The Lost Hours (23 page)

When Annabelle learned that I was going to make my debut (she’s three years older than me but her papa is getting paid in chickens and eggs these days and couldn’t afford a debut season—which was fine with her because, in her words, with the state of the world she had bigger fish to fry right now than finding a husband), she snuck me a copy of
The HardboiledVirgin
by Frances Newman. It’s a book that pokes fun at debutantes and Papa would horsewhip me if he knew I’d read it, and would make sure I never saw Annabelle again, but I laughed and laughed while I read it as I recognized me and my fellow debs.

 

Lillian stopped reading, and Helen didn’t say anything at first, unwilling to break the spell. Her head was filled with images of the ball, of men in black tuxes and Lillian all in white. And white and pink flowers overshadowed by glorious purple gladiolus. “Who was Freddie?”

“Josie’s brother. He worked in the stables here for a time. Annabelle practically grew up with him and Josie.” Lillian took a sip of her water. “It’s funny how I can barely remember yesterday, but I recall every single thing about that evening. I remember the feel of Charlie’s tux under my cheek and the way Papa’s cologne smelled. I remember being incredibly happy, even though Annabelle wasn’t there. It was . . . magical.”

“Are there any photographs?”

“Just one. We had a newspaper photographer there, of course, so that my picture would appear in the society pages. He gave me one of the photographs they didn’t use and I put it in the scrapbook. It’s of Charlie and me, at the dance. He was such a good dancer! My papa had hired an orchestra of local musicians and they played everything I asked them to. And Josie was there to sing—she had the voice of an angel—and even though I wasn’t allowed to talk to her socially, she sang all of my favorites. There were other boys there at the dance, but I don’t remember a single one. I just remember dancing with Charlie for most of the night. Dancing with him was magical. It made me feel breathless; he made me feel like I’d found a little piece of extraordinary.”

Helen smiled, an ache in her heart. “So you knew from early on that you wanted to marry Grandpa Charlie?”

Lillian didn’t answer right away, and Helen listened closely, almost hearing her grandmother searching for the right words.

“Do we ever know what we really want? It was so long ago and I was so young; I believe that what I wanted and what I felt about things changed almost daily.”

Helen listened to the rustle of paper, hoping it meant that her grandmother would continue reading. Instead, Malily said, “I’m suddenly very tired. I think I’m going to try to take a little nap before lunch. Could you please go tell Odella to come get me in an hour?”

Helen tried to hide the disappointment in her voice. “Sure. We can read more later when you’re rested.” She stood and took her grandmother’s hand, surprised that it no longer felt like the smooth debutante’s hand of her imagination, then leaned over to kiss the soft cheek. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

She’d made it to the door before she remembered the question that had been lurking in her mind as she’d listened to her grandmother’s story. “What charms did you add to the necklace?”

Lillian’s voice sounded tired, but Helen heard the lightness there, too. “I added three. I was never one who accepted limitations.” Helen imagined her grandmother smiling, recalling the girl she’d once been. “I added a woman’s shoe, because I’d felt like Cinderella at my debutante ball, and a lily.”

“And the third?”

“A heart.”

“For Grandpa Charlie?”

Her grandmother paused just for a moment. “For my first love.”

Helen smiled. “Have a good rest.” She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, nearly tripping over Mardi, who’d been lying across the doorway, waiting for her. She hummed a waltz to herself, imagining she wore lace and satin, with high-heeled dancing shoes, and she’d almost reached the stairway before it occurred to her that her grandmother hadn’t really answered her question.

I found the covered ring behind the stables, with Lucy and Sara already waiting for me. They wore brand-new riding gear, complete with riding crops, clean breeches, and shiny new paddock boots. Braided pigtails with bows on the ends poked out underneath black velvet riding hats.

As I approached, I could see their faces more clearly. Sara’s eyes were wide and apprehensive, and her bottom lip was red from being squeezed between her teeth. The look was familiar to me, as it filled the beginner classes at most of the horse shows I attended. My grandfather told me I had not once shown fear regardless of how big the horse, but it was common to see a tiny girl literally shaking in her boots the first time she was made to stand next to a horse and contemplate mounting it.

Lucy, however, was different. Her eyes were also wide with apprehension, but a certain light in her eyes and the way she stood showed more anticipation than anything. She looked to me like a girl bent on proving a point—yet another look I’d been overly familiar with.

For a moment, I stood watching and allowed myself to feel a small tremor of excitement, although I wasn’t sure if it was for the girls or for myself. A woman I hadn’t noticed before pushed away from the side rail and approached, her hand extended toward me.

“I’m Emily Kent, the girls’ nanny. You must be Earlene Smith, the horsewoman extraordinaire.”

