by Renee Ryan
“Thank you, Adam.” Garrick turned to the Colonel. “I appreciate your making Gypsy available for my use. May I have your permission to ride her in the race?”
“Indeed you may. She’s one of our best and will give the other horses some serious competition.” The older man squeezed Garrick’s shoulder in a paternal way. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Mrs. Northam and I need to greet some other folks.” He offered his arm to his wife. “Shall we go, my dear?”
Garrick tipped his hat and gave a little bow as the Northams walked away to join a group of other dignitaries dressed in their finest. He then took a step toward Rosamond and her little charges. Before he could take a second step, Tolley grabbed his upper arm and spun him around.
“Gypsy may be fast, but don’t get your hopes up, tenderfoot. You’ll be eating my dust in the race.” He spat to the side. “Boots and hats don’t make you a cowboy. Or a man.” Before Garrick could react, Tolley gave him a shove and strode away.
Sick to his stomach with confusion and rage, Garrick knew he must collect himself before approaching Rosamond. What had he done to warrant such abuse? He hadn’t felt this way since a fellow student at Oxford had taunted him about losing his place as Uncle’s heir presumptive and tried to goad him into a fight.
“Mr. Wakefield, you gonna let him treat you that way?” Wide-eyed Adam watched the whole thing, further creating conflict for Garrick. He mustn’t set a bad example for the lad.
He cleared his throat. “The Lord tells us to forgive our—” He couldn’t honestly call Tolley his “enemy.” The animosity was entirely one-sided. “Forgive those who dislike us.”
“Yessir. And I know all about turnin’ the other cheek.” Adam stared at the ground and shuffled his feet. “But my pa says there ain’t no sin in a man defending himself when he’s attacked, ’specially in front of everybody, the way Mr. Tolley done just now.”
“Ain’t?” Garrick wouldn’t argue with the absent Mr. Starling. He thought about ruffling Adam’s hair, but decided the lad was too old for such a playful gesture. “Don’t let Miss Rosamond hear you say that or she’ll have you sitting in the corner wearing a dunce’s cap before classes even begin.”
“Yessir,” Adam repeated with a grin. “I think she’s about to put you in the corner.” He jutted his chin toward the field. There stood Rosamond staring in his direction, hands fisted at her waist. “You gonna run? If a girl looked at me like that, I’d run.”
Garrick laughed, and his ill feelings dissolved. “Your perspective will change when you’re my age.” He gave Adam’s shoulder a squeeze, as the Colonel had done to him. Surprising what encouragement such a gesture could give a man. If the Colonel thought well of Garrick, Tolley’s dislike could be overlooked. Rosamond’s apparent anger was another matter altogether.
*
Rosamond didn’t know what to think. When she’d tried to ask Tolley why he disliked Garrick, he’d brushed aside her questions and told her it was between the two of them. Now, seeing their brief confrontation—in front of her parents, no less—she was determined to uncover the cause. Father had taken Garrick’s side against her brother. Why?
But as Garrick walked toward her, that perfect smile on his handsome face, she couldn’t be stern with him. Not with her heart fluttering like a baby bird trying to fly for the first time. On the other hand, how could he appear so calm while Tolley was storming the other way across the churchyard, clearly still angry?
Garrick reached her in seconds, and thoughts of her brother fled. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was one fine-looking cowboy. Fine-looking, yes. Cowboy, definitely no. During his short stay at Four Stones, he’d shown very little interest in ranch life.
“Good morning, Rosamond. You’re the picture of beauty, as always.” Was that a hint of humor in his eyes? How quickly he’d forgotten his confrontation with Tolley. Was that good or bad?
Unclenching her fists, she smiled. “You’re not so bad yourself, cowboy.”
He doffed that silly white Stetson she’d forced him to accept and gave her a sweeping bow. “My lady, at your service. Do you have steers to rope? Calves to brand? Cows to milk? I am yours to command.”
