“Ashby. What a lovely name. Lovely and unusual. You were named for Marian’s grandfather, Ashby Noble. I was not sure Ashby was an appropriate name for the little blonde cherub you were, but I must say it fits you perfectly.” He smiled again. That is, his lips smiled, but his eyes did not. “I’m glad Helen was able to talk my stubborn brother into putting his seal of approval on your visit with us for the summer. Just because Madison decided to leave Overhome forever, he shouldn’t pass that sentence on to you.”
“Did you know my birth mother, Uncle Hunter?” I could have kicked myself. It was an awkward way to begin a conversation with an uncle I’d only just met. But he was the one who’d brought up my being named for my maternal grandfather. He didn’t bat an eye.
“Marian. Yes, Marian. Well, to tell you the truth, she and my brother Washington never wanted to bother with a kid brother tagging along. They were high school sweethearts, you know. She was very pretty and Wash was crazy about her. I used to spy on them making out in the parlor. They moved away from Overthome shortly after they were married. We didn’t see much of them. And then—” He stopped, clamping his lips into a line.
He was silent for a long moment. He couldn’t say the words— “Then they came back to visit one night and were killed in a car accident.” We both knew how the sentence should be finished, but my uncle’s lips seemed frozen shut.
“Tell me about yourself, Ashby,” he shifted abruptly. “Are you involved in any sports? What are you studying at college?”
“I want to major in writing. Now that I’ve finished all my gen ed courses at CC, I plan to go on for a B.A. Maybe a Master of Fine Arts degree.” I rattled this off like one of the old electric typewriters in the business lab at school. “Oh, and in high school I was on the track team, and I did gymnastics. Plus, I was editor of the literary magazine.” I was sure he was just being polite. I mean, why would he be interested in the everyday life of a typical suburban girl from New Jersey?
Rapid footsteps approached, and then Jeff poked his head inside the door.
“Jefferson! Come in. So, you’ve met your cousin Ashby, have you? And what do you think? A good pal for the summer?”
I cringed. Nothing like putting the kid on the spot, but Jeff was swaddled in his own thoughts. Taking a deep breath, he exclaimed, “I’m old enough to ride by myself, Dad. And good enough, too. Luke’s teaching me.”
“Whoa. What’s this, son?” His tone had changed. “I’ll be the judge of when you may ride solo. Horseback riding is the best sport in the world, but it does have its dangers.”
Jeff turned his look onto the floor.
“All in good time, son. When you’re ready, you’ll ride to your heart’s content. When and where you like. But for now, unless Luke,” he faced me, “or Ashby, is willing to oversee, you will not ride the horses without my permission.”
“Aww, Dad.” Jeff looked miserable. “Luke’s too busy.” He looked at me. “And she says she don’t like horses.”
“She doesn’t like horses,” he corrected. “My decision stands. You’ll get your chance, Jefferson, I promise.” He sounded jovial again. “Who knows more about horses than anyone else? Who’s the best rider in the state of Virginia?”
Jeff looked resigned. “You, Dad. But…”
“No more now. You’re my only son, and I won’t have you endangering yourself. Now, come along to breakfast and tell me everything that happened while I was gone.”
Talking, Jeff took his seat. “There’s a board broke, I mean broken. In the bridge. Luke thinks it might have been…” He searched for the word.
“Deliberate?” Uncle Hunter supplied.
“The Night Riders again,” Jeff said.
My uncle nodded. “There. You see what I mean about danger. What might happen if you were to ride a horse over that bridge, Jefferson? It could throw you, maim the horse.” He shook his head.
Just then Aunt Monica floated into the room. “Hello, darling,” she said to her husband, her voice breathy as always. “Remember the bridge party at Six Gates this evening. I believe the Taylors are planning to be there.”
Jeff’s face went flat and as the family soap opera played out before me.
“Yes, of course, Monica. But first, I’d like to show Ashby our lake.” He winked at Jeff. “And Jefferson and I must have our canter, of course.”
Jeff’s expression changed yet again, and he looked at me with a barely perceptible twitch at the corner of his lips, then lowered his lashes, all in an instant. The competition for Uncle Hunter’s attention between my aunt and cousin was alive and well. And Jeff was just as adept at the game as his mother. What I couldn’t figure out was where I fit in with all of this. But, for the first time, I knew what I wanted from my cousin Jeff. I wanted him to like me—to like me the same way he seemed to like Luke Murley.
