Rite of Passage (12 page)

I bolted upright. Wide awake.

Collapsing onto my rumpled bedclothes, perspiration ran down my face. My breathing was heavy and rapid. A tiny part of me was frightened, but most of me wanted desperately to return to Courtney and the dream. While I knew I’d been asleep, Courtney’s jasmine scent lingered and surrounded me.

I lay drained, letting my breathing return to normal, trying to remember every detail. I knew I’d been dreaming, but the images were so real, so vivid I found myself wondering. I remembered the phantom glow in the forest. Was talk of witchcraft and mystery invading my subconscious? I turned and saw the small clock on my night table. Two-fifteen.

Swallowing deeply, I slipped out of bed, making my way to the bathroom. After splashing cold water on my face, I pulled out a vial of sleeping pills. I had to sleep if I wanted to be alert for my day with Courtney. Popping one in my mouth, I saw the name of the prescribing physician: Dr. Thomas Worthington. Rachel’s father.

Chapter Eighteen

I was up at 6:30, driven by desire. Thoughts of the strange, provocative dream haunted me. I showered, shaved and ran out to the courtyard, knowing I was thirty minutes early. Courtney stood facing me.

“Good morning,” she whispered. “I knew you’d be early.” She paced, twirling her hair. It was tied into short loose braids, each with a large pink ribbon at its end. A matching scarf adorned her neck. She looked lovely, but there was something different about her this morning. My upbeat Courtney of Friday and Saturday was gone. This was the shy, enigmatic girl I’d met on Thursday evening. Did she question her decision to invite me on this adventure, concerned about what was happening between us? Or was there something else, still another mystery I was unaware of?

“I didn’t imagine you’d have the proper attire, so I brought you these.” She crossed the small distance separating us and held out a pair of riding breeches, boots, and gloves. I stared at them. “They’ll fit,” she promised. I examined them. The sizes were perfect.

She glanced at her watch.

“Are you all right? I asked. “You did say 7:30?”

She smiled faintly, nodding. “Yes. You’re very early.”

“So are you. I couldn’t wait,” I confessed.

“Neither could I. I want this day to be perfect.”

“It will be.” She looked so sweet, so young, so vulnerable. I wanted to reach out, take her in my arms, and tell her that she was all I’d thought about since our first meeting. I resisted, assuring her, “I’m just so happy you asked me. I’ll go and change.” I went inside, emerging in ten minutes.

Courtney continued fidgeting with her braids. She looked at me and then at the ground. “I told you. My life’s been solitary. I’ve never done this—gone for a whole day, alone with a man before. I suppose I’m nervous.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. Promise,” I said. “And the riding clothes are amazing.” I gestured toward the outfit she’d produced. “How did you manage it? It’s perfect.”

“Magic.” She shrugged. For an instant the playful gleam returned. “And I was never worried about your being a proper gentleman.” She touched my arm as if to reassure me. “I know you too well, Robbie.”

I smiled, trying to ignore her mood swing. I stared at her, trying to fathom the cause of her melancholy, remembering what I’d learned about her life—the tragedy, the mysteries, her loneliness.

Courtney was flawlessly attired as always, resplendent in snug, beige jodhpurs, a sheer white blouse, open at the neck, and a pair of highly polished field boots. On the chaise beside her lay a black riding helmet with gloves tucked inside. A black leather crop rested on top of two bulging leather saddlebags.

She studied me, fingering the silver medallion around her neck. A tiny smile crossed her lips. “They have everything else you’ll need at the stables. Auntie has an account there.”

“All right, but remember what I told you. I haven’t done much riding lately.”

“You’ll do just fine.” Her face reddened.

I blushed at the compliment. “All right, but you’ve been warned.”

She tilted her head. “I’ll whip you into shape.” A spark of the other Courtney, my Courtney, emerged as she fingered the crop, snapping it as she raised her eyebrows. She touched my arm lightly again, putting a piece of gum in her mouth.

“Breakfast?” I teased.

She shook her head, blushing and putting her hand to her mouth. “No, that’s in the saddlebags. I can taste the garlic from dinner last night. I don’t want anything to spoil our day together.”

“Nothing could spoil our day together,” I assured her. Every day with her had been special, perfect. If Courtney bathed in garlic, it wouldn’t have mattered.

