He held a hand down toward his daughter, gesturing for her to take it. As she did he pulled her up and set her on the saddle, side saddle, in front of him. Her father held her with one hand and guided his horse by the reigns, with the other. They smartly rode together down the street. A half a block later the colt bucked a few times, sending Clara into a screaming fright. Mr. Groober eventually was able to get the horse under control. Gilbert chuckled slightly.
Mr. Fenny smacked his son to the ground and left without a word. Gilbert got up to continue to care for the animals. He closed up the stable earlier than usual, then walked down the dirt street toward the Wapsipinicon River. He had a secret hiding place at which he spent much of his free time. He had no friends to play with, no father to bond with, a tremendous responsibility to a business, any free time was precious. He looked around as he approached an old weeping willow tree, with strings of leaves hanging down to the ground. Once he was confident no one would see him, he slipped through the long curtain created by the stringy leaves.
Gilbert had found this sanctuary tree shortly after his mother had left four years earlier. He used the tree’s curtain to escape the hardship of his life. When he was sitting on the branches of the tree, he felt he had a clearer connection with his mother. A connection that was filtering away from him as he got older. He thought of this tree as a place to dream and gave him some freedom from the harsh life he was dealt.
He climbed up the tree’s trunk, the coarse bark prickling at his hands and arms. He had to climb nearly eight feet up to reach his favorite branch. When he got settled in a comfortable position on a branch, he stretched his aching legs and closed his eyes. He lazily day-dreamed about having his own horse and stable business. He wanted to get a racing horse, a trotter, one that can be entered at the county fair or maybe even go to the state fair. He smiled broadly as his dreams placed him behind the fastest trotting horse in the country.
His dream was interrupted by a soft sob floating to his ears with the breeze that rustled the long curtain length leaves of the tree. He opened his eyes and saw only the hem of a skirt through the lower branches. He raised his eyebrows curiously shifting his head around the limbs to see who the sobbing girl or woman might be.
His heart sank a bit when he saw that it was the snobby girl, Clara Groober. She was not aware Gilbert was up in the tree watching her. She sat herself down on the grass at the base of the tree. She leaned forward with her face buried in her hands sobbing. He frowned at the thought of his privacy being invaded. It disturbed him more being invaded by this particular person. As he sat in silence, he found himself filling with concern for her obviously distraught feelings.
He spoke softly, showing great concern, “What’s wrong, Clara?” She jumped up from her seated position, and looked around. She did not see anyone. “Up here.” Her green eyes were reddened by tears. Her tears had overflowed her eyes covering her face with glistening streams. Before she could speak, he added, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I’m not scared,” she said obstinately. She took a moment to wipe the tears from her eyes and face with the long sleeves of her dress. He lowered himself down a branch, then jumped down next to her. He handed her a clean handkerchief as a good gentleman would do for any lady. She looked the handkerchief over carefully without touching it. To her surprise, it appeared to be clean. Even though she needed and wanted the clean handkerchief, she backed away from him, wanting no part of his gentlemanly gesture.
“It’s clean,” he tried to convince her. He looked at her green eyes puzzlingly, “I thought you had blue eyes?”
She again rubbed her eyes dry with her sleeves. Her runny, red nose was so stuffed up, she sounded nasally when she spoke, “My eyes turn green when I’m emotional.”
Gilbert was surprised to hear that, “Really,” he said as he gazed into her eyes.
She turned away from him so he couldn’t see her eyes. “Why are you here?” She asked in a stern tone.
“Why would they do that?”
“They?”
“Your eyes?”
“I don’t know, they just do that,” She said trying to get some dignity back. She tried to suppress her tears and sound less nasal. “Why are you here?”
“Why are you here?” He asked.
“I asked first.”
“I was here first,” he responded.
“You came after me, remember.”
“I was in the tree, before you came.”
She didn’t say anything, she just stood there staring at him, then she rolled her eyes. “Nothing I would want to tell you about,” she said snobbishly.
“I can understand that, but you can trust me really. I promise, I won’t laugh.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s nothing to laugh about. Besides you would probably go around blabbing it all over.”
“Who are you to tell me what I would do,” Gilbert said seriously. He tried to convince her that he really was concerned about her feelings. “Besides nobody talks to me, so who would I tell?”
She nodded in agreement, “Why would you care about me?”
“Why shouldn’t I care?” He asked. “You are a person that is obviously hurt and needs some attention.”
“I’m not a horse, I don’t, ne–-ed, your attention.”
“Fine,” he said. Silence filled the air, which accented the sound of the wind blowing through the leaves making them dance back and forth. Gilbert shrugged his shoulders and started to climb up the tree trunk once again. Clara watched him as he climbed up the tree. She smiled benevolently, then she burst out laughing.
Gilbert was curious at what she was laughing at, knowing it had something to do with him. He jumped down to the ground and looked at her wondering.
“I’m sorry, but you looked so funny climbing up that tree-trunk.”
“What do you mean trying to climb the tree? I was doing just fine.”
“Like a frog in a bowl,” she chuckled. They both laughed at the analogy as they imagined a frog in a bowl.
