“Very well, Mr. Howard, you can count me in.”
If Mr. Howard was pleased with her response, her uncle was even more so when she told him as they walked home that evening.
“I’m glad, Anne. Patrick Howard is a fine young man.” He smiled down at her. “I guess that psalm helped more than either of us thought.”
Anne looked away as she remembered listening to the Twenty-Third Psalm in chapel that day. She knew Uncle Daniel had meant well, but she wished he hadn’t read it. Hearing what had once been such a source of comfort for her was now almost akin to torture. The words “He restoreth my soul” echoed mockingly in her ears. How was that possible now? Tears toyed with the edges of her vision. She stumbled a little and firmly grasped her uncle’s arm. He, in turn, slowed to steady her. “Careful now, it won’t do for you to twist your ankle.”
“No, it won’t.” She looked out over the darkening university grounds. “Will you have a chance to visit Scioto when we get home?”
Her uncle paused for a moment then sighed heavily. “No, I’m afraid, not again tonight. Too many papers to grade.” He hefted the leather satchel. “You know, when I told you a month ago to let Ben take care of him, I never meant that you should stop visiting him altogether. He misses you.”
“Does he?”
“Of course, horses are social by nature. He’s wondering where the main member of his herd has gone.”
She could just make out his wink in the dusk and had to chuckle. “Uncle Daniel, are you trying to tell me I resemble a horse?”
Her uncle laughed. “Hardly, but I really should see about getting a stable mate for him. Since you seem less interested in visiting him—”
“It’s not that I don’t want to see him,” she said softly. Nothing could be further from the truth. “I’m just trying to stay out of trouble.”
In her mind, her departure approached far too quickly. Only yesterday Emma had mentioned that Clara Fuller, the young woman Anne was filling in for, was doing well and might return as early as the first of the year. Anne had realized it would probably be easier on both her and Scioto if she visited infrequently. After her uncle rebuked her for brushing him down, she’d gone to see him a few times, but over the past couple of weeks, she hadn’t been out to the stable at all.
“Ben’s doing fine with him,” Uncle Daniel said. Anne hoped that was true. Now that the term was in full swing, her uncle rarely had time to go see him, and when he did, it was in the evening. It was hard to tell just how well a horse looked in lamplight. “You’ll see for yourself tomorrow. I intend to ride him over to the faculty meeting.”
The next morning, something about Scioto didn’t seem quite right when her uncle led him out of the stable. Was it that his coat wasn’t gleaming as brightly as she remembered? Or that he seemed to hold his head slightly lower than he had when she cared for him at home? Mr. Howard, who had arrived for their outing, seemed not to notice anything amiss.
“He’s a fine animal, Dr. Kirby,” he said. “He looks good for his age, too. A Morgan, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Uncle Daniel replied. “I found him during the war, after my own horse was shot out from under me. A year or two after the war ended, I was able to find out who he originally belonged to and pay them. He was quite valuable. You should see his bloodline.”
“No wonder Dr. Townshend was eager to breed him. He is sure to be pleased when those foals come this summer,” Mr. Howard replied.
Anne watched her uncle mount, still not quite satisfied by the way Scioto looked. Her uncle smiled, and prodding his horse into a slow trot, guided him down the path that led to the main road. She bit her lip. He seemed to be moving well enough. Maybe she was imagining things. She turned to find Ben leaning against the stable door.
“Is he eating well?” she asked.
Mr. Howard interrupted before the young man could answer. “Miss Kirby, of course he is. I would think even you could see that.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Even me?”
“Not to be mean, but you’re a librarian.”
“But I was raised on a farm. I can tell when a horse looks ill.”
“But I will eventually be a veterinarian. And I can tell you for certain that horse is as healthy as a horse his age can be.” He pulled out his watch and glanced at it. “Are you ready? We really should be going. The streetcar will be coming by soon.”
Anne looked in the direction her uncle had ridden. She didn’t appreciate Mr. Howard’s condescending attitude, but she had to admit he might be right. After all, she hadn’t been out to see Scioto for quite a while.
