The Woman on the Painted Horse

by Angela Christina Archer

  “And you thought I'd tell someone,” he accused.

  “I never said that.”

  “You didn’t have too. I can see it across your face and by your actions. I don’t know why I, for one second, believed you were a different person. You may think you are different from your parents, Alexandra, but you aren’t. You don’t treat people with the respect and kindness that they deserve, or at least you do only when you decide doing so suits your own greed.”

  “Just go,” I shouted at him.

  “If you think I’m going to leave you alone in the middle—”

  “William, I’ve been alone at night in the middle of the forest before.”

  He sighed and strode forward, hesitating for a second before continuing toward me. He wrapped his arms around me, and I fought his embrace, pushing him away.

  “Just go,” I shouted again.

  He stared at me, lungs heaving his anxious breaths.

  Why won't he just leave me alone if he was so angry? Did he enjoy making me feel worse?

  “This is why I shouldn't have met you and why I should forget about you. Do you understand now why we must never see each other again?”

  “Alexandra, I don’t think—”

  “Go. Leave. Return to your village and leave me alone.” I picked up a stick and threw it at his head. “I don’t ever want to see you again, do you understand that? Never again.”

  Facing me, he stepped backwards a few steps, shook his head, then finally walked away, and disappeared into the darkness. I snatched the stick I had thrown and beat it across a tree until it broke into two pieces, screaming every time the wood struck the tree’s bark. Unable to stand any longer, I dropped to my knees, burying my face in my hands—the emotional weight too heavy for me to handle.

  When I finally stood, out of the corner of my eye, I caught William’s face. He had returned and stood with his arms crossed, leaning against a tree, watching me and waiting. Neither of us said a word, only gazed at one another until the harsh reality slapped me in the face. If he wouldn’t leave me, then I would have to leave him.

  I backed away from him a few steps, shaking my head. When he vanished from my line of sight, I turned and ran as fast as I could back to my parent’s manor.

  Chapter 10

  I stood in front of the mirror hanging in the foyer, and drew on my glove—the baby soft cotton glided up my hand.

  Yet again, I was preparing for another afternoon trip into town to go to a luncheon that I didn't want to attend. Although, I suppose the distraction would help ease the pain of another day trapped in my bedroom and alone with my haunted thoughts.

  I hadn’t seen William since the night in the forest. What I’d hoped to be an enjoyable night in his company had turned into one of the worst nights of my life, and I hadn’t seen him since. I wished for nothing more than to undo the last few days, to have not witnessed death, and to have not obviously become what William figured I was—someone he didn’t want to know.

  Ignorance is bliss, a far cry from the hell I now lived in.

  For the past few nights, the same nightmare had disturbed me. Vivid colors danced around on a stage below a top balcony. Too blurred for me to recognize their faces, the nameless performers on stage danced and laughed, telling a story with their every movement. In the blink of an eye, the performance turned grim, though, and the colors faded into a mysterious darkness. The walls around me groaned in pain and reeked of death until I could stand them no longer. Running through a maze of black walls, twisting and turning, the only means of escape was blocked by a hooded figure. From a distance, the figure looked harmless, though, upon approach the evil sneer made my blood run cold. William shouted for me on the other end of the hall, but no matter how hard I tried, I could never get to him.

  “I told you not to procrastinate,” John said, holding the front door open and nudging me as I passed him.

  Playfully, I grabbed his tie and lured him out of the door. “Time is precious, dear brother. I wouldn’t dare waste it in an effort to prolong the inevitable dullness that awaits us this afternoon.”

  He laughed, followed me across the porch, and climbed into the carriage after helping me. “I’m certain you wouldn’t. Especially when I do believe this afternoon won't be very pleasant.”

  “Your assumption is deeply obvious, but I have to admit I’m rather happy I’m not attending lunch alone.”

  “Why on earth did Father suggest I attend, too? Does he expect me to be friends with Thomas and Duncan?”

  “I don’t know.”

  As the carriage turned out of the gate, the cotton pickers were out in the fields, plucking the white tuffs of cotton from the plants. I spotted Jackson immediately in the group, his tiny body bounced with the energy that the older slaves lacked, or perhaps knew better than to waste during a humid spring day.

  Jackson waved to us as we passed and an invisible hand punched my gut, pushing my stomach into my chest and deflating my lungs. Every second of every minute, I relived the terror in the forest, like a vicious wound slashed repeatedly and never allowed to heal. It robbed me of my sanity, robbed me of calm, rational thoughts. In my alone silence, when no one was around me, the woman screamed over and over again, her body jerked in my arms as she gasped for breath at the last seconds of her life.

  I shook the thoughts from my head and patted John on the shoulder. “I understand if he desires a friendship between you and Thomas, but you don’t share one common interest with Duncan . . . with the exception of Mary, of course,” I laughed.

  “Don’t remind me of her. She’s a foolish woman, and I can't change her mind so why should I care any longer?”

  I touched his forehead.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, jerking his head away.

  “I thought you might be ill. John, you have loved Mary since our childhood, practically your whole life.”

