Saratoga Sunrise

by Christine Wenger

  Sara closed her eyes so she didn't have to look at Montague Fordice anymore. When she opened them, her father and Aunt Trixie were standing before her.

  "Are you all right?" Bond Peterson asked.

  "I'm fine, father." Sara rubbed her arm, and knew that soon she'd be sporting bruises.

  "What the hell is going on here?" Bond Peterson yelled,

  glaring at the two combatants.

  "Your groom was hurting your daughter by flinging her around the dance floor until she just about fell. I tried to step in like a gentleman, and this boor punched me and bloodied my nose."

  To Sara's horror, her father turned to Jack and shouted, "How dare you mistreat my daughter!"

  "I didn't–"

  "You most certainly did!"

  "Father, please! Everyone's looking and–."

  "I don't care who's looking!"

  Aunt Trixie put the palm of her hand on Bond's elbow. "Bond, you're embarrassing Sara. Please motion to the conductor to start up the music, and we can discuss the incident at a quiet table."

  Her father softened immediately. "You're right, of course, Bea." He met the conductor's eyes from across the floor, waved his hand in the air in a circular motion, and the band struck-up a lively polka.

  Sara breathed a sigh of relief when most of the gawkers

  returned to their revelry. Jack stood as still as granite, but Monty continue to whimper.

  Her father looked so crazed, it scared her.

  "Sara, what has Jack done to you?"

  "Absolutely nothing father."

  "Montague says otherwise."

  "Father, I was dancing with Jack and–"

  "Why don't you ask me what happened, Mr. Peterson, or isn't my word good enough?" Jack's words were casual, but his eyes were dark and unforgiving.

  Bond turned toward him. "Montague said-"

  "Therefore, it doesn't matter what I have to say, does it?" Jack shrugged his shoulders.

  "Well-" Bond looked at Jack, than at Monty.

  "So I'm guilty until proven innocent, isn't that correct, Mr. Peterson?" Jack said coldly.

  "I-I-"

  "Just as I thought. Some things never change. I'll clear my things out of the stable and will be on my way."

  Bond pointed his finger at Jack. "Oh, no you won't. We had a verbal agreement, which is as good as a signed a contract as far as I'm concerned. At this late date, I'd be hard pressed to find another groom. You are to take care of my horses, that's what I hired you to do, and that's exactly what you will do. But from now on you'll stay away from my daughter. Do you understand me?"

  Noticing the angry look on Jack's face, Sara could see that he didn't agree with her father's directive.

  Jack's hands clenched into tight fists as he looked at the blubbering Montague Fordice. It seemed as though he was debating whether or not to strike Montague again.

  "I understand perfectly," Jack said, glaring at Bond Peterson. He turned and walked away at a fast clip.

  "Father-"

  "End of discussion."

  "But I-"

  "Sara, I don't wish to discuss it anymore."

  Sara's face flamed. Never had her father cut her off like that. "I shall ask Johnson to drive me back to the cottage. I don't feel much like a party any more."

  Aunt Trixie put a comforting arm around Sara's shoulder. "Would you like me to go with you?"

  Sara's eyes brimmed with tears. "I'd rather be alone, if you don't mind, Aunt Trixie."

  "I'll escort you to your carriage, my dear," Monty volunteered.

  She looked at the man who she was once going to marry. His face was all red and bloated, and it looked like he was going to have two black eyes, probably the result of a broken nose. Blood had dripped down onto his white linen shirt. He still clutched the Grand Union Hotel's linen napkin. Once white, it was now spotted with blood. She wished she'd been the one who had bloodied his nose.

  "I'll be fine. Don't trouble yourself." She wanted to get as far away from him as possible.

  "But I insist."

  Sara got up from her chair and stood until some numbness had dissipated from her leg. "I insist you stay right where you are. I don't want to be with you." She walked away from everyone, head held high, eager to be alone.

