Taking the Reins

by Dayle Campbell Gaetz

  Slowly, one step at a time, Emma moved closer to the stall.

  Katherine looked up. “Just hold it out to her. She’ll take it gently; she doesn’t enjoy the taste of fingers.”

  Emma held out an apple slice, clutching the very tip between her thumb and forefinger. She stretched her arm. The horse stretched its neck. Warm, moist breath drizzled over Emma’s hand. She pulled back. But only a little. She glanced at Katherine and away. She had to do this. Had to. Emma stopped breathing. She watched her own hand, the apple slice. Saw those great, grinding teeth. Shut her eyes.

  “There,” Katherine said, “that wasn’t so difficult was it?”

  Emma blinked. The horse munched down the apple slice and looked for more. She did it! Emma handed over another piece, and another, until all the apple was gone.

  Katherine smiled at her, and Emma looked back without scowling. Maybe this Katherine wasn’t so bad after all, at least with no one around to show off for. And she didn’t look down her nose to remind Emma she was a worthless little servant girl.

  Katherine placed a blanket over the horse’s back and then the saddle. When she bent under its stomach to cinch the saddle, Emma eyed those heavy hoofs and waited for the horse to kick. But that huge beast stood perfectly still.

  Katherine held the reins close under the horse’s chin and looked up. “Now,” she said, “if you want, you can stroke her on the face. She’d like that. Don’t worry, she won’t hurt you. She only wants to thank you for bringing her an apple.”

  Well, and if that wasn’t a foolish thing to say Emma didn’t know what was. As if an animal had sense enough to thank a person for such a gift. Emma almost laughed at the very thought, but the expression on Katherine’s face was so serious and the horse was standing so close, her laughter died before it began.

  Of course the horse wouldn’t bite her, Emma understood that. Of course there was no harm in touching it, she actually wanted to now. At the same time something held her back, some dreadful, senseless fear she did not understand and wished would go away. But it enveloped her nevertheless. Her heart beat too fast, her palms felt wet, and her breath lodged in her throat.

  “It’s all right, if you don’t want to.” Katherine unlatched the gate and started to push it open. “You fed her the apple at least.”

  “No.” Emma’s voice trembled. She took a breath and tried again, struggling to get the words out before they choked her. “No, I want to. Really. I just...I have never done it before.”

  Emma had never been so close to a horse before and the fear inside her was almost too much to bear. The first lesson she remembered as a tiny girl reaching up to clutch her mother’s hand was to always stay clear of those great hoofs that would squash you into the muck if you didn’t watch out.

  Katherine tapped the toe of her boot against the straw. When Emma simply stood there, staring straight ahead, she placed her own hand on Nugget’s face, just below the horse’s eyes. “Simply touch her, gently, like this. It’s very soothing for Nugget.”

  Emma had to do it now, either that or look the complete fool. Right now, while the girl’s hand was still there and before she lost all patience. Emma lifted her left hand, palm toward the horse, fingers slightly apart. Closer, just inches away now. She could do it, she would do it. Yes. The broad face felt warm beneath her fingers, not so frightening at all.

  “That’s good. Now move your hand gently down toward her nostrils.”

  She did. Partway down, a matter of inches. She glanced at Katherine, proud of her accomplishment. But Katherine didn’t look up; she only stared at Emma’s left hand, at the opal ring.

  Emma yanked her hand away. Pressing it close against her side, she stepped out of the way while Katherine led the horse from the stall. Katherine paused there, frowning up at Emma, her lips pressed tight together as if holding back from asking a question.

  And if she asks me to try riding, what excuse do I have? “I must be going,” she said. “It’s getting late.” She stepped back to let them pass.

  Emma watched them from behind, the small girl and the big horse, silhouetted against the wide open door. Katherine climbed onto a block of wood and from there pulled herself into the saddle. Emma kept herself hidden in the dark shadows of the barn, watching until Katherine disappeared around a bend in the road. Then she turned to go. She couldn’t imagine why it should matter what Katherine Harris thought of her, but it did.

