A Collar and Tie (Ganymede Quartet Book 4) (49 page)

“Oh! Sir!” Nurse was startled. She recovered immediately,
however, and laid her hand against his hair. “No matter how big you get, you’ll
always be my little boy.”

Henry made a soft noise in agreement and closed his eyes,
desperate for her affection.

Nurse combed her fingers through his hair, and it felt good,
comforting. It wasn’t as good as when Martin did it, of course, but Henry
suspected that nothing anyone did would ever be as good as Martin’s version.

“I’m proud of you, Sir,” she said softly. “You’ve grown up a
real gentleman.”

Henry kept his eyes closed and enjoyed the gentle touch of
her fingers. “Anything good about me is thanks to you, you know.”

“No, Sir, that’s not so. You were born sweet. All I did was
keep you safe.”

Henry lifted his head and opened his eyes, looking up at
her. “Give yourself more credit. I wouldn’t have the first idea about love if
it wasn’t for you always caring so much for me.”

“It’s kind of you to say so, Sir.” She reached for Henry
again and he laid his head back against her thigh and let his eyes fall closed.

Nurse stirred Henry’s hair with her fingertips and was quiet
a moment. “I’m not sure I taught you all you needed to know, Sir.”

“Huh?”

“About love, Sir.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you understand that you have to practice forgiveness,
too? That’s part of loving someone, Sir; that’s the difficult part.”

Henry felt his face grow hot. “I don’t want a lecture,” he
warned.

“Of course not, Sir. I only want you to be happy.”

Nurse said no more and continued to pet Henry’s hair. Her
thigh was warm beneath his cheek, and Henry kept his head on her lap long after
his neck began to crick just because he took such pleasure in being cared for.

Martin’s and Cora’s voices were a constant, a stream of soft
chatter punctuated with laughter. Henry let his thoughts drift, fantasizing
about life in the aftermath of an apology from Martin, all the good times
they’d have. He missed sex with Martin, of course, but it wasn’t just that. He
missed having conversations with someone so smart, so clever and interesting.
He missed hearing stories about Ganymede, learning about Hetaeria, being a part
of Martin’s life. What he had now was an obedient boy, giving perfect service,
but with none of Martin’s spark.

He opened his eyes and lifted his head on his stiff neck and
watched Martin playing with his little sister. He was animated and laughing, so
like his old self. He had only withdrawn from Henry; to everyone else, he was
the same lovely boy he’d always been.

All Henry had wanted was to be with him far away from anyone
who would hurt, judge or condemn them, and he couldn’t understand why Martin
hadn’t wanted that, too.

Tears welled in his eyes and he blinked rapidly to keep them
from falling, though he still needed to pull out his handkerchief and dab at
his eyes. “Dust,” he explained gruffly.

“It’s hard to keep tidy here, Sir,” Nurse said by way of
agreement. “Little Miss has such a great many toys and every one of them
collects dust.”

“Henry? Are you through napping yet?” Cora asked. “We need
you to come play with us.”

Martin smiled at him, friendly and fond and hopeful, and
Henry shook with the strength of his emotion. To be smiled at like that felt
like being taunted, mocked. He wanted to storm out of the nursery and go sulk
on his own, but he couldn’t let Nurse and Cora see that, and he wouldn’t give
Martin the satisfaction.

“I’m awake,” Henry told her. “Am I still being Brindle?” He
got up and crossed to the corner to retrieve his doll.

They played perhaps another half an hour before Paul arrived
with the lunch cart. During that time, Henry was tasked with arranging a little
china tea set so that Minnow and Celery might have their lunch. He was also
directed to change Brindle out of her pink dress and into a green one, and
Henry dimly remembered from the writing of Baby Ann’s will that this must be
the dress that Brindle would inherit.

Martin did a good voice for Minnow, making her seem feisty
and curious and maybe still a little bit bad, or at least mischievous, though
Cora seemed quite past having Minnow serve as the naughty doll, probably in
large part due to Martin’s excellence in the role. It seemed that Celery was
next in line for the throne being vacated by Baby Ann. Once again, in Henry’s
opinion, this was not Cora’s prettiest doll, and Henry wondered about the
criteria for favorites. Everyone had their own taste, he supposed—companion
choices being an excellent example of that. He had a mental picture of his
sister at 16 choosing the least-pretty companion at auction and renaming the
slave something peculiar, like Lettuce or Bobbin or Stirrup.

