Annie Oakley's Arc

Chapter 9 of 13

Lainey started the first hymn. Her voice carried up the stone rows and filled the bowl of the amphitheater. Annie held her water glass and watched from the side table. The men on the top steps went quiet. Annie's stomach stayed soft. She could breathe. She could listen. She hadn't known sitting could feel like this much. Halfway through the second verse Annie noticed a small shape near the edge of the stone risers. A girl stood alone, maybe five or six, red hair under a wide cowgirl hat, a plaid dress creased at the hem. She wasn't watching Lainey. She was crying with her mouth closed, the way children cry when they've learned not to make noise. Annie set the glass down. She looked up at Lainey, still singing, eyes shut on the long note. Then she stood and walked around behind the seats to the girl. "Hey," Annie said. She crouched. "What's your name?" "Misty." "You here by yourself, Misty?" Misty nodded. She wiped her nose on her wrist. "You want to sit with me?" "I wanted to hear the music." Misty's voice was flat and small. "My mama and daddy was in the mine this morning. The roof come down. They didn't come out." Annie's chest went tight in a new way, not the stage way. She pulled the bandana from her back pocket and folded it once. She pressed it into Misty's hand. "For your face," Annie said. Misty held it but didn't use it. She looked at the stage. Lainey's voice rose into the chorus and the men on the steps leaned forward. "Do you have anyone?" Annie asked. "An aunt? A neighbor?" Misty shook her head. "Just them." Annie thought about the cottage. She thought about the second bed Lainey had made up for guests, and the eggs in the crock, and Lainey's paisley pony on her pillow. "You can come with us," Annie said. "Me and Lainey. She's the one singing. We've got a house in a small town, two of them, side by side. There's room. We'll feed you and you can sleep and nobody'll ask you anything you don't want to say." Misty studied her. "For how long?" "For as long as you need. Forever, if it comes to that." Misty took one step and pressed her face into Annie's shoulder. Her hat bumped Annie's jaw. Annie put both arms around her and held on. Misty was smaller than she looked. Lainey's hymn ended. The men clapped, loud on the stone. Annie kept her arms where they were. She hadn't sung a note. She hadn't stood on the stage. But she'd stood up from the table on her own, and she'd found the one person in this camp who needed her, and her hands weren't shaking. That was a thing she could do. That was work she could carry.