The Yonahlossee Riding Camp for Girls

by Anton Disclafani

  The song ended and he stopped and held me by the hand, seemed reluctant to let me go. I smiled apologetically, turned toward the last place I had seen Mr. Holmes, and instead I saw Mrs. Holmes, who stared at me without the slightest trace of kindness. I had to look away, finally, because she would not. I caught David’s jacket sleeve.

  “Another one?” I asked, and he seemed surprised. I threw myself into the rest of the night, took only one break from dancing, followed David and Boone and Sissy into the far corner and sipped from a flask of whiskey. Sissy took one swallow; I took as much as I could handle. After the whiskey I felt lovely, I felt like a lovely girl with a smooth neck and bright lips. I could feel David watching me as I tilted the flask to my lips, and I was glad I’d worn this dress.

  Leona wasn’t there. I’d looked, and she wasn’t easy to miss. And maybe it was the whiskey, but I felt bold enough to forget about her, to put her out of my mind. Perhaps I had imagined the threat: she didn’t know anything, not for certain, and could she really bring a rumor about me and Mr. Holmes to his wife? She would have to have proof.

  “What are you doing?” Sissy whispered, when we switched partners, but she grinned as she said it.

  “Nothing,” I mouthed back. I fell into Boone’s grip, then; he swung me away from Sissy. Boone and I were both a little drunk. Up close, Boone looked a little startling, with his shock of red hair. But more than his hair it was his skin, translucent in that redhead way. Thin green veins framed each eye.

  “Are you having fun?”

  “Yes,” he said, and turned me out for a twirl. He was a good dancer.

  “Sissy’s made quite the catch.”

  He smiled. “Has she? Funny, I was thinking the same thing about my own catch.”

  It was a strange thing, to be held like this, close enough to smell the pomade Boone used in his hair, but with the implicit understanding that this was all quite platonic. Boone had on his face a bland smile he must reserve for girls who weren’t Sissy. I looked at his beige trousers, light enough that I could see clearly where they wrinkled, and I wondered who clothed this boy. His mother, when he visited home? Did she bring him to a seamstress, wait while measurements were taken, then carefully flip through swatches of fabric? Did she think that by clothing him well she sent him out into the world prepared?

  “Do you love her?”

  He smiled and the folds of skin around his eyes multiplied. “Yes,” he said, and paused. “Are you all right, Thea?” He looked concerned. “It’s only—that’s such an odd question.”

  My cheeks burned. He was so nice, Boone. My heart ached against his niceness. He looked across the dance floor at something, and when I followed his gaze I saw he was looking at Mr. Holmes, who was helping Mrs. Holmes cut an enormous sheet cake, decorated with sugared rose petals; she slid a piece off her serving knife onto the plate he held, and then he had another plate ready in an instant. Boone looked from him to me, and I bowed my head.

  “It’ll be all right,” Boone said quietly, and I said nothing, just let Boone hold me in his kind, chaste embrace.

  He gave me back to David, and I danced with him until it was time to leave. The band played a slow song, something with a melancholy tune, and David was telling me how much he liked me and I looked beyond his shoulder and watched the other couples.

  Sissy was pressed into a corner by Boone, and I was surprised they were being so bold; Sissy must have been drunker than I thought to throw her decorum to the wind like that. Or maybe it was a Yonahlossee effect, throwing one’s decorum to the wind.

  I felt Mr. Holmes staring before I turned around to acknowledge him. There was only one corner of the room where I hadn’t looked, and that was where he would be, and then I turned so I could see if his expression matched the one I had imagined for him, if he stood casually, also like I’d imagined, and just as our eyes met he turned his cheek and left the room. I was stung. It was still mid-song but I muttered something to David about collecting my things.

  He held on to my hand by the fingertips again and I yanked it from him, more forcefully than I’d intended, and his face hardened.

  “You’re a tease,” he said loudly, and I realized that he was both drunk and angry. It was on my lips to apologize, but then I spoke.

