Taking the Reins (16 page)

Katherine's face lit up. “I'd love to,” she said, “just a couple of times around the field, then we must walk a bit. There's something I need to tell you. It's so exciting I can hardly wait!”

“There's something I need to tell you too,” Emma said, and immediately wished she hadn't. She needed more time to think this through.

Twenty minutes later the girls walked their horses side by side around the field, Katherine on Princess and Emma again riding Nugget. “What is it you want to say?” Katherine asked.

“Me?” Confronted with the chance to speak, Emma couldn't find words to get started. “It's not so important, why don't you go first?”

“No really,” Katherine insisted, “you seem worried about something. Please tell me.”

Before Emma could answer, Nugget stopped right there on the spot. Princess, never one to miss out on a rest break, stopped beside her. Emma needed to tell Katherine now, that or look foolish. “All right then, here's the problem.”

Katherine listened while Emma explained how Tall Joe and the others had conspired against her. A little smile crept across Katherine's face when Emma said how the men planned on going off to search for farmland, leaving her behind where she'd never have a chance to say what she liked or didn't like or which farm to buy or where. Katherine didn't interrupt once, only listened with that annoying little smile growing bigger.

Emma's anger surged, not at the men but at Katherine.
Look at her, sitting there grinning like this was all a great joke.
Emma's cheeks burned, a hard knot gathered beneath her ribs, pressing outward, making it impossible to think clearly. Why did she ever think to trust Katherine? The girl was no different from those three men and Emma should never have told her anything at all.
And when would she learn, foolish girl that she was? No good ever came of telling your problems to others.

Emma's first impulse was to turn Nugget's head, tap her sides, and gallop away. But she had almost finished her story and so spat out the last sentence. As if Katherine would care. “And those three up and left this very morning and never gave me a chance to get ready and come along.”

Katherine's smile turned into surprise. “They've left?
Already? Today? Oh, and just when I had some perfect
ly wonderful news from Mr. Roberts. Emma, I've been bursting to tell you!” She put her hand to her forehead, “And I planned for us to discuss it with your father this Sunday when he came to watch you ride!”

“An' ‘aven't you heard a word I said?” Emma snapped. “I thought you would be angry as me, the way those men took off without a hint of their plans until the last minute when I couldn't do a thing about it. And Edward! He was in on it and could have told me if he wanted. And now you too! I thought you would be on my side, but you only sit there smiling like you've gone daft and talking about some wonderful news of your own. There's no one in this world can be trusted.”

“Oh, but Emma, I am on your side, you've got to believe me! Wait while I tell you.” Katherine twisted in the saddle to pull some folded papers from the large pocket of her skirt. “This very day I got the letter I've been waiting for. It's from Mr. Roberts, the store owner I told you about in Yale, remember?” Katherine unfolded the paper. “Here, just read this and you'll understand.” She held it out to Emma.

Emma stared at the letter, covered in scratchy ink marks. She couldn't raise her eyes. How could she tell Katherine she never did learn to read?

Katherine waited for a long moment then pulled the letter back. “I'll read it out loud. The man's handwriting is difficult to follow.”

Dear Miss Harris,

I hope this finds you well and that you are enjoying your schooling in Victoria.

Your letter arrived safely here in Jamaica and I must say I was happy to hear from you. My time here on the island has flown past far too quickly. I have been helping my brother run the plantation since my arrival.

Your friend, Miss Curtis, sounds to be a wonderful companion for you and it pleases me to know that you are not so lonely as you were on the farm.

As it turns out, your suggestion came at a most opportune time. I would like very much to remain in Jamaica and help manage my brother's plantation. Therefore, I had been hoping for a way to avoid returning to Yale in order to divest myself of my store and property. I hesitated to bring up the matter with your parents, knowing their financial situation.

Miss Harris, I shall let you in on a little secret. Not only do I enjoy the company of family here along with the plantation work, but I have met a most wonderful young woman. Once all is settled and I have the money from my holdings in British Columbia, I plan to ask for her hand in marriage.

