Song of the Spirits (In the Land of the Long White Cloud saga)

by Lark, Sarah

  Elaine nearly choked on the champagne the maid had just served her.

  “Just keep your mouth shut,” Kura hissed to Elaine as Caleb formally introduced her, and the two cousins halfheartedly clasped each other’s hands. “If you insist, I can explain everything to you another time, but you need to play along today. I’m already sitting on a powder keg.”

  Elaine quickly understood who held the fuse. The icy coldness between Kura and Florence Weber was unmistakable—and Florence promptly extended her antipathy to Elaine as well. Since both girls worked as pianists in bars, she assumed they were friends, and Kura’s friends were automatically her enemies. However, to Elaine, Florence’s attacks were completely unexpected. She was just about to hide behind her hair, blush, and freeze as she used to do, but then she looked into Kura’s annoyed face and remembered there were other options.

  “So do you also have ambitions for the opera, Miss Keefer?” Florence asked.

  “No,” Elaine answered.

  “But you are likewise paid to play the piano. And is the Lucky Horse not moreover… how should I put it… a ‘hotel’?”

  “Yes,” Elaine confirmed.

  “I’ve never been inside such an establishment. But”—Florence cast an embarrassed side glance at her mother as though to be sure that she was not listening—“one is curious, naturally. Are the men very importunate? I know, of course, that you would never, yourself, but—”

  “No,” said Elaine.

  Kura looked over the table at her, and both girls had to stifle a smile. Elaine could hardly believe it, but she felt something like complicity with her oldest enemy.

  The conversation was advancing rather arduously among the other guests as well. Mr. Weber asked Marvin about the reconstruction of his mine after the accident—and when Timothy answered, Mr. Weber stared at him as though surprised that the Lamberts’ invalid son could still speak. Marvin Lambert himself no longer could, after several glasses of whiskey, champagne, and wine, causing Nellie, Mrs. Biller, and Mrs. Weber to take the lead in the conversation. The ladies chattered at length about their ideas for furnishing and English furniture—looking at Caleb as if he were some kind of monster when he naïvely joined in. A man who knew anything about “wallpaper” belonged in the cabinet of curiosities as much as a mining engineer in a wheelchair. Elaine had the greatest sympathy for Timothy, whose countenance expressed both exasperation and exhaustion. Kura, on the other hand, found Caleb amusing. He acted like a scolded child.

  And above the fray sat Florence Weber, who chatted with equal poise about lampshades, new uses of electricity, Italian opera, and the efficiency of ventilation shafts in coal mines. The latter appeared to interest her most; however, her interest only resulted in the gentlemen smiling condescendingly and the ladies holding their tongues indignantly.

  “I have to get out of here,” Timothy whispered to Elaine as she pushed him into the study after the meal. Nellie had actually asked her husband to do it, but Marvin would hardly have been able to manage without ramming Timothy into the furniture. Timothy had given Elaine such an urgent, imploring look that she had quickly interceded. Accidents with this wheelchair were painful and not without their dangers. A few weeks before, Dr. Leroy had treated Timothy after his mother had succeeded in overturning the chair, as heavy as it was unstable, with Timothy in it.

  “What do you want me to do?” Elaine asked desperately. She could hardly maneuver the chair forward on the Lamberts’ thick rugs. “We could say we were going out to the garden, but I’d never in my life be able to get this thing out there. Where’s Roly anyway?”

  “He has the day off,” Timothy said, gnashing his teeth. “It is Christmas after all. He was here this morning, though, and he’ll come back this evening. That boy is as good as gold, but he has family of his own, you know.”

  At these last words, Timothy furrowed his brow as though he thought a family no more worth striving for than a toothache. He went quiet when Caleb approached.

  “May I assist you, Miss Keefer?” the young man asked amiably and without a hint of embarrassment. “I think an after-lunch constitutional in the garden is a capital idea. If it would please you, Tim.”