  “Hence?”

  “Are you not going to fight for her affections?”

  “No, I’m not. She has made her choice, a poor choice, and she’ll have to live with the fact she’ll be a Cartwright.”

  His nonchalance for the raven beauty amused me. Perhaps he was closer to the admission of his true affections for someone else than I once believed. “You seem happy lately, though. Has my dear brother found love in another young woman?”

  “No.”

  “Liar,” I said, eyeing his translucent expression.

  “No, Alexandra, I have not. Will you please leave the subject closed?”

  “If such is your wish, John, but don’t think I don’t know.”

  “What could you possibly know?”

  I tapped my lips with my finger, and shook my head. His feelings for Maggie were obvious every time I witnessed the look in his eyes while he watched her. His movements around her when Mama and Daddy weren’t around told his story, but unless John admitted to himself how he felt, any effort in proving his denial wrong would be useless.

  For the past several months, I hadn’t understood why he hid and denied his feelings, but within the last few weeks, my eyes opened to the reason. He denied and hid them because he had to, just as I had to hide William and myself.

  Hide from what or who now, though, I didn’t know.

  Surely, William’s reflections of me had changed. Why else would he leave me standing alone waiting for him at the gates the past few nights? Like a shiny new penny, now tarnished, I was tarnished. I shouldn’t have been so cruel to him, even if he had spoken with malice and especially after he had helped me in so many ways. Frustration killed any sensible thought in the moments of that night, however, and he suffered the consequences of my anger and pain. Because of my imprudent behavior, I had risked his safety and forced him into an awful situation.

  Understanding why he was angry only brough
t me guilt, and each night the hours spent waiting for him bought me pain. I hadn’t wanted him to leave, but he did because of me, and I didn’t think of stopping him.

  No, instead I stupidly threw a stick at him, and then left him when he had returned.

  John stopped the carriage in front of the café. He was regretting this afternoon more than I, and the displeasure was written all over his face. Thomas was waiting under the café awning next to Duncan and Mary, who stood focused on their own conversation and oblivious to our arrival. Thomas’s expression was not amused, a look I was only expecting from his companions, not him. He checked his pocket watch, shoved it back into his pocket, and spat on the ground before he approached the carriage. His stride spoke of his annoyance. It mirrored his grimace and burrowed eyebrows. Surely, we weren’t too late. John and I left the manor just a few minutes past twelve o’clock.

  “John, I require a moment alone with Alexandra,” he said, grabbing my elbow and twisting me from John’s view.

  John crossed his arms, and marched a few steps after us. His eyes following Thomas until he saw the look on my face. Now was not the time for a brotherly intervention. My shoes scuffed against the cobble. They slid over the stones as Thomas drug me several feet from the café. Lies for explaining our tardiness began popping in my head.

  “I received an interesting visit from Mr. Cole yesterday afternoon,” Thomas finally said, stopping just out of John’s earshot. “He was quite angry when he visited. Supposedly, after the auction a week ago, a woman approached him in the middle of town, and while several witnesses watched, she stole the slave he had purchased.” Thomas stopped pacing in front of me and turned to face me. “Do you happen to know who he named as the thief?”

  “I didn’t steal—”

  He held his hand up against my face to silence me. I wanted to slap it. “Why he chose to visit me and not your father, I do not know, but—”

  “Perhaps in his drunken state, he found your house to be as far as he could stumble.”

  Thomas’s left eye twitched and his body stiffened. I shouldn’t have interrupted him, but I couldn’t bite my tongue.

  “You insulted not only your family, Alexandra, but mine as well, and I am here to inform you that such behavior will not be tolerated. I will not be made a fool because of you, do you understand that?” He circled me, his voice just a whisper as he spoke.

  “While I regret behaving in an unladylike manner, Thomas, I hold no regret for defending a child who was being beaten. I won’t apologize for my actions.”

  Thomas crossed his arms, and breathed deeply. “Mr. Cole agreed that as long as you return the boy, he will not file notice with the police.”

  “I won’t return Jackson.”

  “The boy does not belong to you.”

  “I gave Mr. Cole the exact amount he paid. Jackson belongs to me.”

  The outcome of this battle was unknown, but I still had to fight. Thomas continued circling around me, tapping his fingers against his temple. I waited in silence, frozen with the fear he would not be the understanding, sympathetic man I needed him to be at this moment, and I fought the churning in my stomach.

  “I will talk to Mr. Cole and see if we can work out an arrangement for the boy. He owes me for a rather costly mistake he made.”

  “What mistake?”

  “I am owed a favor, and that is all that is your business,” he growled. “Accept the boy as my gift to you, forget about this conversation, and never again embarrass me. Have I been clear?”

  As crystal.

  While the thought of Thomas bestowing a person as a gift completely disgusted me, as long as Jackson could remain with me, how I kept him from returning to the old beast, Mr. Cole, didn’t matter.

  John stood on the steps of the café. He waited with his arms still crossed and eyed Thomas as we approached. I noticed his expression, though, and shook my head. Now wasn’t the time for him to say a word, either.