“I knew I could get you to laugh. That’s why I tried to look so funny,” he said hoping to save some dignity. He was anxious to change the subject, “Whatever it is that is bothering you, think of something worse, like your mother or father dying. I’ll leave you with your thoughts,” he began to leave through the curtain of the willow tree. As he was leaving, he thought it would be nice if she called him back. Yet he would not be upset if she didn’t.
“That’s a terrible thing to say,” she retorted, “and you are no gentleman leaving a lady in distress.”
He smiled then returned back through the curtain of leaves. “See, that would be something to really cry about, wouldn’t it.” She just stared at him. “Now what has upset you today. Really, I would like to help.”
She looked around, considering telling him. “All right, you may be right. This isn’t as bad as my parents dying, but it still hurts me very much.”
There were several awkward seconds of silence as Gilbert waited for her to speak. He broke the silence, “Soooo, are you going to tell me?”
“Yes, I’ll get to it,” she said, “I’ll tell you when I am ready to tell you. But, since you insist on knowing.” She turned away from him wiped her eyes and sighed, “I got into an argument with my father.”
“Oh, what about?” Gilbert asked with concern.
“He wants to sell our horse Ginger, to a man that will take her away to be—. I don’t want to lose Ginger, she’s my friend.” She looked sternly at Gilbert, “It is partly your fault for doing such a good job on, Rome.”
“Oh,” he paused, “I understand.” He thought for a second, “Well, I have never owned a horse, so I guess I understand only in a sense.”
She asked, “You have a livery stable and you have never owned a horse?”
Gilbert smiled, “Well, not me personally, but I woul
d like too, someday.”
“I don’t really own Ginger myself, but she is the one I talk to when I need someone to talk to.” Clara went on, “I couldn’t tell her about this, so I came here.”
“Now you are talking to me,” he said with pride. “Don’t worry, I’m sure your father won’t sell her if you let him know how you feel.”
“I did, that’s why we argued.”
He smiled and wiped another tear from her cheek. “Let’s see.” He thought for a moment, “I can’t steal her, they’ll hang me. I don’t have any money to buy her. I could barter for Ginger, but my father wouldn’t be able to drink her.”
She smiled, “We are children, what can we do? Thank you, for trying to make me feel better anyway.”
“Now, don’t give up my friend,” Gilbert kept thinking and Clara started to think as well. “Why does he want to dispose of her?”
“I don’t know.”
“How old is she?”
“She is nine-years-old and doesn’t get around very well. At least not like she used to be able to get around.”
“Maybe your father will sell her to someone live’s around here and not destroy her.” Gilbert thought some more then asked, “Can she still pull a wagon or a buggy?”
“I don’t know,” Clara was wondering why he was so interested in helping.
“Can you show her to me?” Gilbert asked with great sincerity.
“Why are you so interested?”
His eyes popped open wondering how she could not know, “Horses are beautiful animals and should be treated well.”
Clara was still apprehensive of Gilbert showing such interest in her problem. She was somewhat desperate for any help she could get. Even help from a boy she and her friends made fun of at school regularly.
They walked together through the streets as dusk began to fall upon the city. Clara was hoping none of her friends would see her walking with him. She intentionally guided their path a block out of the way to avoid going past one of her friend’s house. She claimed to Gilbert she was distracted by their conversation and missed the turn. This didn’t fool Gilbert since there wasn’t much of a conversation going on between them at the time. He knew the true reason and it really didn’t bother him.
Gilbert spent most of the conversation asking Clara questions about Ginger. He wanted to know of any injuries, ailments and eating habits.
They arrived at her house, that was impressively large and elegant. It was on the southwest corner of Iowa and Spring Streets on the southwest side of town. The house was a two-story home with a covered entry on the west side to allow a buggy to drop off its passengers. There was a main entry to the east facing Spring Street. When they approached the house, Clara looked closely at it and directed Gilbert silently to the south side of the house. They walked behind a row of bushes and arrived at a stone barn behind the house unseen by anyone.
Clara quietly opened one of the doors slightly and the two slipped in. She peeked out the door as it closed. There were three horses in the barn, Rome whom Gilbert recognized in the nearest stall. She led him to a stall where their was an older horse. “This is Ginger.” He looked her over carefully, running his hand over her back and legs. He looked intently into her eyes. “How often does she get out to exercise?”
“I take her out once in a while.”
“When was the last time?”
“Last week, maybe,” Clara looked down in embarrassment. She felt guilty after portrayed herself caring so much for this horse yet she neglected the horse’s needs.
“She needs more exercise and a good diet of feed.”
“We feed her well,” Clara defended her family’s care for Ginger.
“Don’t misunderstand me, I mean a better diet for a time to get her back into shape. She’s been eating too much, for too long.” Gilbert pleaded for Clara’s understanding. “She’s gained too much weight and lost much of her strength. She needs a purpose for living, a job in other words.”
“So, you agree with my father?” Clara showed great fury in her statement. The door of the barn swung slowly open and there stood a young short husky woman. She had a small round pink face, with small curls of brown hair stringing down from a work bonnet. She was dressed in a plain light brownish grey work dress and a thick brown flower patterned apron.