  Caleb took hold of the wheelchair’s handles without hesitation and pushed Timothy—for whom this was anything but pleasing—out of the stuffy rooms and into the roaring-hot summer day. Elaine thought Caleb was being very considerate. He raised the wheelchair carefully over the steps and cautiously avoided bumps on the garden path.

  Kura followed, casting nervous glances over her shoulder.

  “Freedom,” she remarked, catching up with Elaine. “We’ve successfully escaped Florence Weber. Probably only for a few seconds, but one must be thankful for small blessings.” She flung back the luxurious hair that she was provocatively wearing down. Kura’s neckline was also too low and her burgundy dress cut too alluringly to really be ladylike, but she nevertheless looked breathtaking.

  “Still, at least now I understand why she behaves like that,” Kura expounded, falling into step very naturally next to Elaine. “For weeks now, I’ve been asking myself what drew her to Caleb. She had to realize that he doesn’t give a fig about her. But now I see that she wants his mine—whatever the cost. She would probably give her life to inherit from her own dad, but she’s ‘just a girl’ after all. Caleb, however, would be wax in her hands. If she gets him to the altar, the Biller Mine is hers. Tim Lambert would also be an option, of course. Better not leave him alone with her.”

  Coming from Kura’s mouth, that advice struck Elaine as a little hypocritical, but, to her own surprise, she couldn’t help laughing.

  “You’re the expert after all,” she remarked pointedly—and observed to her astonishment that Kura looked struck. She even seemed to have tears in her eyes. Until that moment, she had always assumed that Kura had left William. Was it perhaps the other way around? Elaine decided to speak with her cousin sometime.

  It was late afternoon before most of the guests finally left. Nellie Lambert threw herself immediately into overseeing the cleanup work while Marvin retired to his study with one last drink.

  Elaine was torn. On the one hand, they were surely expecting her to likewise take her leave. On the other, Timothy looked so weary in his chair that she could not bring herself to go. Earlier, he had chatted enthusiastically with Caleb about the Biller Mine, but he had hardly said anything else in the last few hours. It looked as though he had to muster all his strength just to hold himself upright. Not that his father, Joshua Biller, or Mr. Weber had seen him anyway. They didn’t even bother to offer him a glass of whiskey or a cigar when they all disappeared into the study to partake of those indulgences. Florence, who had followed the men into the study, was the one who finally gave Tim a glass and a cigar. Apparently, she could no longer stand chattering about curtains and bathroom furnishings. The talk about coal marketing held considerably more allure for her.

  Elaine had peeked jealously into the study through the open door and noticed Florence exchanging a few words with Timothy—probably because the rest of the gathering was ignoring the two of them equally. Timothy’s heart, however, was not in it. Elaine recognized with concern the agitation of his hands on the wheelchair’s rests. He had tried repeatedly to change his position on the overly soft cushions, and winced in pain every time he did not succeed. Now he was sitting by the window, staring ashen-faced into the garden and looking as though he were waiting desperately for the sun to sink below the horizon.

  Elaine could take it no longer; she strode quickly into the study and pulled a chair up to Timothy, moving her fingers hesitantly over his hand.

  “Tim…”

  He removed his hand from hers and began to unbutton his jacket.

  “May I?” he asked politely.

  Elaine stood up to help him, but he rebuffed her gruffly.

  “Leave it. I have hands enough.”

  Disheartened, she moved back and made several attempts at conversation while he fumbled aw
kwardly with one after another of the many buttons, eventually managing to cool himself off a little.

  “Caleb Biller is a nice fellow…”

  Timothy pulled himself together and nodded. “Yeah, but both of his girls are too much for him.” He smiled with difficulty. “I’m sorry, Lainie. I didn’t mean to be abrupt with you. But I’m not doing very well.”

  Elaine stroked his shoulder gently before quickly opening the buttons of his vest. She thanked heaven for her light summer dress—formal menswear at these temperatures looked like pure torture. Though the other men had removed their jackets after lunch, Timothy would have needed help to do so, and he would rather have died than ask for that.