At the same time as sitting down to write this letter to you, I have also written to your father to make arrangements. Of course you will receive this letter before his makes its way to Yale on the sternwheeler.

The only impediment, as you pointed out in your letter, is that your father will need to sell his farm in order to purchase my store, stock, and property.

Miss Harris, I am impressed that you have thought this through in advance. Your idea of transferring title of your land and buildings to Mr. Bentley and his cousin, Mr. Turner, fits perfectly with everyone's hopes. They will have their farm, in a good area, not too far from Victoria and with easy access to transport their products down the Fraser River.

Your parents will be happy to live in a town, where they will not feel so isolated. They will make a decent enough living as Yale grows with the completion of the Cariboo Wagon Road.

You, of course, will benefit by getting off the farm you dislike so. I suspect too, with Miss Curtis living close enough, the two of you will visit often.

In my letter to your father I suggest he arrange with Messrs. Bentley and Turner to view the acreage and, if agreeable, sign the appropriate forms. Any improvements made to the property will add greatly to its value.

All that remains now is for you to speak with the gentlemen and advise them of the transaction so they can arrange to meet with your father.

Yours sincerely,

Charles Roberts

Emma rested her hands on the saddlehorn, her fingers twisted around the reins. From that whole entire letter, one word stood out.
Friend.
Katherine was her friend. She was Katherine's friend. Emma had never had a real friend before, or been one either. The idea pleased her and frightened her at the same time, so she put it aside to think about later.

As soon as she did, something else began to worry at her. “You never said one word about Tall Joe buying your father's farm.”

“No. I didn't want to get your hopes up, Emma. Or mine. I was afraid Mr. Roberts wouldn't like my idea. He does though, and I know my parents will be pleased too, once they receive his letter.”

“The arrangement would have been perfect,” Emma conceded, “if only his letter had arrived in time.”

“Maybe it's not too late.”

“'Course it is. When they come back, those three will have picked out their land, who knows where?”

Katherine folded the letter and slid it back into her pocket. “Then we have no choice but to catch up with them.”

15

C
atch up to ‘em? An' how do yer s'pose we do such a thing, I'd like to know? I'm thinkin' I was right all along. Yer completely daft, an' that's for certain-sure!” Emma slapped a hand over her mouth. Her face turned bright pink.

Katherine gaped at her. Of course she had noticed the odd word slip into Emma's language here and there, but this time Emma's careful speech had fallen away completely. Poor Emma, she looked so embarrassed. In an effort to lighten the mood, Katherine laughed. “Not completely daft,” she said, “even if my parents often think so.”

But Emma refused to smile. She flicked the reins and walked away on Nugget.

“Listen, Emma,” Katherine said, pushing Princess to catch up. “I've done it before. I went after George when he was off on his big adventure and we needed him at home. This time it will be easier, with two of us.”

“You travelled up there, through that wild country all on your own?” Emma's dark eyes danced with suspicion.

Katherine looked away from those eyes that saw too much. “Yes,” she said. “Mostly, partly on my own...”

The eyes narrowed. “And what did you say about friends telling each other the truth?”

“Quite right, but...” Katherine firmly believed that the only way to keep a secret safe was never to confide it in anyone. On the other hand, right now Emma needed to know she trusted her. “If I tell you, you must promise never to tell anyone, and most especially not my father, about William's part in it.”

“I swear never to tell another living soul as long as I live.”

“All right then, here's what happened.”

They walked the two horses side by side while Katherine related her story. “It was my fault Father got attacked by an angry mother bear,” Katherine began. “He was badly mauled and unable even to get out of bed, much less help Mother and me prepare for winter on the farm. There was so much to do that we needed George to come home and help out. He had left only two days earlier. I knew my parents would never let me go after him, so one night I borrowed some old clothes of my brother's and, dressed as a boy, sneaked out of our cabin...”

She told Emma the entire story. How she knew William was close by because he had passed through their property that very afternoon. She had tracked him down and asked for his help, since he knew the country so well. William didn't want to at first – he said she would slow him down – but he finally agreed to act as her guide through the Fraser Canyon.

