The Yonahlossee Riding Camp For Girls Part 25

I didn't know what it meant, his letter, except that he was lonely and angry. He hadn't been an angry person; all of this had made him angry, changed him into a different boy. I felt selfish, small, mean: I'd been sent away to a place where it was impossible to feel lonely. And Sam, well, he'd been made to stay, to be the only child in that world. And Georgie-how long had Sam known? How long had he borne that burden alone?

His letter, I decided, was a way to ask me to return. And at first I had wanted to go back. But now I did not. There was no future for me at home.

I rose and took Mother's earrings out of their red velvet box. They hurt to put in, but I had expected that. I hadn't worn earrings in months, not since I'd tried on Sissy's rubies. And then I hurried across the Square to Masters, where I knew Mr. Holmes would be waiting.

At Masters, Mr. Holmes led me to his library, but I did not follow.

"I want to go out back," I said, "like we did last time."

"All right," he said, "whatever you wish."

I led him through the house, and out the back porch. It was sunny, like it had been that other day, and I hoped the sunlight wouldn't be ruined for me forever. I hoped I would someday be able to not remember that day so clearly.

We walked up a steep trail, and I felt Mr. Holmes touch the back of my thigh. I turned and smiled at him but kept walking. I knew he was wondering about my silence. But he needn't have. I knew where I wanted to go. I knew what I wanted to do.

With Georgie it had felt like a violation, a thing we should not have done. A violation of what, I did not know. I knew that Georgie would never be the same again. I had known all along; Sam's letter had simply confirmed what I had suspected. A series of events. At first I thought I might have changed things, prevented the Atwell tragedy: there were so many ways it could have all been stopped. If I had not ridden, that day. If I had simply taken another route. If Sam had refused to go hunting with Georgie. If I had not cried like a little girl.

But I saw now that it had all started before I was even born. With two brothers, and their sons. A daughter, the odd girl out. And then we were all pressed on by circ.u.mstances that, at first, had nothing to do with us. Circ.u.mstances we responded to, badly, but did not create. The Miami land boom, which preyed upon my uncle's hopefulness; the Depression, which amplified my family's sense of being better than the rest of the world.

So to say it could have all turned out differently: only G.o.d could say that. It was like saying I should never have been born, which was the only way, I saw now, that all of this could not have happened. One of us would have had to go: me, Georgie, Sam.

I stopped at the clearing and turned to face Mr. Holmes. "Thea," he said, "Thea." He touched my earrings, the earrings that had been a gift from my mother. That Mother and Mr. Holmes had touched the same thing without knowing seemed outrageous, sad, but also comforting.

Nearly a year ago, what had he seen when he approached the car? He had been waiting for us, for me. Watched my father, who seemed hesitant; watched him hesitantly wind his way behind his automobile, filthy from the journey; then me, I sprang out of the car before Father could open my door. Did he think that I was bold? That I was impertinent? Theodora Atwell, from Florida, who behaved indiscriminately-worse than that, very badly, and so was sent away. First my legs emerged from the car, a girl's legs. Then me, smaller than he thought, and pretty, with perfect posture. Or if not pretty, interesting-looking. Saw all this through the gloom of dusk. And then realized he had watched too long and hurried outside to greet us.

"Thea," he said again. That was all he would say. Everything came to me by some sort of instinct I hadn't known I'd possessed. I had done things, of course, but never this confidently, this easily. There was an ease between us, now, that felt so correct, and it seemed impossible that anyone other than he and I had ever felt like this before. I had never wanted Georgie like this.

I kissed him, hard, held his cheeks between my hands.

Then I pointed to the ground, and he understood, he understood exactly what I wanted and he lay down on the ground, on the dirt, and I unbuckled his belt and helped him slide out of his trousers.

I lowered myself onto him, and he was so large and solid inside me, and I didn't want the feeling of that to end. The feeling that seemed to give me a reason for everything that I had done, starting with Georgie: for this, for this feeling that I was not alone. And even while the feeling burned bright in my brain I was sad, for I knew that this would be the first and last time we ever did this. And it did not seem possible, in this moment-I gripped his shoulders, and he pushed up my blouse and sucked my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and pressed me to him-it did not seem possible that I would ever feel this way again. I stilled my hips for a moment, leaned down, and kissed him. Both our bodies were slick with sweat.

"Don't stop," he murmured, and I promised I wouldn't.