  “It was a long day. And the people were awful,” she said quietly. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Maybe you could… you could ride to the O’Briens’ and ask Roly to come a little earlier? I…” He tried once more to shift his position but fought hopelessly against the deep cushions.

  “Maybe I can help you?” Elaine asked, blushing. She didn’t want to give Timothy the impression that she wanted to undress him and take him to bed, but perhaps he would let her help him out of that damned chair. “I can’t lift you, of course, but…”

  Timothy smiled, and for the first time that day she saw something like joy, even triumph, in his eyes.

  “Oh, you don’t need to lift me. I can almost do that on my own. Only standing up from this thing is difficult. Worst of all, I don’t see any possibility of making it to my room.”

  Moving the wheelchair proved to be the most difficult part. It became easier, however, once they had left the salon and its voluminous rugs. Timothy had lived on the upper story before, where his parents had their bedrooms too, but when he had returned home after the accident, he had moved into what had formerly been the servants’ quarters between the kitchen and stables. Nellie had already shed many tears over it, but Timothy was not put off by the fact that it sometimes smelled a little of hay. Elaine pushed him into his small salon, where he generally received her when she visited.

  “Can you help me onto the sofa?” he asked her in a distracted voice.

  Elaine nodded. “What should I do?” she inquired, freeing him from the hated flannel blanket.

  “You have your splints on!” she said, astonished. Upon seeing the steel framework around Timothy’s legs for the first time, she suddenly understood the reason for his weight training. “Aren’t they uncomfortable?”

  Timothy smiled through his pain. “I wanted to keep an avenue of escape open. Unfortunately, I didn’t count on my mother.” He pointed to his crutches leaning against the wall of his room.

  Elaine felt a surge of hot rage toward Nellie Lambert. Even if Timothy could only have taken one or two steps, it would have meant the world to him to greet the guests standing up.

  “If you could just hand them to me, please.” Timothy squeezed the crutches under his arms and attempted to lift himself out of the chair, but the right crutch slipped out from under him and he reached for Elaine’s arm to catch himself. Elaine put her arm around him, supporting him until he made it to his feet. And then, for the first time in a year, he stood next to her. When Timothy realized this, he was so startled that he dropped his other crutch. As Elaine held him, he, too, wrapped his arms around her.

  “Tim, you can stand! It’s a miracle.” Elaine looked at him, beaming. She did not have a chance to worry that a man was holding her. It was simply nice to have Timothy upright beside her and to see his smile brighten as it had that day at the race so long ago.

  Feeling Elaine in his arms, Timothy couldn’t help himself. He lowered his face to hers and kissed her—first, softly on the forehead and then, having gathered his courage, on the mouth. And then the real miracle occurred. Elaine opened her lips to his. Calmly and naturally, she let him kiss her and even timidly returned the kiss.

  “That was wonderful,” Timothy said happily, “Lainie.”

  He kissed her once more before she reached for his crutches. Then he showed her that he could make the two steps to the sofa without overexerting himself.

  “My record is eleven,” he boasted, smiling, before sinking onto the sofa with a sigh. “But from one end of the church to the other, it’s twenty-eight. Roly tried it out for me. So I need to train a little more.”

  “Me too,” Elaine whispered. “Kissing, I mean. And as far as I’m concerned, we could start on that right away.”

  9

  Timothy was so determined to push himself that he was nearly bursting by the time Roly O’Brien came to work the next day.

  “We’ll start by doing the usual exercises today,” he explained to the astonished boy, who had been expecting a relaxing morning. The night before, Timothy had looked content but profoundly exhausted, and Roly believed that he should take it easy that day.

  “And then,” Timothy said, “you’ll pick up Fellow from Lainie at noon.”

  “Your… er… horse, Mr. Lambert?” Roly sounded uncertain. He wasn’t comfortable with horses, having never had anything to do with any animal bigger than a goat or a hen.

  “That’s right. My horse. It might be hard for Lainie to part with it, but there’s nothing I can do about that. Walking is taking too long for me, Roly. Starting today, we ride.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, Roly! Fellow won’t hurt you. He’s a good chap. And I absolutely have to find some way of getting out of here. I want to have Lainie to myself for once, to do something with her. I want to be alone with her.” Timothy sat up impatiently. He could hardly wait for Roly to help him out of bed.