* * * *
“Isn’t she a beauty? A bow-rider with an inboard and plenty of horsepower.” My uncle lounged behind the steering wheel, one arm propped on the gleaming teal-and-cream freeboard as he idled the boat out of the cove. Jeff and I settled back against the seats, as soft and plush as whipped cream.
The cove buzzed with watercraft of all kinds, colors, and sizes. The sunny wind brushed my cheeks and blew my hair back from my neck. “Wow! Lots of little water bugs,” I said, noting the darting, jumping, circling one and two-person jets buzzing in every direction.
“Look dead ahead, there, Ashby. That’s Moore Mountain. People say the mountain looks different every day,” Uncle Hunter said. “The shadows, the sun, who knows what makes it change from green to blue to purple. Any way you see it, it’s beautiful.”
I let my gaze follow the height and width of the heavily forested rock fingers that creased the mountain face like a gigantic green fist. I’d been impressed by Moore Mountain when I saw it from the dock on my first early-morning pilgrimage. By water, it was even more imposing, a study in natural contrast. The soft and gently rounded top gradually descended to a stark, rocky base, which plunged, sharp as a knife, into the water. I found my eyes traveling from top to bottom and back again.
Uncle Hunter rolled the craft smoothly into the main channel. “Let’s take a spin up to the bridge. We’ll dock at Port Plaza.”
I was all eyes trying to take in the vast beauty of Moore Mountain Lake. Peering deep into a secluded cove on a slice of sandy beach, I suddenly spied a tall, blue-gray bird. “Oh, look! That bird! I saw one just like it on the dock.”
“Magnificent creature, eh?” My uncle turned to Jeff. “Do you know what it is, son?”
“A great blue heron,” Jeff answered without hesitation. “We learned that at the nature center at day camp.”
“Bird-watching?” his father asked.
“I’d rather be fish-watching,” Jeff said, so seriously that both my uncle and I had to laugh.
We passed a fascinating house situated all by itself on an island and then the state park, its wide expanse of beach polka-dotted with sun-bathers and swimmers. Skimming along at a fast clip, my uncle suddenly slowed for the NO WAKE markers as we approached the bridge. After docking and securing the boat with lines and protective buoys, we climbed out and ambled along the wooden walkway. I felt like a tourist.
“Let’s feed the carp!” Jeff cried.
The shallow waters lapping against the dock boiled and bubbled with hordes of slippery carp, their greedy, gaping mouths vying for popcorn and other goodies thrown to them by onlookers. “Look at big-mouth there.” I pointed to a carp with jaws large enough to gulp down a good-sized human baby.
“They’re ugly and harmless,” Uncle Hunter said. “And thick enough to walk on.” We moved on.
Jeff’s excitement rose with every step up the multi-tiered plaza. “Can we play miniature golf? And I want to do the rock climb! Oh! Can we stop at the Ice Cream Parlor?”
“No, no, and I guess a single scoop won’t ruin your lunch,” Uncle Hunter replied. “Much as I’d like to show Ashby around, we really do have to get home, Jefferson. We’l
l come back when we can spend more time.”
Jeff’s face fell. I felt his pain. Port Plaza reminded me of the boardwalks on the Jersey shore, a smorgasbord of colorful, congregating teens and upbeat music, all mixed with the smells of pizza and popcorn and sun screen. Uncle Hunter looked my way and commented: “Port Plaza is our major source of honky-tonk at the lake.” He’d read my mind.
On the way back, Jeff pointed out a massive bird’s nest atop a channel marker. It looked as if an inner tube made of twigs had washed up onto the buoy. “An osprey nest,” he told me. “They’re huge. See that big bird on guard? That’s his wife’s head poking out of the nest. She’s sitting on the eggs.”
“His wife?” I asked.
“Osprey mate for life,” Jeff said. “I learned that in my bird watching class, too.”
“If we steer too close, he’ll fly out and try to detour us,” Uncle Hunter said. “They’re very protective of the nestlings.”
At that moment, the creature did, indeed, lift his wings and dive at us with a loud “Chee! Chee! Chee!”
