through the trees at last, Alan was surprised to note that no one had entered the water yet. He cupped a hand over his eyes to see what al the commotion was about and determined that there were five figures near the swimming hole, his four companions and a slightly built girl.

Douglas had taken possession of the girls shawl and was holding it beyond her reach. Typical. Any time Douglas got a chance to bul y someone, he took it. Though it disturbed Alan, he supposed the teasing was harmless enough.

Then he recognized the girl. Annie Trimble, the town moron. Though nearly twenty and wel past girlhood, she cut a childish and pathetic figure in her shapeless blue frock, black stockings, and high-button shoes smudged with dirt. Because his mother was a frequent visitor to the Trimble home, Alan knew that Edie Trimble tried to keep her daughter tidy, but Annie ran wild in the woods so much it was an impossible task.

His heart caught at the panicked expression on her smal face as she grabbed wildly to reclaim possession of her shawl. Because Annie frequently forgot articles of clothing in the woods, her folks were strict with her about bringing her things home. Alan knew shed get a scolding, or worse, if she went back to the house without her wrap. Her father, the judge, didnt believe in sparing the rod, and, given Annies affliction, he used a firmer hand with her than he ever had with his three older daughters.

Alan didnt fault the judge for that or think him cruel. A girl of Annies limited intel igence was difficult to control, and her parents were to be commended for keeping her at home. Most people would have committed a child like Annie to an asylum. If not for the fact that the Trimbles managed to keep the girl pretty much out of sight when they had cal ers, they might have been ostracized by polite society. A good many individuals found someone like Annie off-putting. Despite that, Annies parents had not institutionalized her, choosing instead to keep her existence obscure.