Call Me Softly

by D. Jackson Leigh

“Eighteen. That’s when they show you the door.”

  “How awful. Eighteen is so young. How did you know what to do, where to go?”

  Swain shrugged. “Most of us already had minimum-wage jobs in the area. A trailer park nearby rented single-wides, so a lot of the kids went there because they could hang out with the same people they knew in the orphanage and maybe share a trailer with someone to split the cheap rent.”

  “I had a friend whose family kept a second home in a caravan park on the shore. It was fairly nice.”

  Swain snorted. “These weren’t nice. They were rusted and roach-infested. That’s why they were cheap.”

  Lillie squatted to brush Astor’s legs. She didn’t like to think of Swain living in such a place. “Is that where you went when you left the orphanage?”

  “No. The kids there just got into trouble. They partied too much, drank too much, and did too many drugs. Some ended up in jail. The orphanage had a pretty good library and I had read about lots of places that I wanted to see, so I hit the road.”

  Swain patted Astor on the butt and led Lillie to the next stall where a handsome bay gelding with smart black leggings and a blaze of white from forehead to nose greeted them by searching their hands for treats. “This is Domino. He’s half-Arabian, half-Thoroughbred. He’s not the fastest, but he’s the most agile and has the stamina of a diesel engine. If I have to, I can ride him in the first chukker, rest him, and ride him again in the final period.” When Swain began to comb Domino’s tail, Lillie went to work with her brushes.

  Domino tried to swipe the riding gloves sticking out of Swain’s back pocket, but she caught his nose and playfully pushed his searching mouth away. “He’s also a prankster. He can open most gate latches. We didn’t know that when we first got him. John turned him out in a paddock that first day, but Domino opened the gate and came back in the barn where he discovered the door to the tack room wasn’t completely closed. John was in the office and heard the ruckus. In the few minutes it took him to get off the phone and investigate, Domino had pulled almost every saddle off the racks and into a pile on the floor.”

  Lillie laughed. “Really?”

  Swain smiled. “Yeah. John was furious. Now we tie the gate latch down with a piece of baling twine when he’s in the paddock.”

  “You are such a handsome boy,” Lillie crooned to Domino. “I can’t believe you would be so mischievous.”

  Domino bobbed his head as if in agreement and Swain chuckled. “Oh, he’s guilty all right. Just watch what you put down around him. He’ll have it in his mouth in a minute and carry it off like a dog.”

  They continued like that until Lillie had been introduced to and brushed three more horses. “Well, including Nor’easter, you’ve met the primary string I ride in the matches.”

  Swain slid open the door to another stall and a fine-boned filly stepped toward them. Lillie’s breath caught in her throat. The filly’s chestnut coat gleamed like polished copper in the sun streaming from the skylight overhead. Delicate ears pricked forward at the sound of Lillie’s gasp, and huge, soft brown eyes blinked at her. Lillie offered her hand, and fine whiskers tickled her palm when the filly sniffed her fingers.

  “This is Sunne, short for Sonnengöttin. That’s German for sun goddess,” Swain said.

  “She’s beautiful,” Lillie whispered reverently. The filly stepped closer to sniff Lillie’s boots. She lifted her head and brushed her velvet nose against Lillie’s cheek, making her smile.

  “She likes you,” Swain said.

  “I’d love to ride her next time.” Had she said next time? She probably wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow.

  “Let’s wait until you’ve had a little more practice. We just got her from the track, where all they learn is to jump out of the gate and run for dear life. It usually takes us a few weeks to teach the racers there’s a trot and easy canter between walk and gallop.”

  Swain gave Sunne a pat and stepped out of the stall. Lillie reluctantly followed.

  “Don’t we have to brush her?” She followed Swain back to the wash stall.

  “They were all groomed earlier today,” Swain said, taking the brushes from Lillie and putting them in the cabinet. “I just wanted you to have a chance to meet them.”