  At the edge of Beckley Farm, Emma met up with Edward. “You’re too late,” she told him. “That Katherine has saddled the horse and gone off.” She watched his face for a sign he was disappointed, but he only smiled as if he was happy to see her.

  “Good then, that saves me the trouble. And I can walk with you. If you don’t mind, that is.”

  Emma didn’t mind. Not at all. She was that glad of his company. “Suit yourself, Edward,” she shrugged. “I can’t stop you from walking where you want to go, this being a public road and all.”

  Edward laughed.

  And what was so funny, she’d like to know?

  As they walked, Emma considered telling Edward about her triumph. She had fed a whole, entire apple to the horse and not even backed away from touching it, right there between the eyes. But she realized that to Edward this would seem a small enough victory. Scarcely worth mentioning. She would wait and hope to surprise him one day when she was up and sitting in the saddle. Both him and Tall Joe, wouldn’t they just fall over with surprise?

  A thought came to her then. An idea she would put aside for now and consider more deeply when she had the time. Maybe that Katherine girl would teach her how to ride the horse when no one else was about.

  9

  At the track below Beacon Hill, Katherine tapped Nugget with her riding crop, urging her into a gallop. The wind blew sharp against her face, and the ground slid below her in a blur of motion. The faster Nugget ran, the more Katherine loved it. All her troubles flew away, left behind by the speed of her magnificent horse.

  By the time Katherine slowed Nugget to a walk and started back, dark shadows lurked in the leafless oak woods on each side of the trail. Katherine’s mind started up again, nagged by a dozen little worries. She thought of all those ladies who flounced about Victoria in their fashionable dresses with their long, hooped skirts so wide they sometimes had difficulty squeezing through doorways. They looked down on her, those British wives and daughters, thinking her a poor farm girl from the wild colony of British Columbia.

  Emma Curtis was one of them. Emma thought herself of a better class; Katherine saw it in the way Emma always kept her distance and refused to look directly at her. Perhaps more telling was her manner of speaking. The way Emma pronounced each word with such dreadful slowness made Katherine cringe, as if the girl thought Katherine would not understand if she spoke too quickly. Although she didn’t wear hooped skirts, Emma’s clothes were of excellent quality, if slightly out of date. And she wore that beautiful ring. Katherine had scarcely been able to drag her eyes away when Emma lifted her hand to stroke Nugget. She had never before seen such a ring on a girl of Emma’s age.

  Obviously she came from an upper-class family, but even so there was something mysterious about Emma, as if the girl kept a dark secret hidden so deep within her no one would ever find it. Some great sadness perhaps, or a fear she could never admit to having. And those eyes. As much as Katherine wanted to dismiss Emma as a snob, her eyes – so big and dark they should have been beautiful – instead held a haunted look in them.

  What was Mr. Bentley’s role in all of this? Why should he buy a horse for Emma? The two had a similar look about them, both being tall and thin with dark hair and eyes. Could they be related in some way? Perhaps he was an uncle on Emma’s mother’s side, since he had a different last name. Emma had never once mentioned her parents, and Katherine had an idea she didn’t live with them. Yes, there was certainl
y a mystery surrounding Emma Curtis. Katherine considered asking next time she saw Emma but decided against it. That girl was too standoffish to welcome questions from a near stranger.

  Partway up the gentle slope leading to the barn, Katherine glimpsed a dark figure lurking near the open door, almost hidden in shadow. Nugget whinnied, and Katherine reined her in, unsure what to do.

  “Is that you, Miss Harris?” Mr. Bentley’s voice floated out of the darkness.

  Not certain whether to be relieved or apprehensive, she urged Nugget forward.

