Pale morning light lay across the bed when Rowena awoke to find Blair gone. Simmons had left tea on the side table, and Blair’s cup held a bit of liquid in the bottom. He’d gotten out of here early without waiting for her to awaken. That hardly ever happened, and she hurried into the water closet, came out to splash her hands and face with cold water from the wash pan, and dressed in her morning frock. Still tying it closed, she ran from the room on slippered feet, down the stairs and twirled round the newel post at the bottom, swinging out like a kid.
What a glorious morning, the sun golden and warm creeping across the windows to the east. The only sound came from the kitchen, where low conversation accompanied the rattle of pans. The preparation of breakfast was just beginning, for there were no delicious smells yet. She ran full tilt down the hallway and through the door to find only Nellie, Annie, and Lizza.
“Where are Blair…and Grady?”
“In the barn,” Annie said. “You’re supposed to wait here. They’ll be in to eat in a little while.”
“Oh, really? Who issued that edict?” Sounded a bit pompous, but she couldn’t help it. It was that secret errand of Grady’s, and she hated to have anything kept from her.
“He said please.” Annie turned from the stove, gazed at her. “It’s a surprise, but don’t tell them I told you.”
She had to laugh. “Told me what? I still don’t know anything.”
“And that’s as his lordship wants it. I have tea steeping. Would you like a cup while you wait?”
Dropping into a chair, she sighed. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Annie.”
****
Grady handed Blair the custom-made boot. He sat on a bench against the inner stone wall of the barn and inspected the fine leatherwork.
“Looks good to me. Is it what you wanted?” Grady asked.
“I’ll have to try it on and see.”
“See here, the leather brace, put together just like your old one, is built right into the leather of the boot, and it’s this metal bracing that should help you the most. It extends up both sides and across the bottom of the sole. Gives you extra support without being too bulky or heavy. Smith said if it’s not right comfortable, he can adjust it, but it’s the same size as the brace and boot you took him, only it’s all in one, plus the extra bracing. That’s the most important thing.”
“The man’s a genius. I’m happy he decided to return to Victoria after running off with Calder and Wilda.” Blair pushed his foot down into the boot with a grunt, taking extra care to ease it over his calf until his foot settled in. Felt a bit odd, but no worse than that blasted brace alone. He stood, tottered a bit, then took a step, Grady insisting on holding on to his arm.
“Why not put on the other boot first, before you try walking?”
Blair sat back down. “Yes, yes, of course you’re right.” The other boot, designed to match in every way it could, slipped on easily. “Fine looking pair of boots. The leather is soft and supple. Can’t hardly tell the difference except the metal brace on the outside of this one.” He lifted his right foot.
“He’s danged sure you can ride and support yourself in the stirrup without worry. Who knows what the good doctor will have to say.”
“Well, for now, we’ll just keep this a secret from him. If it works out for me, then how can he object?” He walked around in the center of the barn, then strode the length from one door to the other, a limp barely discernible. “It’s fine, Grady. Damn fine.”
“Any pain?”
“Some, but not anything I can’t handle. Today, we have our first riding lesson. You, me, and sweet Rowena. Isn’t she going to be surprised?”
“Captain, just one thing. You be careful. Don’t you get hurt. That lady of yours would skin me alive if anything happened to you over this.”
Blair laughed heartily. “I promise to be careful. I want to thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate all you do for me, but this, this is the best thing you could’ve ever done. Finding a boot maker, getting Smith to build this brace. Fine idea, my friend.”
Eyes shining, Grady grinned and accepted a hearty hug and back slapping from Blair.
On the way to the house, Blair felt more confident with each step. The thing was a bit heavier than the left boot, but the support was so much better than the old one, he had no complaints. Next time he was in town he’d have to go by and personally thank Smith for all the time he’d spent with him, measuring and discussing what was needed for the brace, then consulting with the boot maker.
In the kitchen, the two men found Nellie, Annie, Lizza, and Rowena drinking tea. All four glanced up when they entered.
“Blair?” Rowena said, looking him up and down.
He went to her side grinning.
Speechless, she hugged him. “What? How?”
“This is our surprise,” he said indicating the boot. “And it works. Get your britches on, woman. After breakfast we’re going to have our first riding lesson.”
Everyone laughed, except Rowena who laid her head on his shoulder and cried.
“Why, honey. Why are you crying?”
“I’m happy, you clown. I’m happy.”
Everyone laughed heartily.
Simmons joined them for breakfast, and he was shown the boots. His normally somber features spread into a broad grin. “That’s fine, really fine,” he told Blair, then hugged him soundly.
After breakfast, Rowena dressed in a plain white blouse and a pair of britches Tyra had left in her wardrobe. “If anyone comes while we are out riding, I’m going to hide in the barn.”
“That will not be necessary, not at all.” He held her at arm’s length and studied her.
The sun warmed the air and a breeze out of the southwest smelled sweet with growing things when they stepped outside. Grady went with them to the barn, where he helped them saddle Brandy and Whiskey with western saddles, all the while making small talk about their use.
“Takes a bit of getting used to,” Grady instructed Blair. “The main thing is you’ve got more support, the stirrups are longer, allowing your legs to be in a more comfortable position. Personally, I don’t see how anyone rides in comfort on one of them little bits of leather you English call a saddle, and with your knees, plum up to your butts, so to speak.”