“Occasionally you’ll see osprey at our dock,” my uncle said. “And I understand a few bald eagles have been spotted hereabouts.”
As we rounded a point, I recognized the dock at Overhome. “Thanks for the tour,” I told my uncle. “Awesome lake. Incredible mountain. Port Plaza reminded me of home.”
“My pleasure, Ashby. We’ll go again. I promise.” Jeff and I watched while my uncle docked and hoisted the boat. Then we climbed the steps to the house.
Dear Diary, A quick note from a teary-eyed Yankee chick. A boat ride to civilization today made me homesick for the Jersey shore. Hip-hop music, greasy food and cool dudes with tattoos and earrings strollin’ and chillin’. I was all set to stick around and soak up the atmosphere, hang out and dig the action. Nature and history and ancestry are all good, but fun is fun, and I felt major separation anxiety when we had to leave.
About nature. This is the most naturally phenomenal setting, everywhere you look. But I sometimes feel like I’m in Jurassic Park. Just now, only a few feet away, a bevy of bluebirds is huddled on my balcony. Don’t you love alliteration? I swear they look like they’re plotting something. I can’t help but think of that DuMaurier short story, “The Birds,” and Hitchcock’s spooky movie, same name, about the creepy, foul fowl out to get the humans. One or two of my balcony birds have braved it as close as the French doors to peck at the colored glass. It’s like they want something. Maybe I should feed them, bring back some scraps from lunch. Well, at least the birds have distracted me. My homesickness for the Jersey Shore is gone. My tears have dried!
FIVE
Jeff sat amiably at my side. Apart from his mother, he was a different child, relaxed, full of chatter, everything I could hope for in a cousin-companion. I wanted to squeeze him until his freckles hopped. “I love fried chicken.” Jeff licked his fingers noisily. “And I love picnics. You don’t have to have manners at picnics.” He jumped up, then pulled at my hands. “Let’s go check out the horses!”
“Oh all right. I guess I can’t put this off any longer. Are you sure you don’t want to go for a swim instead?”
“You can ride, Ashby.” My cousin’s look was earnest. “Hey! I know! We’ll get Luke to teach you. Luke teaches lots of people to ride. Let’s ask him! Come on, Ashby.”
“Hold on, Jeff. Let me get my hat.” I scooped up my baseball cap, then grabbed his hand.
He dragged me behind him as he ran. “When you’re good enough, you ’n me can go riding together and Dad won’t have to worry.”
“I’d rather learn to water ski.” But I had to laugh at my cousin’s determination.
Stepping inside the stable was like entering another world. Instantly, I was back five years ago at summer camp, inhaling the same earthy smells, hearing the nickering and snorting and grunting from the shuffling animals in their stalls.
Jeff led me to a stall. “This is Sunshine, my palomino pony.”
From his stall, Sunshine eyed Jeff. The dark eyes shone and the silky mane lay like gold on his neck.
“He wants a treat, don’t you, Sunshine, old boy?” From his pocket Jeff drew a peppermint candy, which he held to the eager, nibbling lips of the golden horse. Instantly, the red-and-white disk disappeared. Sunshine pushed his muzzle against Jeff’s empty hand for another treat. I watched this boy-to-horse bonding with a new appreciation. This was obviously a well-loved ritual between my cousin and his pet. “Wanna try, Ashby?” He handed me a candy. “Give Sunshine a treat.”
“Will he bite?”
Jeff threw his head back and laughed. “What a wimp. Here. Hold your hand flat.”
“Better be careful. Sunshine’s been known t’ nibble on fingers,” a strong voice intruded.
I turned and faced the square frame of Luke Murley.
Jeff hopped up and down. “Luke! You’ll teach Ashby to ride, won’t you? Huh? Please?”
Before Luke could answer, from behind, something pushed my hat until it fell over my eyes. Tipping the cap back into place, I whirled to face Sunshine. He flapped his wet lips right in my face—a horse kiss, I suppose. More likely, he wanted another peppermint. I jumped, blurting out the first thought I could articulate: “Don’t you feed this animal anything? He’s trying to eat my hat!”
Luke and Jeff exploded in laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“Aww, Ashby,” Jeff said when he’d regained his breath. “Chill. See, Sunshine only does that to people he likes. He’s trying to get your attention is all.”