  “You’re just a silly boy,” I said, and David’s face crumpled, and he did look like a silly boy, but I couldn’t worry about him now. I hurried away and realized I had no things to collect, nothing to keep me here so I wouldn’t have to go outside, where Mr. Holmes would be waiting. Or worse, wouldn’t be. The room looked dismal, the refreshment table littered with dirty glasses and plates, a wedge of cake disfigured on a stand. Docey was cleaning up, swaying to the tune of the sad song.

  “Good-bye, Docey,” I said, because there was nothing else to say, because I felt horribly out of sorts and embarrassed.

  She smiled at me and held up her hand in a wave, a wistful expression on her face.

  I hurried down the stairs and I would have left, but Mr. Holmes called my name. I knew then that Mrs. Holmes was gone. He drew me into a shadow, outside the light that the gas lamp projected.

  “What do you want?”

  He looked taken aback but then he gathered himself, visibly, a slow rolling of his body, as if he were preparing to give a speech. “Did you have fun tonight?” This was the public Henry Holmes, not the one I loved. His tie was neatly tied, his hair combed flat. I noticed that his hair had been trimmed, and of everything that had happened this day, this was the worst, by far, to see his hair resting in such straight lines against his skin, to know exactly who had trimmed it, that it would be months before his bangs fell into his eyes again.

  “What do you think?”

  He shook his head. “No.” He stopped, rested a palm on the wooden shingle behind him so that he stood in a contorted position. I wanted him, but I could never have him again.

  He started to speak, but I stopped him.

  “There is nothing to say,” I said. “Not really.”

  He smiled. “There are so many things to say, Thea. Too many.”

  “Then let’s not say any of them.” I looked at my hands, still red from my ride today. I should wear gloves, but they dulled my connection to the bit. “I am leaving,” I said. “I have to, now.”

  “You don’t—”

  “No,” I said, and just then Miss Brooks emerged from the Castle, and saw us immediately. Mr. Holmes waved, and Miss Brooks looked at us curiously, and I wondered if everyone knew, or if the idea of it was too unimaginable for someone as nice as Miss Brooks.

  Once she had disappeared into the Square, I turned back to Mr. Holmes.

  “You were right,” I said. “I grew to love this place. I do love it. It’s so beautiful.”

  “Then stay, Thea. Let it continue to be beautiful. Don’t punish yourself by leaving.”

  “I’m not. I’ve been punished enough, I think. It was a punishment, to be sent here, but that’s not the way it ended up, is it? I came here under such bad circumstances, and now I’m leaving under such good ones.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes,” I said, and I wanted so badly to touch him, but knew I could not, so instead I repeated my answer, and tried to make my voice emphatic, so that he would remember that he had helped me: “Yes.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “Home,” I said. “Home.”

  {21}

  When I returned from the party, the rest of the girls in Augusta House were up, in various stages of preparing for bed. Sissy was gone, was fearless, at least for tonight. I slipped under the covers with my borrowed dress still on. Mary Abbott watched me, but no one else noticed.

  “Did you have fun?”

  I nodded. My eyes were closed, but it sounded like Eva was hanging her head over her bunk. “Did you?”

  “Yes . . .” She trailed off. I thought she w
as finished when she spoke again: “I’ll be so sad when we go away from here, no more dances.”

  “I see many more dances in your life.”

  “But they won’t be like these,” she said.

  For better or worse, I thought. “No. You’re so dreamy, Eva. Always dreaming about someplace else.” That wasn’t quite what I had meant to say, but I couldn’t articulate what I felt. “You’ll always be like this.”

  “Like what?” Mary Abbott asked.

  “Young and beautiful,” I said, and Eva laughed. I had pleased her. “Young and perfect.”

  After everyone’s breathing had reached a steady pitch, I went to Sissy’s bed and lay there for an hour or so—of course I was fooling no one. I must have fallen asleep, because I opened my eyes and was startled, then relieved by the darkness. I walked heavily across the room and poured myself a full glass of water, drank it, and poured another.

