by Ann Self
Jane nodded absently. She really wanted to jump off the horse and run to her room and cry, but then she’d be too embarrassed to show her face in front of Lars again. Her magic account was bankrupt.
Once outside, Jane took big breaths of foggy morning air and looked around from her perch on Charmante’s back as they plodded along a lane between paddocks, towards the forty-acre front pasture. Visibility was limited. The sky looked like a tent of cotton batting and the grounds were covered in layers of drifting mist, like a wedding veil wafting over hills and pooling in the lowest spots. She wondered if the lost magic was out there somewhere, hiding inside the white gossamer puffs like pixie dust. The rising sun would soon tear a rent in the moisture veil and dry it out all together, but for now it was hanging on tenaciously.
“Try for the lightest possible contact with his mouth,” Lars instructed her as he approached the gate to the pasture. “None at all would be good. Ask for nothing, let him even choose the direction. Just keep enough control so that he remembers he’s still carrying a rider and he’s not allowed to dump you.”
Jane gave a half-hearted smile of agreement as Lars opened the gate.
“We want to build up his spirit and forward motion to put him back on the bit,” Lars advised. “He’s running on empty.”
Aren’t we all.
She complied dubiously, obediently taking up a light hold on the reins and letting Charmante go in a direction of his choosing. He walked fast at first, shook himself thoroughly, nearly vibrating her out of the saddle, then took a few swipes of grass. He toyed with the idea of rolling, which Jane nipped in the bud, then he broke into a trot instead. Eventually he cantered and she had to grip tight with her knees and stay low, since he was making sudden turns that she wasn’t ready for and her vision was limited in the heavy mist. As Lars instructed, Jane made as few demands as possible, only enough to remind the horse that he was still under saddle.
Charmante seemed to be intrigued that his passenger was letting him make decisions and liked the idea of taking her for a ride. He puffed himself up and strutted for the ponies when they suddenly materialized out of the fog, but they bolted in fear, their spots and patches dissolving into the dewy mist. Charmante considered chasing them, but Jane restrained him only slightly and found herself giggling at the crazy carnival-like ride. The horse seemed to respond to her laughter, so she laughed louder and patted his neck with hearty slaps. Charmante got more bounce to his stride and made a few half hearted bucks and side-kicks, which she again restrained only enough to keep from being ejected Ashley-style. He then picked up speed and raced uphill toward the gatelodge. He liked the wind in his mane, and if a horse could be happy, he suddenly seemed like a happy horse; freeing himself from human-engineered mental shackles.
Near the area of the gatelodge, Jane slowed Charmante and coaxed the horse into a wide turn, easing him over to follow the fence that lined the front drive, heading back towards the barn. The mist was breaking up and they rapidly picked up speed, traveling a little faster than Lars would’ve liked and a little faster than was prudent, but neither rider nor horse cared. Jane was dropping as many mental shackles as Charmante. She crouched low over the horse’s neck, jockey style, up out of the saddle and riding on her knees as he increased his speed. He kept a steady line along the fence, which was what Jane wanted because of their limited vision and high speed. The trees were all on the other side of the fence in this area and it was fairly level.
Wind flailed Jane’s loose hair into a whipping banner behind her back, matching the stallion’s flowing silver tail, and the air speed pushed tears from her eyes. She could hear Charmante’s flying hooves slicing the heads off dandelions as they mowed a path through them at an astounding speed. His neck was stretched out so far in front of her she was holding the reins in a double cross, her arms almost reaching to his ears. Large oaks lining the drive whizzed by like toothpicks. She realized, at this speed, she was powerless to keep the horse from dumping her if chose to, and she could easily become a fence ornament and join Ashley in the walking-wounded pile. Fortunately Charmante decided she was fun for the ride and helped her stay carefully balanced on his back.
At six AM, Brian stood next to his Mercedes at the self-service pumps in a Mobile station waiting for the hose to fill the SUV’s hefty tank. The city traffic was noisy but ghostly in the heavy fog, and he squinted to watch it while gulping down morning take-out coffee. Every time he came to this particular station he thought about Jane. As the morning mist swirled around the gas tanks, he also had an accompanying sense of dread that he just couldn’t shake.
