by Alison Hart
Leaning toward Jas, Petrie said in a low voice, “This is your opportunity to tell the judge your side of the story.”
Jas shook her head without looking at him.
“Your Honor, the defense rests,” he said in a resigned voice.
When Mr. Sydow stood to summarize his case, Jas tuned him out. She already knew Hugh had won. Phil had tried, but unless she spoke up, she would be declared guilty. Petrie had already warned her what might happen.
“Jasmine Schuler, please stand,” the judge said.
Slowly, Jas and Petrie rose to their feet. The judge glanced down at the open file, then up at her. “Miss Schuler, I have no choice but to find you guilty of assault. I place you on official probation and electronic monitoring. It’s also the order of the court that, since you have no relative to reside with at this time, you be placed in the custody of the Department of Social Services for placement in foster care.”
The judge looked toward the back of the court. “Ms. Tomlinson, do you have a placement for this child?”
“Yes, we do, Your Honor.”
“Fine. I’m reviewing this case in forty-five days. Until that time, you must abide by the special conditions stated in your rules of probation, Miss Schuler. Ms. Tomlinson, you may accompany Miss Schuler to the probation office.”
The gavel banged down. Jas trained her eyes on Hugh’s face, hoping he could feel her angry gaze drilling into his cheek.
Even though he’d won, she knew who was really guilty. Her grandfather hadn’t put the yew branch in Whirlwind’s paddock. Hugh Robicheaux had. He’d killed his own horse.
She just had to prove it.
Three
MR. EYLER, THE PROBATION OFFICER, READ from the white sheet. “You are to report to me at least once a month. The period of time you remain on probation will depend upon your behavior.”
He pointed to a line near the bottom. “Sign this statement showing that you understand the rules.”
Jas forced herself to look where Mr. Eyler was pointing. Underneath the line was a space for the parent’s or guardian’s signature. Ms. Tomlinson, the social worker, had already signed it.
She glanced up at Ms. Tomlinson. She was a middle-aged woman with a bad perm, a red nose, and bloodshot eyes. And for the next forty-five days, this person would be responsible for her.
Picking up the pen, Jas scrawled her name.
“I’ll meet with you on Friday,” Mr. Eyler said, separating the copies. He held the blue one out to Jas, who took the sheet. Ms. Tomlinson then led her out the door and into another room.
“This is Mrs. Weisgerber,” Ms. Tomlinson introduced the woman sitting behind the desk. “She will be your juvenile case manager.”
“I’ll have three people checking on me?” Jas spoke aloud for the first time since she’d entered the courtroom. The sound of her voice was strange, but the idea of three people watching over her was even stranger.
Since her grandmother had died, Jas had fixed meals, cleaned the trailer, and made straight As. Now she’d broken the law, and suddenly she needed a slew of babysitters.
“I’ll be in charge of your electronic monitoring,” Mrs. Weisgerber said matter-of-factly. She held up a nylon strap. Attached to it was a small black metal box. “This is your ankle bracelet and transmitter.” She tapped the black box. “The transmitter ‘talks’ to a unit that’s attached to the phone at your foster home. The unit then ‘talks’ to a monitoring center in Pennsylvania. The center then ‘talks’ to me. Every day I will receive a message that tells me if you were where you were supposed to be.”
She handed the ankle bracelet to Jas, who took it cautiously, not sure what it would do.
“You must always wear this transmitter,” Mrs. Weisgerber continued. “If you leave the specified area during lockdown times, we’ll know immediately.”
“Lockdown means you won’t be able to leave your foster parent’s house and surrounding area,” Ms. Tomlinson explained as she dabbed her nose with a tissue.
Like a jail without bars, Jas thought grimly as she handed the thing back.
Mrs. Weisgerber gestured to Jas’s legs. “Which ankle would you like me to put it around?”
Jas set her left foot on the seat of a chair and pulled up her pant leg. Bending, Mrs. Weisgerber slid down Jas’s sock.
“It locks on directly above the anklebone.” She hooked the strap around Jas’s leg. “Nothing should come between the transmitter and your skin.” Jas heard a snap and then felt the weight of it around her ankle, like a bell boot on a horse. “Can I get it wet?”
Mrs. Weisgerber nodded. “You can bathe, shower, even go swimming. The only thing you can’t do is take it off. If you cut the bracelet or damage or lose the transmitter, you will be charged with a crime.”
