The Lost Hours

by Karen White

  She wasn’t sure who looked more uncomfortable: Tucker or Earlene. Both looked as if they wanted to flee from the room and Earlene even had the knee-jerk reaction of sliding her chair back. But the tension in the room helped ease the ache around Lillian’s tired heart and bones, a diversion that made her look forward to something again.

  Helen, despite her skill at determining people’s emotions, seemed more intent on joining Lillian in her game than sparing Tucker’s or Earlene’s feelings. She clasped her hands together and Lillian was afraid for a moment that she would actually clap. “Yes, please. But first, let me describe you the way that I see you and then Tucker can tell me if I’m right or wrong.”

  Earlene looked down at her plate, a small flush coloring her cheeks. She took a deep breath, then glanced up at Helen and managed a small smile. “All right, I’m game. Go ahead.”

  Helen closed her eyes, her long, elegant nails, tipped with her signature scarlet red nail polish, splayed on the white tablecloth. “If I make any mistakes, my only excuse will be that once I discovered that you were a horsewoman, all of my assumptions about you were clouded by the way I think a horsewoman should look.” She drummed her fingers on the table and took a deep breath. “Your voice is very soft, which makes me think that you’re petite—maybe five foot three or less. Your hair is very straight, and you wear it in a low ponytail, not because you particularly like it that way, but because that’s the way you’ve been wearing it since you were a little girl and needed to fix your hair so that it stayed beneath a riding helmet.” She smiled in Earlene’s direction. “How am I doing?”

  “Keep going,” Earlene said, her eyes on Helen and her face closed.

  “I think your hair is dark blond. When you’re in the sun it lightens up, but since you’re a genealogist I don’t think you’re in the sun that much anymore, so it’s dark. And I picture your eyes being blue or gray—something that goes with blond hair, although that’s just a guess.” Helen puckered her lips for a moment before continuing. “I think you’re very slender. I determined that by listening to you walk. When you limp, it doesn’t seem as if you’re throwing that much weight around, so I figured you probably don’t weigh more than a hundred and five pounds or so.” She held up her hand in Lillian’s direction. “I’m blind, remember, which means that I can freely discuss other people’s handicaps so you don’t need to say anything.”

  Helen winked at Earlene. “I also noticed that you don’t like standing too close to people. Like you have an invisible barrier that prevents people from getting too near you. Like Tucker. Although he didn’t used to be that way.” She paused for a moment, as if realizing that she’d just spoken aloud, then turned her head in Tucker’s direction. “It’s your turn now. How did I do?”

  Tucker was looking at Lillian, his eyes narrowed, recognizing her enjoyment in the proceedings but not begrudging her the rare pleasure, either. He placed his napkin beside his plate and faced Earlene, staring at her for a few moments before speaking. “Very good, Helen. You got most of it right. Her hair is what I call light brown but what I’ve heard referred to as ‘dirty blond.’ I imagine it will lighten up some if she stays in the sun long enough. Maybe I’ll have her give the girls lessons in the outdoor ring.” He gave Earlene a half smile, but Lillian wasn’t certain whom he was trying to reassure.

  “Her eyes are actually light brown, almost gold when the light hits them. They tilt a bit at the corners when she smiles, although she doesn’t do that very often.” He took a sip from his wineglass before continuing. “I have noticed that she likes to keep her distance from others, but that’s to be expected. We’re strangers to her still. She hasn’t discovered all of our demons yet—not all of them, anyway. And she sure as hell hasn’t let any of hers out of the bag, either.”

  Lillian shot him a look of warning. He pushed his almost-full wineglass away from him before sliding his chair back so that he could fully face Earlene. Her face was still flushed, her skin glowing in the candlelight.

  “But you’re wrong about her height. She’s more like five foot six, but she has this habit of rounding her shoulders, which makes her look smaller. It’s like she’s trying not to be noticed, but it doesn’t matter. There’s something about the way she carries herself that makes her stand out anyway. It’s like she’s used to leading a parade or something, and that even without the parade behind her, she can’t help but walk as if she were still up front.”