“When we got to his village on the Thompson River, everything went wrong. William's father refused to speak to me. He stayed in the background, glaring at the two of us. With his father watching, William changed from being my friend. He acted as if he was ashamed to be seen with me and said I should go away. He said a girl can't be friends with a man.” Katherine felt again the bitter tears she had shed that day. She blinked hard to make them go away.

“What did you do?”

“What else could I do? I got back on Nugget and left the village to search for my brother.”

“Just like that? Weren't you angry?”

Katherine urged Princess into a trot and Emma followed suit, trotting Nugget alongside. Katherine spoke more quickly now, her words matching Princess' gait. “At first I was furious at both of them. But after a while I realized it wasn't William's fault. Or his father's either. William said his father is afraid of settlers. He sees us put up fences and claim the land for ourselves. He worries we will take all their land away. He believes there will be no more fish in the rivers. No deer in the forests.”

“Well, but it seems like there's land enough for everyone in these new colonies.”

“I think so too. British Columbia is four times the size of Great Britain and most of it empty land.”

“Katherine, weren't you frightened, out in that wild country all alone?”

“Dreadfully,” Katherine admitted. “But I had Nugget for company. And being dressed as a boy helped too.”

“An' I should have done that when I ran off to escape that dreadful bailiff an' the workhouse.”

“What do you mean?”

Just then, Nugget raised her head and waved it side to side. “Nugget needs a run,” Emma said, and galloped off.

Emma didn't want to think about those frightful days after her mother died. She couldn't tell Katherine how terrified she had been, trekking across the countryside, seeking shelter, wearing old shoes of her mother's that never did fit right.

Racing around the field at full gallop, with the wind in her face, Emma tried to think. But thinking was difficult when you were flying across a field perched on the back of a great, huge horse. Even if she might be liking this horseback riding more than she ever thought possible, that didn't stop her from being scared every minute she rode at such breakneck speed. But she could not run away forever. Emma slowed to a canter and finally to a walk, waiting for Princess and Katherine to catch up.

“What was that about?” Katherine demanded. “I asked you a question and you ran off as if you'd been slapped. Please tell me, Emma, what's this about a workhouse? I read about them in
Oliver Twist,
and Charles Dickens made them sound perfectly dreadful, but I don't think they could be half as bad as he makes out. No one is so cruel as those people in his book.”

“Well, and I don't know who this Oliver Twist is or Charles Dickens either, but my mother said in the workhouse they treat you worse than an animal, with never enough food and no heat and they make you work all day long for your keep. Mama said the workhouse was worse than any nethersken, and if you don't know, a nethersken is somethin' ‘orrible!”

Memories of the tiny room she and her mother had shared took her by surprise. She smelled the foul smells and felt again the aching hunger in her belly. She shivered, recalling the damp cold that never went away all winter long. She saw her mother, lying on the hard floor, not strong enough to sit up for a sip of tea. Her throat tightened. She had never talked about her life in Manchester, not to anyone. How could she start now?

“Please tell me about it, Emma.”

Nugget stopped on her own, as if she wanted to listen too. Princess took her cue and stopped beside the bigger horse.

Emma opened her mouth. Slapped it shut. A part of her wanted to tell Katherine, but something held her back. Some vague fear she didn't understand but was as powerful as her earlier fear of Nugget. “I can't.” She studied Nugget's two ears, pressed back as if the horse knew what they were talking about and didn't approve.

“Of course you can, Emma, whatever it is.” The saddle creaked as Katherine leaned forward to better see Emma's face. “Don't you trust me?”

Emma swallowed hard. Of course she trusted Katherine. Really she did. But still the words refused to form themselves. “It's only that I can't imagine how to begin.”

“All right, then. Why not tell me about your escape from a bailiff? Why was he after you? And what's a nethersken?”

Well, and the girl doesn't know about netherskens – always being rich and pampered as she was and giving no thought to a poor girl without shoes on her feet and not a scrap of food to make her mother well.

