Saratoga Sunrise (11 page)

Soon everyone returned from their tour of the stables, and they left in Bond's carriage for the track. Jack stared at the departing carriage wishing his relationship with Sara was back to the delightful way it was when she was sneaking a ride on Seawind and when they were picnicking by the spring.

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Sara felt the familiar excitement well up inside her as the horses paraded to the starting line. A small band played what she thought was supposed to be a Sousa march, but it needed a faster beat. She could tell that Lucky Clover didn't like the music at all. Clover shook her head in the direction of the band and let out a mighty snort. Her father chuckled as did Aunt Trixie.

Toady Evans, their jockey, looked particularly dashing in his new silks made of the Peterson colors, green and blue. "Grass and sky" she remembered her mother saying as she picked the colors many years ago.

The colors reminded Sara of the sky and the field that she and Jack walked through yesterday when they walked to the spring.

Why did everything have to remind her of him?

But maybe Jack and Clara had shared the same walk to the same spring. Maybe they knew each other as children. Sara knew she had to question Clara about Jack as soon as she could and wondered, not for the first time, why Clara didn't tell her that she knew Jack. And what were they fighting about in the shadows of the courtyard?

Sara pushed these thoughts to the back of her mind so she could concentrate on the present. As she looked around the magnificent grandstand at the assembled crowd, she noticed that there wasn't a chair that wasn't occupied, except perhaps very high up.

From her position in her father's box, Sara glanced at Monty next to her. His usually pleasant face was somewhat puffy today and his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. He looked dreadful.

She took out her pink fan from Paris and fanned herself. There was hardly any breeze, and the smell of stale cigar smoke and stale liquor hung heavy around him. He seemed to have tried to mask the smell with an extra amount of hair tonic. The mix was overwhelmingly cloying in the humidity.

She looked over at her Aunt Trixie whose fan was already moving. "What is that dreadful smell?" her aunt whispered.

Sara put her finger over her lips and giggled. "Shh! I think it's Montague."

Her aunt shook her head and rolled her eyes. "For heaven's sake."

The discharge of the starter's pistol made them all jump. The horses lunged forward. Toady kept Lucky Clover close to the inside. Sara held her breath until the horses lined up. Clover was third in line. She held up her binoculars and could see Toady riding over Clover's head. Sit back a little, Toady. Clover doesn't like it when you hang over him. Toady finally moved back, and Clover moved into second place at the half. Sara clapped. Oh, how she wanted to cheer at the top of her lungs, but she didn't dare. It wasn't ladylike.

Sara held her breath again. It was the home stretch. Clover was running neck-to-neck with Lady Ann, a fine horse, but she knew Clover could beat him. She let out her breath in a rush and screamed, "Run Clover! Run! You can do it!"

Montague looked down at her as if she'd just lost her mind. She ignored him and grabbed Aunt Trixie's hand and squeezed it until the race was over.

Lucky Clover had won by a nose over Lady Ann!

"That was a wonderful race if I say so myself. I hope you had your money on Lucky Clover, Monty. She'll bring a good pot. Oh, of course you bet on her." Bond shook Montague's hand, then hugged Sara and Trixie.

Her father looked away to accept other congratulations from those around him before he could see the look on Monty's face, but Sara saw it. She knew immediately that Monty had not put his money on Lucky Clover, and he had lost. Judging by his scowl, he’d lost big.

Bond turned toward them and grinned. "Will you join me in the winner's circle, ladies?"

Sara didn't want to walk down the many steep stairs to the winner's circle. She knew it would be a difficult descent and an awkward return to her seat. Thousands of eyes would be watching her. "Aunt Trixie, please go with Daddy."

Her aunt opened her mouth to protest, but Sara motioned at the stairs. Her aunt winked at her, then turned to Bond. "Let's leave the lovebirds alone for a few minutes, Bond. I'll go with you."

Her father held out his hand, and Sara noticed the blush that suddenly colored Aunt Trixie’s cheeks. They went down the stairs to the winner's circle as the spectators applauded.

The second they left their box, so did Monty. He mumbled something about getting something to drink and left her alone. He didn’t even ask her if she wanted something. She didn't care. It was better than trying to think of something to say to him.