  Mr. Bentley followed her to the stall, where she went about grooming her horse, a process that normally relaxed her and Nugget both. Today was different. Today Nugget snorted uneasily and her skin flinched where Katherine touched it with the currycomb. Katherine knew it was her own tension that passed itself through to the horse. It was Mr. Bentley’s fault. Must he stand behind them watching her every move? What did want from her?

  “Miss Harris,” he said at last, “I wonder if you can tell me if Emma came by today?”

  Oh, so it was information he was after. Katherine considered her answer. She did not want to lie to this man, and yet she did not fancy acting as his spy either. “She did.”

  “Did she take an interest in the horse?”

  “Yes.” With long, quick strokes, Katherine continued brushing Nugget’s coat.

  He waited. When Katherine said no more, he asked, “All right then, what did she do?”

  She stopped brushing. “Emma fed Nugget an apple.”

  “Aha! Then it is working! I knew my idea was a good one and Emma’s curiosity would get the better of her.”

  Katherine glanced over her shoulder. Mr. Bentley rose up on his toes and back down, a pleased smile splitting his beard. She turned back to Nugget, too angry to speak. Too angry to remind him that the idea was Edward’s and not his at all.

  “And is she ready to try riding?”

  “No. Not yet. You can’t rush her into something she isn’t ready for.”

  She became aware of Mr. Bentley’s silence. She looked over her shoulder, let her gaze travel up and over his crossed arms all the way up to his face. What she saw was a heavy beard and two thick eyebrows pulled low over dark and threatening eyes.

  “Miss Harris, I’ll have you know that I am not trying to force Emma into anything.” His voice was tight and angry. “But the fact is, she must be a good rider by next spring when we will be travelling into British Columbia to start our farm.”

  Oh. Starting a farm together? Emma Curtis and Joseph Bentley? Why would Emma want to leave her comfortable life in Victoria? None of this made any sense at all.

  When Katherine didn’t reply but only stood there gaping up at him, Mr. Bentley uncrossed his arms, glared over his beard, then turned and walked briskly from the barn.

  Friday morning Katherine sat in her school room, gazing out the window. Rain streamed down through low grey cloud, making ghosts of the graceful cedar trees not twenty feet away. It thundered against the roof, a sad, depressing sound.

  “Miss Harris!”

  Her head jerked back from the window.

  Mr. Brett studied her from behind his desk. “Pray tell me, Miss Harris, is the work so boring that you must look for inspiration outside the window?”

  All the students paused, every eye turned to Katherine.

  Her cheeks flushed warm. “No, sir. But you see, I...”

  “If you would stop staring out the window and start paying attention to your lessons, you might get somewhere,” Mr. Brett said, and his hard eyes glittered.

  “But I have finished all the work you gave me, sir.”

  “Impossible!”

  Katherine didn’t answer. A student must never argue with a teacher. Mr. Brett was a man who did everything quickly. He strutted about the room and often talked so fast it was difficult to understand him. And he could lose his temper in the blink of an eye. He stormed over to her now. “Let me see what you have done!”

  Katherine handed him her work. He trotted back to his desk, sat down and checked it over, making large quick marks on the paper. “Miss Harris,” he said, “come to my desk immediately.”

  Fingers interlaced on the desk in front of him, he watched Katherine make her way to the front of the room. She couldn’t imagine what she had done wrong, the work was so simple. Every eye in the classroom followed her, most of them happy to see her in trouble. One step, another, and another after that, the aisle seemed endlessly long.

  Mr. Brett handed back her work and Katherine saw in a glance that she had made no mistakes. She looked up in surprise. Why was she in trouble?

  “Well done,” he said, folding his chubby arms on his desk. He glanced up sharply at her classmates. “You could all learn a lesson from Miss Harris here. Now, stop your staring and get back to work.”

  The teacher was a small man with a round red face, wide, sloppy mouth, and thin brown hair combed straight back from his forehead. “I can see you are far advanced over all the other students in this classroom. May I ask where you were educated?”