  # # #

  After Montague Fordice had excused himself to seek medical attention, Bond Peterson led Bea to a small table in a quieter corner of the courtyard. He sat down opposite her and for a moment, he just enjoyed her beauty and being in her company. What would he have done without Bea all these years? He valued her opinion and cherished her friendship.

  "That Jack Summers reminds me of someone, but for the life of me, I can't figure out who." Bond rubbed his head with his fingers as if trying to erase a headache. "What do you make of him, Bea?"

  "I like him."

  "But Montague said the man was hurting her when he was dancing with her."

  "Oh, Bond, really. Sara looked like she was having the time of her life, until Montague came around."

  "You saw them dancing?"

  "Yes, I did. Sara was smiling, and laughing. She looked radiant and happy-happier than I've seen her in a long time. And it seemed to me that Jack was taking the utmost care with her."

  Bond thought about this for a while. "Well, why then would Montague say what he did?"

  "Perhaps he wanted Jack to look bad, and he wanted to make himself look the hero."

  "Perhaps, but why?" A waiter arrived at their table, and Bond removed two flutes of champagne from the proffered silver tray. He handed one to Bea. "You don't like Montague much, do you?"

  "No, I don't. There's something about him that just doesn't ring true."

  "Well, I disagree. I think he's still a good match for Sara. He has social standing and he's wealthy. He has an interest in horses, as Sara does. He is anxious to come and work for me. He even told me that he would start at the bottom-said he doesn't want any preferential treatment just because he'd be my son-in-law. But of course, I couldn't have my daughter's husband working at the bottom. He'll be a manager. I'm going to put him in charge of the railroad division."

  "I see." Bea took a sip of champagne. "Did you tell him that you were going to make him a manager?"

  "I certainly did. And I’ll give him a handsome salary."

  "Ahh."

  "What are you trying not to tell me, Bea?"

  "Not a thing. This is between you and your daughter, but I don't think Sara loves Montague."

  "Of course she does."

  Even in the dusky light, Bond could see Bea's eyes spark in anger. "Have you ever asked her what she wants?"

  "I just assumed that-"

  "Bond, sometimes I wonder how you've made millions, because you can't see what's right under your nose!"

  Bea gulped down her champagne, and set the glass down rather hard. "Yes. Right under your nose, and yet you can't see!" She got up from her chair and stared down at him. "Excuse me, please. I'm going to return to Lillian and chat with her a bit more."

  She strode away in a cloud of pale peach satin.

  Bond drained his champagne, then motioned for the waiter again. He just didn't understand why two women, who were the dearest to him, were angry with him. What had he done?

  Jack Summers was angry with him, too. Maybe he did misjudge the man too harshly. Bond decided to speak with Jack later and listen to his side of the story after all.

  And Montague Fordice? Bond had to admit that Monty had been acting rather strange lately. Maybe it was just pre-engagement party jitters.

  Bond drained another glass of champagne, and resolved to keep a closer eye on Montague Fordice as well as Jack Summers.

  And what on earth was Bea referring to when she said he couldn't see past his nose?

  CHAPTER 8

  Jack decided that he had to cool off and release his anger, so he walked up Broadway at a brisk pace.

  Going over and over the evening's events in his mind, his frustration grew. What his father h
ad told him had just been confirmed: George Wheeler never had a chance to explain what he was doing holding a broken green bottle of Wheeler Saratoga Mineral Water while Bond's prize thoroughbred stood in his stall bleeding profusely from all four legs. Later, when George did have a chance to explain, no one would take his word over Bond Peterson's.

  History had repeated itself because Bond Peterson now wouldn't believe George Wheeler's son over Montague Fordice.

  He grit his teeth, remembering how Fordice tugged at Sara until she almost fell. Remembering the red marks he saw forming on her upper arms, made him seethe anew. How dare Fordice mishandle any woman, let alone Sara Peterson?

  Every fiber in his body wished he had knocked Fordice out cold while he had the chance, or at least knocked out some of his cigar-stained teeth. At least then, he would have less to lie through.