“Yes, let’s go.” She took his arm. As they walked down to the main road, Mr. Howard squinted against the morning sun toward High Street, the road that led directly into the city of Columbus.
“Come on,” he said and began to walk faster. “The rest of our party is already at the streetcar stop, and I think I see it coming. We’ll have to be quick to catch it.”
It wasn’t far, but Mr. Howard walked faster than Anne was used to and she stumbled.
“Oooh!” She stopped, and letting go of his arm, knelt down to grasp her ankle.
“Miss Kirby, are you all right? I’m so sorry!”
“I’ll be fine, but I don’t think I’ll be able to come with you today.” She rose and tried to put her weight on it then winced. “Ooh! No, I’m sorry.”
“Then I won’t go either.”
“No, Mr. Howard, please don’t give up your day on my account.” She grabbed his arm. “Why don’t you take me back to my house? It’s only a few steps, and I’ll get Mrs. Werner to come to the door. She’ll look after me.”
It took a little convincing, but she managed to get him to leave her at the front door. He waved as he ran to catch the streetcar and, as soon as he and the others were on it, Anne quietly opened the door. Once inside she peered down the front hall. She didn’t see Mrs. Werner. The faint sound of an Irish tune being sung reached her ears. The housekeeper was busy in the kitchen, it seemed. Anne quietly made her way upstairs, her foot perfectly sound, and returned with a dark cloak and an old bonnet of her mother’s. Bonnets were out of fashion, but it was the only way she knew to hide her face. Better to be out of fashion than be recognized. It would also make her seem a bit older.
She quietly let herself out and looked toward the street. Taking a deep breath, she walked down to High Street. Her heart pounding, she stepped onto the next car that stopped and settled herself down for the ride into Columbus.
Chapter 7
A yell and the throaty whinny of a horse caused Peter to stop his work and walk to the other side of Professor Tuttle’s residence. Next door, outside Professor Kirby’s stable, stood a bay horse, shaking his head and prancing. Dr. Kirby sat on the ground holding his arm, and Dr. Townshend knelt beside him. Peter immediately noticed the way the horse moved, favoring his front right hoof. Instinct took over, and Peter jogged closer, slowing as he drew near.
“Are you all right, Professor Kirby?” he asked in a low voice.
“I’m fine. Peter, you’d best stay back. He can be fractious with people he doesn’t know well.”
But Peter slowly and calmly walked toward the horse. Speaking soothing words, he scratched him on his withers before reaching out and taking the reins. The horse calmed, although he bobbed his head and angled it several times toward his right hoof. Peter looked around. Didn’t the professor have a stable hand? “Where is your man, sir?”
Both professors were staring at him. “I’m not sure where Ben is,” Professor Kirby said slowly. “But you certainly have a way with him. He doesn’t take to strangers well. Does he, Norton?”
Dr. Townshend shook his head. “It took a full week for him to get used to me the short time I was around him this past summer.”
Peter looked away as he realized what he had just done. When he’d turned down Dr. Kirby’s offer a month ago, he’d allowed the professor to believe it was because he knew next to nothing about horses, w
hich certainly wasn’t the case. Henry Farley was one of the best trainers in the business, and he’d agreed to leave a good-paying job in Philadelphia to work for Peter on one condition: that Peter learn to care for the horses he intended to own and race. As a result, he could handle any horse in any situation. Henry said he had “the touch.” But it was a talent that he’d thought best to abandon, considering what it had cost him. Scioto shook his head again, and Peter automatically laid a steadying hand on his nose.
Dr. Kirby nodded toward them. “I’ll be fine, Norton. Go help Peter.”
The agriculture professor walked over and arched a questioning eyebrow at him. Peter avoided his eye, and Dr. Townshend ran his hands along Scioto’s shoulder and down his leg, coaxing the animal to raise his foot. It didn’t take much effort. Peter’s brow furrowed as he caught a look at the back of the horse’s lower leg. It was quite swollen.
“A sprained tendon,” he blurted.
Professor Townshend looked at him and then at Dr. Kirby.
“He’s right. He sprained a tendon, Daniel.”
Dr. Kirby’s face darkened. “I shouldn’t have ridden him so hard. No wonder he threw me.”
