The Life She Was Given

by Ellen Marie Wiseman

  She took out the camera case and set it on the desk. The clasp was broken and the brittle leather felt like grit on her fingertips. Working gently, she took the camera out of the case. Written in blue ink inside the case lid was a name: Lilly.

  Was that Father’s mistress? If so, why did he have her things?

  A thin piece of folded cardboard sat on the bottom of the box. Julia took it out and unfolded it. Red and blue paint flecked off the creases of a poster from The Barlow Brothers’ Circus. On the front, two clowns smiled and waved next to a pale-looking elephant standing on its hind legs. A woman dressed in a white evening gown sat in the elephant’s curled trunk, smiling with one arm in the air. It looked like the same woman from the newspaper clipping.

  Julia picked up the camera and turned it over in her hands. It was a silver and black enamel Kodak with three round knobs on the top. Despite its age, it looked brand new. She released the lens, looked through the viewfinder, and pushed the exposure level. To her surprise, the camera clicked and the shutter closed. She wound the advance knob.

  The camera had film inside.

  * * *

  The morning after finding the camera inside the locked drawer of her father’s desk, Julia woke up with a splitting headache. That second glass of brandy was a bad idea. Then again, it wasn’t every day you found out you had a dead sister and your father might have had an albino mistress. Not to mention wondering why your parents needed forgiveness for something to do with your sister’s death, and putting your foot down about something you believed in. All those jumbled up emotions felt like having the stomach flu—complete with trembling knees and the desire to throw up. If being the owner of Blackwood Manor Horse Farm was going to be this draining, maybe she wasn’t cut out for the job.

  The leaden sky outside her window mirrored her frame of mind. Rain clouds hung like gray waves above the treetops, as if ready to break open and flood the earth at any second. If it were up to her, she would have stayed in bed all day. But there were too many things to do. Too many things to figure out and untangle. She crawled out from under her warm covers, got washed and dressed, and went downstairs. After a quick cup of tea, she put the camera and case from her father’s desk in her purse, threw on a coat and hat, and went out the mudroom door toward the barn. Hopefully, Claude would still give her a ride somewhere, no matter how mad he was about retrieving the nurse mare foal. The thought of riding alone with him for any length of time sounded as appealing as chewing sawdust, but how else would she get into town? Besides, she wanted to ask him a hundred questions, including if he knew anything about the camera. If they were in the truck together he wouldn’t be able to walk away.

  When she was halfway across the lawn, Fletcher came out of the barn and ambled toward her, smiling. How could he be so cheerful on this crappy day? she wondered. When he reached her, she forced a smile and kept walking.

  He stopped and turned. “Hey.”

  “Morning,” she said.

  He followed her. “I was coming over to the house to see you.”

  “Why? What do you need?”

  “I want to show you something.”

  Without looking at him, she knew he was grinning. She could hear the smile in his voice. What is it with him anyway? Why is he always so happy? It’s annoying. “What?” she asked.

  “Come over to my truck and see.”

  “Can it wait? I have errands to run in town and I need to ask Claude for a ride.”

  “It’ll only take a second,” he said. “Besides, you’re the boss around here and I need your okay. Just give it a quick look and I’ll run you into town after.”

  She stopped and looked at him, sighing. Riding into town with him would be a lot better than riding with Claude, and she wasn’t really in the mood to ask Claude questions anyway. If he was mean and rude, she might say something she’d regret. Maybe by the time they got back she’d feel braver and have a better outlook. “Okay. What do you want to show me?”

  Fletcher’s smile widened. “Great,” he said. “Follow me.” He led her across the lawn, toward a horse trailer hitched to his truck. On the way, they passed Claude fixing a gate near the barn driveway. He glanced up at them, then put his head back down, his eyes on his work. Julia clenched her jaw, a knot of dread twisting in her stomach. In her head, she was tough, but in reality she hated the thought of anyone being angry at her, even someone as ornery as Claude. And if he was still upset about the foals, he might not be willing to talk about anything.

  She trailed Fletcher along the side of horse trailer and followed him around to the back, wishing they could get this over with so she could go into town and find a place to get the film in the camera developed. Maybe the pictures would help answer some of her questions. Fletcher unlocked the ramp and let it down, then gestured for her to follow him up it. He was still smiling, but there was a strange tightness in his eyes, a rare glint of unease she had never seen before. Normally he seemed to swagger around the barn like the jocks who used to make fun of her in school, sure of the world around him and his place in it. Seeing him like this made her nervous. She didn’t think she could handle any more surprises. Steeling herself, she went up the ramp, peered inside the trailer, and gasped.

  Lying in a bed of yellow straw, a newborn foal the color of coal lifted its head and blinked up at her. When it saw her and Fletcher, it struggled to its feet on wobbly legs and pushed its tiny muzzle over the door.

  Julia smiled and rubbed its fuzzy forehead, forgetting about Claude, her late sister, and the film in the camera. “Is this the nurse mare’s foal?” she said. “I thought Claude brought it back last night.”

  “He did,” Fletcher said. “This one was born over at the Thompson Farm early this morning. The mare rejected it.”