His offer, delivered in the English accent she was beginning to love, brought laughter from the children nearby. At a glance, she could see they were entirely too interested in her conversation with Garrick.
“No branding today, but you can help me round up these mavericks so we can get their three-legged race started.”
“I can do that.” He studied the children almost like a schoolmaster, giving her heart another lurch. Where had that thought come from? “Now you young’uns line up right here.” As he pointed to the chalk line in the grass, his perfect imitation of Pete’s Western drawl brought more giggles.
For the next few minutes, they instructed the children in the rules for the race. Once they’d lined up, Rosamond nodded to Beryl, who rang a bronze handbell.
“Three-legged race,” she called out as parents and other spectators gathered.
The event, which took place even before the mayor officially opened the Independence Day celebration, was designed to focus on the children and expend some of their energy so they’d settle down for that austere ceremony. Beginning with the five-year-olds on a twenty-foot course, ending with the youngsters in their teens tripping down the fifty-foot path, the races were a favorite and always started the celebration off with laughter and good spirits.
Winners were announced, ribbons distributed and then everyone surrounded the bandstand where the mayor would make his opening speech.
“May I accompany you?” Garrick offered his arm to Rosamond.
“Indeed, you may.” Rather than placing her hand on his arm, she looped her own arm around it. Maybe she was being too familiar with him, but after they’d shared the fun and hoopla of the children’s races, it seemed the perfect way to accept his offer. If his pleased smile was any indication, she’d made the right choice.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” Standing behind a wooden lectern, Mayor Jones shouted to be heard above the chatter. “Reverend Thomas will lead us in the invocation.” The crowd immediately grew quiet.
After the minister’s prayer for God’s blessings on the events of the day, the mayor resumed his place before the crowd. “Today we gather to celebrate the founding of our nation. While our festivities are filled with gaiety and laughter, we must never forget the solemn events of July 4, 1776. One hundred and seven years ago today, courageous representatives of thirteen colonies signed a document that would change the world. Now people of many nations come to our shores to find freedom to worship, freedom to govern themselves, freedom to build whatever enterprise their ingenuity and determination leads them to create.”
He paused and surveyed the crowd. “We aren’t a perfect nation. We aren’t a perfect community. But let us strive to continue the work of our Founding Fathers that we may work toward a better life for all.” He beckoned to Mrs. Winsted, who stood among the people behind him on the bandstand. “And let us never forget the words of our Declaration of Independence.”
With that, he took his seat. Mrs. Winsted moved into his place and unrolled a large scroll.
“CONGRESS, July 4, 1776. The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America. When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another…”
Rosamond looked up at Garrick, whose rapt gaze was focused on Mrs. Winsted. Had he ever heard these words? Did he know how countless men and women had suffered and died to turn the thirteen colonies into the United States of America? Rosamond knew at once that she must pray for him to grasp that understanding in a way that would change his life…and maybe hers.
*
From the moment Mrs. Winsted began to speak, everything and everyone in the churchyard seemed to disappear, and Garrick could hear only the words that had separated forever this country from his own. The lady
didn’t read for long, soon giving place to Bert, the former slave who worked as a blacksmith and farrier at Four Stones Ranch.
“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”
A chill shot down Garrick’s spine. What a remarkable thing, having this man, this former slave, recite this particular part of the document. Even more remarkable was the reverent silence in the churchyard. Not even a baby cried.
Mr. Chen took the next turn, reading about governments among men. Like Bert, he wasn’t the typical settler here in Esperanza. Had he fled from some sort of oppression in China’s vast empire? At Oxford, Garrick had only briefly read about the Asian continent.
Rafael Trujillo, owner of a large ranch north of town, spoke next, listing many complaints against the Crown. Did this man harbor complaints against those who had driven most of the Mexicans out of this area due to the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo? One evening before he moved into town, Garrick had read that bit of history in Colonel Northam’s library.
