Taking the Reins (9 page)

Edward's hands hung loosely in his pockets. He appeared to have developed an uncommon interest in the rafters above their heads. Or perhaps he was searching for a quick means of escape.

At last Bentley grunted, in the same way George always did when he couldn't think what to say. Katherine lifted her chin, bracing herself for bad news.

The man dropped his hand and turned to Katherine, his face so stern and unforgiving that she cringed. “All right then,” he snapped, “we'll try it your way.” He strode from the barn without a backward glance.

The following day at school, Katherine could scarcely concentrate. She sat at her little wooden desk and attempted to keep her mind on her work, but the lessons here were not nearly so challenging as in England. With over fifty pupils of all ages and abilities, Mr. Brett had a difficult time teaching everyone and had no time to prepare special lessons for Katherine.

The final bell had not finished ringing when Katherine grabbed her books and ran out the door. Hunched over the little bundle, she scurried through driving rain and splashed over thick, slippery mud so deep in places she was forced to take slow steps, pulling her boots one after the other out of the muck. She reached Mrs. Morris' cottage near the north shore of James Bay and walked around to the back door, thick mud clinging to her boots. On the covered porch she removed her boots and left them there. She stepped inside.

As usual, Mrs. Morris wasn't at home. Katherine hurried upstairs to change her clothes. Cook was nowhere to be seen either, so as Katherine passed back through the kitchen, she sliced herself a thick piece of freshly baked bread, slathered it with butter, and dashed out the back door before Mrs. Morris could come home and insist Katherine stay inside in such weather or catch her death of cold. Not that Mrs. Morris cared about Katherine's health. The older woman might have promised Katherine's mother to
care for her as if she were my own daughter,
but the minute Mother left, Mrs. Morris scarcely paid any attention to her at all. And that suited Katherine just fine.

A dark and threatening sky hung low over bare oak trees, but the rain slowed to a drizzle as Katherine made her way across James Bay Bridge, past the government office buildings everyone called the Birdcages, past the big white house where Governor Douglas and his family lived, and on to Beckley Farm. No one was around as she hurried into the barn.

“Nugget!” she called softly, and her horse answered with a welcoming snort. Katherine was pleased to see Nugget already bridled and saddled. This gave her extra time to ride on dreary afternoons when darkness closed in earlier and earlier. She led Nugget from the barn, used a large round of cedar tree as a block to climb onto the sidesaddle, and set off toward Beacon Hill.

Again, on Tuesday, Nugget was bridled and saddled, and Katherine suspected it was Edward who did this for her, even though she had not seen him again. This afternoon she waited for some time, trotting the horse around the yard in case Emma might show up. But no one was around, no one to ask, and the trail beckoned her away.

Katherine was back and grooming the horse when Edward stopped by.

“Tomorrow is my half day off,” he mentioned casually. “And Emma's too.”

“Yes? Have you figured a way to get her over here?”

He removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “I'm working on it.”

8

W
ednesday morning, halfway to noon, and Emma had not one plan for her afternoon off. On hands and knees, she scrubbed the kitchen floor, pouring every scrap of energy into her work as if she could scrub right through to the earth below. She tried to keep thoughts from filling her head, those thoughts that kept coming back when she never did want them in the first place.

It didn't work. “All this time to myself with no one pesterin' me,” she mumbled, “an' I should be happy.”

Last Sunday after leaving Beckley Farm, Emma had moved along the trail as fast as she could, which was not fast at all, limping her way home, afraid Tall Joe would catch up and insist she return to Beckley Farm in spite of the drenching rain.

But no one came after her. Neither one of them so much as turned his head and took notice when she left. Too busy talking to that Katherine, they were, thinking she was so perfect just because she could climb on a horse and not go tumbling down to the mud. And her sitting there so straight in that wretched sidesaddle, smiling like the blooming Queen of England, so proud of herself and all.

“So, Emma, I suppose you're going over to the farm to visit your horse this afternoon?” Mrs. Douglas asked when the two of them sat in the big, warm kitchen eating lunch.

To hide her surprise, Emma took a huge bite of bread, soft and warm from the oven. And how did Mrs. Douglas know about the horse?

As if Emma had asked the question out loud, Mrs. Douglas said, “Your father told me he was buying you a horse. He was so excited he couldn't stop smiling!”

When Emma didn't answer but picked up her teacup instead, Mrs. Douglas continued in her soft-spoken way. “The sternwheelers can't take you beyond Fort Yale, Emma, and in spring with snow melting and the Fraser running high, any boat will be lucky to get past Fort Hope. After that you'll face steep and rugged mountain trails. You will need to ride well by spring.”

“Not if I don't go.”