“I have a poultice that should help.” Dr. Townshend gently lowered the foot as he described the treatment.
Peter nodded. It was the same one Henry had always used, and he knew it would produce good results. Dr. Kirby struggled to rise, and Peter handed Scioto off to Dr. Townshend to help him to his feet. Holding his injured arm to his chest, he slowly walked up to his horse.
“I’m sorry, old boy.” He rubbed his neck with his good hand.
Peter spoke without thinking. “Don’t worry sir, I know that poultice. It will work.” Once again they both stared at him. “I—used to work in a barn. Once.”
Dr. Townshend’s eyebrows arched. “Young man, if I didn’t already have more than enough students working at the university farm, I’d hire you on the spot.”
“You know quite a bit for someone who has simply worked in a barn once,” Professor Kirby remarked.
Peter’s eyes darted anywhere, trying not to take in Dr. Kirby’s intense and curious stare. “I’d better get back to work,” he said, backing away. “Mr. Dixon will be looking for me.”
He could feel their stares on his back as he walked away. What on earth was the matter with him? He had tried so carefully to avoid horses and young ladies, and in the past two days he’d been in close contact with both. Why are You leading me this direction, Lord? Don’t You know me? Lead me away from this. Lead me in paths of righteousness. When his feet hit gravel, he looked up in surprise. He’d been so intent on his prayer, he took no note of where he was going and realized that he’d made his way to the road that ran in front of Dr. Kirby’s house. He still needed to go to Dr. Tuttle’s and finish the work he’d started. Wheels in need of some oil made him look up. A horse-drawn streetcar stopped on the opposite side of High Street. Several people got out, including a woman in a dark cloak and bonnet. A bonnet? He hadn’t seen anyone wear a bonnet since he was a child. Once she crossed the street, the woman pulled off the hat, and to his surprise, it was Anne Kirby. She walked toward the house with lowered eyes, her face more melancholy than usual. Curious, he waited for her to approach.
“Miss Kirby?” She looked up, and the astonishment in her eyes was tempered by the redness of recent tears. “Are you all right? You’re not hurt are you?”
“Mr. Ward.” She paused, glancing away before looking at him again. “I’m fine. What are you doing here?”
Peter blinked. “I was working next door at Dr. Tuttle’s house when I heard a commotion. Your uncle’s horse threw him—”
“What?” She raised her hand to her chest.
“Your uncle’s all right. But I think he might have hurt his arm somehow.”
“What about Scioto?”
Peter stared at her for a moment. “I’m afraid it looks like he sprained a tendon. Dr. Townshend is here, too. He’s already suggested a poultice.”
She rushed past him and flew up the steps to the house. “Thank you, Mr. Ward,” she called back.
“You’re welcome.” But she was inside before he finished speaking the words. He shook his head and turned toward the Tuttle residence to retrieve his tools. What was she doing, getting off the streetcar alone and dressed in a cloak and bonnet? According to Mike, the streetcar went into Columbus. Well, maybe she hadn’t gone far, perhaps only a few blocks to visit a friend. But that didn’t make sense. Why pay streetcar fare when she could walk? And if she had been visiting a friend, why would she return close to tears?
Peter quickly finished the minor repair to Professor Tuttle’s home and gathered his tools. As he walked to the Main Building, an uneasy thought crossed his mind. Just how disgraceful had this Sam McAllister’s conduct been toward Miss Kirby? Surely she wasn’t in the same state as Letty Jamison. But her sadness and her behavior today offered no other explanation. He strangled the handle of his tool bag and curled his other hand into an iron-like fist. No wonder the professor had wanted to beat the living daylights out of the man. But wait. If that were the case, certainly her pa would have already forced the young man to marry her. Recalling the face of Jonah Kirby in the professor’s wedding picture, he could tell he was hardly a man to be crossed. Then it hit him. They don’t know. It all made sense—her tears, the cloak and bonnet. She’d been in town to visit a doctor.