  She frowned. “How come?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes it just happens. No one knows why. It was the mare’s first.”

  She looked at the orphaned foal’s sweet face and felt an instant kinship with it, immediately berating herself for being so caught up in her own problems she almost refused to listen to Fletcher. “But how will it survive without its mother?”

  He leaned over the door and scratched the foal’s neck. “I was hoping you’d take care of it.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Me? I don’t know anything about—”

  “I’ll help you.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I might do something wrong. Then it will get sick, and I’ve got so much to do in the house and—”

  “After what you did yesterday, telling Claude not to take any more foals from their mares, I figured you wouldn’t mind me bringing this little one here. It was either that or the auction. And its chances of survival after that wouldn’t be good.”

  She took a deep breath and gazed at the newborn. She had no idea what was involved in taking care of a foal, but she couldn’t turn away this beautiful baby and send it to auction. She looked at Fletcher. “What about you? Why can’t you take care of it?”

  “I’m on the road every day. A newborn needs to be fed about every two hours for the first week, then every four to six hours after that.”

  She gaped at him. “For how long?”

  “After a few weeks she’ll show interest in solid food, but you’ll still have to bottle-feed her for a while.”

  “She?”

  “Yes, it’s a filly.”

  She studied the filly’s innocent, trusting eyes. There was no other choice. She had to take the poor thing in. “Okay,” she said.

  “Okay what?”

  “I’ll take care of her.”

  Fletcher grinned and unhitched the trailer door. “Great, let’s get her in the barn. I picked up some fresh cow’s milk on the way here, but it has to be watered down a bit.”

  She feigned surprise. “You already picked up milk? What if I had said no?”

  He winked at her. “I knew you wouldn’t.”

  The filly backed away from the opening doorway, frightened by the strange sigh
ts and sounds. Julia stepped off the ramp to get out of the way while Fletcher went into the trailer and rubbed the filly’s neck and ears and sides. At first, the filly wasn’t sure what was going on. But the more Fletcher rubbed, the more she leaned into him like a dog enjoying a scratch. Eventually, Fletcher straightened, clicked his tongue, and exited the trailer. The filly followed him down the ramp on spindly, wobbling legs, then bounded behind him toward the barn, her short, fuzzy tail held high.

  Julia followed and Claude turned to watch them go by, a scowl on his face. She forced a smile and waved at him. He nodded once, then went back to work. Halfway to the barn, the filly stopped, looked back at Julia, and waited for her to catch up. When she did, the filly jumped and kicked a hind leg in the air, as if happy she was there. She stayed beside Julia as they followed Fletcher into the barn, and Julia’s eyes grew moist. Maybe she was imagining things, but it seemed like the little horse already loved her.

  Julia left her purse in the barn office and went to help Fletcher put the filly in an empty stall. He filled a bottle with watered-down milk and showed Julia how to hold it, then watched her feed the newborn, his hands on his hips, a satisfied look on his face. Julia grinned like a fool as the filly slurped and licked and tugged on the nipple.

  “You’re a natural,” Fletcher said.

  “You think so?”

  “Sure, she took right to you.”

  Claude came over to the stall and peered over the door. “What’s this all about?”

  “I brought this filly over from the Thompson Farm,” Fletcher said. “The mare rejected it.”

  “So now we’re taking in culls?” Claude said, his voice hard.

  “She took a liking to Julia,” Fletcher said.

  Claude shook his head and walked away, mumbling under his breath. Julia looked up at Fletcher, her eyebrows raised.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “He’ll get over it.”

  “I don’t know. First I said I don’t want foals taken from mares, and now this. I’m afraid we might never get along.”

  “He just doesn’t like change,” he said. “Your mother . . . sorry, I mean Mrs. Blackwood . . . even said it took a while for him to listen to her after your father died. And now you’re in charge after he’s been running the show on his own for a while. He’s a little hard around the edges and set in his ways, but he’ll come around.”

  She studied Fletcher’s face, trying to imagine him having a heart-to-heart with Mother. Maybe he knew more about Blackwood Manor and her parents than she thought. “Did my mother confide in you often?”

  He laughed. “Ah, no. It was more like her yelling and swearing at Claude for not listening.”

  “That sounds more like the Mrs. Blackwood I remember.” She grinned. “Do you think it will help if I swear at Claude?”

  He laughed again. “No, you’re doing a good job at keeping a balance between respecting his expertise and letting him know you’re the new boss.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”

  “Anytime.”

  Fletcher’s words bolstered her confidence, but she knew it was fleeting. Maybe she should ask Claude about the camera now, before she lost her nerve.

  “Take the bottle for a minute, will you?” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

  Fletcher took the bottle and she left the stall, went into the office, and got the camera and case out of her purse. She found Claude working near the hayloft ladder, spearing hay bales with a handheld hook and stacking them in a pile. She stood in the aisle and cleared her throat to get his attention. He glanced over his shoulder to see who was there, but said nothing.

  “Can I ask you something?” she said.

  He lifted a bale of hay and kneed it into place among the others. “You’re the boss.”

  She took the camera out of the case and held it up. “Have you seen this before?”

