Katie’s Hero

by Cody Young

  Roy was too cynical to accept that. “Nursing his sorrows with a bottle of cognac, last time I looked.”

  Katie gave him a hard stare to shut him up. “He’s not feeling the best. He’ll be up and about when he’s ready.”

  She spoke with more confidence than she felt. She’d done her bit, and she’d said her piece. It was all a matter of waiting and hoping now.

  On Thursday morning, Katie gathered up the mail from the past few days, and put it on his lordship’s breakfast tray. She went upstairs and gave the letters to Michael. He leafed through them, and lighted on one that looked official.

  “This one’s from the RAF,” he said, as he tore it open.

  Then he fell silent, scanning the words in horror and disbelief.

  “What is it?” she asked, afraid of the answer. To her dismay, he gave a kind of sob, and then his shoulders heaved and she knew he was crying.

  “Get out!” he said.

  “No,” she said, fierce and determined. She snatched the letter off the bed and scanned the words herself. Discharge papers, as she suspected.

  “For failing to fulfill the RAF physical requirements,” she read. “Oh, Michael, I’m sorry.” The words sounded woefully inadequate.

  “Don’t.” His voice was hard and terse, while the tears glittered down his cheek. He made no effort to rub them away.

  “It had to come sooner or later,” she said.

  “It’s too soon. They haven’t given me enough time.”

  She bit her lip. “It’s an honorable discharge. You’ve done your bit.”

  “I wanted to do more, a lot more.”

  “You’re already a hero,” she said. “They mention recommending you for medals.”

  He grabbed the letter from her and started tearing it into pieces.

  Katie tried to stop him, tried to fight him for it, but after a moment or two, the fight went out of him and she was able to hold him tightly in her arms.

  “I don’t want medals,” he said, like a petulant child.

  “I know,” she said.

  • • •

  When she had gone, Michael lay staring at the canopy of the four-poster bed, watching the breeze ruffle the decrepit old tassels that edged the curtains.

  “Mister Lord?” Alfie approached the bed, shyly, holding his notebook.

  Michael sighed. “What is it, Alfie?”

  “You know how you said you’ll never fly again? Or dance, or ride a horse? I think I can solve the last one.” Alfie proffered his sketchbook.

  Michael took it, reluctantly, but he didn’t flip it open. He wasn’t in the mood for one of Alfie’s inventions. He needed to concentrate on feeling miserable. But Alfie’s eyes shone full of hope, and the glass lenses in his little round spectacles flashed as he hopped onto the bed, waiting for Michael to open the book and be amazed.

  “Before I open this, let’s get a few things clear. If this requires special equipment, large financial outlay or public embarrassment for me, I’m not likely to agree to it, do you understand?”

  Alfie nodded, and licked his lips, still glancing hopefully at the notebook.

  Michael opened the book. The drawing, rendered heavily in HB pencil, showed a contraption that might raise a broken man into the saddle. Alfie leaned forward and started bouncing on the bed in a quiver of anticipation.

  “Steady on,” said Michael. “I’m trying to have a proper look at this.”

  The idea was seductively simple. It worked using a system of pulleys, a strong cable, and a harness that went under the armpits of the brave (or foolhardy) person who wanted to ride.

  “You see,” Alfie said, almost breathless with enthusiasm, “we could raise you up onto the horse like a knight in shining armor.”

  Michael smiled. Who was he to tell Alfie that all those stories about knights being winched up onto their mounts were just myths and legends? Michael stabbed his finger at the sketch. “I’m assuming this bit has to be fixed fairly securely onto the stable roof?”

  “No, sir. I’ve measured the stable roof, and it isn’t high enough. We’d have to construct a framework outside in the yard.”

  Michael was doubtful, but he glanced again at the sketch and tried to imagine it. Alfie got his stubby pencil out of his pocket and snatched the sketchbook back. He licked his pencil and made a few adjustments.

  After a moment, he handed it back to Michael, who scrutinized it carefully and gave a nervous laugh. “Ah, I see. A kind of gibbet, do you mean, for me to hang suspended above my horse?”