  Lillie was surprised that Swain was so honest. Obviously she planned to engage Lillie in her equine pursuits. But she couldn’t stay here. The Wetherington name on the gates was a bull’s-eye on her chest. She started to tell Swain her plans hadn’t changed, but was reluctant to ruin their tentative truce.

  “How many horses do you have here?”

  “It’s a thirty-stall barn, but we currently have only twenty-five stalls occupied.”

  “That’s a lot of horses.”

  “The three of us who ride on the Wetherington team each have six mounts. Our fourth team member is a woman who keeps her string of ponies on her own farm. The other seven horses include Finesse, who’s retired from competition, and six in various stages of training.”

  “You said three of you ride?”

  “Me, Rob—the guy you bumped into earlier—and one of the assistant grooms, Javier. He has good instincts, so I decided to give him a shot.” She shrugged. “I wouldn’t be where I am today if somebody hadn’t done that for me when I was mucking stalls. I’d planned to talk to Abigail about promoting him to apprentice trainer, but—”

  But she was gone. Swain didn’t have to finish her sentence. Lillie understood what she couldn’t say aloud yet.

  Swain paused at the door to her apartment. “If you give me a chance to shower off the horse sweat, I’ll come up to the house and cook dinner for you.”

  Lillie was tired and her backside ached. Their shopping trip, ride through the woods, and grooming tour was more physical activity than she’d had in months. And she had enjoyed every minute of Swain’s company. She gazed into those clear blue eyes, gauging Swain’s intentions. What had the afternoon been for her? Pleasure or duty? “Thank you for the lovely offer to cook, but could we save that recipe for tomorrow night? Right now, a sandwich and a bath sound really good.”

  Swain smiled back. “No problem. Let me get some liniment from the wash stall. You should rub it on those sore spots and you’ll be good as new by morning.”

  Lillie caught Swain’s hand. “Thank you, but John already warned me about your liniment. I’ll just tough it out with a few aspirin.”

  “John’s a weenie.”

  “So am I.” Lillie laughed softly and realized she was still holding Swain’s hand. It was warm in hers. “I had a really good day today. The best I’ve had for a very long time.”

  Swain nodded, her expression softening. “I had fun, too.”

  “I hate to monopolize your time, but would you accompany me to the funeral home and help decide on the arrangements tomorrow?”

  Swain’s hand tightened around hers. “Sure. I don’t mind. You shouldn’t have to do that by yourself. Would around ten be okay? That’ll give me some time to get a training session in first.”

  “Thank you. Ten is fine.”

  “Okay.”

  Lillie reluctantly pulled her hand from Swain’s grasp. Their playful banter, the exhilarating ride, and the unspoken physical attraction between them were a welcome respite from the worries that had been her only company over the past year. But she couldn’t let herself get caught up in it, no matter how wonderful the day had been. She was leaving as soon as the estate was settled. “See you in the morning.”

  Chapter Eight

  “This is just so wrong. Why do Americans have to be different from everybody else? The rest of the world drives on the left side of the road.”

  “Actually, most of the world drives on the right side. I looked it up.”

  Lillie careened around a sharp curve, and Swain held on tight even though her seat belt was securely fastened. She hadn’t had a ride like this since she got on the roller coaster at the state fair.

  “Okay. I meant the civilized world. Obviousl
y, you Americans aren’t civilized because you drive on the wrong side of the road.”

  Lillie braked hard at the stop sign, then stomped the gas to pull in front of an approaching car. The driver of the other car honked angrily at being cut off and Lillie honked back, pressing harder on the accelerator.

  “The speed limit is thirty-five because we’re in the city limits now,” Swain warned her.

  Lillie let up on the accelerator a bit. “How fast was I going?”

  “Sixty-five. That’s miles per hour, not kilometers. I don’t know how much that is in kilometers, but in miles per hour, it’s too fast through this neighborhood.”

  Lillie rolled her eyes and looked over at Swain. “We’re not all metric. We measure speed in miles per hour, too.”

  “Watch out!”

  Lillie looked back at the road and slammed on the brakes just in time to avoid a family of geese waddling across. Christ, she was about to give Swain whiplash.

