Annie Oakley's Arc

Chapter 16 of 25

Annie came back the next morning with her brown cockapoo trotting at her heel. The A-frame cabin sat quiet in the clearing. Temperance Joy opened the door before Annie knocked. Her face was still pale. One hand rested flat on her middle again. "You ate the bread?" Annie asked. "I ate it. I threw up an hour later." "All of it?" "No. Less this time. Just water and a little bile." Annie stepped inside. The twins sat on the rug, awake and calmer. Muffin looked up from a wooden spoon he was holding. "My tummy is better," he said. "Hank's tummy is better too." "I threw up yesterday," Hank said. "I threw up twice. Today I didn't." "Good work," Annie said. She turned back to Temperance. "Sit down. It's not the bread." Temperance sat on the step. "Then what." "An ulcer, probably. A little one. I get them." Annie set her hand on her own stomach to show where. "Mine come when I'm scared. Are you scared?" Temperance looked at the boys, then at the trees past the porch. "I have somewhere I have to be. A gate that closes soon. The boys keep getting sick. I keep not going." "That's the worry," Annie said. "The worry eats a hole. My doctor told me. Bread won't fix worry." "What fixes it." Annie sat down beside her. The cockapoo climbed into Temperance's lap without asking. Temperance let him. Her shoulders dropped an inch. "I know a song," Annie said. "When I'm sick like this I sing it. It helps me breathe slower. May I sing it for you?" "Please." Annie sang "All in All" quiet and plain, the way she sang it to herself in bed. You are my strength when I am weak. You are the treasure that I seek. She kept her voice small so it wouldn't scare the boys. Muffin stopped chewing his spoon. Hank crept to the doorway and sat. Temperance closed her eyes. Her hand loosened on her stomach. By the second verse she was breathing with the tune. By the end she was crying without sound, the cockapoo pressed under her chin. "Jesus is the one in the song," Annie said. "He carries what I can't. That's all I came to say yesterday." "Sing it again." Annie sang it again. When she finished, Temperance opened her eyes. Her hand was flat on the dog now, not her belly. "It still hurts," she said. "But less. I think I can eat." Annie cut a fresh slice of bread and passed it over. Temperance took a small bite. She chewed. She swallowed. She took another. "Tomorrow," Temperance said. "Come tomorrow. Bring the song." "I will." Annie walked home with the cockapoo behind her. The ulcer was still there. So was the woman, still on the porch, still eating.