  Jack smiled slightly at his small joke, in spite of his resolve to stay angry. He concentrated on how he was progressing in his efforts to win Sara's trust. She definitely was enjoying the waltz with him, until Fordice played him for a fool.

  Sara. Something inside him wanted to protect her, help her -but while he was doing that, he still hoped he could get information from her.

  But wasn’t he using her for his own gain?

  If there was another way to gain information without making his identity know, he couldn’t think how.

  He pondered making special shoes to help her straighten her walk, just like he did for horses. A bicycle would probably work different muscles, too. Perhaps he would take her bicycling.

  He frowned. Taking her anywhere would be difficult now that her father had forbade him to go near her. He'd certainly made a mess out of things when he asked Sara to dance, but she had looked so lovely, and so alone, that he couldn't resist.

  He rubbed his temples, longing for a nighttime soak in the spring, but that would only make him think of lovely Sara and how she had looked with her clothes wet and clinging to her curves. He took a deep, calming breath.

  He needed to concentrate his efforts on helping his father. He also needed to speak with Uncle Max, his father's younger brother, have a look at the books, and see how the Wheeler Mineral Water Company was faring.

  Jack would have to see how much damage Max had done

  since his father's absence. After all, he had to make sure his mother was well taken care of. There was no time like the present to speak with Uncle Max.

  Jack turned the corner and doubled back to Canfield's Casino where he knew Uncle Max would definitely be.

  # # #

  "Johnson, would you kindly take me for a ride around the area. I don't feel like going to the cottage just yet. It's a nice night, and I want to enjoy the evening air for a while."

  "Certainly, Miss Sara."

  Sara settled herself in the covered carriage, and smoothed down the lustrous satin of her gown. Sadly, she thought that the beautiful Worth gown hadn't brought her as much luck as she had hoped.

  Well, perhaps it had. Jack told her she was beautiful and they enjoyed a glorious waltz together. She did feel beautiful,

  if only for a short time.

  She thought about riding Seawind again on the practice track early tomorrow morning. The Travers was coming up soon, and she wanted to make sure he was ready. Knowing that her father forbid Jack to see her, different plans on how to arrange rides on her horse whirled around in her head.

  She decided that she'd have to be deceitful once again as her father would never give her permission. She would get up quite early and leave a note saying she would be taking the waters at Congress Spring and then would be going to Clara's house for a visit. With any luck, they would assume that Johnson would be driving her, and they wouldn't worry.

  Lies and deception. She had never been so wicked before.

  While it made her uncomfortable, she felt a little thrill at her

  boldness.

  Another thrill went through her when she thought of seeing

  Jack again. For sure, he'd be at the stables. She'd have to apologize to Jack for her father's misunderstanding of the situation at the ball. But first, she had every intention of talking to her father and telling him the truth about what had happened.

  But what about Jack's relationship with Clara? Perhaps she should ask Jack, since Clara had lied to her.

  Lies, deception, secrets. . .

  What was wrong with everyone?

  She closed her eyes, but still couldn't erase the memory of how dashing Jack looked in his evening attire. He didn't sport wax on his moustache that was so popular with the men. Good. Sara thought it made them look ridiculous.

  Jack also didn't believe in slicking his hair back with hair tonic, and for the most part, it blew freely, unless he had that bowler hat on. She wondered how he would look without the mustache and beard. No doubt he would be even more handsome.

  Fingering the pearls that Lillian Russell's maid entwined in her hair, she stared out the open window of the carriage.

  She took several deep breaths to relax and enjoyed the beauty of the small moonlit town, until she was distracted by a familiar form not but twenty feet from her carriage.

  Jack! He was walking up the stairs into Canfield's Casino.

  Montague was right. Jack was a gambler. Were the other

  half of Montague's accusations also true? Did Jack visited the

  bordellos?

  Sara’s heart sank. Monty couldn’t be right about Jack. He just couldn’t.

  # # #

  Sara was disappointed that she didn't see Jack Summers. When she arrived at the barn, she found Toady saddling Seawind.