The hose clunked off and he didn’t try to coax more gas into the tank as usual. He tossed the coffee, slammed the nozzle back on its rest, replaced the gas cap and jumped in the Mercedes. He was going to Springhill. He had to see for himself that Jane was unharmed.
In the half-hour drive to Southbrook, Brian racked his brain for a reason to show up at the estate. He decided he’d just ask for Elliot and then come up with something. He glanced in his back seat at the big white roll of plans for the Southbrook Mall as he slowed down for the entrance to Springhill. Perfect. He’d just ask Elliot his opinion on one thing or another about the plans. Everyone liked to give their opinion, especially a big gasbag like Elliot Whitbeck.
He drove through the massive gatelodge tunnel and down the long fence-lined road through the front pasture. Early morning mist wafted over the estate grounds—curling and undulating in the rising temperatures. Here and there the sun cut through with blinding splashes of gold. Brian was surprised when his vehicle caught pace with a gray stallion appearing out of the fog to his right, galloping pell-mell on the other side of the fence. The horse and rider were spotlighted in a patch of sunshine on a background of white mist. He leaned to the side to try to see the rider, straining to look between passing trees.
Jane... He watched the wildly beautiful sight as the horse and rider flew over the rolling landscape, slightly ahead of his car and completely unaware of him. He checked his speedometer and whistled at the speed. The horse suddenly angled off and vanished into the fog like an apparition.
Jane bounced to a stop at the fence, in front of Lars, and dismounted. Lars had been waiting patiently by a gate with a pair of binoculars around his neck. “These things were useless—it’s like trying to look into a cloud,” he said as he held Charmante’s reins. A sudden breeze picked up as the air temperature changed, playfully lifting Jane’s hair, and she held it down with one hand. “He was much better out here Lars, but I don’t know if the improvement will transfer to the ring.”
“Well, we’ll see tomorrow. The horse now has a very recent and pleasant association with a rider on his back, hopefully blotting out some of the unpleasant ones. And, as Scarlet O’Hara said, tomorrow is another day.”
Lars looked at Jane, but she did not respond and her eyes were fixed wide and focused far behind him. The mist was lifting—the breeze making it pick up its lacy veils and race off. The morning sun spilled through the breaks to light up rolling grass vistas of ponies racing up hill and down dale, and illuminated a large black Mercedes pulling into the barn’s front parking lot.
Brian was glad to find Elliot’s office empty and closed again; it gave him an excuse to stroll through the barn. He walked towards Sam’s office and, as he entered the intersecting corridors, saw Sam standing in front of the big open end of the west wing talking with Reggie.
“They’ll be setting up the temporary stabling today,” Sam said to Reggie as Brian approached them. Sam glanced at his watch. “Should be here about eleven. How’s the public-address system coming?”
“Almost done. I’m heading up there now to finish up.” Reggie turned to go back into the barn. “Got to run the speaker wires in through the windows and plug them in to an amplifier. Dylan’s going to winch the amplifier up through the loft later.” Reggie nodded a hello at Brian as he passed him on his way to the staircase. Sam yelled to him: “Don’t fall off that roof R
eggie, It’s a half mile in the air, and no one could survive that drop!”
“You jest don’t want me dropping on your head!” He yelled back.”
“True enough...” Sam squinted into the relative darkness of the west wing and saw Brian walking towards him.
“Hello Mr. Canaday. Looking for Elliot? Or Miss Husted?”
“Ah...Elliot,” Brian lied, stepping out into the morning sunshine. “Is he around?” He flicked a glance at Lars and Jane in the distance, walking Charmante back to the north wing, with little wisps of leftover fog swirling at their feet. Sam followed his glance.
“Elliot’s up at the house with Cecily, wrangling with last minute details of the...” he used his fingers to make quotation marks in the air, “big show.”
“Okay Sam, thanks,” Brian answered distractedly. He walked down the driveway in the direction of Lars and Jane.
“Anytime,” Sam answered to his back.