  As we entered the busy café, waiters scurried around, spinning in every direction with trays of food and beverages. Chatter echoed from table to table, large men with round bellies laughed, and older women waved their lace fans and spectacle sticks as they gossiped—an all too familiar sight. Within a few seconds, the maître d' seated us in the outside veranda.

  “Alexandra, is something bothering you?” Thomas asked. His expression exasperated as he held the chair, waiting for me to sit.

  “People were waiting in line before us. Should we have been seated before them?” I asked, pointing to the noticeable line of patrons, ignored by everyone except for me, who now scoffed in our direction.

  “Don’t concern yourself with insignificant details.”

  “You refer to people as insignificant details?”

  “The owner of the café is a rather respected acquaintance of mine, and as a friendly gesture, he bestows me certain advantages when I have a meal here. Not that it matters really, my name holds a certain clout in this town, or perhaps you have not noticed.”

  How could one not notice Prince Thomas? Certainly, people admired him more for his money and political connections than his character, which was such a laughable word when used to describe the narcissistic man at my side. I wanted to slap the smile off his face. Antagonism and disrespect filled his every glance and every word he spoke, and his behavior further fueled my utter repulsion for him.

  “Is everything all right?” John asked, confused by Thomas’s sudden volume.

  “It seems Alexandra does not understand the advantages that the name Ludlow holds,” Thomas explained.

  Mary leaned over the table, flashing me a big smile. “I did not revel in the benefits from Duncan’s connections either, at first, but I have learned to enjoy them. As respected as my father is, the Cartwright name has bestowed me with amenities the Buchanan name would not have.”

  “Or any other name, darling,” Duncan added. He was another man devoid of character, and Prince Thomas’s lackey. I didn’t know what Mary saw in him. How could she choose a man like him over John?

  John let out a snort, and glared at Duncan.

  “I understand completely in regards to advantages,” I said, ignoring Mary’s comments. “All I’ve ever grown up knowing is the advantages business connections provide. I didn’t ask why we were allowed to be seated before people already waiting. I asked whether we should. It is a completely different point.”

  “The answer is yes, we should. My name is just as, if not more, respected as your Father's.” Thomas grabbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, and closed his eyes while he sat in his chair. “And, you do not have permission to ask such ridiculous questions.”

  “When did asking questions need permission?” John asked, crossing his arms after helping me take my seat and taking his chair himself.

  Thomas studied John, his eyes narrowed with thought. “Do not act as though you have never employed your name for entitlement over another, John, especially when we all know you have.”

  “And, when it doesn’t hold as much clout as you believe,” interrupted Duncan.

  “At least I don’t have to hide behind the name of others,” John rebuffed quickly. He ignored Duncan’s look of loathing and fixed his eyes on Thomas, unyielding to any distraction. “I’m not acting as though I have never employed my name, Thomas, nor was I questioning your reasons to do so this afternoon. My question is merely related to finding out why my sister has to obtain permission to make an inquiry.”

  “A woman should act properly at all times, John, and should not question a man, especially in public. Your father would agree with me.”

  John uncrossed his arms, sat up straight in his chair, and leaned his elbows on the table, clasping his hands together. “While I’m certain he would, Thomas, I would have to disagree that his opinion would support the cruel tre
atment you have shown to his own daughter.”

  Thomas shrugged. “An opinion we obviously don’t share.”

  “Obviously, we don’t,” John snapped.

  “John, neither my words nor my tone were cruel. I only meant to state a fact, not to attack Alexandra, as you seem so hell bent on accusing me of doing.”

  John opened his mouth to defend his opinion, but I silenced him, shaking my head and squeezing his arm. John grimaced, knowing his silence insinuated Thomas had won the argument. Of course, I sincerely doubted John had a chance of winning. Nothing John could say would change Thomas’s mind or behavior.

  Thomas, Mary, and Duncan chatted as if John and I weren’t at the table with them. My head became fuzzy as I desperately struggled to evade the immovable dullness of my surroundings, of the people in my company, and of the words spoken around the table. Though I enjoyed the sunshine, the uncomfortable air around the table choked me.

  Every few minutes Thomas wiped the condensation from his water glass and glanced in my direction. Ignoring him, I sipped my lemonade and watched people passing the café on foot and in carriages. Men and women walking the cobble footpath, children playing hide and seek around the trees, prancing ponies sweating in the heat of the afternoon, and old cart horses towing heavy carts slowly down the street. All distractions that were welcomed gifts, ones I greatly appreciated, at least for a moment.

  “Duncan, I think we should settle our unfinished business,” Thomas said, pointing down the street.

  My eyes followed his finger. He was pointing at the man who had just walked around the corner. A man, I wasn’t expecting. A man, I’d wanted to see, only not at this moment in time, and I nearly ripped my cloth napkin in half as my eyes focused on William. Strolling along down the cobbled footpath toward us, he laughed and talked to a young man and woman holding hands. All of them blissfully unaware they were being watched by someone else other than me.