  “You’ve got it, Mister.”

  Michael turned the sketch around and looked at it from every possible angle.

  “Your eyes are glinting,” said Alfie, with a smile.

  • • •

  Katie was counting the good silver, laying it out on a polishing cloth on the dining room table. She was surprised to see Michael dressed and wheeling himself about. An air of grim determination clung to him. She didn’t understand it, but she was glad to see it.

  “I need a length of rope, Katie, strong enough to hold my weight.”

  Katie heard the words and jumped to interpret his meaning. “Not a length of rope! Anything but that.”

  Michael gave an impatient snort. “Don’t be ridiculous, Katie. Do you think I’d tell you if I was trying to kill myself?”

  He plunked the sketch down on the dining room table for her to see. “We’re building this. I’ve telephoned through to Hammond. He’s bringing the wood.”

  Katie examined the sketch and rolled her eyes. “This is one of Alfie’s ideas, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. A good one.”

  “It’s a monstrosity. Drawn by a very unusual child. You can’t be planning to put your safety at risk by trying it out, can you?”

  Michael looked aloof. “I’m disappointed by your skepticism, Katie. I shall still need the rope on the terrace. Before lunch.”

  • • •

  They hastily constructed the wooden framework in about an hour. Michael grasped one of the upright posts that supported the timber frame and tried to shake it. It wouldn’t budge. It was a fine looking structure, made of sweet-smelling new pine, oozing resin here and there. They had bolted it to a fencepost for extra security. He smiled.

  “Seems firm enough, Hammond.”

  “She’s solid as a rock, sir.”

  Alfie and the twins hopped around in excitement, while Roy leaned against the fence, pretending to be much too grown-up to be interested.

  At last it was time to try it out. Michael took off his sports jacket and flung it over the arm of his wheelchair. Alfie approached holding a coil of rope and Michael slipped it over his head and under his arms. He tested to make sure it was secure.

  Slowly, with infinite care, the group lifted him. Michael rose up off the chair with his legs dragging behind him as if they belonged to a lifeless rag doll. He hated the look, but forced the vain thoughts out of his head to enjoy the moment.

  Alfie clapped his hands in glee. “I told you it would work!”

  Then one of the twins piped up. “But … why isn’t he wearing the shining armor?”

  “It would weigh him down, you idiot!” Roy snarled. Michael writhed uncomfortably — the harness was pinching his chest. Roy saw him and ran forward to adjust it, forgetting all about the rope. It whizzed through the pulley and Michael fell. He landed back in his chair with a bone-jarring thump that resonated through all the parts of his body.

  He groaned and cursed the child for his stupidity.

  A rather penitent Roy rushed to his side. “Are you all right, sir?”

  “You let go!” Michael said, in outrage. “You bloody idiot.”

  “You’re all right then, nothing broken?”

  “Nothing new. Only my bloody back. My surgeon would have a fit if he could see this!”

  Katie’s anxious face peered out the window, her hands covering her mouth, and her eyes round with alarm.

  Michael refused to be beaten. “Come on lads, le
t’s give it another try, shall we? This time we’ll get it right.”

  Roy jumped to grab the end of the rope. This time Roy and Hammond hauled together, and Michael rose again into the air. The rope chafed under his arms and around his chest, though he had worn an old sweater.

  “This is bloody agony!” he yelled. “I’m going to ask for modifications, if we ever attempt this again.”

  Michael was suspended in midair, long legs dangling below. Somehow the rope had twisted, and now it decided to untwist. Michael found himself turning midair in a circle. He enjoyed a unique three hundred and sixty degree view of the stable yard before finally settling above the horse — facing toward her tail. The nag decided to emphasize the moment by lifting said tail and letting a prodigious quantity of horse manure cascade onto the cobblestones below.

  “Look out!” yelled Roy, as the twins stepped smartly out of the way and stood gazing in horrified amazement at the steaming pile of dung.

  “Oh my Gawd,” said Bob.

  “Phew! Can you smell that stench?” said George.

  “Why is it green?” Alfie asked.