“Robert,” she asked hesitantly. “Will you remember me when…” She couldn’t finish.

I stood frozen, trying to avoid the thought of leaving, the possibility of never seeing her again. Despite the circumstances, I refused to consider the idea of leaving Courtney.

“Don’t ask me that,” I whispered. “You know I could never forget you.” My words sounded hollow, patronizing. I wanted to say much more.

She sighed deeply. “We’ll remember today,” she whispered back, looking away. When she turned toward me, her eyes showed a trace of tears. Her words haunted me. I reached over and squeezed her hand. Our fingers intertwined briefly. A dark look spoiled her exquisite face. “Let’s go. It’s getting late.”

She picked up her helmet, gloves, and crop as she hefted the saddlebags.

“May I carry those?”

“No, I’m fine,” she shook her head. “And I’m sorry, Robbie. I’m not trying to be a prima donna.”

“I never thought that. I know your life has been difficult.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “And don’t worry. We
will
make today something special,” I repeated, trying to sound cheerful as we headed down the gravel driveway toward the gate. “It’s going to be hot. I could drive,” I offered, refusing to think about leaving her.

Courtney shook her head. “Thanks. If it’s all right with you, I’d rather walk. I find it clears my head.”

I nodded. Sweat threaded its way between my shoulder blades.

“I guess I’m what you Yanks call a loner.”

“I know you’ve been through a lot,” I said. “But I don’t think of you like that. You’re charming, thoughtful. You have a wonderful sense of humor.”

“That’s very sweet. But I’ve spent so much time alone, there are things I’m not good at. I feel clumsy sometimes. So bear with me.” Her words stopped. Her dark eyes looked cloudy. They seemed to be filling up again. She took a deep breath and stepped out with a purpose. This
was
a different Courtney. Where had my sweet, charming companion vanished? Even the way she looked at me was strange. There was something about it—as if she was searching for an answer.

“Is everything all right?” I asked. “You seem preoccupied. If you’re not feeling well, or there’s something wrong, we don’t have to do this.”

“No, please.” She seemed agitated. “We have to do this today.” Her reply had an ominous tone, one of finality. I tried not to think about the meaning.

We arrived at the stables before 7:15. Courtney brightened, her melancholy lost in conversation about the heat, her love of riding, and the evening’s fireworks. We entered the office. She was immediately embraced by a slender, middle-aged woman.

“Here’s our best customer, come for her workout.” The woman spoke with an accent similar to Courtney’s.

“Wendy, can I see him?” she asked, then gestured toward me. “My friend Robert needs a tame mount.”

The woman nodded as Courtney looked at me, eyes gleaming.

“Be right back. I
promise.” She touched my arm, running into the stable.

“Very tame, Wendy,” I pleaded.

She nodded and held out her hand.

“I understand. I’m Wendy Wilkins. Robert?”

“Yes, Robert McGregor. I’m a guest at the Evanses’ for the reunion.”

She looked toward the barn and came close. “That’s the first time I’ve seen Courtney smile.” Wendy touched my arm. “You’re good medicine. She’s been our most faithful customer for weeks. Be careful,” Wendy continued, nodding. Her light eyes sparkled and her smile was infectious, even captivating. I liked her at once. “She’ll put you through your paces. You should see her in the show ring. The finest young rider I’ve ever seen.”

“Maybe she’ll take pity on me.”

“If you’ll pardon my saying it, sir”—her eyes followed Courtney—“I don’t think she sees you as an object of pity.” Her face flushed.

In a few minutes, Courtney burst in from the stables. “Well, are you ready?”

“Sure.” I turned toward the woman. “What have you got for me, Wendy?”

She led us into the stable, the pungent fragrance filling my nostrils. We surveyed the mounts. Courtney had already saddled and bridled her gelding. He was impressive-looking, breathing loudly, snorting, and pawing impatiently at the straw in his stall. I noticed that as soon as Courtney touched his snout he calmed and licked her hand.

Wendy gave Courtney a sly grin. “How about Pumpkin Patch for Robert?”

They exchanged glances.

“The perfect choice,” Courtney agreed.

“Pumpkin Patch?” I protested. “Sounds like something for old ladies or little girls.”

The two women burst into laughter.

“Don’t let his name fool you, sir. He’ll test your abilities. Right, Courtney?”