Minnow and Celery gossiped about the other toys in the
nursery, which meant Cora talked a great deal and Martin was mostly required to
say
Is that so, Miss?
in Minnow’s voice from time to time. Brindle’s
opinions were not solicited, and Henry was grateful for this. He picked idly
through a heap of doll dresses in a battered little trunk and watched Martin
while trying to behave as if he was not doing so, and he thought he pulled it
off all right.

Lunch was sandwiches—egg salad, chicken salad, or
ham-and-olive—along with bean soup, milk, and yellow cake with chocolate icing.
Cora was thrilled that they were eating with her and had to be told quite
sternly to compose herself and behave like a young lady several times during
the meal.

By unspoken agreement, Henry served himself—actually, Martin
ladled soup from the tureen for him, but he got his own sandwiches. Under
different circumstances, Henry would have loved this casual meal, he and Martin
behaving as equals.

After lunch, Cora caught Henry up on the doings in the
dollhouse. The sight of Dollhouse Henry and Dollhouse Martin snuggled in their
bed put a lump in Henry’s throat. Dollhouse Cora remained interested in the boy
dolls’ affairs to what Henry considered an unhealthy degree, but Henry could
not muster the energy to protest the presence of the little porcelain pest in
their bedroom.

Nurse said, “Miss? We need to think about getting ready to
go to see Miss Rose.”

“What?” Cora was busy trying to perch one of the circus
monkeys on the parlor wing chair.

“We made arrangements to see Miss Rose today, Miss, do you
remember?”

“Do we have to, Nurse? Can’t I stay here?”

“Miss Rose is your best friend, Miss. We wouldn’t want to
hurt her feelings or be rude. You can tell her what fun you had with the big
boys.”

“Did you know, Henry? Wendell never plays with Rose, and
neither does Ralph.”

“So you’re lucky, then,” Henry said. “You get to play with
both of us.” Just using the word ‘us’ gave him a little frisson of pleasure,
followed immediately by dismay. He felt his cheeks grow red and averted his
face so that Martin would not see.

“I guess so,” she said, though it was clear she would feel
luckier if she had more of their time and attention.

They said their goodbyes. Cora was very dramatic, and while
she was clinging to Martin, Nurse touched Henry’s arm and stood on her tiptoes
to speak close to his ear.

“Remember what I said, Sir, about forgiveness.”

Henry scowled and flinched away from her. Why should he
forgive someone who wouldn’t even apologize?

On the stairs down to the second floor, Martin said, “Thank
you for that, Sir. I always enjoy your sister so much,” and Henry waved him
off, cranky and irritable. He did his best to ignore Martin the rest of the
afternoon, napping on top of the bedspread with his boots on, and he dreamed
Martin’s face was cracked like Baby Ann’s, and Henry was frantic to make up with
him before his entire head fell to pieces, but his desperation made it
impossible.

They met Victor and Will again on Sunday to ride. Victor had
also invited Daniel and Allen. Diminutive Daniel was on a little sorrel mare,
practically a pony, and Allen was on a big black gelding. They entered the park
as a group, the slaves following behind.

“I actually invited everyone who has a horse,” Victor said,
“but most of the fellows aren’t very enthusiastic about riding. Don’t you think
it’s kind of odd that no one likes to do it?”

“Everyone wants to drive a carriage instead,” Daniel noted.
“Charles has that phaeton he’s so crazy about.”

“Louis
hates
horses,” Henry remarked, immediately
wishing he hadn’t. He actually didn’t want to talk about Louis. He gave
Marigold a little squeeze with his thighs and she picked up her pace.

“What’s to hate about a
horse
?” Victor scoffed.
“They’re pretty and you can ride them.”

Henry shrugged. “He got bitten pretty badly when we were
little,” he explained. “I don’t know. There might be other reasons by now.”

“What are you two fighting about, anyway?” Daniel asked.

“Who?” Henry asked, stalling while he scrambled for an
answer. “Me?”

“You and Louis. Why are you fighting?”

Henry blushed. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Is it about Abigail?”

“It’s about a lot of things,” Henry said, hoping they would
lose interest.

