“It’s not actually ‘bad’ food, you know,” Jordan said, piling up his own plate. “It’s very good food. In fact, Mrs. Wainscott is a wonderful cook. Food is only bad when you overindulge in one particular food group.”
Christie was staring at her brother. “Well, you are the fast-food king,” she reminded him.
He shrugged. “I’m a growing teenage boy. I can take more abuse. I’ll change my habits when age wears me down. Like Dad.”
Jon’s brows shot up.
Julie laughed.
The kids didn’t miss a beat.
Jon turned around to make his own plate of food. Playing in the snow had made him ravenous. He piled on sausages, bacon, and hotcakes, added eggs and potatoes. Jesse Wainscott had warned him earlier that they might be out late—and he was quite certain there was no B.K. or Mickey D’s in the near vicinity.
Then he hesitated as he was about to take a bite of food. Julie was watching him.
She turned quickly away when his eyes met hers. He set his fork down for a minute, thinking about the morning. He’d had a great time with his kids.
Maybe he should give her the same. He wasn’t as all fired up about horses as she was; he should let her take the kids riding on her own.
He started to eat again, slowly.
“Hey, Dad, hurry it along. Jesse—Mr. Wainscott—says that it’s just about pitch-dark by five o’clock.”
“It’s only about noon now,” Jon said. “Trust me, you haven’t been riding in a long time, son. A few hours out, and you’re going to be sore. There’s plenty of time. But listen, you go on ahead. I think I’m going to pass on the horses this morning.”
Ashley frowned. “Why, Daddy?”
“I’m a Florida boy, remember? All snowed out for the time being. Mommy is the horsewoman. You’ll have a good time with her.”
“And Jesse Wainscott,” Jordan said. He looked at his father. “Remember, he said it would be all right if we went riding alone once we’d been out with him at least once, but the first time out, he wanted to make sure we were comfortable with the horses and the trails.”
Jon felt the slightest twinge of unease.
“Yeah. Well, it is important that you go out with Mr. Wainscott.”
Julie was watching him.
Again, she turned away.
Christie got up. “Let’s go riding, then. It’s better than just sitting around.”
She stood, then paused. “What about these dishes, Mom?”
“I wonder,” Julie said. “I still haven’t seen Mrs. Wainscott this morning.”
“It’s like a restaurant, isn’t it?” Jordan asked hopefully. “We just leave our messes, right?”
“No, dope, it isn’t a restaurant, it’s someone’s home,” Christie said.
“Still, I wonder,” Julie mused.
“Leave everything; I’ll at least get things into the kitchen,” Jon said. “Go—I’ll pick up.”
“I’ll take a few things into the kitchen, Dad,” Christie said.
“I’ll help,” Ashley said.
“No!” Christie snapped. “Short stuff, this is good china; I’ll take care of it. Will you run up and get my gloves for me? I left them lying on the windowsill in our room.”
Ashley nodded and ran out.
“I guess I should carry out my plates,” Jordan said grudgingly.
He picked up his milk glass and plate. Julie picked up her own plate and followed her son.
Alone in the dining room, Jon sat back in his chair. He could see their snowman just outside the windows.
The eyes were crooked.
It was okay.
It was still a good snowman.
Julie came back into the room.
“It’s cold out there, guys. Don’t forget your coats,” Jon called, still looking out the window.
He stood to get himself some coffee. He felt Julie’s eyes on him again. He poured coffee.
“Just make sure that Ashley is on an animal safe enough for her to be riding, huh?”
“I’m sure that Wainscott knows his horses.”
“But you know Ashley. Make sure she’s okay.”
“If you don’t trust me, why aren’t you coming?”
He sighed, setting down the coffeepot. “It’s not a matter of me not trusting you with Ashley.”
“What is it a matter of, then?”
He hesitated. “I was just trying to give you a little time alone with the kids. This morning was really kind of nice for me, and I—”
He broke off when he saw the way she was staring at him.
“Because I wasn’t around,” Julie said.
“Because we weren’t fighting.”
Julie nodded her head with a jerk. “I see. Well, thanks. Thanks a lot.”
Christie came back out of the kitchen. “Mom, you’ve got to see the kitchen! There’s an old pump at the sink and everything. It’s great. I mean, that pump stuff kind of sucks in the bathroom, but the kitchen is adorable. There’s a window seat in there, all kinds of herbs and things hanging from the ceiling—it’s really charming.”
“Charming?” Jon queried. “So, er, it’s kind of nice, then, huh?”
“Oh, Dad,” Christie said impatiently, “you act as if I don’t appreciate anything at all.”
To Jon’s surprise, he and Julie glanced at one another at the same time, smiling wryly.
But Julie’s smile faded. “Christie, I’ll be right outside. Get your brother and sister, and well head for the stables.”
She turned quickly and walked away and Jon wondered how he managed to blunder so badly just trying to be nice.
She was irresistibly drawn to the parlor.
Coming back down the stairs with her sister’s gloves, Ashley paused. Instead of going into the dining room, she entered the room off the hallway where they had come last night.
