The Yonahlossee Riding Camp for Girls (27 page)

“Sandwiches. But they’re good.”

“Mrs. Holmes is back.”

“I know.”

I held my throbbing forehead in my hand and would not look at her.

“I’m sad,” I said, finally.

“But you knew she would come back.” Her voice was soft.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes. But isn’t that always how it is? You can see it coming, but you can’t stop it.”

She drew me to her in a hug, and I noticed how fiercely she did this, as if she was afraid I would refuse her. But I didn’t. Nobody had hugged me last year, after Georgie. Nobody had touched me.

—

T
he three top finishers—me, Jettie, Leona—were in the jump-off. I was first, not an enviable position, but I was glad to go. We had to be fast. I knew it would be between me and Leona; I had always known that. King was bigger, a more gifted athlete, but Naari was faster, as she’d proved that night long ago; and more than that, she was smarter. King was dull, unflappable. But if I could make Naari nervous enough, she would go as fast as she had that night, and we would win.

In the warm-up ring, I kept my eyes on the tips of Naari’s ears and walked her in circles, smaller and smaller until she was practically pirouetting. I wouldn’t let her trot—I wanted to reserve every bit of her energy. I hadn’t looked at Mr. Holmes but, oh, how he watched me. I could feel it. Mr. Albrecht looked at me curiously as I passed him. I should have been warming her up slowly, gradually working into the course, but in the end, rules were rules, and we both understood that. I could handle my horse however I pleased.

I wrapped the reins around my hands, something I had only heard about. It was stupid; if Naari refused a jump at the last instant, I would be pitched over her anyway, still attached to her by the reins; at the very least, I’d break both my arms. But I felt my old fearlessness rising up, as I always did before a difficult course. As I always did, when people were watching. And now this crowd included him and I felt so reckless; reckless, as I wrapped the reins so tightly around my hands the leather bit into my skin; reckless, as I heard Mr. Albrecht’s whistle and pressed Naari into a gallop.

I liked the fierce leverage wrapped reins brought; I bent my elbows and Naari slowed, quickly, and then I turned my toes out and dug my spurs into her sides, and I had her trapped, I had all her power harnessed between my legs and hands, beneath me. I’d never felt such energy, roiling beneath me like a violent wave.

We were going much too quickly; in a lesson Mr. Albrecht would have shouted at me to reduce our speed by half. All the white-clad girls were a blurry crowd, interrupted every few feet by a house mistress’s hat. If I’d wanted to find Mr. Holmes in the crowd I couldn’t have.

I cleared the water jump, felt Naari change her footing, and knew, as she collected herself in preparation for the oxer ahead of us—and then as she soared over it, her ears flat against her head in concentration—that we understood each other: I wanted to win, and she wanted to be rid of me, this confusing girl on her back, goading her forward with sharp pains on her flank, then holding her back with a terrible yank on the corner of her mouth; she tasted blood from the pressure of the seesawing bit, which flattened her tongue against her teeth, made it difficult to breathe.

Naari snorted in frustration. “Good,” I whispered to her, in beat to her canter, “good, good, good,” and as we approached the last combination—it was a dirty trick, to put the tallest jump last—I flapped my legs against her sides and moved my hands up her neck, and she felt the relief in her mouth, in her brain, and leapt forward.

This was a speed round, so knocking down jumps didn’t count against us, but I
needed
to clear this wall of bricks; I needed Mr. Holmes to see me do it. As we were suspended above the last jump—for a second, two seconds—I closed my eyes and for an instant imagined I was at home again, on top of Sasi, jumping out back, jumping into the great and unknown beyond.

I had to circle her five times before she finally walked. The crowd was utterly silent. I had cleared everything.

Leona trotted in on King, ignored me completely. But Mr. Albrecht caught my eye, and I noticed that all the girls around the ring were also watching: me, not Leona. I slapped Naari’s neck and she flinched.

“Cool her down well,” Mr. Albrecht murmured as we passed.

I nodded. I tried not to notice that everyone was staring. Mary Abbott stood by the entrance, and as I passed she grabbed my rein.

“No,” I said, furious, “let go.”

“What a ride,” she said, in a singsong voice, “what a ride. Good girl,” she said to Naari.

“Don’t touch her.”

Mary Abbott looked up at me, unsurprised, blew her bangs out of her face as she considered me. “If there’s a jump-off I bet you’ll win that, too. You’ll win everything today, if I had to guess.”