  “Excuse me,” Michael interrupted. “Now that we’ve all admired Midnight’s little offering, can we concentrate on the task in hand? I’m suffering from terrible rope burn up here!”

  Hammond took the strain, as Roy took hold of Michael’s legs and twirled him round in a rather casual manner.

  “Don’t let go, or I’ll be back to square one again,” ordered Michael. It took a while to get him into just the right spot, but at last they accomplished it.

  “Lower away,” Michael commanded, glancing across to see if Katie was still watching — hoping she’d witness his moment of triumph.

  “Wait a minute,” said Roy, trying to prevent Midnight from wandering away. “Get underneath him, there’s a good girl.”

  Michael looked down. The wretched beast wasn’t cooperating, and she had a look of horsy disdain on her face.

  “Gently, Roy. Don’t pull on her mouth. She hates that,” he instructed, from above. “Alfie? Why don’t you try? She doesn’t like bullies.”

  Alfie shook his head. “I’m not going near her, Mister. She don’t like me at all. Look at her, giving me the evils!”

  Michael sighed, fearful of another bumpy landing on the cobblestones.

  So again Roy swapped places so that Hammond, a man who understood the workings of a horsy brain, could coax Midnight back into position.

  “Hurry,” Michael urged. The rope clutched him around the chest like a boa constrictor and he feared any minute now he would admit defeat and demand release.

  Finally, they lowered Michael down onto his horse, and a cheer went up in the stable yard. Michael shrugged off the rope, cursing a little, and pulled down his sweater where it had ridden up. He leaned forward and patted Midnight’s neck to reassure her.

  “It’s me old girl. Back in the saddle. You’d like to go for a canter, wouldn’t you?”

  “Is that wise, sir?” Hammond put Michael’s right foot in the stirrup for him, and then glanced up at his lordship with concerns. “You won’t have the control you used to have … ”

  Michael stared at him coolly until the man glanced away. Hammond didn’t apologize for questioning his master, but he went round to the other side of the horse, and with a kind of mock obedience, he placed Michael’s left foot in the stirrup, and stood back.

  His heart already racing with anticipation, Michael made a clicking sound in the back of his throat.

  “Walk on,” he demanded, and Midnight lumbered into action. Michael shortened the reins and checked to see if Katie was still watching, which of course, she was.

  Michael smiled and inclined his head, proudly, as if setting out for the show-jumping arena. The horse’s hooves clicked across the yard and out toward the paddock.

  “Not too fast or you’ll be thrown, sir,” called Alfie.

  But Michael trusted Midnight. With a sort of breathless, rising excitement, he tapped with his hand on her flank where he would have used the pressure of his knee in the old days.

  “Go on, girl, they can’t stop us now,” he urged. She needed no more encouragement. He felt that incredible power ripple beneath him, and the horse took flight across the hillside in huge easy bounds, while Michael’s heart soared with her. He clung tight and let Midnight take him for the ride of his life. “Horsepower!” he bellowed.

  He reveled in the feel of her warm coat under his fingers; the smell of the wet, damp earth; the thundering sound of hooves as they raced across the field. She’s roaring like my old Hurricane, he thought, as he leaned forward and laughed. He headed for the little stand of trees and did a circuit around them. He tried out everything he dared to do without losing his balance. He found that it was perfectly possible to ride, and ride well, even without the use of his legs.

  He returned to the yard breathless and euphoric. The children were all sitting in a row on the fence, watching him closely. Alfie looked particularly pleased with himself. The twins were bobbing their heads in excitement and even Roy seemed flushed with success.

  “Alfie, you’re a genius,” he said. “I could take care of the whole farm like this. I could check up on things every morning from horseback. Wouldn’t that be something?”

  Everyone agreed heartily — all except for Hammond, who looked rather dismayed.

  • • •

  The escapade put Michael in a good mood as he rolled in for tea with the children. “Make way,” he teased, as he took up his duties at the head of the table.

  He’s beginning to accept it, Katie thought. He’s beginning to see what he can do, instead of what he can’t. She smiled, and he smiled back.