  “Yes,” Katherine said. “I grew up in England, where my father saw to it that we were well schooled. He believes education is necessary to better oneself in life.” Even if only to entrap a higher class of husband.

  “Quite right,” Mr. Brett agreed. He looked at the class again. “I hope you all heard what Miss Harris here has to say.”

  Katherine cringed. If she had difficulty fitting in until now, Mr. Brett’s praise could only make matters worse.

  “Please return to your seat, Miss Harris, while I work out a way for you to use your time with us profitably.”

  Katherine returned to her seat. The distance seemed even further now, with the older students glaring at her every step of the way. She sat down and studied the scratched surface of her desk.

  “You think you’re so smart!” The whisper came from behind.

  Katherine glanced over her shoulder. Even with her thin eyebrows pulled close together over her wide blue eyes and her mouth turned down in a hard line, Margaret Steeves still looked pretty. Fifteen-year-old Margaret had light blonde hair and soft pink and white skin. When Katherine had first seen Margaret, she was reminded of Susan and hoped they might become friends. But this girl was nothing like Susan. Nothing at all. Margaret was cruel and vain, while Susan had been the kindest person in the entire world.

  In spite of Margaret’s harsh nature, the other pupils looked up to her. Whatever Margaret liked, they liked. Whatever Margaret did not like, they did not like. And Margaret Steeves did not like Katherine.

  “It’s not that I am smart,” Katherine tried to explain. “It’s only that I’ve done all of this work before. We had a tutor in England, that’s why it’s easy for me.” A sudden idea occurred to her. “I’ll help you if you like,” she offered.

  Margaret rolled her eyes. “I’d rather die,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “What makes you think I need help anyway?”

  “I only thought,” Katherine stumbled over her words, “if you believe I’m so smart you must be having difficulty.”

  “Is there a problem here, Miss Steeves?”

  Katherine whirled around. Mr. Brett loomed over the two of them.

  “This wretched little farm girl offered to help me with my schoolwork. Me!” Margaret said, as though the very idea were preposterous.

  The teacher sighed. “While I’m certain you could learn a lot from Miss Harris,” he said, “I don’t think it fair to ask such a formidable task of her.”

  He turned to Katherine. “I’m hoping Miss Harris will agree to helping out with the younger pupils?”

  “Of course, sir, I’d love to.” She’d be happy to get away from Margaret, if only for a short time.

  For the first time since Katherine had jo
ined his classroom, Mr. Brett smiled. “Thank you, I appreciate it. In the meantime, I shall look into providing you with more challenging work.”

  “I would like that.” She stood up and crossed a silent classroom with every eye trained on her. She felt Margaret Steeves’ eyes burning into her back.

  Saturday afternoon, Katherine stood at the window of the small library in the Morris house, watching rain pound against the glass, blurring and distorting the outside world. She heard a footstep and turned to see Mrs. Morris flounce down the stairs. At the bottom she stopped to check her reflection in the mirror. She adjusted her hat and pulled on her gloves, admiring herself all the while.

  Katherine pretended to be engrossed by Mr. Morris’ books that still lined the shelves. Accounting books for the most part, which might interest Mother, but Katherine had yet to find one book she wanted to read. She listened for the sound of the door closing behind Mrs. Morris. What was keeping her?

  “Still moping around the house I see,” Mrs. Morris said in her high-pitched, nasal voice. “Honestly Katherine, I simply do not understand you. When I was your age it was one party after another, picnics, tennis. We had such a wonderful time!”

  “This is not a very good day for a picnic,” Katherine pointed out, “and I haven’t been invited to any parties.”

  “Now that’s not true, Katherine. You know Mrs. Steeves specifically invited you in person just yesterday when she was here for tea. She has a daughter about your age and was kind enough to include you in a gathering in her home. But you, rather rudely I might say, refused.”

  “Only because I know Margaret and she doesn’t like me. She would not be pleased to see me in her home.” Katherine didn’t add that Margaret would see to it that the occasion was as wretched as possible for her.