I watched his face, his half-lidded eyes; what had he loved when he was a child? Had he held his mother's hand as they navigated an icy street and been comforted by her touch? Had he loved his father's voice as he recited the blessing? He must miss these things now, the touch and sound that slipped so quickly from memory.

I moved faster, and he put his hands on my hips and pushed me down, down, down, into him; and then I was angled differently on top of him and closed my eyes against the pleasure of it, that feeling of hopefulness.

I didn't want to remove Georgie from my mind. I wanted to remove that night, the following day. And that, I saw now, was impossible. The pain was part of the pleasure, and both were my memory of my cousin.

- It was a beautiful morning the day of the show, the kind of morning that antic.i.p.ates a beautiful day. If I often call the days here beautiful it's because they were, because I can think of no other way to describe them accurately except to simply call them beautiful, like a postcard, a painting, a thing not real.

I walked into the forest path with Sissy on one side, Mary Abbott on the other, her breeches sagging at her knees. Sissy had wound her limp hair into a tight knot. My show coat felt tight across my back when I lifted my arms. In two months I would have outgrown it. But I wasn't thinking of that, I wasn't thinking about a year from now, or even a day: I was thinking about the next hour, when I would jump in front of all these girls, and Mr. Albrecht, and Mr. Holmes.

Mr. Holmes was standing at the gate with Decca. My body responded to him, now; it felt like there was a magnet embedded in my skin, telling me to go to him. But of course I would not, could not. I held my hand up in a wave, and looked away. I saw Leona's blond hair, woven into her tight braid; she counted the steps between a double.

I fell into place behind Leona, who was walking the course a second time. This irritated me; etiquette dictated it was someone else's turn. I counted the strides between each jump and tried to see the course from Naari's perspective, tried to antic.i.p.ate what might frighten her-the potted plants that bookended each jump, the tents at the far end of the ring that shaded our lunch tables, the mere presence of all the people-so many things.

I was sore between my legs, but I knew from last time that the soreness would disappear quickly. And then all I would be left with was a memory, which would fade and fade and fade until I only had a memory of that memory. But Mr. Holmes had changed me. I was a different girl, because of him.

I tried to focus on the jumps. I was impressed by the course, which Sissy's group had designed. The trickiest jumps in the advanced course were a water jump, which led into a wide oxer, two jumps next to each other; and a triple combination that ended with a wall of bricks. The wall was the tallest and last jump of the course, designed as a final test. The bricks were fake, made out of lightweight wood, but the horses didn't know that: to them it was a solid obstacle.

Mr. Albrecht blew his whistle, and Leona pa.s.sed by and her cheeks looked pinker than usual, and I was actually shocked-she didn't seem the type to wear rouge.

I knew I should let her win. Sissy had even hinted as much. And I had laughed, told her that Leona would probably beat me fair and square. But I hoped that wasn't true.

Qualifying rounds went quickly. I warmed up in the adjoining ring and watched as the water jump claimed three girls before it was my turn: two third-years from Louisville and Martha Ladue. I'd drawn the third-to-last slot. Mr. Holmes still held Decca; I couldn't see them very well, only their profiles, Mr. Holmes's blocked by Decca's. There had already been one fall, a girl I didn't know well tossed after her horse refused the oxer.

There was a break halfway through the qualifying rounds. I tried to make my breathing even, tried to relax Naari with consistency. This was not a speed round-I needed to focus on accuracy. I closed my eyes and pictured each jump, counted the strides in between them.

When it was my turn, I timed my start perfectly; when Mr. Albrecht's whistle blew, I was lined up with the first jump. Naari rolled her eye at one of the pots, but I pushed her through my legs and she cleared it. I jumped like I always did: everything, everyone else disappeared. All the people watching were a blur. I focused on the sharp smell of Naari's sweat, her trembling movement between my legs.

I knew we had the last jump, I knew it for a fact, but then the bricks tumbled beneath us and I cursed Naari under my breath. She hadn't picked her legs up high enough. But we'd been fast.

Leona flew by us in a trot, so close she created her own private breeze as she pa.s.sed. Naari wanted to trot, too, was nervous and wound up. I wanted to ask Mr. Albrecht what my time was and I spotted him, his back turned, gesturing. He was talking to someone but I couldn't see who until I walked past, and when I did I saw that it was Mrs. Holmes.

I watched Leona from a safe distance. My head throbbed, and my mouth was bone-dry. It's over, I whispered to Naari as we watched, but even then I did not quite believe it. Perhaps my eyes had deceived me. Perhaps my mind was playing tricks. But I knew the truth, which was simple: Mrs. Holmes had come home a day early. People came home early all the time.