The room with all the paintings. Daddy had told her that they were paintings, not just pictures.
She loved the paintings. They were so pretty, and there were so many of them.
But as she walked through the room, staring at them, she felt a sense of unease.
She came to the painting that had so unnerved her last night.
For a moment she just stared, gaping.
The painting had changed again.
She started to back away, and found herself staring at another of the paintings.
It, too, had changed.
Her imagination, her teacher would say. MissBancroft had told both of her parents that she was very imaginative. Miss Bancroft didn’t think that it was a bad thing to be imaginative. She just thought that children who were very imaginative needed to be very careful. Because they, could easily mix up what was real and what was imagined.
The pictures changed.
They did.
She knew that it wasn’t her imagination.
But no one else would believe that. They wouldn’t be mad or mean, and they wouldn’t think that being imaginative was a bad thing.
They just wouldn’t believe her.
How could paintings change?
She didn’t want to be afraid, but she was suddenly so terrified she wanted to run out of the room. A scream welled in her throat, and she started to back out of the room.
She backed into something.
She didn’t scream; she gasped, and she spun around.
Mr. Wainscott was there. Jesse, as he had told her to call him. Jesse, tall and solid with his bright, handsome eyes and quick, easy smile.
He winked at her, and brought a finger to his lips. He knew that what she saw wasn’t her imagination.
It was a secret they would share.
“No one would believe me if I told them,” she said solemnly to Jesse.
“Probably not. But it’s all right,” he assured her. He reached out a hand to her. She smiled and slipped her hand into his, and they started out together.
Christie didn’t go absolutely nuts over horses, not the way Jordan and Ashley did.
<
br /> Still, there was something very special about the horses here at Oak River Plantation.
To begin with, they were simply beautiful animals. They were bred from Arabians and larger, more powerful European breeds to create smooth-gaited, long-winded riding horses with great stamina. They were groomed to perfection. They didn’t even smell bad, and to Christie, that was the greatest feat of all.
Jordan was on a beautiful black gelding called Mico; their mother was riding a roan mare called Strawberry. Christie herself was riding a buckskin gelding named Shenandoah, and Ashley was in seventh heaven on a small horse—horse, not pony—called, most fittingly, Midget. With Jesse Wainscott ahead, leading them on his large bay, they moved quickly from the beautiful sloping pasturelands directly in front of the house into the wooded trails beyond—that same area they had driven around and around last night.
This afternoon, though, it was beautiful.
There, were deer in the forest, wild turkey roamed here and there, squirrels raced over the snow, and as they followed a narrow feeder of the river, a pair of otters appeared to play haphazard games before them, racing madly about.
Christie wasn’t much for speed; she was content to walk along and feel the cool air, watch the animals—and wish that Jamie was with her. She could imagine how wonderful it would be to come here with him. Jamie found so much pleasure in the little things. He loved deer; he thought they were such beautiful creatures. Jamie never hung around at the malls. He liked to go places and do things. He loved to go to the zoo, to the park, out on a boat. Jamie loved any place that was private, close to nature, down to earth. If her parents would only give themselves a chance to get to know Jamie, they’d like him.
If they’d liked him, they’d have invited him.
But, of course, that wouldn’t matter after this year. They could accept Jamie or she’d be out of the house. The hell with them and their money and all the things they could do for her because they did make money.
She glanced ahead at her mother and felt a little bit guilty about her train of thought. Still, she couldn’t help feeling bitter toward the two of them. She loved them, of course. They were her parents. She had even spent part of her life liking them, which was difficult to do with parents, loving and liking not being the same thing at all.
But now…
“Want to hop down and walk around for a few minutes?” Jesse Wainscott asked, looking back to her and Jordan. He had been riding ahead with her mother and Ashley, keeping a good eye on Ashley all the while.
“Sure,” Christie agreed. She was beginning to feel kind of like a wishbone two fairly strong people had been trying to break.
“Off to the left,” Jesse said. “There’s a stream just yonder.”
The little copse he brought them into was exceptionally pretty. The ground was clear of the snow because it was so shaded by evergreens. The winter’s sun was weak, and the very air seemed to be a haunting shade of green. Jesse helped Ashley down. Julie slipped off her mount easily enough, and Christie discovered that, despite her sore legs, she could still mount and dismount without assistance.
“What a pretty place!” Julie said.
“I’ve always liked it. Family cemetery’s just there, in the midst of the trees with the water winding by,” Jesse said.
“It’s wonderful!” Julie said excitedly. “I love old cemeteries with their funerary art!”
“Come explore it anytime,” Jesse told her.
Christie held Shenandoah by the reins and turned to look where her mother was staring. The cemetery was just about twenty feet from them. In the uncanny green light, the sight was eerie indeed. Angels prayed, looking heavenward; crosses rose from the ground at odd angles. Some of the stones appeared very old, with death’s-heads upon them, skeletons, and figures of grim reapers with their sickles held high in warning to the living.
“I’ll definitely come back,” Julie said.
“Hey!” Christie cried suddenly as Shenandoah sent his nose flying up and down as he protested her hold upon him.