Others whom Garrick hadn’t met read a paragraph or two of the document. Finally, Nate Northam summed up the well-reasoned argument against the “tyranny” of King George III, citing the authority of the men who now dissolved all former ties with England to declare their colonies to be free and independent states.
“And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.”
Another chill raced down Garrick’s spine. The American colonists had risked everything for their freedom. He could only aspire to that sort of courage.
Mayor Jones made a few more remarks about never forgetting and other thoughts about how the community could honor their past. Garrick tried to gather his thoughts before speaking to Rosamond. From the changing pressure of her arm around his, he knew the document was important to her, but he’d been too engrossed in the reading to look her way.
Across the yard, Garrick noticed Roberts standing beside the little cook, Rita. To his dismay, Roberts’s face bore a bright glow about it, as though he’d just discovered some life-altering truth. Would he make this Declaration his own? For a moment, Garrick felt a bit like King George, angry that someone who served at his convenience now might want the freedom to do as he chose.
But then, why would this loss be any different from the many others in Garrick’s life? Of course, he couldn’t force his valet to remain in his employ. Only he, Garrick, was a slave to his duty, to his lack of fortune, and he wouldn’t easily be able to break his chains, metaphorical though they might be.
Chapter Eleven
“Shall we visit the booths?” Rosamond sensed Garrick had much to think about, if his pensive expression was any indication, so she wouldn’t press him. He seemed content to be with her, however. A relaxing stroll among the shaded stalls where local craftsmen sold their wares might be just the thing to help him.
“If that would please you.” He smiled, and her heart skipped, as usual.
Father always tried to please Mother, and Rosamond had always hoped for a husband who’d consider her preferences. That was before her call to become a teacher had made marriage an impossibility. Or, at the least, too impractical.
“There’s Bert.” She led Garrick to the table under a canvas awning. “Bert, have you met Mr. Wakefield?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The burly man gave Garrick a friendly nod. “We miss you at Four Stones, Mr. Wakefield. But with Pete gone—”
“Hello, Bert,” Garrick interrupted him and stuck out his hand. “No, we haven’t heard from Pete and Mr. Morrow. I’m hoping to any day.”
Bert blinked and paused before reaching out to shake Garrick’s hand. “Ah. Yes. Sure. It’ll take some time to find that man. I’ve added my prayers to the effort.”
Rosamond couldn’t guess what had just passed between the two men. Maybe Garrick had spent some time in the blacksmith shop. But when?
“Very good.” Garrick looked down at the table, which was covered with spurs, knives, belt buckles, silver-and-turquoise items, all etched with varied designs. “Did you make all of these?”
“Yessir.” Bert grinned proudly. “Keeping the horses shod don’t take all my time, so I get to do some fancy work.”
“Bert made Father’s spurs,” Rosamond said. “Did you notice them?”
“I did. They are exquisite.” Garrick picked up a small oval silver tray etched with floral designs. “As is this. What’s its purpose?”
Bert’s eyes lit up. “Well, sir, the ladies like ’em for their vanities to put rings and ribbons and other gewgaws in.”
“Ah, very good.” Garrick took a brown wallet from inside his coat. “I must purchase it for my sister.”
Rosamond’s heart warmed. She knew very little about his sister, but such devotion could only be admired.
“How pretty.” Garrick held up a silver-and-turquoise comb with long teeth for holding an upswept hairdo in place. “Would it be improper for me to give you such a gift?”
At Bert’s hopeful look, Rosamond shook her head. “Not improper at all. After all, we’re colleagues. It’s merely a friendship gift.” Wasn’t it? “And of course you must let me buy something for you.” She studied Bert’s display and decided on a braided black leather bolo tie with silver tips, not as ornate as Father’s, but still quite fine. With great ceremony, she buttoned his open shirt, strung the tie around his neck and secured the silver and turquoise slide in place. “What do you think?”