King cleared every jump, including the last combination, as if they were tiny playthings. His legs were miles long; he barely had to exert himself.

Sissy found me in Naari's stall, where she stood with her head hung low, exhausted. Sissy slipped in and swung the gate shut behind her. I patted Naari's rump. She would have a few hours to rest. The advanced cla.s.s went first, and then last, so that their horses would have the most time to recover.

"Why are you down here?" Sissy asked. Her cheeks were red, and her hair had fallen out of its bun. She was dressed completely in white, like we all were. I wasn't competing against Sissy, but she wasn't a threat to anyone. She wasn't good enough. She didn't care enough.

"I'm tired."

"But there's lunch. Aren't you hungry?"

I followed Sissy's finger and saw girls in white, milling around. "What kind of lunch?" I hated how plaintive my voice sounded.

"Sandwiches. But they're good."

"Mrs. Holmes is back."

"I know."

I held my throbbing forehead in my hand and would not look at her.

"I'm sad," I said, finally.

"But you knew she would come back." Her voice was soft.

"Yes," I said. "Yes. But isn't that always how it is? You can see it coming, but you can't stop it."

She drew me to her in a hug, and I noticed how fiercely she did this, as if she was afraid I would refuse her. But I didn't. n.o.body had hugged me last year, after Georgie. n.o.body had touched me.

- The three top finishers-me, Jettie, Leona-were in the jump-off. I was first, not an enviable position, but I was glad to go. We had to be fast. I knew it would be between me and Leona; I had always known that. King was bigger, a more gifted athlete, but Naari was faster, as she'd proved that night long ago; and more than that, she was smarter. King was dull, unflappable. But if I could make Naari nervous enough, she would go as fast as she had that night, and we would win.

In the warm-up ring, I kept my eyes on the tips of Naari's ears and walked her in circles, smaller and smaller until she was practically pirouetting. I wouldn't let her trot-I wanted to reserve every bit of her energy. I hadn't looked at Mr. Holmes but, oh, how he watched me. I could feel it. Mr. Albrecht looked at me curiously as I pa.s.sed him. I should have been warming her up slowly, gradually working into the course, but in the end, rules were rules, and we both understood that. I could handle my horse however I pleased.

I wrapped the reins around my hands, something I had only heard about. It was stupid; if Naari refused a jump at the last instant, I would be pitched over her anyway, still attached to her by the reins; at the very least, I'd break both my arms. But I felt my old fearlessness rising up, as I always did before a difficult course. As I always did, when people were watching. And now this crowd included him and I felt so reckless; reckless, as I wrapped the reins so tightly around my hands the leather bit into my skin; reckless, as I heard Mr. Albrecht's whistle and pressed Naari into a gallop.

I liked the fierce leverage wrapped reins brought; I bent my elbows and Naari slowed, quickly, and then I turned my toes out and dug my spurs into her sides, and I had her trapped, I had all her power harnessed between my legs and hands, beneath me. I'd never felt such energy, roiling beneath me like a violent wave.

We were going much too quickly; in a lesson Mr. Albrecht would have shouted at me to reduce our speed by half. All the white-clad girls were a blurry crowd, interrupted every few feet by a house mistress's hat. If I'd wanted to find Mr. Holmes in the crowd I couldn't have.

I cleared the water jump, felt Naari change her footing, and knew, as she collected herself in preparation for the oxer ahead of us-and then as she soared over it, her ears flat against her head in concentration-that we understood each other: I wanted to win, and she wanted to be rid of me, this confusing girl on her back, goading her forward with sharp pains on her flank, then holding her back with a terrible yank on the corner of her mouth; she tasted blood from the pressure of the seesawing bit, which flattened her tongue against her teeth, made it difficult to breathe.

Naari snorted in frustration. "Good," I whispered to her, in beat to her canter, "good, good, good," and as we approached the last combination-it was a dirty trick, to put the tallest jump last-I flapped my legs against her sides and moved my hands up her neck, and she felt the relief in her mouth, in her brain, and leapt forward.

This was a speed round, so knocking down jumps didn't count against us, but I needed to clear this wall of bricks; I needed Mr. Holmes to see me do it. As we were suspended above the last jump-for a second, two seconds-I closed my eyes and for an instant imagined I was at home again, on top of Sasi, jumping out back, jumping into the great and unknown beyond.