The woman was very young, very pretty, and very blond with a wide, open smile and warm manner. I couldn’t help but smile back as I shook her hand. “I wouldn’t go that far, but I am here to give Lucy and Sara a riding lesson.”

Sara ran over to Emily and wrapped her arms around one of her legs. “We’re going to be e-ques-tree-ans,” she shouted, hopping up and down.

Emily reached down and scooped up the little girl, mindless of the dirt on her pants from Sara’s boots. “That’s right. Tell Miss Earlene that we’ve been reading about the different types of riding costumes, and the different kinds of horses and saddles.”

Sara nodded exuberantly. “We went to the library and got lots of books. Then Miss Emily took us shopping and we bought all these new riding clothes.”

“I can see that,” I said, unable to resist tugging on one of her pigtails. “There’s only one thing missing, though,” I said, looking pointedly at the otherwise empty ring.

Emily set Sara on her feet again. “Oh, you noticed that, did you?” She grinned. “Tucker’s bringing the ponies up from the stable—he’ll be here in just a minute. A friend of his is allowing him to borrow two of their school ponies until Tucker can determine if the girls even like riding. And if they seem to want to continue, he’ll take them shopping for their own ponies.”

Lucy, who’d remained silently watching us the whole time, walked slowly up to us and turned her dark eyes up to me. “I’m going to be a very good rider.”

I met her solemn gaze, recognizing the courage it had taken for this small, serious girl to tell me that, as well as something that reminded me of a younger version of myself. “And that’s the attitude you’ll need if you want to be. When I competed, there wasn’t a single competitor out there who thought they weren’t any good. Those with doubts had already dropped out.”

She nodded her head, satisfied with my answer.

“Do you still ride competitively?”

Emily’s question caught me by surprise and it took me a moment to answer. “No. I had an accident, so I don’t ride anymore.”

She nodded again, her lips pursed in thought. “I’m not trying to offend you, but I noticed you limping—I’m assuming from the accident.”

Sara saved me from answering. “She got really big boo-boos on her knee and that’s why she walks funny.”

“Sara!” Both Lucy and Emily spoke together in the same admonishing tone.

“It’s all right,” I said. “She’s right. I do walk funny and it is because of my scars.” I was beginning to find it easier the more I talked about it. As long as the questions didn’t go any further.

“Are you still doing physical therapy?”

I looked at Emily’s innocent expression and wondered if George had found a way to contact her so that she could harass me in his absence. “I did at first, but I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere so I just . . . stopped.” I didn’t see the need to explain that I’d also stopped doing everything else at the same time so it made it easier to no longer notice that I couldn’t walk without a limp.

“I’m not trying to be nosy. It’s just that I’m going to school at night to become a physical therapist, so I was curious about your type of injury and what sort of treatment you were given.”

I was about to ask her if she knew George Baker, but was thankfully interrupted by the appearance of Tucker leading two very small ponies, one even smaller and plumper than the first.

Tucker stopped in front of the girls, a pony on either side of him. “I tried to gift-wrap them, but Oreo here didn’t want to get in the box.” He sent them a shy smile.

“Silly Daddy,” Sara said as she moved to stand in front of Tucker, keeping a distance between her and the animals. “Which one’s Oreo?”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “It’s the black-and-white spotted one, stupid. Who would name a white pony Oreo?”

Emily glanced at Tucker before speaking to Lucy. “Lucy, you know you’re not supposed to call your sister names. Please apologize.”

After a frown and a heavy sigh, Lucy apologized, her voice even managing to sound sincere.

“I want Oreo,” Sara announced.

“That’s a good thing,” Tucker said. “Because that’s the one I thought would be perfect for you.”

I stepped forward. “Which one of you would like to go first?”

Sara pointed to her sister. “Lucy.”

I looked at Lucy, and when she nodded, I took the reins of the larger pony from Tucker and led him to the mounting block. Small, slow, and placid, he was the perfect horse for a first timer. It was also the perfect horse for me. I patted his neck before tightening his girth and checking the bridle. My fingers ran the irons down the leathers in motions I didn’t even have to think about—movements that were as much a part of me as breathing.

I turned to Lucy. “You ready?”

She nodded and approached the mounting block.

“Have you ever ridden before?”

Lucy glanced over at her father for a moment as if seeking his approval. “A few times, with Malily—until Mama found out and told us to stop. She didn’t think it was . . . safe or something. Sara was too little, so it was just me. Malily doesn’t ride anymore, but she told me what to do and we stayed inside the ring the whole time. But we didn’t use saddles or anything.”

“Oh, so you’ve ridden bareback. That’s a really great way to get a feel for a horse’s different gaits. We’ll be doing it a bit, too—especially at first. Right now I just want to get you comfortable on your mount and with your saddle. Do you need help getting on or do you think you can do it yourself?”