“I like it.” He fingered the silver tips and chuckled. “You needn’t give me anything.” Then his lips quirked into a cute little grin. “But you may.”
They completed their purchases, and Rosamond directed Garrick to another table where Mrs. Starling displayed newly sewn shirts, aprons, kerchiefs and other items. “Can I help you folks?” Dark circles under her eyes gave evidence of late-night work. Rearing three children alone must be difficult, all the time worrying about what had happened to her husband. The two younger children played with blocks on the grass behind their mother.
“Yes, indeed.” Garrick looked to Rosamond. “You must help me select a new shirt. I’ve become quite fond of these American styles.”
“Very well.” She looked over the dozen or so shirts. “Mrs. Starling, I can’t imagine how you had time to make these with all the sewing for the hotel.”
The woman gave her a weary smile. “Mrs. Beal’s been very kind to let me use her Singer in the evenings. It’s a grand invention and makes sewing a pleasure.”
“And such nice even stitches, too.” Rosamond selected a solid burgundy shirt. “Let’s see if this fits.” She instructed Garrick to turn around so she could hold up the garment to check for a good fit. “Perfect through the back. Mrs. Starling, can you let down the sleeves an inch?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The woman’s eyes were bright. “I’ll have that for you by dinnertime.” Other people now gathered around to admire her work.
Although Rosamond never liked to use the Northam name for selfish purposes, perhaps this was an appropriate way to influence other people. She made a show of holding the shirt up to Garrick’s chest. “Do you like it?”
“Very much,” he said. “And I’d like two of those neckerchiefs as well.” He selected a green and a red.
“Um, no.” Rosamond took them from him and set them back on the table. Several people nearby laughed. “Now I know why you need a valet.” She matched the burgundy shirt to a paisley kerchief woven with similar colors and then selected another to match the shirt he was wearing. “There. Looks good. Don’t ever select your own clothes without help, understand?”
The crowd clearly enjoyed this interchange, for several added their own humorous comments about men choosing their own clothes.
“Yes, ma’am.” Garrick laughed, and Rosamond enjoyed the
pleasing sound—a sound she could get used to hearing.
He paid Mrs. Starling three dollars, although the woman protested it was too much. “Never mind. I’m sure I don’t pay Adam enough for taking care of Gypsy.”
They left their purchases with Mrs. Starling to pick up at dinnertime and continued their stroll just as the handbell rang again.
Mrs. Winsted called out, “Egg race!”
“Egg race?” Garrick laughed again. “And that is—?”
Rosamond sighed. She’d forgotten about this event, one she’d taken part in only one time before going to Boston. If they didn’t go to the race course, maybe she could avoid being trapped into running. “All of the unmarried girls carry an egg on a wooden spoon and race to the finish line.”
“Cooked eggs?” The amused look in his eyes showed he knew the answer.
“Where would the sport be in that?”
“Well, come along, then.” He nudged her toward the field. “We mustn’t let someone else win the ribbon.”
“Oh, no. Don’t make me do this.” She’d brought a change of clothes but hoped her pink dress would last longer than this. The last time, her egg had broken all over her skirt before she’d run halfway down the raceway. “My students mustn’t see their teacher behaving in such an undignified manner.”
She turned in the opposite direction, but his firm grip on her elbow told her he had no intention of letting her escape.
*
“Nonsense, Rosamond. Your students will be delighted to see you’re a good sport.” Garrick had no idea why this whole idea amused him. Perhaps it was the gaiety surrounding them. Perhaps the merry mood in his own heart after choosing a shirt with this delightful lady’s assistance. “After all, as a Northam, you must set the example of sportsmanship.”
How often had his governess told him that very thing? You will one day be Lord Westbourne, therefore you must set the example. Even after losing his expectations, he still believed in doing the right thing in all matters big and small. One never knew who was watching and who might emulate his actions. “If I must ride in the horse race, you surely can make a go of this little contest.”