  “Maybe you should try driving the coach first?” Roly suggested nervously.

  Timothy shook his head. “So that I can ask her to push me around in my wheelchair afterward? No. No arguments. I want to meet the lady for a ride like a gentleman. I don’t want to have to wait anymore for her to visit me, or for my mother to let her through.”

  Roly rolled his eyes, resigned. Of course he thought Elaine was attractive, but he could hardly comprehend the effort Timothy was expending on her. What was more, his boss could simply receive visits and pampering from one of the girls from Madame Clarisse’s establishment. Such thoughts had recently begun to cross into Roly’s daydreams, but it would probably be years before he scraped together enough change. It would probably be more economical for him to try courting Mary Flaherty next door a bit.

  Elaine shook her head when Roly retrieved Fellow from her.

  “This is crazy. Tim can’t even sit without something to lean on,” she objected.

  Roly shrugged. “I just do what he says, Miss Keefer,” he said, defending his actions. “If he wants to ride, he gets to ride.”

  Elaine would have liked to go back with the boy to oversee Timothy’s dangerous attempt at riding. But she could only too well imagine Timothy’s reaction. So she stayed where she was, and began fretting once again.

  And not without reason. Timothy’s first attempt to get himself in the saddle nearly took a catastrophic turn. Climbing the improvised ramp that Roly had built for him out of boards and straw bales was difficult enough in itself. But when Timothy tried to support himself on the saddle, the irritated horse took a few steps to the side and Timothy fell forward around Fellow’s throat and cried out with pain. He had not put so much weight on his freshly healed hip before, and his suddenly overtaxed muscles and tendons protested fiercely.

  “Shall I help you down, Mr. Lambert?” Roly was almost as fearful of approaching the horse as he was of his charge falling and breaking a bone again.

  “No… I… Just give me a few minutes.” Timothy made every effort to settle himself in the saddle, but it was hopeless. He finally gave into Roly’s insistence that he get down and did not even fight it when Roly made him lie down and relax. He nevertheless sat up a short while later and reached for pen and paper.

  When Roly returned from the stables, where, despite his fears, he had divested Fellow of his saddle and bridle, Timo
thy held a sketch out to him.

  “Here, take that to Ernie Gast. You know him, the saddler. Ask him if he can make a saddle like this. And as quickly as possible. Oh yes, and Jay Hankins should take a look to see if he can forge some box stirrups like these.”

  Roly looked the drawing over skeptically. “That looks funny, Mr. Lambert. I’ve never seen a saddle like that.”

  The saddle in the picture looked more like an armchair than a riding saddle, with a higher pommel and cantle, which would brace the rider and hold him fast in his seat. Yet it hardly had knee rolls. Tim would be able to dangle his legs, which would be supported by wide stirrups.

  “I have,” Timothy said. “In Southern Europe saddles like that are practically the standard. They used similar models in the Middle Ages. Knights, I mean.”

  Roly had never heard of knights before, but he nodded politely.

  Timothy could hardly wait for Roly to come back the next day with Ernie’s response.

  “Mr. Gast says he can build it, but that it ain’t a good idea. He says the thing will hold you like a vise, almost like a sidesaddle. If the horse ever stumbles, and you don’t get out, you’ll break your back.” He pointed to the saddle’s “backrest.”

  Timothy sighed. “Fine. Inform him that, for one thing, Fellow won’t stumble, and, for another, every English lady rides in a sidesaddle. England’s most important families have yet to die out, so the risk can’t be all that great. As for breaking my back, two doctors have assured me that at least you don’t feel any pain if that happens. And these days, I’d almost find that worth the effort.”

  Timothy’s hip hurt immensely, but he nevertheless had Roly bring him back to the stables that afternoon so he could repeat his attempt to sit on Fellow. The horse remained calm this time and trotted obediently over to the ramp.