I had to circle her five times before she finally walked. The crowd was utterly silent. I had cleared everything.

Leona trotted in on King, ignored me completely. But Mr. Albrecht caught my eye, and I noticed that all the girls around the ring were also watching: me, not Leona. I slapped Naari's neck and she flinched.

"Cool her down well," Mr. Albrecht murmured as we pa.s.sed.

I nodded. I tried not to notice that everyone was staring. Mary Abbott stood by the entrance, and as I pa.s.sed she grabbed my rein.

"No," I said, furious, "let go."

"What a ride," she said, in a singsong voice, "what a ride. Good girl," she said to Naari.

"Don't touch her."

Mary Abbott looked up at me, unsurprised, blew her bangs out of her face as she considered me. "If there's a jump-off I bet you'll win that, too. You'll win everything today, if I had to guess."

"Leave me alone," I whispered, and nudged Naari into a trot, pulling her back into a walk when I had pa.s.sed the crowd. I slid off her back and began to walk her in a circle, again watching Leona from a safe distance.

"You're fine," I murmured to Naari, but she didn't respond, hung her head low, almost to the ground. I tried to dry the sweat from the raw places I'd spurred into her sides, each the size of a dime, but she flinched at my touch. I felt so horribly sorry, suddenly. For all of this.

A first-year I didn't know by name-Holly?-scurried past, stared at Naari with wide eyes. When I tried to catch her eye, she looked away. Naari shuddered as a breeze swept past us, the air cool on her hot skin. The gentle, rus.h.i.+ng sound of branches was all around us, and I felt suddenly calm, empty, free of whatever violent force had possessed me. I stroked Naari's neck and wanted nothing more than to be magically transported back to my bed, a soft quilt pulled up to my neck.

It was hard to tell how fast Leona and King were going-he was so lanky he always seemed to be moving slowly, as if through water. They were a beautiful pair, Leona and King; I couldn't help but admire them, the sheen of Leona's navy boots a glossy contrast to King's burnished coat. They were like royalty, I thought. Yonahlossee royalty. And soon they would mean nothing to this place, a barely remembered girl and her horse.

Again King cleared the final combination as if it were nothing.

- The top three finishers-me, Jettie, Leona-filed into the ring. No one knew our times. I spoke softly to Naari, who pranced and arched her neck; Leona glared at me as Naari tried to overtake King.

"Check her!" she commanded. Leona would be fine, I knew; it seemed as if she could weather any of life's storms.

"I'm tired of you always being first," I said. This was easily becoming the second worst day of my life, but the flash of shock on Leona's chiseled face was satisfying. I pushed Naari ahead of King.

I saw Henny next to the gate, chatting excitedly with someone I didn't recognize until she turned her head and looked at me. Mrs. Holmes. Everything about her was shorter: her hair, which hung in a loose, small bun; her skirt, which no longer brushed the ground; her s.h.i.+rt, which was no longer fastened shut at the neck with a cameo but revealed a little bit of her pale skin. I felt dizzy, leaned forward in my saddle too quickly, as if I might faint.

"Are you well, Thea?" Mrs. Holmes asked. I looked at her, my mouth open. I could not hide my surprise. She looked fresher, as if she had returned from a spa. I could see how she had been pretty in her youth. Not beautiful, but pretty in a pert, compact way. I felt sick to my stomach.

"Yes, Thea," Henny said, and her voice was cold. "Are you well?"

I nodded and walked past, avoided meeting Mrs. Holmes's gaze, ignored Henny's admonishment.

"Thea," she called, "have you forgotten your manners entirely?" But I couldn't face Mrs. Holmes; I couldn't, not for anything, pretend to like her.

I had forgotten, of course, I'd forgotten everything. I'd forgotten she would return, lay claim to her husband, her life here. And yet, as I moved on into the ring, I still wanted to win.

We all turned our horses to face Mr. Albrecht and Rachel, who was awarding the garlands to our cla.s.s. She smiled at me, her face freckled by the sun. She'd been gone for a month, but I guessed being the headmaster's daughter afforded you certain privileges. Mr. Albrecht had his arm around Rachel; protectively, I thought. She was still loved, here. Her cheeks were rosy and she looked hopeful. Of course she was hopeful. Her parents reunited, her family all of one piece again. I saw Molly in the front row, chattering excitedly with another first-year. All the first-years still seemed like fillies, their wispy hair and long limbs. They didn't seem to know where to put their hands and feet when they walked, how to control their legs that had grown so long so quickly.