“Emma?”

“A nethersken's where me an' me mam lived,” Emma snapped. “Not like you, growin' up in some fancy toffken, lookin' down on poor folk with no place to live but on the street.”

She heard Katherine's quick intake of breath. When she looked, Katherine was gazing off toward the trees. If the girl had gotten angry, that would be one thing. Emma knew how to answer anger. But she had hurt Katherine's feelings and that was something else, something Emma had no idea how to fix.

“I'm sorry I don't know about netherskens,” Katherine said. “And I guess you want me to be sorry for where I grew up. But I don't understand why you get so cross. Tell me, Emma, did you have a choice about who your parents were or where you were born?”

“Of course not. How could I?”

“You couldn't, yet you seem to believe I did. Emma, my parents were never rich, even if we did have enough food every day and a comfortable enough home we shared with my grandparents. They all worked for what we had. If my father had been content with that life we would still be in London and my sister would still be alive. But Father always wanted more. He insisted Susan and I get an education and learn to ride horses in the event we might someday meet upper-class gentlemen who would deign to marry us.

“Father envied the landed gentry and yearned for land of his own so he could pretend to be one of them. That's why we packed up and moved here. But Emma, where I grew up, I never once saw children living on the streets or knew anything about workhouses or netherskens, either. If that makes you angry, I'm sorry, but I can't change anything about it.”

Emma's anger ebbed away with Katherine's words. “I get so cross sometimes I can't control what I say,” she admitted. “Words come flying from my mouth and I don't know how to stop them.” She started Nugget at a walk, and Princess kept pace. “Ladies like that Mrs. Morris who think themselves better'n a girl who arrived here on a brideship make me so angry I want to scream. But I know you're not like them, Katherine. And your mother's kinder too, and that's for certain-sure.”

“My mother's trying her best. And the truth is my father used to be a terrible snob, but even he's getting better. He feels so guilty for bringing us here. Nothing is what he thought it would be.”

“For me, everything is better than it was in England,” Emma said.

“Please tell me.” Katherine waited, but when Emma didn't reply, she suggested, “Why not begin with the nethersken?”

“All right then.” Emma took a moment to gather her thoughts. “In winter we had no heat but a cooking pit in the cellar, and coal smoke crept into all the grimy little rooms above. People were jammed ten and more to a room, and the only water was what we collected from a pump two blocks away.”

“And that was better than the workhouse?”

“The workhouse is for those who have no job and no place to live. People who run workhouses make sure
they are worse than any nethersken for fear every work
er will up and quit to go live a life of ease in the workhouse.” Emma fidgeted with the reins, wrapping them tight around her fingers. “From the time I was small, we worked in a spinning mill, me mam an'...uh, my mother and I. That's how we could afford such luxuries as a cold an' bare little room to ourselves with tea, stale bread, and potatoes for food.”

She unwrapped Nugget's reins from the fingers of one hand, wrapped them around her other hand. “But then a war started over in the United States, an' all those poor slaves who picked the cotton stopped working. With no more cotton being shipped, we had no jobs. My mother took sick, and I tried to take care of her, but she died anyway and there was nothing I could do about it.”

“Oh, Emma...”

Emma held up her hand. Once started, she didn't want to stop until she was done, the words spilling over one another she spoke so fast. “Before she died, me mam made me promise never to set foot in a workhouse. But he came for me the very next day, the bailiff did, and grabbed me by the arm. He said it was for my own good.” She rubbed her arm, picturing that horrid little man with his fat belly and those nasty little eyes that looked her up and down and made her feel sick to her stomach. “An' he called me a cripple.”

Emma gulped back tears. “But I'm not so crippled as other children, crawlin' under those machines from the time they're no more 'an five, cleanin' out dust all day long, keepin' the machines runnin', squeezin' into spaces so small their bones never did grow right. An' when they grew up and couldn't walk, they were sent off to a workhouse or left on the street to take care of their own-selves.”