  Before the lights had been turned off, Mary Abbott had asked where Sissy was, if we ought to tell a house mistress. Eva had laughed, and told Mary Abbott not to worry. After all our precautions, I felt a flash of anger; even I was being more careful than Sissy. She was taking foolish risks.

  —

  The next morning I came to the Castle just as prayer was ending, and picked my way through the throng traveling to classes. Girls seemed to part in my presence, as if they were a herd of horses and I was a snake. Katherine Hayes and an Atlanta girl whispered to each other; Katherine raised her eyebrows as only she could as I passed. But Leona, who stood alone at the edge of the crowd, watched me impassively, and something about how she stood gave me hope: perhaps this was all my imagination.

  I felt a hand in mine. Rachel.

  “Hello,” she whispered, and squeezed my hand. “Are you going to teach us again?”

  I gathered her in a hug and kissed the top of her forehead. “I missed you.”

  Rachel smiled up at me, abashed, and I told her that we’d see about the lessons. She left and I saw that Mr. Holmes was watching me from his place at the lectern.

  He looked at me sadly, and all the girls and their eyes disappeared. I would never be alone with him again.

  I felt someone at my side: Sissy. She looked to where I was looking, then back at me again.

  “Come,” she said. “Let’s go to class.”

  Later that afternoon, on our way to the barn, Sissy seemed giddy, and it was not hard to guess why.

  “Boone and I are engaged,” she told me as we walked, me with my hand shading my eyes, “secretly.”

  I squeezed her hand. “That’s wonderful. I wish you all the happiness in the world.” And I did, that was true—Sissy’s shining eyes seemed proof of something.

  There were only a few girls outside but it was not my imagination, now: Sissy did not seem to notice—the soothing effects of love, I supposed—but they all stared. I tried not to look but that was impossible. When I waved at Molly, she hurried away like a worried mouse. I almost laughed; as if I were in a position to frighten anyone.

  “People are looking,” I said to Sissy.

  “Are they?” She surveyed the Square. “I don’t think so. Maybe they’re just glad to see you.” But there her tone was off; she was lying, clearly.

  When we were almost at the barn we saw Gates, leading her pretty chestnut to the ring.

  “Gates,” Sissy called, and Gates turned. When she saw us, her face tautened; she looked stricken, as if she had seen a ghost. Her horse looked at us attentively, his ears flipped forward.

  “Hello,” she called out, her voice tremulous. Her horse whuffed into her shoulder, and Gates gave a small smile before she walked on. But Sissy spoke again.

  “Wait,” she cried, “wait!”

  “Sissy,” I whispered furiously. Other girls were looking, now. I saw Henny eyeing the situation curiously, her head cocked, Jettie at her side, always at her side. I watched them for a second. It dawned on me that Jettie loved Henny. But then I hurried after Sissy, who was marching toward Gates.

  “Is there something I should know, Gates?” she asked, her voice steely. “Some reason you’re ignoring me?”

  Gates shook her head, and I felt sorry for her. She wasn’t ignoring Sissy; she was ignoring me. She was kind, Gates—right now she kicked at the dirt and looked like she might cry. I smoothed her horse’s red forelock down between his eyes, and he looked at me warily. “It’s okay,” I murmured.

  And to Sissy: “It’s not you. Leave her alone,” I said. “It’s me,” I added, in a whisper.

  “But we walk together!” Sissy cried furiously, and she made me glad I had come, still, willing to be confined in this place if it meant finding Sissy. I looked at Gates and saw what Sissy did: a spineless girl.

  “I’ve known you since you were twelve, Gates Weeks! You should be ashamed.” I saw Mr. Albrecht coming toward us and pulled Sissy away. We almost ran into Alice Hunt, who led her giant bay; she managed not to acknowledge our presence.

  “Sissy,” I said, after I had pulled her into Naari’s stall, and she had brooded silently for a few minutes. I was untangling the knots in Naari’s tail to give me something to do—whatever else happened in the world, there were always knots in a horse’s tail. “I’m going to leave, but you’ll stay. Don’t make an enemy out of everyone.”