“Leave me alone,” I whispered, and nudged Naari into a trot, pulling her back into a walk when I had passed the crowd. I slid off her back and began to walk her in a circle, again watching Leona from a safe distance.

“You’re fine,” I murmured to Naari, but she didn’t respond, hung her head low, almost to the ground. I tried to dry the sweat from the raw places I’d spurred into her sides, each the size of a dime, but she flinched at my touch. I felt so horribly sorry, suddenly. For all of this.

A first-year I didn’t know by name—Holly?—scurried past, stared at Naari with wide eyes. When I tried to catch her eye, she looked away. Naari shuddered as a breeze swept past us, the air cool on her hot skin. The gentle, rushing sound of branches was all around us, and I felt suddenly calm, empty, free of whatever violent force had possessed me. I stroked Naari’s neck and wanted nothing more than to be magically transported back to my bed, a soft quilt pulled up to my neck.

It was hard to tell how fast Leona and King were going—he was so lanky he always seemed to be moving slowly, as if through water. They were a beautiful pair, Leona and King; I couldn’t help but admire them, the sheen of Leona’s navy boots a glossy contrast to King’s burnished coat. They were like royalty, I thought. Yonahlossee royalty. And soon they would mean nothing to this place, a barely remembered girl and her horse.

Again King cleared the final combination as if it were nothing.

—

T
he top three finishers—me, Jettie, Leona—filed into the ring. No one knew our times. I spoke softly to Naari, who pranced and arched her neck; Leona glared at me as Naari tried to overtake King.

“Check her!” she commanded. Leona would be fine, I knew; it seemed as if she could weather any of life’s storms.

“I’m tired of you always being first,” I said. This was easily becoming the second worst day of my life, but the flash of shock on Leona’s chiseled face was satisfying. I pushed Naari ahead of King.

I saw Henny next to the gate, chatting excitedly with someone I didn’t recognize until she turned her head and looked at me. Mrs. Holmes. Everything about her was shorter: her hair, which hung in a loose, small bun; her skirt, which no longer brushed the ground; her shirt, which was no longer fastened shut at the neck with a cameo but revealed a little bit of her pale skin. I felt dizzy, leaned forward in my saddle too quickly, as if I might faint.

“Are you well, Thea?” Mrs. Holmes asked. I looked at her, my mouth open. I could not hide my surprise. She looked fresher, as if she had returned from a spa. I could see how she had been pretty in her youth. Not beautiful, but pretty in a pert, compact way. I felt sick to my stomach.

“Yes, Thea,” Henny said, and her voice was cold. “Are you well?”

I nodded and walked past, avoided meeting Mrs. Holmes’s gaze, ignored Henny’s admonishment.

“Thea,” she called, “have you forgotten your manners entirely?” But I couldn’t face Mrs. Holmes; I couldn’t, not for anything, pretend to like her.

I had forgotten, of course, I’d forgotten everything. I’d forgotten she would return, lay claim to her husband, her life here. And yet, as I moved on into the ring, I still wanted to win.

We all turned our horses to face Mr. Albrecht and Rachel, who was awarding the garlands to our class. She smiled at me, her face freckled by the sun. She’d been gone for a month, but I guessed being the headmaster’s daughter afforded you certain privileges. Mr. Albrecht had his arm around Rachel; protectively, I thought. She was still loved, here. Her cheeks were rosy and she looked hopeful. Of course she was hopeful. Her parents reunited, her family all of one piece again. I saw Molly in the front row, chattering excitedly with another first-year. All the first-years still seemed like fillies, their wispy hair and long limbs. They didn’t seem to know where to put their hands and feet when they walked, how to control their legs that had grown so long so quickly.

“In a moment,” Mr. Albrecht announced, and the crowd fell silent, “we will have our results.”

Jettie was muttering to herself, furiously, and I turned and looked at her.

“Always staring,” she said, when she caught me looking, which was something Henny had said to me once. I was silent, closed my eyes against all the people.

When I opened them again I saw a mass of faces, all staring solemnly. This meant so much to all of us. I saw Martha conferring with Henny, and quiet Alice Hunt watching attentively. Molly, chewing on a fingernail. I knew so little about any of them, except Sissy. I knew enough about Eva to call her a friend.

Rachel caught my eye and then looked away, quickly, and I knew that I had won.