Even if she refused to look at her employer, Emma could feel Mrs. Douglas' surprise and so busied herself pouring a second cup of tea for each of them. Mrs. Douglas did not ask any questions, and Emma was grateful because she didn't feel like talking. She needed to get out of this house. Now.

Oh, but not without eating first. Emma had gone too many years with hunger gnawing at her belly to turn down good food, so she set about finishing her meal quickly.

The day was mild with high-up clouds and not one bit of wind as Emma started down the front walk. No one could tell if her leg hurt or not, because the pain was almost gone and she walked with scarcely a limp. Of their own accord, as if they belonged to someone else, her feet turned toward Beckley Farm, but Emma soon straightened them out and headed for the bridge instead. She had no other plans but to take a walk, to be on her own where she could think things through. A horse changed everything. She would tell Tall Joe soon, the next time she saw him, that she had changed her mind.

She was happy enough in the Douglas home. Mrs. Douglas was the kindest, warmest woman in the world and couldn't help herself, she was a mother to everyone who needed her, especially Emma. So Emma could stay right here in Victoria, where she was safe, and not go running off to start a farm with Tall Joe and that cousin of his, Ned Turner.

And if she didn't go she would never need to ride a horse at all. Not ever.

Emma stopped at the James Bay bridge. She gazed down at the ring on her left hand, the ring her mam gave Emma before she up and died. Emma ran her fingertips over the warmth of the oval stone, set in gold filigree. She turned her hand this way and that, admiring how the white stone shimmered green and purple and blue even in today's dull light. She must have been daft when she tried to sell it. Daft and that angry at her mother for giving up and dying on her.

Emma dropped her hand to her side and started walking again. “I miss you, Mama,” she whispered. She tried to think what her mother would suggest in these circumstances.

Emma strolled onto the bridge, remembering the plans she had made when she first arrived here. All she wanted back then was to leave Vancouver's Island and make her
way across the strait to that other colony, the one she heard
talk of back in England. “British Columbia,”
she whispered. Even now the sound of it made beautiful pictures in her mind. In British Columbia the land sparkled with gold wherever the sun shone upon it. She would travel there and never leave until she got rich. That was what she had thought back then, foolish girl that she was.

Once here she saw all those men on the streets of Victoria and her dream ended. Dirty, ragged men they were, who had spent every penny they owned to get to the Cariboo and strike it rich. Now they hung about with not enough money to buy their passage home. Some few of those men had snatched up brideship girls as they were paraded down the street on their first day off the ship. Emma felt her anger rise, recalling that grimy man who dared approach her. And she scared him off with a look.

She was lucky to have found a safe place to live.

Deep in thought, Emma didn't take notice of footsteps thudding up behind her on the wooden bridge. She jumped and spun around when a hand touched her shoulder.

“Edward!” Emma was so pleased to see him standing there, his smile as familiar and friendly as always, that she almost smiled in return, almost forgot she was that angry at him. She remembered just in time and started walking again, faster than before, even if it did make her leg hurt more. Edward fell into step beside her.

“An' what brings you here?” she demanded. “I thought you'd be off riding that horse you think's so marvelous!”

Edward shrugged. “Don't need to. Katherine's taking care of Nugget for you. She comes to the farm every day after school.”

Emma almost stumbled but caught herself in time. “Katherine? An' why would she want to do that?”

“Because she loves the horse, Emma. Nugget used to be hers, as you know, and Katherine misses riding her. Your father is paying her to exercise the horse every day after school and groom her too. But I expect she would do it for nothing.”

As if that girl needs to be paid, thought Emma, surprised Katherine would accept payment, being an upper class young lady and all, who thought folks who earned their own way in this world were beneath them. “Thought you were doing that.”

Edward removed his hat. His curls tumbled about his face as he scratched his head, thinking. “Mr. Bentley asked me, and I tried it too, but there's not so much time left over with chores on the farm and all.”

Emma didn't want to think about Katherine any more. “What's there to do on a dull day like this?” she asked, half-hoping Edward would suggest something. Maybe they could go walking together, or visit that family of his she'd never met. Just last spring Edward's father had died of the smallpox, Emma knew that much, and Edward worked hard to help his mother support the family.

“I'll be off to visit my mother and the children then,” Edward said. “I want to get back in time to help Katherine when she arrives after school.”

He strode off, and Emma glared after him, her fists clenched tight with anger. And what a foolish girl you are, Emma Curtis, forgetting to be cross at Edward. She should never have talked to him at all. And him in a great hurry to get back to the farm and that Katherine he liked so much.