  Tucker leaned back in his chair, as if he were enjoying not being the center of Lillian’s scrutiny for an evening. He continued. “Oh, and forget what you said about her soft voice. That’s her ‘inside voice,’ to borrow an expression from the girls. You should have heard Earlene this morning in the ring. She was downright authoritative, although I can’t say for sure that she really ever raised her voice. I think it had more to do with the confidence she felt about what she was saying; she knew her stuff and she wasn’t afraid to let everybody know it.”

  Earlene’s eyes were focused near her plate, her hands folded tightly in a fist that rested on the table’s edge. Lillian began to open her mouth to tell Tucker that he’d said enough, but she stopped. Tucker had never been cruel. Even as a young boy, when little brothers were expected to torment their older sisters, he and Helen had been more like best friends, inseparable long before Helen lost her sight. She watched as Tucker’s face softened, almost visibly backing off. It seemed to Lillian that he had recognized something in Earlene that reminded him of himself—another person recently and profoundly blinded, bumping into the world around them as they tried to find their way in new surroundings.

  When he next spoke, his voice was soft. “She’s very beautiful, Helen, although I don’t think she realizes it. And maybe that’s an assumption on my part, too, because I also think of her as a horsewoman. As you know, most horsewomen are so into their horses that they don’t take a lot of time looking at themselves in a mirror.” Tucker gave his trademark half smile, which most women swooned over, but Earlene, who was still focused on her plate, didn’t notice.

  “She appears to be delicate, but I’m not fooled. I’ve seen her work with horses, and they didn’t think she was delicate either.”

  Tucker paused and Earlene looked up to meet his gaze. “Are you finished? I think Helen has a pretty good idea of what I look like now, thank you.” Earlene had released her fists and her hand went back to her collar, her fingers surreptitiously slipping inside, searching.

  “Is there something wrong?” Tucker leaned forward, his eyes wary.

  Earlene nodded, a frown between her eyes. “My necklace . . . I can’t find it. I wear it almost all the time, and I’m pretty sure I had it on when I arrived.” She stood and shook her blouse, but nothing fell out of the bottom. Her voice rose in pitch. “It’s gone.” She began looking around her chair on the floor, her movements jerky. “It must be around here somewhere.”

  Tucker stood, too, and touched her gently on the arm. “Don’t worry. We’ll find it. I’ll tell Odella so that when she vacuums in here tomorrow she can look for it.”

  Inexplicably, Earlene’s gaze met Lillian’s for a moment before she quickly looked away. “But I really want to find it now.”

  “Is it valuable?” Helen asked as she stood, too.

  Earlene shook her head. “Only to me. It’s sort of a family heirloom.”

  Helen slipped off her high-heeled shoes and began rubbing her bare feet in an arc on the rug. “What does it look like?”

  Earlene’s skin had gone from flushed to nearly white. “It’s . . . it’s a gold chain. With a little ornament hanging from it.”

  Tucker had also begun searching, moving back his chair and peering under the table. “What kind of an ornament?”

  Lillian watched as Earlene swallowed. “A gold figure. Of a woman.”

  “Like a doll?” Helen stopped moving her feet and faced Earlene.

  “Yes. Something like that.”

  Seeming satisfied with her answer, Helen and Tucke
r continued to look, Tucker going as far as into the hallway to see if it had fallen off there.

  He returned, shaking his head. “Didn’t see it, but don’t worry, it’ll show up. I’ll tell the girls and Emily to be on the lookout for it, too.” He stood back from Earlene, whose hand lay clutched at her neck while her other hand rested on the table as if for support, watching her as he had once watched Susan, waiting for an outburst or a complete meltdown.

  Lillian stood, defusing the tension. “Let’s all go into the parlor and Odella can serve us coffee in there. I promise you that we’ll find it, Earlene.” She moved to Earlene’s side and slid her hand into the crook of Earlene’s arm without asking first. As Earlene led her from the dining room, Lillian squeezed her arm hard, hard enough to hurt, and was rewarded with an angry and surprised look from Earlene. Good, thought Lillian. She’s not like Susan, after all. It wasn’t until they’d reached the parlor that Lillian thought to wonder why Earlene could have been so panicked over the loss of a simple necklace.