The little woman looked puzzled and spoke in a strong Irish accent to Clara, “I thaught I saw ya’ come in ’ere.” Gilbert had trouble understanding her accent.
“Eva, close the door, please,” Clara addressed her with urgency, but showed great politeness. She turned to Gilbert, “Gilbert this is Eva, our maid. Eva, this is Gilbert.”
“It is a pleasure to meet ya’ Ma’am.” She closed the barn door.
Eva closed the door and turned back to the two children. “Well laddy, aint ya’ the young gentleman.” She turned to Clara, “What ya’ be doin’ out ’ere after dark? Your mum is a bit worried ’bout ya’.” Clara nor Gilbert said anything as Eva surveyed the situation. “Aye,” she appeared to be enlightened to the situation. “Worryin’ ’bout the Ginger are ya’.”
“Yes,” Clara responded as she pet Ginger’s head and hugged her.
“Your father will be gettin’, very angry if he catches the young lad’ ere’.” Eva hinted putting her hand on Gilbert’s shoulder to show she didn’t mean for him to leave. “You ’ad better get in the ’ouse missy. And make sure ’e doesn’t find out. I want to ’ave a word with the young gentleman.”
Clara reluctantly started to leave then spoke kindly, “Good-bye Gilbert.”
“See you later, Clara.” Gilbert felt a warm sense of friendship with Clara.
“What do ya’ think of our Ginger, young Master Gilbert?”
“She is overweight and under exercised.” Gilbert’s mind turned to thoughts for a good solution to everyone’s problem. “Can you tell me, has Mr. Groober already finalized a deal to sell Ginger?”
“I don’t believe anythin’s been set in stone,” Eva answered with an inquisitive manner. “A man plans to stop to take a look at ’er in the afternoon the day after tomorra’.” Eva turned her head toward him and lowered her eyebrows, “Why ya’ be askin’?”
Gilbert broke out in a great big smile for two reasons. He was amused by her Irish dialogue and the sale of Ginger was not completed. He thought for a moment, “I’ve got an idea. But I will need your help.”
“What do ya’ ’ave in mind?” She asked, showing great interest.
“Well,” Gilbert said, not knowing just how to put it all together. He was saying what he was thinking while he sorted out his plan. “A gentleman from the creamery, here in town, came to our stable today looking to buy horses. They need some horses to increase their delivery capacity. He wanted to know anything about any horses we knew of, that could be capable of hauling their products to businesses here in town. With a little care and work Ginger could do that all right.” Eva continued to show great interest in what Gilbert was saying. “Do you know what price Mr. Groober was expecting to get for Ginger.”
“I would think ’e’s in the mood to get rid of ’er cheap. ’E doesn’t want to spend the time or money on ’er. Twenty dollars may have been spewed once,” She said as she leaned back against the stall rail. “What does ya’ need me to do?”
“Nothing really, Maybe hint to Mr. Groober that the creamery was looking for horses.” He stopped and added, “In your own way of course.”
“I ’ave never been afraid of expressin’ me-self to Mr. Groober.”
“Good,” Gilbert said as he turned to leave, but stopped. “When was the man coming to purchase Ginger?”
“Friday, shortly after the noon ’our.”
“Gives us some time.” Gilbert pondered, “It has been a pleasure to meet you.”
“I wish ya’ luck on whatever ya’ ’ave in mind.” Eva turned away to go back t
o the house, but turned back to Gilbert, “I won’t be sayin’ anythin’ to our little Clara about it. Don’t want to be gettin’ ’er ’opes up. Be sure ta shut down the lamp when ya’ go.”
“I will,” he answered as his brain was already churning trying to figure out the best way to get Mr. Groober to sell Ginger to the creamery. He patted down Ginger and looked her over carefully, to see what someone wanting to buy her would see in her.
He didn’t want to be around the stables if someone were to catch him. Just as that thought passed through his head, he heard a clank coming from the direction of the house. He reached up quickly and turned the flame down in the lamp hanging near Ginger’s stall.
He peeked through a crack in the door to the barn. He didn’t see anyone and was about to open it slowly when he heard a strong accented Irish voice call out. “Mr. Groober, sir,” Eva could be heard, “don’t forget your new ridin’ blanket.” Gilbert then saw Mr. Groober retreating back into the house.
He took the opportunity to slip out of the barn and make his way back home.
Chapter Two
Conspiracy to Save Ginger
After caring for the horses the next morning, Gilbert walked to the creamery on the north side of Independence, near the Illinois Central Railroad Station. He approached a door that appeared to be the main business door and pushed the door open. He stepped into a smart, well kept office. A young man sat behind a desk. There were two doors leading out of the office. One with frosted glass labeled Mr. Barnhart printed on it, was cracked open. The other door, which had no name or glass, was closed.
Gilbert had never approached a business or any man for a business proposition before. He was nervous yet determined to do this with confidence. “Sir,” his shaky voice came out, “could I please, see Mr. Barnhart, please.”
The apprentice behind the desk looked up at the young Gilbert. At first he was surprised, but he quickly spouted in annoyance, “I think not. He is a busy man.”
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