Slowly, Jas pulled down her pant leg and set her foot on the floor. Her jeans covered the bracelet, but there was no way she would forget it was there.
Still talking, Mrs. Weisgerber walked back to her desk. “I will be making a schedule with you and your foster parent.” She held up a piece of paper gridded with lines and labeled with the days of the week. “The schedule allows you to leave the premises at certain times.”
Like I’ll have someplace to go, Jas thought. High Meadows had been her home for the last five years. And now she wasn’t even allowed near it. She’d never see Phil or the horses again.
A lump balled in Jas’s throat. She gulped, forcing it down. There was so much at the farm that she’d miss: Phil and his sunbaked face, the new foals—Darien, Snoopy, and Jessica. And Old Sam, the dog. Would Phil remember to give him a biscuit every night before bedtime?
“I’ll meet you at Miss Hahn’s in half an hour,” Mrs. Weisgerber said to Ms. Tomlinson.
Miss Hahn? Jas wondered. Was that her new foster parent?
“Here are directions to the house.” Ms. Tomlinson ripped off a piece of paper from a small pad and handed it to Mrs. Weisgerber. “The name of her place is Second Chance Farm. It’s on Springhill Road.”
When they left Municipal Court, Jas half expected a deputy to escort her from the building. But she walked into the sunlight with only the tug of the bracelet to remind her she wasn’t free.
Ms. Tomlinson had a beat-up county car, white with faded blue seat covers. Wadded-up tissues littered the floor. Jas slid into the passenger’s seat. For a second, it felt strange not wearing handcuffs. She touched her bare wrists.
“This will be Miss Hahn’s first experience as a foster parent,” Ms. Tomlinson said as they drove from town. “But I think it’s a perfect placement. She has horses.”
Jas swung around to look at the social worker. “Horses?”
“Yes.” Ms. Tomlinson smiled as if she was pleased with herself. “Quite a few. Big ones, small ones, pretty ones.”
Horses! A sudden weight pressed against Jas’s heart. She’d grown up with horses. She was like the wild child who’d been raised by wolves, only she’d been raised by horses. She knew their hearts, their minds, their instincts.
But ever since Whirlwind had died, something in Jas had died, too. Now she didn’t know whether she could even stand being around horses again.
“What kind of horses does she have?” Jas asked several minutes later.
“I don’t know. But then I don’t know one horse from another,” Ms. Tomlinson said as she blew her nose.
“Oh.” Turning toward the window, Jas focused on the scenery. Maybe this Miss Hahn woman fox-hunted or steeplechased. Or maybe she had a breeding farm and raised Warmbloods, Arabians, or Thoroughbreds.
Jas’s arms began to tingle. Okay, so maybe she was excited to be around horses again. She just hoped that Whirlwind’s memory wouldn’t be too painful.
“Here it is!” Ms. Tomlinson announced cheerfully.
Jas looked out the side window, almost missing the sign half-hidden by weeds. The faded black letters read S COND CHANCE ARM.
She blinked, wondering if they were at the right place. They drove up the dirt driveway, the car bo
uncing through ruts and exposed rock. Jas had to grab the door handle to keep from banging her head. A canopy of maple branches shaded the drive, and brambles scraped the sides of the car. Beyond the trees, Jas could see electric fence wire.
She wrinkled her nose. Electric fence? Tacky. What kind of a horse farm is this?
Rolling down the window, she stuck out her head to get a better look. She couldn’t tell if there were horses in the field or not because the weeds in the pasture were so tall.
“Here we are.” The car jerked to a stop beside the trunk of a tree.
Leaning forward, Jas peered out the front windshield. When she saw her new home, her eyes widened in disbelief. Okay, so she hadn’t expected the Robicheaux mansion, but the clapboard farmhouse in front of her was so old that the roof sagged like a swaybacked horse.
“The house could use a little TLC,” Ms. Tomlinson said as she opened her car door.
“More like a bomb,” Jas murmured. Barking sounds then made her glance out the side window. A pack of dogs careened around the corner of the farmhouse. A woman strode behind them, her right leg swinging stiffly.
“I hope you like dogs,” Ms. Tomlinson said. Jas stared at the four mutts barking and leaping at her car door. “Uh, I actually do.” Besides Old Sam, Hugh had purebred Jack Russell Terriers.