  “Lillie, pull over. Turn into that parking lot.”

  “What’s wrong?” Lillie drove into the parking lot of a small shopping center and stopped the car.

  “How much experience do you actually have?” Swain’s heart beat wildly, but it’d been doing that since she’d climbed into the compact BMW with Lillie only inches away.

  Lillie blushed and shrugged. “Dad took me to the country a few times to practice.”

  “And you drove like this?”

  “No. I was just learning.” Lillie sighed and looked down at the seat. “I’ve felt so bloody helpless since I got here. I didn’t want you to think I was completely incapable.”

  It pleased Swain that Lillie cared what she thought of her, but she couldn’t help teasing her. “You thought careening around the streets like a maniac would impress me?”

  “That’s how cabbies do it, and they have lots of experience.”

  “Ah. Well, now that we know you can drive a taxi in London, how about if we treat this like a drive in the country?”

  Lillie shrugged nonchalantly. “If you insist. I didn’t know you were so squeamish. Now that I know, I’ll slow down. For you.”

  “Thank you.” God, this woman was fun.

  *

  “I’m so very sorry to hear about Mrs. Wetherington’s passing.” The funeral-home director was a tall man with a deep, gentle voice. He held Lillie’s hand and patted it in sympathy. “I served on the local school board with her a few years back. She was a very loved, genteel pillar of our community and will be sorely missed.”

  “Thank you.” Lillie thought she’d gotten past the crying, but tears began to well in her eyes. Swain wrapped a supportive arm around her shoulders as they followed the director to his office.

  “I’m not sure I can do this,” Lillie whispered.

  “It’s okay. I’ll take care of it. If you don’t like something about the arrangements, just speak up, okay?” Swain snatched a tissue from a box strategically placed on a table in the hallway and handed it to Lillie.

  Lillie dabbed at her eyes and relaxed into Swain’s side. “This is the third time in the past year I’ve buried someone close to me. You’d think I’d get better at it.” Swain’s arm tightened around her shoulders, holding her securely.

  “That’s exactly why this is so hard for you.”

  They sat in padded mahogany chairs pulled close together while the director shuffled through some papers on his desk and gathered the proper forms.

  Lillie held tight to Swain’s hand, steadied by her calm.

  As it turned out, they had little to decide.

  “Mrs. Wetherington was a person of foresight,” the director informed them. “And, in keeping with that, she made her own arrangements right after her husband’s untimely death. All that’s left is for you to decide when. Recognizing her social position, she has consented to a visitation here and a memorial service at the church she attended, followed by a private graveside service in the church cemetery. She also recently wrote a short obit for the paper and mailed it from London. She must have guessed how serious her illness was.” He offered a copy to Lillie. “It’s very short, but I’m sure the newspaper will do a longer article on her, recounting all her contributions to the community.”

  Lillie held it out so Swain could also read the four short paragraphs.

  Abigail Beatrice Wetherington has joyfully passed on to a place where the polo fields are endless and her beloved ponies never tire.

  She gratefully joins her husband Jim and her son Eric, who preceded her in death, confident that those who loved her will protect and nurture her earthly legacy.

  She leaves behind two very special people she will always hold close in her heart, Lillian Marie Wetherington and Rebecca Swain Butler.

  In lieu of flowers, please send donations to Equine Rescue of Aiken.

  “That’s it?” Lillie asked.

  “We’ll add a paragraph, of course, that gives the times of the visitation and memorial service. And we can get it printed in the newspaper.”

  Swain was strangely quiet, but Lillie suddenly found her bearings. “That won’t be necessary. I need to place an advertisement, so we can take care of the obituary notice at the same time.”

  “Very well. I’ll add the service times and print it for you.”

  “What exactly is a visitation?”

  Swain shook herself from her silence. “It’s sort of like a wake the day before the funeral, but lasts only a few hours, not all night, and it’s held at the funeral home. People come to your house after the burial and bring food and stay a while.”

