Sweet Annie

Dedicated to my friend
Anita Baker, who,

though she hasn't walked
since 1974,

has run a good race, and
fought a good fight.

She has enriched the life
of each person who knows her. I look forward to dancing together on streets of
gold.

Prologue

Copper Creek, Colorado

1878

The
expansive
spring sky was that vibrant shade of purest blue that always made Annie's chest
ache with an unexplainable sadness. The color stretched in all directions like
a heavenly canopy dotted by only the merest whispers of fleecy white clouds.
Surely, if a person stood on one of those snow-capped mountain-tops in the
distance, he could reach out and touch that mysterious and elusive glory.

Sounds of laughter and music slowly drew her attention
back to earth, back to the grown-ups scattered on her parents' lush green lawn
in chattering clusters. She observed the boisterous children who dashed about,
playing games of tag and hide-and-seek.

Several were intent on an impassioned battle of croquet
beneath the sun-filtering leaves of the ancient aspens. Annie watched with a
familiar mixture of yearning and bereavement in her ten-year-old heart.

"Are you warm enough, darling?" Her
mother's con-cerned voice wasn't enough to divert her attention from the game,
but she nodded in reply.

"Would you like some
more lemonade?"

"No,
thank you. Can you push me a little closer to the players, Mama?"

"One
of those wooden balls might fly up and strike you," her mother said in her
most discouraging tone. "You're safer right here."

"I
got out of my chair this morning, and I made it to my dressing table all by
myself," she said, knowing the effort would displease her mother, but
desperate to assure her she wasn't completely helpless. "I know I could
stand under one of the trees there for a while. I could hold on to it. Please,
Mama? Please let me?''

Mildred
Sweetwater tucked the plush lap robe more tightly around Annie's legs.
"I'll not have you upsetting yourself this way, child. You know you can't
walk and play like other children. There are roots sticking above the ground,
and you could trip and hurt yourself. No more foolish talk like that. You're
safe in your chair. Hold your sweet new doll. There—isn't she the prettiest
thing?" Mother glanced about and spotted Annie's brother. "Burdell,
come and keep your sister company."

The
boy obediently moved to stand beside Annie's wheelchair, and Mildred glided
gracefully back into the crowd.

"You
don't have to stand there, Burdy," she told him with a disgusted wave of
her hand. "Go on and have fun with your friends."

No
one but Annie could have called him by that nickname without getting a fist in
the teeth. At sixteen he was already taller and broader than their father, and
possessed a chip the size of Colorado on his shoulder. But he never treated
Annie with anything less than devotion. "I don't mind," he replied.
"I know it must be hard sittin' in that chair all the time. It's something
you're going to have to accept. I wish it wasn't so."

Annie
sighed, glad for his company and his loyalty, but resentful that he looked at
her the same way their parents did. She glanced distractedly at the delicate
Dresden doll in her lap—an addition to the ponderous collection that already
ladened the window seat in her room.

He
stayed beside her until she noticed his friends glancing their way, and she shooed
him off to join them. The gangly boys tramped toward the creek, and she envied
them their independence.

Sometime later, two riders
approached the house. They tethered their horses near the gate and walked
toward the festivities. One was Gilbert Chapman, a man she'd seen visit her
parents before. The other was an unfamiliar lanky young man who looked younger
than Burdeil. Annie observed with interest as Mr. Chapman introduced the boy to
her parents and a small gathering, then moved on to talk with someone else.

Left
alone, the young man observed the croquet game for a few minutes, then spotted
her. Hands jammed in the pockets of his trousers, he ambled his way to where
she sat. Compared to her brother's compact sturdiness, he seemed all legs and
angles and booted feet. A breeze caught his shiny black hair and lifted the
locks away from his forehead. "Hey," he said.

Annie
looked up into eyes as bright and blue as the sky. "Hello. I haven't seen
you before. What's your name?"

"Luke
Carpenter. I'm visiting my Uncle Gil. What's yours?"

"Annie.
This is my birthday party." "Happy birthday. Pretty doll."

"Thanks.
That your uncle's horse?"

"No,
he's mine."

"What's
his name?"

"Wrangler. He's a
Swedish Warmblood. They were bred as cavalry horses originally. Part Spanish,
part oriental."

"You sure know a lot about horses."

"Some."

"So, he's from Sweden?"

He chuckled, and a long
dimple creased his lean cheek. "Nah. He's from Nebraska. Wanna see 'im up
close?"

"Oh! Can I?"

"Sure. What's wrong
with you?" he asked as he pushed her chair toward the gate. "I mean,
why can't you walk?"

"I was born with a
misproportioned limb," she said, knowing as she spoke them, even before he
leaned forward to see her face and raised a brow, that her mother's fancy words
sounded ridiculous. "A gimp leg," she clarified. Her mother would
have a fit of apoplexy at the coarse term.

"Oh," he said simply.

“Mama and Papa have had me
to all the best doctors in the East. There isn't an operation that can fix
what's wrong. My bones aren't made right in my hip."

"Does it hurt?"

"No. I can walk a
little, but it's clumsy and Mama says I shouldn't embarrass myself."

Her chair came to a stop a
few feet from the horse. "Can you ride?"

She gaped up at him with
surprise, and a hopefulness she hadn't dreamed sprang up so strong, her chest
hurt. "I don't know. Is it dangerous?"

"No more dangerous
than most things, I guess."

She
stared up at the enormous shiny brown animal wistfully. Oh, what a birthday it
would be if she could ride him!
Her,
lame
Annie Sweetwater, on a horse. Oh, glory be! "Can I see if I can sit on
him?"

He
glanced back at the party; no one was paying them any attention. “Reckon so.
How will we get you up there?"

She
dumped the china doll alongside her cashmere lap blanket on the grass and struggled
to her feet. Luke caught her arm to steady her.