“And this has never happened before,” Mr. Albrecht began, standing in front of us, addressing the crowd. He could have been any man, from the back, his heavy English the only clue that he was not like the rest of us. “We have never before given the prize to a new girl.” He paused. I saw Henny whisper something to Mrs. Holmes, who shook her head. Everyone knew it was me now, of course; Mary Abbott beamed, and Katherine Hayes eyed me with interest. I watched Mrs. Holmes so I would not look at her husband, who I knew was standing near the back of the crowd, Decca on his hip. Mrs. Holmes watched me as well, a calm expression on her face.

“Horseback riding,” Mr. Albrecht continued, “is, if I may say so, a true partnership between human and beast, between the power of a person’s mind and the sheer force of a horse’s strength.”

“Get on with it,” Leona muttered quietly.

“And all is fair in the jumping ring, where there cannot be favorites, where what matters is skill and speed, in that order. Girls, it is a lesson that is well suited to life: in all your endeavors strive hard, and honestly, and great rewards will be yours.”

He took the simplest garland from Rachel, where the others hung on her arm in a neat row. He pinned the garland of greenery around the neck of Jettie’s horse, who flattened his ears and bared his teeth. Then a garland around King’s neck, while he stood patiently as Mr. Albrecht fiddled with the clasp.

“And our winner today, Theodora Atwell from Emathla, Florida, who has impressed us all with her daring and skill.” Mr. Holmes entered the ring, passed by his wife and Henny with a nod of his head.

He pinched Rachel’s cheek after he took the garland from her arm, and she turned her face in embarrassment. Panic swelled in my throat. I didn’t want him so close, but then there he was, so near I could see the part in his dark hair. Another Yonahlossee tradition.

“Thea,” he murmured, “well done.” He patted Naari’s neck, gingerly, as only a person unacquainted with a horse would do. Then he fastened the garland around Naari’s neck. Forsythia dotted with purple creeping phlox, the first bloom of each. And who would have thought that such an unlikely combination—the former so startling, almost electric; the latter so delicate—would have been beautiful? Mrs. Holmes would have thought of it. Mrs. Holmes was back in time to tend to her garden.

She was tending to Decca now, in the crowd, dark and lovely Decca. Mrs. Holmes did not deserve what I had done.

King backed up, suddenly wary of the garland, and Leona dug her spurs into his sides. Mr. Holmes hurried Rachel over to the side of the ring. My mouth was very dry; to deny myself water was a punishment, the best one I could think of right now.

“It is fine, King,” Mr. Albrecht said, and King’s ears darted in his direction, and I felt so sorry for him, his master turned cruel over a loss he could not comprehend. I clucked, and King turned his head in my direction, eager for comfort, and Leona’s face, for the first time, was easy to decipher: I should not have won. I knew in my bones that this was all over.

In books it was more of a gradual dawning, a slow and painful recognition. But I knew in an instant that Leona wanted to do me harm any way she could. I had gotten in the way of the one thing in the world she cared about: her last chance.

And I would not take it back. I would die before I’d lose. I was so good on a horse because I was fearless. I had always impressed people with my willingness to try jumps that were too high and wide for such a small girl. And now I licked my chapped lips and sought out Mr. Holmes. He held Rachel’s hand at the edge of the ring. Everyone was watching Leona, who was making a spectacle of herself, spurring King into a frenzy. But Mr. Holmes watched me, as I knew he would. When I met his eyes he shook his head, sadly, and if I could have turned a knife in my heart, I would have.

Instead I waited, like a good girl, waited for Jettie, then Leona, to complete her victory lap, then took my own, the applause thunderous, like a warning; waited for the photographer to take my picture, waited for Mr. Holmes to disappear with his family into the woods. Waited while a hundred girls congratulated me, my ugly riding forgiven.

“Oh, how pretty,” they said, and touched Naari’s neck, one by one.

Then I guided Naari out of the ring, walked past the barn and up the mountain on a trail that wound its way through the forest for a few miles before you came to a clearing. It was the only trail that didn’t take you back, eventually, to the barn—it went all the way to Asheville via an old mining road. Or so I’d heard.

I gave Naari her head and untied my garland, the forsythia already bent, the phlox bruised, and dropped it somewhere in the woods. I’d ridden my horse too hard, with everyone watching. I didn’t regret that. I’d ridden too hard for this particular competition, but I’d won.