"In a moment," Mr. Albrecht announced, and the crowd fell silent, "we will have our results."

Jettie was muttering to herself, furiously, and I turned and looked at her.

"Always staring," she said, when she caught me looking, which was something Henny had said to me once. I was silent, closed my eyes against all the people.

When I opened them again I saw a ma.s.s of faces, all staring solemnly. This meant so much to all of us. I saw Martha conferring with Henny, and quiet Alice Hunt watching attentively. Molly, chewing on a fingernail. I knew so little about any of them, except Sissy. I knew enough about Eva to call her a friend.

Rachel caught my eye and then looked away, quickly, and I knew that I had won.

"And this has never happened before," Mr. Albrecht began, standing in front of us, addressing the crowd. He could have been any man, from the back, his heavy English the only clue that he was not like the rest of us. "We have never before given the prize to a new girl." He paused. I saw Henny whisper something to Mrs. Holmes, who shook her head. Everyone knew it was me now, of course; Mary Abbott beamed, and Katherine Hayes eyed me with interest. I watched Mrs. Holmes so I would not look at her husband, who I knew was standing near the back of the crowd, Decca on his hip. Mrs. Holmes watched me as well, a calm expression on her face.

"Horseback riding," Mr. Albrecht continued, "is, if I may say so, a true partners.h.i.+p between human and beast, between the power of a person's mind and the sheer force of a horse's strength."

"Get on with it," Leona muttered quietly.

"And all is fair in the jumping ring, where there cannot be favorites, where what matters is skill and speed, in that order. Girls, it is a lesson that is well suited to life: in all your endeavors strive hard, and honestly, and great rewards will be yours."

He took the simplest garland from Rachel, where the others hung on her arm in a neat row. He pinned the garland of greenery around the neck of Jettie's horse, who flattened his ears and bared his teeth. Then a garland around King's neck, while he stood patiently as Mr. Albrecht fiddled with the clasp.

"And our winner today, Theodora Atwell from Emathla, Florida, who has impressed us all with her daring and skill." Mr. Holmes entered the ring, pa.s.sed by his wife and Henny with a nod of his head.

He pinched Rachel's cheek after he took the garland from her arm, and she turned her face in embarra.s.sment. Panic swelled in my throat. I didn't want him so close, but then there he was, so near I could see the part in his dark hair. Another Yonahlossee tradition.

"Thea," he murmured, "well done." He patted Naari's neck, gingerly, as only a person unacquainted with a horse would do. Then he fastened the garland around Naari's neck. Forsythia dotted with purple creeping phlox, the first bloom of each. And who would have thought that such an unlikely combination-the former so startling, almost electric; the latter so delicate-would have been beautiful? Mrs. Holmes would have thought of it. Mrs. Holmes was back in time to tend to her garden.

She was tending to Decca now, in the crowd, dark and lovely Decca. Mrs. Holmes did not deserve what I had done.

King backed up, suddenly wary of the garland, and Leona dug her spurs into his sides. Mr. Holmes hurried Rachel over to the side of the ring. My mouth was very dry; to deny myself water was a punishment, the best one I could think of right now.

"It is fine, King," Mr. Albrecht said, and King's ears darted in his direction, and I felt so sorry for him, his master turned cruel over a loss he could not comprehend. I clucked, and King turned his head in my direction, eager for comfort, and Leona's face, for the first time, was easy to decipher: I should not have won. I knew in my bones that this was all over.

In books it was more of a gradual dawning, a slow and painful recognition. But I knew in an instant that Leona wanted to do me harm any way she could. I had gotten in the way of the one thing in the world she cared about: her last chance.

And I would not take it back. I would die before I'd lose. I was so good on a horse because I was fearless. I had always impressed people with my willingness to try jumps that were too high and wide for such a small girl. And now I licked my chapped lips and sought out Mr. Holmes. He held Rachel's hand at the edge of the ring. Everyone was watching Leona, who was making a spectacle of herself, spurring King into a frenzy. But Mr. Holmes watched me, as I knew he would. When I met his eyes he shook his head, sadly, and if I could have turned a knife in my heart, I would have.

Instead I waited, like a good girl, waited for Jettie, then Leona, to complete her victory lap, then took my own, the applause thunderous, like a warning; waited for the photographer to take my picture, waited for Mr. Holmes to disappear with his family into the woods. Waited while a hundred girls congratulated me, my ugly riding forgiven.

"Oh, how pretty," they said, and touched Naari's neck, one by one.