  Michael turned to Alfie and ruffled his hair. “If it doesn’t rain tomorrow, I could take you lot out on the lake,” he said.

  Katie looked up sharply.

  “In a boat?” said Bob.

  “Yes.”

  “Sir, are you sure that’s … ” Katie stopped. She was going to say “wise,” but she thought better of it. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

  “Yes,” Michael said, the lordly tone coming back into his voice. “It is. I haven’t been rowing for ages. You’re not worried about the children’s safety, are you?”

  “I didn’t say that,” she replied. No. But she thought it. Four highly excitable kids in a rowing boat with a madcap lord? Could there be a better recipe for disaster? Honestly, ever since she’d given Michael that talking to about being sorry for himself he’d been turning into a right daredevil.

  “Good God, Katie, I was the champion of the rowing team three consecutive years. The trophies are in the other room.”

  Roy looked up with interest at that.

  Reluctantly, Katie could see she must muster some enthusiasm for Michael’s plan. “Have you got life preservers?”

  “For heaven’s sake,” Michael laughed. “It’s been as calm as a millpond today. If it’s like this tomorrow, it’ll be impossible to capsize. That rowboat is virtually unsinkable.”

  “Isn’t that what they said about the Titanic?” Alfie said, and regretted it when he saw the look on Katie’s face. “Sorry. I want to go, honest! We are still going, aren’t we?”

  “Are them trophies made of silver, Mister?” Roy chirped up, unexpectedly.

  “Keep your mitts off my trophies, Roy,” Michael said. “Yes. We’re going on the lake tomorrow. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” Katie murmured, like saying amen at the end of a prayer. Which is what she would be doing every minute that those kids were out on that lake with Michael.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Michael relaxed in the stern of the boat, lying back against some old cushions they found in the summerhouse. It was warm and he trailed his fingers lazily over the side and into the water. This was bliss.

  He smiled. Katie was right, as ever. He was lucky to be alive, and there was more to life than sulking about his legs. Someday he’d like to thank her.


  After they’d been afloat about twenty minutes, Bob got fidgety and wanted to sit next to his brother. Roy, of course, didn’t want to relinquish his place near the front. Naturally Bob stood up to protest, and then tried to squeeze himself onto the seat beside George, wobbling the boat. The splash was almost inevitable. Bob was in the water, and the remaining children made things worse by leaning over the side, stretching out their hands for him to grab on to. The boy gasped and panicked in the water.

  “Sit down or we’ll capsize,” Michael yelled. They all seemed to be screaming at the tops of their voices, and George was frantic with fear. “Bob can’t swim! Mister! Do something!”

  There was but one course of action open to Michael under the circumstances. He let out a sigh of resignation, almost boredom, and flipped himself over the back of the boat and into the water. It was a most peculiar sensation diving into the water. Michael hadn’t swum since before his accident, and though he couldn’t kick with his feet, he found that he could swim pretty well using his arm strength. The noise of the water made a rushing sound in his ears, and a corresponding rush of adrenalin coursed through his body. I still love the water.

  His arms swooped back as he swam under the boat — the quickest way to get to the boy. His hair streamed from his face. Above him, light filtered through the murky water, and he was faintly aware of the children’s voices, muffled and distant. Michael swam upwards now, toward the surface until he reached the boy.

  He had Bob in his arms in an instant, and they both surfaced, splashing and gasping. He caught hold of the boat with his free hand, and tried to get Bob to heave himself on board, but the little child clung, terrified, to Michael.

  “Drag him up, Roy, for heaven’s sake. George and Alfie, don’t move — we need you to balance Roy’s weight.”

  As they hauled Bob onboard sopping wet, his waterlogged shorts fell down, revealing, to Michael’s shock, that Bob was a little girl. Bob hauled up his — no, her — pants as soon as she was aboard the boat, but it was too late.

  Michael laughed out loud. It certainly was a week of surprises. He swam to the back of the boat, wondering how he would manage to climb back in. Luckily, Roy’s help and his own strength were sufficient.