“You’ve been friends a really long time,” Daniel pointed
out. “It would be a shame if you couldn’t make up.”

“Yeah, well,” Henry agreed, and thankfully the subject was
dropped.

Halfway around the reservoir, Victor became curious which of
the slaves’ horses was fastest. “It won’t be Will’s, obviously,” Victor said,
“but Allen’s horse looks like a good one. What do you say we race them?”

Daniel was amenable and, when Henry dared a glance back,
Martin looked a little excited. Henry was tempted to disallow it, just to be
mean, but then he’d have to explain
why
to the others. It was easier to
just let Martin race.

Henry suggested they do as he’d done months before with
Ronald Hastings. Victor could whistle the loudest, so he’d give the signal. The
masters rode ahead about a half mile and brought their horses to a halt, Daniel
and Henry on one side of the path and Victor on the other.

“Do we want to make a wager?” Victor asked.

“A dollar to the winner,” Daniel suggested.

Henry shrugged acquiescence.

Victor whistled twice, loud and shrill, and they waited.
They heard the riders before they could see them coming around a curve in the
path. Will was clearly trailing, but Henry couldn’t tell if Martin or Allen was
in the lead. The riders drew closer in a thunder of hoofbeats. Victor and
Daniel were both shouting encouragement and Henry knew he ought to, as well,
for the sake of appearances, but he couldn’t muster the enthusiasm. They were
close enough that Henry could see the expression on Martin’s face, avid and
gleeful in the throes of competition, and suddenly he wanted Martin to win, for
Martin’s sake. He wanted Martin to be happy.

“Martin! Come on, Martin!” He clapped his hands loudly
enough to startle Marigold and was grinning as Martin crossed the finish line a
neck ahead of Allen.

Victor and Daniel both had crumpled dollars for him but, as
before, he said, “Give them to Martin. He won the race, after all.”

Allen and Will both had congratulations for Martin, and
Henry’s friends had given him their dollars, and now it was Henry’s turn to say
something.

He turned in the saddle and said a gruff, “Congratulations,”
and held out his hand.

Martin hesitated a moment and met his eyes, lip held between
his teeth, and put his hand in Henry’s. “Thank you, Sir.” Martin’s skin felt
dry and smooth and electric. He held onto Henry’s hand, almost clutching it,
and Henry had to pull hard to get his fingers back.

They headed for the gate at a leisurely pace. Henry’s hand
tingled and he could still feel the press of Martin’s fingers.

“So this Hastings fellow you raced with before,” Victor
began, “have you ridden with him a lot?”

“Just the one time, and then I saw him on the path another
time when I was with my little sister."

“Maybe he could come ride with us,” Victor suggested.

Henry shuddered. “Ugh. No. I only brought him up because he
seemed to have good ideas about how to do a race. I didn’t actually
like
the
guy. He was really pushy, and he said Algonquin is a dummy school.”

Daniel and Victor both laughed.

“Well, it kind of
is
, isn’t it?” Victor asked. “I
mean, not that any of us are actual
dummies
, but it’s not a
hard
school by any means.”

Henry found it plenty difficult, but he wasn’t about to say
so. His face grew hot and he turned away from his friends, pretending to find
the foliage along the path interesting.

The Hollingsworths kept their horses near the Spences, so
Henry said goodbye to his friends and rode for the Blackwell stables at a fast
clip, Martin hurrying behind him. Jerry and Arthur were there to receive the
horses, and they began to walk back home.

“Thank you for letting me race, Sir,” Martin said, tentative
yet eager. “Thank you for giving me such a special horse.”

“Huh,” Henry said, refusing to look at him.

“You’ve always given me special things, Sir,” Martin said
shyly, leaning close.

Henry veered away from him, unsettled by his proximity. He
didn’t want to be close enough to Martin that he might smell him or feel the
warmth of his skin. “You don’t get anything any other slave in our household
wouldn’t get,” Henry said grumpily. “You really don’t get any special
treatment.”

“That’s not true, Sir. There’s my violin and—”

“I’m not interested in arguing with you about it,” Henry
snapped. “And please don’t talk to me any more unless there’s something you
absolutely must say, all right?”

Cowed, Martin bowed his head and said, “Yes, Sir. Of course,
Sir,” and was quiet the rest of their walk home.