Her heart fluttered when she saw Jack leading Lucky Clover to the winner's circle. He never wore a hat, but today he did. The sleeves of his white cotton shirt were rolled up, giving a glimpse of tanned arms. He wore fawn-colored trousers tucked into high black boots. He looked wonderfully handsome.

His eyes scanned the crowd. Was he looking for her?

Jack spotted her, smiled and waved. Before she could stop herself, she grinned and waved back. Then she remembered the conversation she'd overheard between him and Clara, and her heart ached.

"Why Sara Peterson, you couldn't possibly be waving to that groom. She just couldn’t be. What do you think, Leanne?

Sara's stomach clutched at the shrill voice.

"Heavens, Suzette, our Sara wouldn't be flirting with a groom when she is betrothed. You simply must be mistaken."

"Leanne, I saw it with my own eyes. Just as Mr. Fordice left the box, she had her eyes on another man–that groom down there. The one to whom she just waved."

Sara's face flamed. Her luck in escaping the dreaded sisters thus far had just run out.

"Well, hello, Suzette, Leanne. I see you both are looking particularly...fine." She looked up to see the two women standing by her box. She stifled the urge to laugh at their overdone costumes, heavily feathered hats, and lacy frills that drooped in the humidity.

"I must say, Suzette, he is rather handsome if one likes penniless, smelly grooms."

"If you have something to say, Leanne, how about saying it to me?" Sara dug her fingernails into her palms, and prayed that her aunt and father would return to rescue her.

"Well, Sara? Do you have eyes for that groom, or don't you?" Leanne demanded.

"I don't have to answer to you. It's none of your concern, nor your sister’s." Sara kept her voice low and steady even though her heart was beating wildly. There were too many ears around her already that no doubt had heard the insipid remarks of the dreaded duo. Sara was pleased with herself that she'd found the wherewithal not to remain silent as she might have once before.

"Oooo! She does like him. How delicious!" Suzette screeched, clapping her gloved hands. They made a dull sound that seemed to rise above the din of the crowd.

"I can't wait to spread the news! Why mother will be just mortified when I tell her." Leanne's dull gray eyes took on an evil glint.

"Let me tell mother," Suzette wailed.

"Why don't you both go tell her and let me be?" Sara suggested.

"Can you believe, she doesn't even deny it?" one of the dreaded sisters said to the other as they hurried away, heads together, looking like two ornate partridges.

"Honestly!" Sara said under her breath. "What next? I thought this was going to be a wonderful season, but it's been nothing but a disaster so far." She sighed as she watched her father and aunt return to their seats. Her father beamed with pride and her aunt looked happy and natural beside him. But they wouldn't be happy for long. Not when gossip about Jack and her started racing around the Springs like a thoroughbred horse.

The horses were parading onto the track for the second race now.

"Where did Monty go?" her father asked.

"I think he went for a drink," Sara explained.

Bond's eyes narrowed. "What the deuce is he thinking, leaving you sitting here all alone?"

"I was fine, daddy. I had visitors. Suzette and Leanne Dredmar."

Aunt Trixie grimaced. "Those silly geese? What on earth did they want?"

"Nothing very exciting, Aunt Trixie. Nothing at all."

"Why don't you ask them to the cottage for tea? They are your age, and you don't seem to have many friends here, other than Clara," her father said.

"I have many friends here, Daddy." She counted them on her fingers. "Chef Morris, Porky and Mike, and Toady and–"

"They are the help around here, along with Clara. Porky and Mike are just locals and the track regulars. You need some friends your own age," her father stated.

"I don't like Suzette and Leanne, father, so I stay away from them. They are not kind people. The people who I call my friends stand by me and would never hurt me." Her voice was firm and direct, and judging by her father's reaction, he was taken aback.

Her aunt patted her hand, and whispered. "Good for you, dearest."

She certainly got that gumption from somewhere, and it was easier than she thought.

She thought about Clara and hoped that her friend would tell her what she and Jack were arguing about last night. She hadn't seen Clara today, but she knew she'd be at the ball at the Grand Union. She'd definitely ask her about Jack, if Clara didn't volunteer the information first.