“He wants a drink!” Jesse called to her, and laughed. He had a nice laugh. Very charming. As easy as his casual manner.
“Is it all right?”
“Loop the reins over his neck. He’ll be fine. He’ll get his drink, and he won’t go anywhere.”
Christie did as she was told. The others did the same. The horses ambled to the water.
Jesse went down on his knees at the riverbank himself, splashing his face with the cold, clear water, then drinking from the cup he formed of his hands.
There was no way in hell, Christie told herself, that she was going to drink from a stream where horses had their snouts in the water.
Ashley was quickly at Jesse’s side, imitating his movements.
“Ash…” Christie murmured weakly, looking toward her mother.
Jordan elbowed her and hissed, “Don’t be rude, sis!”
“Horses are drinking here!”
“Yeah, and in Dade County you drink two tons of chemicals.”
“I never drink anything but bottled water.”
“They probably bottled it here—when the horses were finished,” Jordan said. Stepping forward, he too cupped his hands into the stream.
Christie sat down on a bed of pine needles, her back against a tree.
“Jordan!” she called quietly. Jesse Wainscott was now standing again, talking with Julie, teasing Ashley.
“What?”
“Oooh… didn’t you see it? You just drank a big pile of horse snot! Listen, ooh, there! Shenandoah just sneezed all over the water again. It’s big, slimy, disgusting yellow-green-looking… I think—I think that it’s Shenandoah’s horse snot. Oh, no! Oh, no, it’s not Shenandoah’s horse snot! It’s—it’s—oh, no, it’s Midget and it’s—it’s—horse poop!”
Jordan spun around, looking as if he were going to fly at her.
“Mount up. Let’s move on out!” Jesse called to them.
Jordan walked by Christie, kicking up pine needles as he did so. They covered her new mohair sweater.
“Little prick!” she called to him.
Standing up, she carefully pulled all the needles from her sweater. Muttering vicious threats, she went after her horse.
Her horse wanted nothing to do with her. Each time she tried to mount up, Shenandoah shied away. They circled one another.
“Jordan!” she called.
“Eat shit, Christie!” he yelled back.
“Jordan, I need help!”
But her brother was up ahead of her. He couldn’t hear her any longer.
Or he was ignoring her.
“Jordan, you are a worthless pile of snot yourself!” she muttered to herself, then stared firmly at the horse. “I’m getting on your back, whether you like it or not. I’m the human; you’re the horse.”
She tried to calmly mount Shenandoah one more time, mentally reminding herself over and over again that she had to let the horse know who was boss.
The horse knew.
Oh, yeah.
The horse was boss.
No matter how quickly, how firmly, or with what determination she moved, the horse moved as well.
“Fine! Fine, you stupid creature! We’ll just stand here and stare at one another!” she snapped.
A breeze whispered around her.
The others were so far gone that she couldn’t even see them anymore. The trail was well-marked, of course.
And it was daylight.
Kind of.
It was green daylight.
She was alone.
No, no… they were just ahead of her.
She turned around. The breeze was growing colder. The afternoon was growing later.
Darker.
Fog was beginning to rise from the ground. The wind stirred, swirling around. It was very cold on her neck. Sending chills down her spine.
It was the breeze.…
Or was it the cemetery?
The cemetery she all but stood in now.
Going in circles with the horse, she had come closer and closer to the scattered tombstones, angels, death’s-heads, and grim reapers.
“Please, horse, please…” she whispered.
Then she suddenly stood stock-still.
She couldn’t breathe.
She couldn’t scream.
She couldn’t even gasp out a sound.
The air had been swept cleanly and completely from her lungs.
For within the green mist of the graveyard, a man suddenly rose.
Rose from the ground, straight out of the mist, standing directly in front of one of the tombstones.
Rose…
Rose out of the ground.
Dusted himself off…
And turned to her.
Chapter Twelve
Christie never screamed. She passed out cold—a fact that later worried her. Screaming in the face of danger would be a far better thing than simply succumbing to it.
When she opened her eyes, he was leaning over her, and she might well have screamed then, for he was so startling a figure. He wore a Union slouch hat—she knew what it was right away, having been dragged through at least a dozen Civil War museums by her father. He was perhaps twenty at most, extremely good-looking with deep, very dark eyes and collar-length tawny hair.
His voice, when he spoke, was low and husky.
“Hey, are you all right? I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t startle me; you scared me half to death.”
He was real, flesh and blood, dressed in a dark blue wool uniform, with a wonderfully handsome navy cloak around his shoulders. He helped her sit up, and she swallowed down her last impulse to scream.
“But are you all right?”
“Fine, fine!” Christie croaked. “Fine,” she said again, finding a firm voice at last. She shook her head, staring at him. “It just looked as if—”
“Ah!” he said, smiling as he looked back toward the angels and headstones just feet from them.
“It looked as if you crawled right out of that grave.”
“I was just resting,” he told her. He flashed her a quick smile.
“Where—where did you come from?”
He pointed toward a large bay horse she hadn’t noticed before. It was ambling around the stones, plucking up the tufts of grass that grew around a number of them in defiance of winter.
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