Jane and Lars gave Charmante to Dylan and watched as he led the horse into a side door of the north wing.
“He seems a little more relaxed, “Jane observed.
“Slightly,” Lars agreed. “I think we’ll work him entirely outside tomorrow.” They both turned at the sound of footsteps on pavement to see Brian striding briskly toward them. Jane’s hair was beaten into a black cloud around her face, her eyes sparkled and held the sky and her cheeks were high with color. There was no trace of the ugly welts Owen had left on her face a few days earlier, and her lip had completely healed.
“Hello, Mr. Canaday,” Lars greeted.
“Lars...Miss Husted,” Brian responded, smiling at Jane, pleased at how well she’d recovered from her dust-up with Owen.
“Hello,” Jane said evenly, trying for a smile that did not look like she was gritting her teeth.
“Looking for Elliot?” Lars asked.
“Yes, but Sam just told me he’s up at the house.” Brian’s eyes flicked from Lars back to Jane. “I’ve heard that you will be riding in the Sunday show?” he queried.
“Yes...that’s if Charmante will be okay,” Jane answered.
“Okay? He looked pretty okay to me running down that fence line.”
Jane’s eyes jumped up to meet his, fastening there just a second too long. “He’s fine outdoors, but...”
“Lucinda has all but destroyed him,” Lars said what Jane was hesitant to voice. “Jane is a brilliant rider, with uncommon skills—but she may not have enough time to undo the harm Lucinda has done to the horse with her ugly vicious temper.” Lars was not in the mood to mince words.
Brian shook his head in disgust and rested large hands on trim hips. “Not too much is going right around here is it?” He looked directly and pointedly at Lars, with an expression that demanded the truth.
“No, you are absolutely right.” Lars needed very little prodding. “There is a significant problem with upper management and it leads to nothing but trouble. Those of us on the middle levels struggle to do the best we can.”
“Yes, it’s obvious that if middle management were free from the foibles of upper management they could probably run this place by themselves.” Brian glanced at Jane again. “How’s the arm doing?” he asked. “From the way you held onto that thousand-pound horse, I’d say it was mending quite well.”
“Its fine, thank you,” she answered.
Exasperation crept around the edges of Brian’s expression. “Good luck with the show Sunday,” he said, as he left abruptly, walking briskly to his vehicle in the front lot.
It’s fine thank you? Jane thought to herself, cringing at the lameness of her words and giving her mind a mental flogging. What an idiot!
“If I say fine one more time I’ll cut out my tongue,” Jane murmured to herself.
“What?” Lars asked.
“Nothing...”
Lars looked at her strangely as she watched Brian walk away. “Do you not like Mr. Canaday?”
“Huh, what? Oh...yes, he’s all right.” Oh SO all right!
At two minutes to noon time, Jane was up in the observation tower in the stratosphere on top of the roof watching Reggie as he pulled heavy wires in through an open window. The wires were attached to loudspeakers bolted to the side of the tower.
“Careful Reggie, you wouldn’t want to roll down that roof!” Jane warned. Her vision scanned the acres of gray shingles that slanted steeply away from the panoramic circle of open windows. Waves of heat rippled off the asphalt roofing into the sultry atmosphere. She nervously glanced down through the trees to the stableyard far below. The swaying tops of giant oak canopies made her experience creepy stirrings of vertigo—it was the wrong side of trees to be viewing—and she stopped looking straight down before her brain succumbed.
“Don’t worry, Sam already instructed me not to drop on his head,” Reggie stated.
Jane craned her neck to look at giant speakers bolted beside two of the windows. “My God Reggie—did you have to lean out to attach those?”
“The fairies didn’t put them up. But I was very careful—didn’t put too much of my weight over the sill, and I never look down.”
Jane shook her head. “No wonder Sam thought you’d roll down the roof and drop on us. He wasn’t kidding.” She took another look at the large speakers. “You ought to be able to speak to Boston with those things.”
“Soon as Dylan and Sam get the amplifier up here and I plug these in, you will. I’ll have to leave this screen up an inch for the wires—the room will probably fill up with even more bugs, but can’t be helped.”