“Reese, sit. Tilly, sit,” the woman commanded as she came up to the car. “Angel, sit. Lassie, sit.”
The four mutts consisted of a big tan one, a fat black one, a longhaired pointy-nosed one, and some kind of hound. They all sat immediately.
Jas’s gaze shifted from the dogs to the woman standing behind them, her thumbs hooked in the deep pockets of her overalls. She was as tall and broad-shouldered as a man. Her black hair was laced with gray and pulled back into a ponytail.
“Hello, Miss Hahn,” Ms. Tomlinson greeted as she walked around the front of the car. “I’d like you to meet Jasmine Schuler.”
“Jas,” Jas said through the open window.
“Hello, Jas.” Miss Hahn smiled. Her eyes were nut-brown, her skin tan, her face a road map of wrinkles. Straddling the dogs, she pulled open the car door.
Jas swung her legs out. The dogs quivered in excitement but didn’t break their sit command. Jas held out her hand for them to sniff, and they then burst into a wiggling mass of tails and tongues.
“Once they get a good whiff, they’ll leave you alone.” Miss Hahn peered into the backseat of the car. “Got any things to bring in?”
“Just a bag of clothes.”
“Jas isn’t allowed back on the farm where she was living before,” Ms. Tomlinson explained. Grabbing a tissue from her purse, she sneezed. “Allergies,” she apologized. “Before I leave, I’ll get a list of things that need to be picked up at her grandfather’s trailer. Anything else will have to be bought from her clothes allowance.”
“Clothes allowance. Right.” Miss Hahn nodded. “I’m new at this foster-parent stuff, Jas, so you’ll have to bear with me.”
I’m new at it, too, Jas thought, and already I don’t like it. Her gaze dropped to the dogs. The black sausage-shaped one licked her fingers while the yellowish retriever thrust a soggy tennis ball at her.
The retriever’s gray-sprinkled muzzle looked just like Old Sam’s. Jas began to wonder if her longtime buddy was waiting for her and her grandfather to come home. If he was, he was in for a letdown.
Jas closed her eyes and forced back the sadness. What if she never saw Old Sam again?
Suddenly, she pictured her grandfather lying on the ground, the medical technicians hovering over him. What if her grandfather died and she wasn’t there to say good-bye?
No, that won’t happen. It can’t. Jas blinked back tears.
Until then, Jas would make sure that Miss Hahn, Ms. Tomlinson, and Mr. Eyler understood that she had to see him. And soon. Not only did she love him unconditionally, but he was all she had left.
Four
“WOOF!” A BARK JERKED JAS FROM HER thoughts. The retriever plopped the slimy ball in her lap.
Picking it up carefully, Jas tossed the ball into a tangle of forsythia bushes. When the retriever hopped after it, she noticed he had only three legs.
“Watch out or Reese will want you to do that all day,” Miss Hahn said. She was studying Jas curiously.
Jas glanced away. She might be forced to live with the woman, but that didn’t mean she had to like her.
“We can discuss Jas’s placement over lunch,” Ms. Tomlinson said. “Make sure everybody understands the rules.”
Leaning over the backseat, Jas retrieved the grocery bag. Miss Hahn led them around to the back of the farmhouse. As they walked down the cracked sidewalk, Jas craned her neck, trying to see the barn or a horse, but a weather-beaten shed and overgrown bushes were blocking the way.
Miss Hahn opened the screen door and ushered them into the kitchen. Jas tripped over an empty dog bowl. A huge oak table filled the small room, making it hard to find a place to stand.
“Sit anywhere you like,” Miss Hahn instructed, waving at the six mismatched chairs. She walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out two platters. One platter was heaped with cold cuts. The other had slices of tomato and apple, bunches of grapes, and plump strawberries.
“Um, I’m not hungry,” Jas said quickly.
“Are you sure?” Ms. Tomlinson raised her eyebrows. “Doesn’t everything look delicious?”
“I’d rather go to my room.” Jas crunched the bag to her chest.
I want to be alone.
“Okay. You’ll like your room, Jas,” Ms. Tomlinson said. “It overlooks a pond.”
“We have to share a bath, and there’s no air conditioning,” Miss Hahn hastily added. “But the trees make enough shade so that it’s not too hot.”