  “You can’t leave,” she said. “And why would you want to?”

  “It’s time.

  Sissy looked like she might cry. But when she spoke she was angry.

  “It’s not that simple. You can’t just pick up and leave.”

  “I’ll think of something,” I said.

  “I wish you’d never met Mr. Holmes,” Sissy continued. “I wish Mrs. Holmes hadn’t left. I hate him,” she said, and looked up at me, her cheeks burning. “I know you don’t hate him, so I hate him twice as much.”

  “He’s—” I started, but Sissy shook her head.

  “Please don’t,” she said. “I’ll always hate him. It’s wrong,” she said. “All wrong. You could have loved someone else.” I watched her for a moment, my good and true friend, her brown hair tucked behind her ears, her cheeks still scarlet, her forehead creased in anger. She meant I could have loved David; she meant I could have been more like her.

  “I loved another boy before I came here.”

  “I know that,” she said impatiently. But she didn’t know. I had never even told her I had a cousin.

  “You don’t know the boy was my cousin. And not a cousin I never knew, a cousin twice removed who lived in another state.” I spoke quickly—I had to say it all at once, or not at all. “He was like a brother to me.”

  Sissy said nothing, only watched me, so I continued, half out of fear, half out of relief, because the telling felt so good, and as I spoke I remembered that telling had this power, this sweet release I had not experienced in such a long time. When I was little, my eardrum had burst from an infection, and though the pus and blood that streamed down my neck horrified Sam, who had run for Mother, I had felt nothing but relief from a pain that had come upon me so gradually I hadn’t even known my ear was hurt. And this was the same, but with the heart.

  “My brother found out.”

  “Sam,” Sissy said softly.

  “Sam. My cousin told him. There was a fight, between my cousin and Sam. A horrible one.” My voice broke. “That’s why I was sent away.”

  “Was Sam sent away, too?” When I didn’t answer she lifted my chin up with her finger, like Mother would have.

  I shook my head. “I’m not a right girl.”

  “A right girl,” she said. Her husky voice was soft. “I wonder what that is, or where we would find her.”

  “You don’t understand,” I said, finally.

  “No?” she asked. “I understand enough, I think. We don’t choose who we love, do we?” She smiled, and I knew she was thinking of Boo
ne. “We don’t choose our families, either. But you can choose to be angry at least.” She took my hand and squeezed it, hard.

  “Ow,” I said, but she would not let go.

  “Don’t let your family decide the rest of your life.”

  “That’s what Mr. Holmes said.”

  “Then we agree on something, he and I. What do you think you’re going to do?” she asked. “You’re just a girl.”

  “I know,” I said quietly. “I’m just a girl. But I’m his sister, too. I need to see my brother. He did nothing wrong.”

  “Neither did you.”

  She dropped my hand, and drew me to her. She smelled unusual, of sweat and dirt. “You’ve been unlucky so far,” she whispered into my ear, “but luck changes, all the time. God grants happiness only to those who seek it.”

  —

  Mary Abbott came back to the cabin while everyone else was at the Hall. This was when I would be with Mr. Holmes, at Masters. It wouldn’t be long until Mrs. Holmes noticed my absence, observed that I wasn’t studying enough. I needed to leave before that happened.

  Mary Abbott looked at me for a long time, her head at an angle. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Why do you care?” I snapped.

  She looked away and said nothing.

  “I’m sorry. I’m tired. I need to sleep.”

  “But that’s all you do now. Sleep. We are friends, aren’t we?”

  “Yes, Mary Abbott.” Why had Mary Abbott chosen me? Why not Eva, or Gates? Or Sissy? Sissy surely would have been nicer, would have known how to handle her. “What do you need?” I felt like I was daring her to tell me that everyone knew about me and Mr. Holmes, that all of camp was talking.

  She lowered herself onto the edge of my bed. “Someone saw Sissy in the woods last night,” she whispered, even though we were alone. “Did you know she was there? With a boy. Everyone’s talking. The rumor’s that Mrs. Holmes knows.”