  He stopped working, took off his cap, wiped a sleeve across his sweaty brow, and squinted at the camera. Then he put his cap back on and said, “Nope.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” He impaled another bale and put it on top of the stack.

  “So you have no idea who it belongs to?”

  Claude shook his head.

  “Well, I found it inside a locked drawer in my father’s desk. I’ve never seen it before and I don’t remember my parents ever owning a camera.”

  “There was no need. They had professional photographers for the horses.”

  She made a face. “Don’t you think that’s odd? They never had a family portrait done or took pictures of their daughter, but they paid someone to take pictures of their horses?”

  Claude shrugged and turned away. “To each their own.”

  She watched him for a moment, unsure if she should press him further. Then she decided to go for it. What did she have to lose? He already disliked her. “What about Lilly?” she said. “Did my father ever mention anyone by that name?”

  For a fraction of a second, Claude froze. A casual observer might not have noticed, but Julia did. Then he bent over, impaled another bale of hay, and shoved it into place. “Nope.”

  “Was that my sister’s name?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “What about The Barlow Brothers’ Circus? Ever heard of it?”

  He shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  She opened her mouth to ask him another question, then changed her mind. She wasn’t going to get anywhere with him. Not like this, anyway. Maybe after she had the film developed and figured out if the pictures would help solve the mystery, she’d bring the newspaper clippings and other things she found over to the barn. Maybe then he’d understand she was serious about learning the truth. “Will you let me know if you remember anything? Please?”

  “Yup.”

  She sighed and went back to the new filly’s stall. Fletcher was coming out, an empty milk bottle in his hand, and the filly was asleep in the hay.

  “She’ll need to eat again in two hours,” he said. “When we come back from town I’ll show you how much water to put in the milk.”

  Julia nodded, briefly entertaining the idea of telling him everything. She felt so alone with all of it and could have used someone to talk to. Maybe Mother had let something slip while he was working here. Then, in the next instant, she changed her mind. She had no concrete evidence to support her harebrained theories, just her own gut feelings, cryptic messages in a journal, hidden ticket stubs and articles about a circus and an albino woman, a brush full of white hair, and a locked drawer with a camera inside. It all sounded so absurd. And the last thing she needed was for Fletcher, the one person willing to help her right now, to think she was foolish or crazy.

  In Fletcher’s truck on the way to town, “Love Me Tender” played on the radio while Julia stared out the window trying to figure out how everything tied together. If everything tied together. What had her parents done that needed God’s forgiveness? How did her sister die? Was she stillborn? Sick? Or was it something else? Who was the albino, and what did she have to do with her father? Who was Lilly? Her sister? Her father’s mistress? How had her father’s secrets—whatever they were—affected his relationship with her and Mother? And how had her sister’s death affected her parents’ relationship with her? Were they afraid to get too close, afraid to love her in case they lost her too? No, that wasn’t it.

  For the thousandth time, she pulled herself apart piece by piece, trying to figure out why she felt so unloved. Then she pictured the long-legged filly asleep in the straw back at the barn, rejected for unknown reasons by its mother. She and the filly were kindred spirits. Maybe that was why she had to take the newborn in, and why it made her eyes water knowing they already loved each other unconditionally.

  Fletcher turned down the radio. “A penny for your thoughts,” he said, pulling her out of her trance.

  She blinked and tried to smile. “Just daydreaming, that’s all.”
<
br />   “Well, we’re getting close to town. Where do you want to stop?”

  “I need to get a roll of film developed.”

  “Okay, we can drop it off at the drugstore. Anything else?”

  “I’d like to grab a few things at the supermarket if we have time.”

  “All right.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, keeping time with the song on the radio.

  “Do you know how long it takes to get film developed at the drugstore?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I’m not sure. What have you been taking pictures of?”

  She was caught off guard by the question. “Nothing.”

  He laughed. “Well, that doesn’t sound very interesting. Remind me to have something else to do if you ever want to bore me with your photographs.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” She picked at her thumbnail, unsure if she should tell him the truth, at the same time knowing she would. “I found an old camera in the house.”

  He grinned and widened his eyes. “Ooh, a mystery!”

  “It is a mystery,” she said. Her tone was harsher than she intended.

  His smile disappeared, and he directed his attention back to the road. “Okay. Got it.”

  “Sorry. It’s just . . . my parents were a little . . . strange . . . and difficult. Now I’m trying to find answers to questions I’ve been asking my entire life.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make light of it. I can tell you’ve been struggling with something, but I don’t want to pry. Just let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  She bit her lip and turned toward the window again. He was being so nice, but she didn’t feel like explaining. Not yet anyway. And she wouldn’t even know where to begin. Besides, he was still a stranger. A very kind, very handsome stranger, but still a stranger. Thankfully, he didn’t press any further.

  After they dropped the film off at the drugstore, Fletcher ran into the hardware store while she picked up a few supplies at the supermarket. When they returned to the barn two hours later, the new filly was awake and hungry, and Claude was in a stall with Bonnie Blue and Samantha. Julia and Fletcher stopped at Blue’s stall to see what was going on.