I backed away from the omnivorous horse and watched Jeff turn his persuasive powers on Luke again. “Luke, y’ know, if Ashby learns to ride good enough, she can go riding with me when you’re too busy.” His eyes flickered from Luke to me and back again. “Anyway, I want you guys to be friends.”
Luke hesitated, then gave a casual shrug of his shoulders. “Okay with me. I c’n work with her, if it’s all right with your Dad.”
Jeez. Is my uncle that controlling? I wondered. Do I have to have his permission to put one foot in front of the other, just like Jeff does?
Opening my palm, I held the candy under Sunshine’s lips, then jumped as the horse wet-lipped my hand. Oh, what the heck. I’d conquer my fear, learn to ride again, just to show Luke Murley that a city girl can take to horses. Anyway, it might be fun. And it would be a good way to get to know Luke. I stroked the horse’s nose. The warm, soft hair felt pleasant under my fingers.
“When do we start?” I asked.
Luke handed me the rubber curry comb. “How ’bout now? Jeff keeps Sunshine squeaky clean, but Sasha, here, could use a good brushin’.” He pointed to a dappled gray horse in the next stall. “Sasha will be a good horse for you t’ learn on. He’s gentle, but spunky enough fer fun.” Luke led Sasha out of his stall and put him in crossties, then tapped the curry he’d given me. “Use circular motions. Rub hard. All over. When you’re done, use this soft brush. I’ll be in th’ tack room when you’re through.” He looked at my cousin. “You c’n help her.”
Jeff nodded. “I’ll show her how to comb Sasha’s mane and tail.”
“Thanks.” Luke turned to me again. “Oh, be sure t’ talk t’ Sasha so he can get used t’ you and th’ sound of your voice.”
“Okay Boss,” I saluted. “When can I ride him?”
“Y’ got some things to learn before that. First, y’ gotta learn your parts.”
“Parts?”
“Parts of the bridle, parts of the saddle, and parts of the horse.” I must have looked disappointed, because he added, “You’ll get your seat in th’ saddle soon enough.” With a flicker of a smile, he turned and left.
“Do you also teach water skiing?” I called after him.
Luke stopped and turned slowly. “I’m a man of many talents,” he said. I thought I heard him laugh under his breath as he walked away.
“See!” Jeff exhaled. “I told you Luke is a great teacher. “I’ll help you. I know how.�
��
With Jeff by my side, I put all my energy into working over every inch of Sasha’s spotted coat, being careful to pull my hair back into a pony tail and well away from his mouth, just in case. As long as he was secure in the crossties, Sasha couldn’t step on me or kick me, so there was no need to be afraid. The currying was darn hard work, and I found myself pausing to wipe the sweat from my brow. Jeff and I kept up a steady rhythm. The reward was Sasha’s shining, silky coat. Luke himself couldn’t do a better job, Continuing to fuss over Sasha’s grooming, under my breath I found myself singing, “Flow gently, sweet Afton.”
SIX
Dear Diary, So sorry I’ve been neglecting you. It’s past midnight, but I don’t feel a bit sleepy and so am back at my laptop. Part of me feels like I’ve been at Overhome forever, but I haven’t even scratched the surface. Life here is decades deep. I need to record my whirling thoughts, while my senses breathe in the essence of Overhome.
Every morning Luke gives me a riding lesson—very early before he starts his round of chores. Everyone rides English saddle here—hunt seat to be specific—a flatter saddle than the Western type I learned on—with no horn. I sucked the first couple of times I tried it, but I’ve gotten the hang of it. I’m not crazy about wearing jodhpurs, but Luke says they’re better than shorts, and I hate the helmet, which makes a mess of my hair, especially when I get sweaty hot. Ugh.
But OMG! My lessons with Luke are incredible! He cannot help but touch my hands as he teaches me how to deal with the reins. And when he holds onto my leg to help me position my body on the horse, I can feel the heat of his touch tingling all the way to my scalp! Nonchalant as he is, I feel his eyes on my body all throughout the lessons. I am in heaven! I’ve picked right up on my old riding skills and, best of all, the fear is gone. I love the excitement of controlling a huge, powerful animal. Luke has me riding the ring and beyond. Could my Jersey friends understand the thrill I feel every time I climb onto Sasha?
A Red Red Rose Page 4