  I barely followed the conversation following dinner, being too worried about finding my angel charm. The chain I’d been using was old and the clasp must have broken and I berated myself for not having purchased a new chain.

  Unable to contain my restlessness and eager to return home to see if the charm might have fallen off there, I waited for a lull in the conversation and stood to excuse myself. I’d driven my car to the house, not willing to take another open-cart ride under the old oaks at night again, so I was disappointed when Tucker stood, too, and told me that he would walk me out. I didn’t want company, especially his. There’s something about the way she carries herself that makes her stand out anyway. It’s like she’s used to leading a parade or something, and that even without the parade behind her, she can’t help but walk as if she were still up front.

  At first I thought he’d discovered my secret, and then quickly dismissed the idea. I had no doubt that I’d be heading back to Savannah with a hastily packed trunk and a car full of unanswered questions if that had been the case. But while I’d been sitting at the table and listening to Tucker describe me to Helen, the repercussions of what would happen when my deception became known had become illuminated in my mind. I’d always been headstrong, always leaping before I looked, and this plan had been no exception. My only excuse was that it had given me a reason to get up in the morning for the first time in over six years. I think George had known it, too, or he would never have allowed me to do something so stupid. I’d have to figure something out—something that would salvage my relationship with the family I had grown to like; and I hoped that the lost angel charm wouldn’t force my hand before I was ready.

  I said my good nights before preceding Tucker to the front door. He opened it for me and then surprised me by following me outside into the humid summer night air that lay as thick on our skins as marsh mud.

  “I’m heading to the stables to check on Captain Wentworth. Thought maybe you’d like to come.” His words weren’t warm or inviting, but he sounded sincere.

  I nodded, my reason for agreeing unclear even to me. “Sure,” I said, then turned with him and began to walk in the direction of the stables. “Do you always tuck your horses in at night? I thought Andi Winkle was your stable manager.”

  “She is, and she does a great job. But sometimes we get a horse who was so abused that they need a little help before they can trust humans again. Those are the ones I give a little extra TLC to. And Captain Wentworth—well, he always gets a bit nervous when we leave him in the stall, so I make it a practice to check on him a few times to let him know that nobody’s forgotten him.”

  We walked the rest of the way in silence, watching as the sun dipped lower in the horizon, filling the pastures and marshes with golden light before slowly stealing all the color, wrapping them up with night.

  I wanted to ask him why he’d taken leave from his medical practice and moved to his grandmother’s farm, and why he rescued horses now instead. But I knew that the answer lay close to his grief, an uneasy alliance and unreliable bedfellow, so I remained silent, not willing to spoil the peaceful night.

  As we approached the barn a horse whinnied, calling out to us, and I looked at Tucker. “Is that Captain Wentworth? He must know you’re coming.”

  Tucker slid a sidelong glance at me as he paused to let me enter the barn first. “That’s actually the first time he’s done that. I would think he probably recognized your footsteps because they’re so different from everybody else’s.”

  I bit back my defensive remark and instead concentrated on its implications as we approached the first stall. Captain Wentworth watched warily as we approached, and when I drew near he stretched his head toward me, but when I reached my hand up to pat his nose, he jerked back.

  Before I could lower my hand again, Tucker grabbed my wrist. “Keep holding it up so he can see your hand’s empty.”

  I nodded to show I understood and his hand fell away. Tentatively, Captain Wentworth stuck his head out again and I reached for him, my hand resting on his long nose as he stood still for me, allowing me to pet him. Sensing his trust in me, I stepped closer and he allowed me to pat his powerful neck and scratch him around the ears like a big dog, just the way my horse Fitz had liked.

  “Have you ridden him, yet?” I asked, as Captain Wentworth began nuzzling around my shirt, stretching downward to reach my pockets in search of a treat.

  “No. He’s not ready. I don’t know how he’d handle a rider right now. Besides, his hooves are still healing. He had some nasty infections when I first got him. Took a while before we could get close enough to shave off the overgrown hooves because they must have been hurting him something bad. Maybe in another week or so we can try putting a rider on him. We’ll need a pretty experienced rider for that, though.”