The starter's pistol signaled the second race. Toady was now riding Comet, and Sara hoped the jockey wasn't tired from the first race for she had asked Porky and Mike to place an "if come" bet for her. If Lucky Clover came in first, then her winnings would be parlayed and bet on Comet. If Comet lost, she would lose all of her winnings.

She knew that gambling wasn't proper, but she told herself that she was just showing support for her horses. She had all her winnings saved–saved for the dream that she held in her heart–the dream of owning her own horse ranch.

Comet won by four lengths, and her dream seemed a little more obtainable.

CHAPTER 7

The ball at the Grand Union was truly a spectacular event. Revelers could dance indoors in the main ballroom under the crystal chandeliers, or dance outdoors under the Chinese lanterns that were strung through the trees in the interior courtyard. Townsfolk danced and mingled with the rich and famous, often gaining business advice or being privy to a business deal or the latest fashion news.

Sara entered the courtyard on the arm of Montague Fordice, but her eyes scanned the guests for Jack Summers.

"Looking for someone, my dear?" Monty hissed. “I hope you’re not looking for that odious groom with whom you seem so enchanted."

Sara could do nothing else but stare at him. He was such an irritating person. How could she have even entertained the thought of marrying him?

"Don't look so astonished, dearest." His voice was heavy with sarcasm. "All of Saratoga is talking about you being moon-eyed every time he's nearby."

She looked into his dark eyes and was frightened by what she saw. His eyes were cold, and his face was contorted into an evil mask. She withdrew her arm from his and thought how the dreadful Dredmar sisters didn't waste any time spreading their gossip.

"I might remind you that we are to be officially engaged soon. When is that engagement party, my dear? Ah, yes. It's only a few days away. The night before the Travers, isn't it?"

"Y-Yes, but–"

"You’d best forget about your horse groom, Sara. I, myself, know he's at Canfield's Casino every night and that he frequents the houses of Grace Sinclair and Hattie Adams." Monty paused to take several puffs on his cigar and blow it into the air above her head. "You know who Grace and Hattie are, don't you? They are ladies of the evening."

Sara watched his lips form the words, but they really didn't register.

"They have several fair flowers in their employ at their brothels."

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her reaction, but she stood steadfast and stared blankly at him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he shocked her.

Still Montague persisted. "So, see. . . your horse handler has been quite busy with his evenings, so you needn't look for him. He's probably with one of them right now."

"How do you know such a thing, Mr. Fordice? Perhaps you frequent the establishment yourself." Sara would die a thousand times before she let Monty know how his words hurt her.

He cleared his throat. "I-I have it on excellent authority."

"I’d bet with Philly Phil that you are wrong. You know about those particular ladies of the evening because obviously you’ve been there yourself.” Sara flattened down the side of her ice blue Worth gown, so the beautiful fabric wouldn't come in contact with any part of the vile man next to her. “Excuse me. I’d like to freshen up.”

She walked as fast as her legs would carry her, all the while blinking back tears. Hearing his evil chuckle, she vowed not to return to him this evening–or ever.

She had to simply think of another way to get her horse farm. Maybe Jack Summers would be her partner? Or maybe he’d work for her. Maybe they could have a marriage, in name only...

The thought of marrying Jack sent an excited shiver through her. She thought of his kiss, his touch. With Jack, she wouldn't want a marriage in name only.

She thought of the marital bed and touching Jack’s warm, bare skin. He would see her naked in turn, see her mangled leg and foot and that fact that she didn't have bosoms. She wouldn't be able to endure the disgust on his face.

"Sara? Sara! Where are you going?"

It was Clara, but she couldn't face Clara now. Not just yet.

Sara hurried toward the edge of the courtyard to a dark, quiet spot away from the dancers. She needed to compose herself and think.

"Sara! I know you heard me calling. Is something wrong?"

"Yes, many things are wrong, but I don't want to talk about any of them right now."

Sara found a secluded spot with a white wrought iron table and matching chairs and wearily sat down. In front of her, a three-tiered fountain gurgled soothingly. Making sure that no one was nearby, she stretched her bad leg out and lifted it onto the seat of an empty chair. Leaning back with a heavy sigh, she tried to wipe her watery eyes as inconspicuously as possible.