He held Whiskey’s head while Blair experimented with the stirrups, finally placing his left foot and swinging gracefully into the saddle. The heavier boot knocked against Whiskey’s side and he snorted, took a step sideways. Grady rubbed the horse between the eyes, while Blair shifted his weight and spoke softly into the laid-back ear.
“Feels a bit awkward. Perhaps the right stirrup needs to be a bit longer.”
Grady handed him the reins and went around to adjust it. Blair continued to talk soft and low to Whiskey, patting his neck. Finally satisfied, he leaned forward a bit. The leather of the saddle creaked with his weight shift.
“Let’s give this a try, boy.” He hugged with his knees and urged Whiskey forward.
“Easy, Captain, you go easy now. Let me get Miss Rowena settled, and we’ll take a slow turn round the barnyard.”
Whiskey pranced under Blair’s guidance, and he tested his weight in the stirrups. The pain could be endured if it meant he could be in the saddle again. “Isn’t he beautiful?”
“That he is.” Grady went to help Rowena mount, and adjusted her stirrups. “Now, I’m just going to lead him around till you get used to the feel. Weight on the balls of your feet, knees firm against his sides. Sit back and relax. Like rocking in a chair.”
He led the Morgan out into the yard, Blair riding a few paces ahead. Without warning, he touched his heels to Whiskey’s sides and trotted off. Settling into the comfort of the saddle, he sent Whiskey into a gallop, the wind in his face, the feel of freedom embracing him.
“Captain, don’t—”
Rowena interrupted. “Let him go, Grady. Leave him be.”
Blair smiled, hunched low along Whiskey’s neck, and urged him f
orward. The leg began to object after a while, so he slowed, turned, and trotted the gelding back into the barnyard.
There Grady led Brandy and gave Rowena instructions, but watched Blair all the same. He reined Whiskey around to ride beside Rowena.
“How does it feel, love?”
“Oh, it’s scary but wonderful. Could you teach me to ride like you do?”
“Ten easy lessons,” Blair joked.
After instructing her in using the reins to guide Brandy, Grady handed them to her. “Now remember, you are the boss.”
“You hear that, Brandy? I’m the boss. Now let me try.” She urged Brandy forward, Blair riding along next to her, Grady walking on the other side. “Turn loose the horn, missus. You’ll make his shoulders sore. Hang on with your legs.”
Smiling broadly, she glanced at Blair, her face flushed, eyes shining, tied-back hair blowing in the wind. The warm sun kissed her porcelain skin. Brandy’s hooves kicked up little clods of mud. Across the pasture tiny blue flowers formed a carpet as if nature had laid it down just for them. He’d never felt more intense joy than at this very moment. He touched his heels gently to Whiskey’s side, and Brandy followed along. Rowena made a satisfied “oh” and Grady ran along between, seeing to the both of them.
After a while Grady held up and let them go. Blair reached out and took her hand. She gave hers readily and sat straight in the saddle, smiling at him. A natural. He imagined them riding full tilt out across the prairie, sun on their shoulders, wind in their faces, chasing their dreams and leaving all the nightmares behind.
Author’s Notes
The disorder which Blair suffered from is today referred to as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD. It is marked by a re-experiencing of the trauma of battle, as if the combat veteran has been thrust back into the actual war in which he fought. This extends to paralyzing nightmares in which the dreamer imagines he is awake and experiencing the horrors of war.
According to the Veteran Website, “Combat veterans experiencing PTSD suffer from depression, loss of interest in work or activities, psychic and emotional numbing, anger, anxiety, cynicism and distrust, memory loss and alienation, and other symptoms.” Rarely do they shoot up malls or commit otherwise violent acts.
It was no different in wars prior to the recognition of this disorder, such as the Franco-Prussian War in which Blair fought, except that doctors were at a loss as to how to characterize or treat such reactions. This book is fiction, but the symptoms Blair suffers from are all too real.
Diaries written by men who fought in wars, up to as much as thousands of years ago, mention many of the symptoms combat veterans experience today. This disorder was assigned various names over the centuries, including insanity and malingering.
During Blair’s time, in the years following the Civil War, the names assigned to his symptoms were “soldier’s heart” or “nostalgia.” Many Civil War veterans suffered from this psychological disease. The solution was often either to send them to insane asylums or simply refuse to treat them and turn them out onto the streets and roads to starve or die of exposure, a sad ending for the men and boys who fought for their country.
Those with a strong support group and people who love them, were and are more apt to survive and build themselves a traditional life. Though most suffering this disorder never completely recover, they can learn to control and deal with their reactions.
We ought to realize that wars are destructive in other ways than in body counts.
A word about the author...
Velda Brotherton writes of romance in the old west with an authenticity that makes her many historical characters ring true. A knowledge of the rich history of our country comes through in both her fiction and nonfiction books, as well as in her writing workshops and speaking engagements.
She just as easily steps out of the past into contemporary settings to create novels about women with the ability to conquer life’s difficult challenges.
Tough heroines, strong and gentle heroes, villains to die for, all live in the pages of her novels and books.
Visit her at:
www.veldabrotherton.com
Thank you for purchasing
this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
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