The weight of that thought stopped him cold. He ran his free hand through his hair as another question seared its way through his head. Had she given up her virtue willingly or had it been stolen from her? His gut told him it had to be the latter. A woman could not possess such innocent eyes and be some sort of siren. It made sense, too. She hadn’t said anything to avoid embarrassment and was now finding herself in an even worse situation. The blame for that sort of thing always seemed to fall on the woman, which Peter had always found to be monstrously unfair. During his time on the road and in the finest homes in Pittsburgh, he knew from experience that was not always the case.
He started on his way again and found himself wondering if that might have been the case with Letty. But why had she said he was responsible? He shook his head. It didn’t really matter now. After all this time, her father would have either sent her somewhere out of state or found someone else to marry her. In spite of her dishonesty, he found himself praying everything would turn out for the best. At least her prospects were more hopeful than Anne Kirby’s. If he were right about her, he felt he needed to find some way to help.
In the distance, Peter saw Mike coming from the boiler house behind the Main Building, and he waved to him. As he drew closer, he saw someone approach his boss. He frowned. It was Harvey Pryce.
“Mr. Cope asked me to give these to you,” Peter heard him say as he approached. “Couldn’t help but notice some of those bills are past due.”
Mike took the bundle of papers and gave him a look. “These papers are between me and the board.”
Harvey shrugged. “He also happened to ask me if I was working for you this term. I told him you already had someone.” Noticing Peter, he gave him a nasty smile. “I knew I recognized you before. I guess our ‘lesson’ didn’t mess you up too bad.”
Peter stared at him for a second as his full meaning sunk in. Then he dropped his bag and lunged at Harvey. He was stopped by Mike’s arm across his shoulders.
“Whoa, Pete! What’s going on?”
“He was with those boys who beat me,” he said. He’d told Mike about his timber lesson when he hired him. “I wasn’t hurting anyone. Why’d you pick on me?”
“It was my job, keeping tramps like you from hitching free rides,” Harvey replied. “Handing out timber lessons was working until you showed up. My boss found out and fired me.”
“I ought to have you arrested,” Mike said.
Peter opened his mouth to agree but stopped himself. If he had to testify against Harvey, it might draw unwanted attention. What if his uncle was still l
ooking for him? Peter didn’t put it past him for a second that he might want to find him out of sheer spite. His departure had most assuredly caused his uncle a great deal of embarrassment.
“No.” Peter said. “I’d rather put that behind me.”
Mike stared at him. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
Mike lowered his arm and looked at Harvey. “I think it’s time you left.”
Pryce’s face turned smug. “Yeah it is, now that you mention it. I have to pack. Finally got me a job.” He walked off.
Peter hoped it would be a long time before he saw Harvey Pryce again.
Anne watched as Uncle Daniel paced in front of the parlor mantel after listening carefully to the news Patrick Howard had given him concerning Scioto. It had been a full day since Scioto’s injury, and Professor Townshend had sent the young man over to see how the poultice was doing. He had not given them good news.
“Why isn’t it working?” her uncle asked.
“Sir, your man hasn’t been applying it,” Mr. Howard replied.
Uncle Daniel stopped and stared at him.
“Why not?” Anne asked.
“He told me it wouldn’t work. He said all the horse needs is rest and a little liniment.” Mr. Howard scowled. “But I can’t find any evidence that he’s even been applying that.”
Anne watched her uncle’s knuckles turn snow white as he clenched his fist and tapped it against his leg. His other arm was in a sling. It was fortunate that her uncle had only severely sprained his shoulder when Scioto threw him. And at the moment, fortunate for Ben, too. Her uncle looked like he wanted to throttle him.
“Please be so kind as to ask Ben to come inside, Patrick,” he said after taking one more turn in front of the fireplace.
Mr. Howard left, and Anne watched her uncle resume his pacing. She was as worried about Scioto as he was—perhaps even more—but she couldn’t help but feel glad that all the fuss had kept Mr. Howard from asking about her “injured” foot. The questions it would raise would inevitably lead to her uncle finding out where she’d gone yesterday. She squirmed as she thought of how she had deceived both of them, but she hadn’t seen any other way around it. I’m sorry, Lord. Please forgive me. I’ll tell Uncle Daniel what I did eventually. Just not yet.
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