She nodded, heading to the tack room, hefting a blanket, saddle, bridle, and halter. Dropping her load, she went back, returning with a riding helmet. She held it up, judging the size.

“Looks about right. Try it on.” Courtney handed it to me. I did. “Come on.” She put her hands on her hips. “I’m not doing this by myself.” She pointed to the saddle. When I picked it up, she pushed me toward the stall, grinning.

Wendy hid a smile.

Courtney noticed. “Hey, you two. No secrets. Robbie and I have work to do.”

Wendy gave me a nod as she headed back to the office.

“Don’t forget these.” She reappeared with Courtney’s packed saddlebags.

“Thanks.” Courtney retrieved the bridle and bit. “Let’s get back to your mount.” She walked me through the process, like a teacher with a slow student.

“I have done this before,” I assured her.

I noticed with amazement that every time Courtney touched one of the horses, they grew calm and nuzzled against her.

“That’s quite a gift you have.”

She smiled, dismissing the compliment. “I told you. It’s just a way I have with them.”

As we led our mounts from the barn, Wendy waved. “Enjoy your ride.”

“Well. You two seemed to hit it off.” Courtney stood with a curious look on her face. She tightened her helmet strap and pulled on her gloves.

“What can I say? She warned me to watch out. Said you might try to take advantage of me.” I shrugged.

“Be careful. Wendy’s become a good friend.” Courtney laughed, holding my eyes with hers, adding, “She may be right.” Then turning, she slipped effortlessly up onto her mount.

We proceeded along bridal paths for an hour. At the first fork, Courtney headed west, leading us slowly upward through rich birch and oak groves. We emerged into a spectacular green and golden meadow. Magnificent views of the White Mountains and the fertile valley below appeared, a postcard spread out before us.

Galloping across the lush open space, we reached a stand of ancient fir trees on the far side. We rode side by side when the trail allowed. Courtney was more than a lovely companion. Riding energized her. She described the movement of the tectonic plates, the formation of the distant mountain range, and the last Ice Age like a geology professor. Nothing escaped her eye for detail. Every species of tree, bird, or wildflower was identified at a glance. And all in a pleasant, matter-of-fact way, as if she were telling a child a bedtime story.

“How did you learn so much?” I asked in awe.

“I love to read and discover things, Robert. I
told you it was lonely on Briarwood. On rainy days my favorite companions were the
Encyclopedia Britannica
and the
Oxford English Dictionary
. When the weather was pleasant, I spent hours riding and exploring the meadows and highlands from horseback. Mummy and Simon were wonderful teachers.” As she spoke, she reined up and looked at me. “You could say I’m wise beyond my years.” She gave me a coy smile, nudged her horse, and moved on.

Courtney amazed me. But despite her intellect, delightful sense of humor, and graceful movements, my mind was more on biology than nature studies. She presented a striking, fluid figure as she and her mount moved effortlessly along every trail and across each meadow.

When the trail narrowed, we rode single file, continuing the casual conversation about the scenery or wildlife when we could, working our way up the easy, rolling slopes that crested on a bluff overlooking the mountains and lakes of Western Maine.

To call Courtney a wonderful rider was a mastery of understatement. She and her mount took the lead, moving as one, expertly negotiating every rise and dip in the trail. As we rode, Courtney would bend close to her gelding’s ear, whispering as if sharing a secret with him. Each time, the animal would shake his head and canter forward playfully.

“It’s very hot. Let’s stop and rest,” she suggested, pulling up after ninety minutes. “I have some things for breakfast.”

“Why not?” Having been away from riding for several years, I was already sore and tired in places I hadn’t been in ages.

As we dismounted, Courtney stopped to talk to our mounts. Both shook their heads. She joined me, bringing the saddlebags, leaving both horses to graze unfettered. We headed toward the shade of a large, sheltering oak. It was very warm. Sweat soaked through my light polo shirt and Courtney’s clothing showed signs of moisture as she walked in front of me. I found it difficult to avoid watching Courtney’s graceful movements in her riding clothes. As with everything she wore, the outfit was expensive and fit as if tailored to her figure.

I gathered some grass to soften a place under the massive limbs.

“Thank you so much,” she whispered as we sat down.

“My pleasure. I needed something soft after an hour and a half in the saddle. I told you…”