Well, and why should she care what Edward did? Emma continued on her way, wandering aimlessly along the streets of Victoria. What should she do with the rest of this day? She stopped outside a market where a wooden box near the door was filled to overflowing with apples so round and red they made her mouth water just looking at them. Emma realized, with pride, that she had more than enough money to purchase one for herself. She hurried inside, asked for the biggest, reddest apple and paid for it with pennies from her pocket. At the door, she stopped and turned back. “Could I have another one, please?” she asked the storekeeper.

And it's time you stopped acting such a great fool,
Emma told herself as she walked back toward the bridge, munching on her apple. If she could face up to that great, fat lout of a bailiff back in Manchester, if she could make her way alone through the English countryside, if she could travel half across the world in the hold of a damp and stinking steamship, then she would not let one dumb animal defeat her.

She had this one chance to better herself in life, and wouldn't she be daft to toss it away without even trying? Fact was, if she could not ride, she could not go where she wanted. Not ever. As good as Mrs. Douglas was to her, Emma didn't want to spend her whole entire life as a maidservant.

Right now was the perfect time. With Tall Joe off somewhere and not taking the time to pester her, with Edward visiting his mother, and that Katherine sitting in her fancy school learning who knew what, no one would be there to watch if Emma's hand shook or she backed suddenly away without meaning to. She would face up to that animal and teach herself not to be afraid.

“An' that's for certain-sure,” she whispered.

No one was about as Emma crossed the Beckley Farm property and slipped into the barn. She paused there, gazing into corners to be sure no one lurked in the shadows. The sharp smell of hay and horse dung shot straight up through her nose and stung her eyes but wasn't nearly so horrible as those streets of Manchester where the stench sometimes got so strong it made her stomach turn over. No, this smell was not so bad at all.

With her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Emma started down the centre of the barn. Two horses watched her from their stalls, two big, heavy brutes with thick brown manes and broad white stripes down their wide faces. Those fierce dark eyes of theirs followed her every move as Emma edged past them, staying as far away as she could, certain the horses would reach their long necks out and grab her with their great yellow teeth if given half a chance. Close to her now was a third horse, one Emma had not noticed at first. It was pale grey and much smaller than the others. This one's head hung low. It took little interest in Emma.

She stopped and studied the horse more closely. It looked sad, or afraid, she wasn't sure which. “You poor thing,” Emma said, “you look as happy to be here as I am.” The horse didn't look up. “An' I must be daft. Standin' here talkin' to a dumb animal like it knows what I'm sayin'.” Emma started walking again.

The fourth horse was not so heavyset as those big brown beasts but far taller and more graceful than the grey one. Its rich brown face and long neck were slender and refined. Emma stood very still and watched this horse. The animal watched her too with those wide brown eyes. Emma took a step closer, and the horse lifted its head, giving its long black mane a shake. Emma's breath caught in her throat. She forced herself not to turn and run.

She swallowed, breathed in once, then out, then in again. She gathered her courage and began to speak, softly, just the way Edward had talked to the horse. “I'm come to make friends,” she said. “Just so you know, I'm not scared of you, if that's what you're thinkin'.”

The horse snorted. Emma jumped back.

“Well, an' could be I am just a small bit scared, since you mention it, but you are a great huge beast, whether you know it or not with those heavy hoofs of yours that knock people down in the street and trample them into the mud.”

Emma took a step closer, a very small one. Then another. With each step the horse seemed to grow that much bigger. She kept talking, trying to reassure herself as much as the horse. “An' even if I am scared, I won't ever let that stop me. If a horse is the only way to get me where I want to go, then I can do it, I can learn to ride you and not be afraid. An' that's for certain-sure.”

She stood for a moment then, staring up at the horse as if she expected a reply, but the horse only looked back at her. “I brought you an apple,” Emma said, holding it up. “If you want to know, you're a lucky horse to have an apple to eat. I never so much as tasted one when I grew up in England. I sold them though, on the streets of Manchester, to rich ladies like your Miss Katherine Harris.”

She took a few more tentative steps forward and suddenly realized with one small step more she would be close enough to reach out and touch the horse, if she wanted. Which she didn't. Where she stood now seemed entirely too close already. The horse chose that moment to snort and lift its head high. It glared down its long face at Emma, its nostrils flared. As quickly, it lowered its head and pushed its nose toward Emma. She gasped and jumped back. Her heart pounded against her ribs.

“It's the apple she wants,” said a voice behind her. “Nugget won't hurt you.”

It was that Katherine Harris, with her fancy way of talking and all. Emma was deeply embarrassed to be caught this way when she only wanted to spend time getting to know the horse with no one here to make fun of her. She whirled around, words already formed on her tongue.
An' who do you think you are, I'd like to know? Sneakin' up on a body like you was some gonoph ready to rob a girl of all she owns?