  Lillie nodded and gratefully squeezed Swain’s hand, which she still held. “Very well. We’ll hold the visitation tomorrow night and the service at three Saturday afternoon, with the burial immediately afterward.” She turned to Swain. “Does that sound appropriate?”

  “Yes. That sounds fine.”

  Lillie finally released Swain’s hand and stood. “Thank you, sir. We’ll see you Friday evening.”

  “Do you have a number where I can contact you if anything else comes up with the arrangements? I don’t expect any complications, but you never know when it comes to airlines.”

  Lillie turned to Swain. She didn’t have a clue.

  Swain quickly scribbled her cell-phone number on a notepad. “You can call me if you have any problems,” she told him.

  When they returned to the parking lot, Lillie indicated that Swain should drive. They climbed in the car, but Swain didn’t start it right away. Lillie could feel the weight of her thoughts. “That wasn’t so bad with you there to help,” she said softly. “Are you all right, love?”

  Swain’s throat worked, and when she spoke, her voice was tight. “She listed me in her obituary right along with you. I’m just her farm manager. I’m sorry. I had no idea she’d do that.”

  When Swain looked up, Lillie was surprised at the vulnerability, the turmoil she saw there.

  “She told me that you were more than that,” Lillie said. She ached to say more, to tell Swain what had been cruelly kept from her since childhood. But as much as she wanted to heal her new friend’s soul-deep pain now, the time for speaking of certain things had not yet come.

  Call softly.

  *

  A visit to the local Department of Motor Vehicles office determined that Lillie’s international driving permit would be sufficient unless she decided to settle in South Carolina. Next stop was the newspaper.

  They placed the obituary quickly, but Lillie also wanted to advertise for a temporary housekeeper so she wouldn’t starve during the coming months. The newspaper clerk gave them a form to fill out, and they moved over to a high table where people could stand and write their advertisements.

  “I said I’d cook for you,” Swain said, frowning. She had only a few months to seduce Lillie into loving the Wetherington stables as much as she and Abigail, and she needed Lillie’s dependence on her culinary skills as an excuse to spend a lot of time together.

  “You’re busy enou
gh with the horses. You don’t have time to babysit me, too.”

  “It’s not a problem, really.”

  “I’ve already taken far too much of your time yesterday and today.”

  “I don’t mind.” She gave Lillie her most hopeful smile. “I like having dinner company for a change.”

  “What should I offer for a salary?” Lillie asked, ignoring Swain’s repeated offer.

  “You wouldn’t have to pay me.”

  Lillie tapped her pencil impatiently on the table. “I would like to know that when someone is having dinner with me, it’s because they enjoy my company, not because they’re afraid I’ll starve. Now, what should I offer for a salary?”

  This would be harder than Swain thought. Lillie had been here only two days and was quickly finding her independence. Swain shrugged. “I know the going rate for a good groom or a stable hand.”

  Lillie shook her head, but smiled. “I’m sure there’s no comparison. What about Abigail’s previous housekeeper? The one who retired. Can we get in touch with her?”

  “I guess. She was planning to move to Florida. I don’t know if she’s still around.” Swain opened the Internet browser of her cell phone to look up the number, punched it in, and handed the phone to Lillie. “Mrs. Riley,” she told her as the phone rang.

  “Hello, is this Mrs. Riley? This is Lillie Wetherington, Abigail’s granddaughter. Yes, her illness was unexpected. Thank you. Mrs. Riley, I could use a little help—”

  Swain’s attention shifted to the saucy redhead who entered the newspaper office and bounced over to the counter.

  “Hey, Wanda. I need to run that ad again for a shampoo girl.”

  “Well, hey, Gloria! I’ve got it right here in the files. The last one didn’t work out either?”

  “Washing hair should be a simple job, don’t you think? That’s the third one I’ve fired that can’t seem to do it without drowning my customers. Those little old ladies with their perms and weekly appointments are my bread and butter, you know. And they’re fragile. You have to be gentle.” Gloria dug around in a very large purse and pulled out a book of business checks. “Same as always?” she asked, clicking her ballpoint pen.