Jane heard a soft grinding click above her. The newly repaired clock in the smaller tower overhead began chiming the noon hour, and she held her ears. The height and the noise increased her sense of dizziness, but had no effect on Reggie.
After the hearty clanging ceased, Jane walked the circular room to take in the distant view, still avoiding the straight down one. A refreshing breezed had picked up, flowing through the many screens from one side of the round room to the other, making the meshed squares hum and carrying off the day’s accumulated heat. She looked over a landscape that might be soon be wiped from the face of the earth, and watched tiny little men raise the brightly striped tents for the temporary stabling, looking like circus roustabouts. Then she spotted Madeline’s toy-sized Jaguar roaring over the two miles of hills to the barn—speeding between treetops. Even at this distance Jane could see the convertible top was down, and Madeline’s blonde hair billowing in the wind. She left Reggie at his work to join her friend for lunch; eagerly anticipating bringing Madeline up to date on the new developments.
Winding her way down the tower’s curved wooden stairs, Jane then negotiated the steep circular staircase that brought her to ground level. She sprinted down the north wing at top speed and out to the front parking lot, where she flagged down Madeline. Madeline waved and screeched into a turn, hanging a left into the formal parking area. Jane jumped into the convertible, and as she was slamming the door and lowering herself into a bucket seat, Madeline demanded: “Okay, tell me all the details on Brian saving you from Owen! Leave nothing out—I want to hear it all...”
“How was your seminar? How was San Francisco?” Jane yelled over the idling Jaguar.
“What? Oh I’m sure you don’t want to hear about presynaptic modulation of glutamate release in the hippocampus by the neurosteroid pregnenolone sulfate.”
“Not really.”
“Tell me about Brian and Owen!” Madeline looked at Jane over the tops of her sunglasses. “That creep didn’t hurt you did he?”
“Well...he slapped me a good one.”
“That no good...”
“Don’t worry, he paid dearly for it,” Jane retorted. “Brian whacked Owen a few times in the face with my Dressage whip and he fell and fractured his arm.”
“Wow! Guess you don’t want to mess with that guy. Did he see Owen slap you—and why did he slap you?” Madeline exclaimed, as she cranked the convertible around and roared out of the parking lot, speed
ing much faster than the fifteen-mile-per-hour speed limit. The Jag rolled up and down hills like an E-ticket ride on its way to the pasture gate.
Jane buckled her seatbelt tightly and yelled into the wind: “Owen followed me to my room and cornered me there to pay me back for the time I hit him with the whip. Brian just happened to be on his way up the staircase—actually, I’m not sure why...but anyway, he heard me scream and came to the door just as Owen was getting ready to let me have it with the whip.”
“Ahhh...that explains the beating—and the fractured arm,” Madeline yelled back. “I’d want to do the same thing if I saw him hitting you. But with less satisfactory results. So, you have no idea why Brian was on his way up to your floor?”
“No...I hadn’t thought about that!” Jane shouted over the roar of the engine. “I’ll have to ask Sam, if I can figure out a way to work it into the conversation.”
They rode in silence for awhile, as the car ate up the last mile of the drive to the pasture gate. Madeline slid to a stop at the gate amidst swirling dust that had accumulated on old pavement. Dappled shadows of giant oak trees shielded them from the hot noonday sun. Madeline put the car in PARK and turned to Jane. “What would he want up there—besides you?” she asked, as she captured shanks of straw-blonde hair, pulling it away from her face.
“Oh please—there has to be some explanation. And if I keep talking to him the way I do he’s going to think I’m brain dead.”
“How are you talking to him to make him think that?”
Jane sighed heavily as the dust lifted away on a breeze. “Every time he speaks to me, I end up saying Fine! That’s all I ever seem to be able to come up with—I’m fine! Fine thank you! I’m just fine!” She threw her hands in the air. “FINE FINE FINE! I think I’m trying so desperately not to gush over him that I’ve turned myself into a zombie.”
Madeline laughed heartily, leaning forwards and back, as they sat there in the idling car in front of the closed gate. She took a large gold barrette out of her purse, still wracked with laughter as she tried to pull her hair back.