  In the tack room, she slipped into the silks she wore before and hid her hair under the cap.

  "Jack is out for a while this morning," Toady replied to her unasked question.

  "I see," she responded, quickly changing the subject. "Are you going to ride Amberglow?"

  "Yep, but you go ahead Sara. I'll catch up."

  She mounted Seawind, lifted the reins, and the horse instinctively knew where to go. Soon Toady caught up with her and they walked around the practice track a couple of times, talking about different horses and their chances of winning. After a while, they paused at the starting line.

  "Ready? Set? Go!" Toady yelled, and Sara kicked the sides of Seawind. She felt him surge forward and soon they were flying. Blue-black crows which had been foraging on the race track flew up in loud protest of being disturbed. Sara giggled, and crouched over Seawind's neck.

  She could see Toady riding Amberglow out of the corner of her eye. They were slightly ahead by a length. Seawind wanted to run faster, but she held him back. He was a fast starter, but lost steam usually in the home stretch. She'd save his energy for later when he needed it the most.

  Keeping a steady pace behind Amber, she continued to rein in Seawind. He snorted. He was mad.

  "Easy, boy. Not yet," she tried to soothe his ruffled pride. "You'll beat her. Just hold on."

  Finally, horse and rider were at the top of the home stretch. Sara guided Seawind around Amber. "Now! Go,

  Seawind! Run!"

  They flew around the racetrack, the wind on her face and the morning sun in her eyes. She cleared her mind of all the events that had been bothering her, all the confusion she felt about Jack, and about the fact that she wanted to own her own horse farm more than anything. Instead, she concentrated on the powerful animal underneath her. He was her legs. He was her wings. And she was flying.

  Without much of an effort on Sara's part, Seawind beat Amberglow by three lengths.

  "Nice race. You sure can ride," Toady complimented her as they walked the horses to cool them.

  "So can you."

  "Thanks." The diminutive jockey beamed from the returned compliment. "Seawind's in great shape for the Travers. This is going to be his year."

  "I think so, too. He wants to win it."

  Toady grinned. "I'll bet he told you that himself."

  "He most definitely did." Sa
ra laughed. "What do you think Amberglow's chances are tomorrow?"

  "As good as any. She has some tough competition."

  "She'll win. I'm going to bet on her."

  "Of course you are. You always bet on your horses. I'll bet you've accumulated a nice nest egg."

  "I have!" Sara giggled as they walked their horses back to the stables. "If Daddy only knew how rich he's made me!"

  "Are you still saving for your horse farm?"

  "Yes, I am."

  "Maybe I'll come and work for you," Toady said.

  "What about Theresa?" Sara knew he was sweet on Theresa, the downstairs maid.

  "Someday I'll ask her to marry me."

  "Really, Toady?" Although she was truly happy for him, she felt emptiness in her own heart. When would she find love? When would she find someone she could be friends with and share her innermost dreams with? Someone who'd love her in return and see past her ugly leg and into her heart?

  She looked around to see if anyone was around. When she saw that no one was, she leaned toward Toady and kissed him on the cheek. "I'm very happy for you."

  They led Amberglow and Seawind back to the stable, removed the saddles, and rubbed down the horses.

  Instead of going back to the cottage or to the drinking hall, she had an overwhelming urge to visit the spring. She thought of it as "Jack's Spring". Maybe he'd be there. Her pulse sped up at the thought. She wanted to see him again, and question him about what he did last night after the ball.

  "Toady, I'm going to take Seawind for a slow walk.

  He's usedto the grassy fields back home, and he must be

  tired of this small stall. I won't saddle him again. I'll

  just blanket him."

  "Aw, Miss Sara, I don't think you should."

  "Nonsense. I know of an absolutely beautiful field.

  Seawind will love it. He must be tired of eating hay,

  too."

  "I don't think your father would want you to-"

  "Toady, we'll be fine, Seawind and I." She found a plaid blanket and put it on the horse.

  Sara clicked her tongue and the horse followed along side of her. Then she mounted him and let him take her down the hill.