  I didn’t look up at him, feeling his full gaze on me. “It’s a good thing you’re an experienced rider, then.”

  Tucker had picked off a single straw from a stack of clean hay as we’d passed it, and begun chewing on an end. “Yeah, I guess so. Although he tends to prefer women.” He pretended to think for a minute. “With her gumption and your training, maybe Lucy will be ready to ride him in a week or so. She’ll certainly think so.” His face erupted into a wide grin, and my heart squeezed a little as he spoke about his daughter with such pride.

  I pictured the diminutive Lucy demanding to ride the huge horse and couldn’t help smiling, too. “Yeah, I can picture it.”

  Captain Wentworth nuzzled my side again, continuing his search for something good to eat. I felt comfortable and at ease, something I hadn’t expected, and I wasn’t sure if it was the proximity of the horse who reminded me of my old self, or the man who stood next to me. His own vulnerability made me feel strong again, and when I looked at him, I saw the man who could heal damaged horses and had once loved playing pranks on his family but who had been afraid of thunderstorms.

  Captain Wentworth bumped me with his nose and I stumbled backward, caught by surprise. I grabbed his neck to keep my balance, pressing my face in against him and smelling the old familiar horse scent—the same scent that still made me wary, though I was no longer afraid of it. I had left that fear behind as I’d stood outside the lunge ring watching Tucker and Captain Wentworth, replaced now with something more like apprehension and a different kind of fear altogether. But as long as I remained on the ground, my fear of failure was as elusive as a moonflower bloom at dawn.

  “Hey, boy,” I said, rubbing his nose, “what’s wrong? Why the long face?”

  Tucker snorted. “That’s the oldest joke in the book.”

  I turned to him, trying to keep a straight face. “Then why are you laughing?”

  We laughed together for a few minutes until we both seemed to realize where we were and whom we were with. Our smiles gradually faded as we stared at each other. Tucker finally broke the silence. “You really should laugh more, you know. You’re beautiful when you do.”

  Emb
arrassed, I turned back to Captain Wentworth and fumbled for something to say. “My grandmother told that joke to me when we bought my first horse. It was sort of an ongoing joke for a long time.” Until her presence at events became superfluous and all that remained was my desire to be the best. Quietly, I added, “I’d almost forgotten it until now.”

  I gave Captain Wentworth a final pat and stepped back. “Good night, big guy. We’ll see you tomorrow. And I promise to bring a treat.”

  We walked past the other stalls, including those of the new ponies, giving a pat to whoever stuck out a nose, exiting the building on the opposite side. Full dark had fallen, leaving a moonless sky scattered with stars and gathering clouds. Tucker held out his arm. “The path can be rough going at night. It might be best if you held on.”

  I wanted to refuse, to ignore my stiff knee if only for one beautiful night and pretend I was the woman with two good legs who everybody believed was headed for great things. I grabbed his elbow and held on, grudgingly thankful.

  When we reached my car, he held the door open for me as I got in, then stood back, his hands in his pockets.

  “You don’t have to watch me leave, Tucker. I know the way.”

  “I know that. I’m just . . . contemplating.”

  His tone, usually so remote, welcomed me in this time, as if he wanted me to question him. As if our sharing of laughter over a bad joke had breached a small portion of the wall between us. “Contemplating what?”

  His eyes were focused over the top of my car toward the alley of towering oaks. The night was still, the trees keeping quiet. “Whether or not I should go out tonight or stay at home and read a story to my little girls.”

  The roll of emotional adviser was a new one to me. Before I’d come to Asphodel, I’d always considered myself to be the most damaged person I knew. My scars were deep, but I was beginning to learn that they weren’t as permanent as I’d once believed, and many of them were self-inflicted. But the loss of a wife and mother was forever, regardless of the circumstances. I got out of the car and stood in front of him. “I know I’m still pretty much a stranger to you, and you probably weren’t even asking a question you expected me to answer, but I don’t feel right driving away without trying to answer you anyway.” I took a quick breath, waiting for him to stop me before I could continue. When he didn’t move, I said,“It would seem to me that Sara and Lucy would benefit more having you here.”