Jas didn’t respond. It was as if Ms. Tomlinson and Miss Hahn were trying to convince themselves that this was a swell setup. But Jas didn’t care. She was here only to do her forty-five days. She didn’t have to like it if she didn’t want to.
“I’ll show you to your room,” said Miss Hahn. Jas followed her through the living room and up a flight of wooden steps to an upstairs bedroom.
The room was furnished with a single bed, a dresser, a bedside table, and a reading light. When Jas walked across the bare wooden floor, her footsteps echoed.
Pretty lonely-looking room, Jas thought.
Miss Hahn brushed off the bottom of the worn quilt that covered the bed. “Cat hairs. If you don’t want the cats in here, you’ll have to keep the door shut. Fluffy and Tuff think this is their room. The bathroom’s down the hall.” She pointed her thumb to the right. “Towels are in the cupboard. This place was built before closets were invented, so you’ll have to keep everything in the dresser.”
“Thank you,” Jas said, forcing herself to be polite.
The doorbell rang. “That must be Mrs. Weisgerber.” Miss Hahn turned to go, then hesitated in the doorway.
“I’ll be down in a minute,” Jas said, wanting her to leave. “I want to unpack my, uh, bag,” she stammered, realizing that she barely had anything in it.
“Okay,” Miss Hahn said as she nervously smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear. It then occurred to Jas that the older woman was feeling as awkward as she was.
“I’d prefer it if you called me Diane,” Miss Hahn continued.
“And I’d prefer not to,” Jas said, just softly enough so that Miss Hahn couldn’t hear. Calling her by a first name might imply they were going to be friends.
When Miss Hahn left, Jas looked around the tiny room. The trailer she and her grandfather had lived in hadn’t been huge, but it was comfortable and homey. Jas’s own room had been perfect. Ribbons and trophies covered one wall, and shelves of stuffed animals crisscrossed the other. The animals spilled over the desk that Jas always tried to keep clear for schoolwork.
This room looks nothing like mine. It’s going to need a dozen cats to fill it up, thought Jas.
She set the paper bag on the
dresser, then took out her clothes. Whirlwind’s photo fluttered to the floor. Picking it up, she slid it in the back pocket of her jeans. She didn’t want anyone to see it. She didn’t want to have to explain what had happened to the beautiful mare.
Pulling open the bottom dresser drawer, Jas neatly stacked her jeans, underpants, and T-shirt on one side. Even with all her clothes unpacked, the drawer still looked empty.
“Jas?” Ms. Tomlinson called up the stairs. Her voice was so loud it sounded as if the woman was right behind her. The house was pretty small, and it reminded Jas of the crowded detention center.
Jas realized how good she had had it at High Meadows. Phil and Grandfather had been so busy that she’d been left alone much of the time. And although Hugh instructed her when she rode his horses, there were long chunks of time when she could escape into a pasture to play with the foals or into the loft to read and daydream. She had so much freedom and time to herself.
“Jas!” Ms. Tomlinson’s voice howled down the hall.
Jas made a disgusted face. Obviously, those carefree days were over. With her ankle bracelet and four babysitters, private moments would be impossible.
“I’ll be down in a minute!” she hollered. “I have to use the bathroom.”
She closed the drawer and folded up the bag. Then she walked down the hall toward the bathroom, treading softly so her tennis shoes didn’t clump on the wood planks.
When she passed an open doorway, she stopped and peeked inside. A double bed was neatly made with a wedding ring–patterned quilt and piles of squishy pillows. Framed antique lace hung on the walls, and potted plants dangled from macramé holders in front of the long windows. Several framed photos of horses were on the dresser.
Leaning backward into the hall, she listened for the sound of voices downstairs. The three ladies seemed to be chatting amiably.
On tiptoe, Jas hurried to the dresser and picked up the largest photo. It was a professional shot of a horse and rider going over a jump at a horse show. Jas had had dozens of them taken of her and Whirlwind.
Jas studied the photo, trying to decide if the rider was Miss Hahn. The horse was definitely a Thoroughbred, a sleek bay with its knees high and square. Jas could tell it wasn’t taken recently, since the cut of the hunt coat was too long, and when she glanced at the corner date tag, it read WASHINGTON INTERNATIONAL HORSE SHOW 1983.