The Yonahlossee Riding Camp For Girls Part 14

"I'm bored," Rachel muttered, but quietly so that her father would not hear. Decca ran through her exercises, and I turned my attention to Sarabeth. I almost forgot Rachel was there.

"Pinch your knees harder," I called. "Relax your elbows."

"Decca's just sitting there," Rachel called back.

"Rachel," Mr. Holmes said, "that's enough." Rachel looked as if she might cry. I was pleased by his anger. Rachel deserved it.

"Come, Decca." And I led Bright to the side of the ring, next to Mr. Holmes, so that Sarabeth could practice on the diagonal.

"Rachel," I said as we pa.s.sed, "one moment. And you'll have an extra ten minutes. I want your father to see this."

Rachel ignored me. I took mean pleasure in making her wait.

"She's learning how to change leads. See how she moves her legs? Right one back, left one forward?" Changing leads was an advanced technique, and Sarabeth wasn't really ready for it, but Luther was so well trained, such an old schoolmaster, that a monkey could have gotten him to do it.

"And he switches."

"Yes," I said.

"Like he's skipping." Mr. Holmes drummed his fingers on the fence in rhythm to Luther's canter. Changing leads was something even someone completely unversed in horses could appreciate: it did, indeed, look like skipping. He bit his nails, I noticed. Men didn't wear wedding bands back then, so there was nothing that I could tell from his hands except that his skin wasn't rough from riding or another sport or hard work.

"She's good," I said. Mr. Holmes nodded. I wanted him to take more pleasure in his daughter's trick, in the things she could make Luther do already, but he seemed distracted.

I unclipped the lunge line from Bright's bit.

"Get down?" I asked Decca.

Everything happened at once then. Get down, I asked, but it was more of an order than a suggestion. I had taught Decca to slide both her feet out of her stirrups before swinging one leg over the saddle; this was lucky.

"Rachel," Mr. Holmes said, almost yelled, his deep voice cleaving the cold air. "I've had enough. Enough!" Now I knew for certain that Mr. Holmes was referring to some past wrong of Rachel's. She had been difficult today or for several days.

When I looked over, I saw that Rachel was gone from her spot on the fence, and Mr. Holmes was striding toward her. My impulse was to laugh: I had never seen Mr. Holmes angry, and it scared me. Rachel backed into the branches of the tree, watching her father, and then she started to speak.

"No!" she said, quietly at first, then louder and louder until her voice had reached a shrill pitch. "No, no, no, no, no, no!" She looked possessed. She was much too old for a tantrum.

"The bird," Decca cried as the owl flew straight up, out of the tree, and then faltered, diving unsteadily toward Luther. Luther backed up, quickly, his neck arched, his ears pointed forward.

"Thea," Sarabeth called, her voice trembling. I could barely hear her over Rachel. "What do I do?" I dropped Bright's rein and hurried toward Luther, speaking quietly and calmly. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mr. Holmes kneeling in front of Rachel, his hands on her shoulders.

"It's fine," I murmured, "it's fine."

But as I approached the owl leveled out, flying past me so close I might have touched him. His wing was crooked.

"Thea." I turned and Sarabeth was pointing in the opposite direction, toward the gate I had left open. Bright had backed out of it, and I could see the liquid red of his flared nostrils, the whites of his eyes. His ears were flattened against his head. He reared back quickly, and Decca fell forward onto his neck.

"Slide off," I yelled. "Slide off!" Rachel was still yelling, and I had to scream as loud as I could to be heard, and still it wasn't loud enough.

Bright took off then, as I knew he would, and raced toward the barn. It was the worst kind of mistake, a novice's error, to have left the gate unlatched. And I remembered so clearly not having closed it: an instant of carelessness, in the same category as leaving a girth too loose.

"Thea," Mr. Holmes said, and he sounded almost calm. "Stop him." I broke into a run as Bright disappeared. When I rounded the corner, I saw that he was running at full speed now, flat out, as horses only do when they are terrified. Decca clung to the saddle. She wouldn't fall off now unless she made herself. But she was frozen.

The riding groups had all halted in their tracks, a dozen still horses, ears forward, waiting to discern the cause of the alarm. Alice Hunt watched me, not Bright, her face a mask of horror. That I had elicited a reaction from even Alice Hunt, who never seemed to react to anything, terrified me. Leona stared directly at me, her face wide and blank: she shook her head, once, as if she'd known my teaching the girls would end in disaster.

Mr. Albrecht climbed over the fence, yelling, "Turn him, turn him, turn him, turn him," until the words acquired a particular rhythm, until it seemed as if Mr. Albrecht was saying, "Tune him, tune him, tune him," his vowels arched in panic.

"Stop him," I heard behind me, "stop him now." The instruction was useless. Decca screamed, a sound so horrible, so close to a moan, I put my hands to my ears. Just then Bright veered left at the head of the trail; Decca fell the other way, to the right. Her head was not kicked: this was also lucky. It could have been kicked so easily. She fell cleanly, slid out of the saddle almost gracefully.

Mr. Holmes caught my shoulder as he sprinted past me, and I fell to the ground.

"Get the doctor," Mr. Holmes shouted as he pa.s.sed. "Now."

Decca's eyes were closed, as if she were sleeping.

I rose and began to run, in a single motion. I looked back, once, at the girls on their horses, still standing as if statues. Sarabeth had dismounted, was crying quietly next to Luther, did not turn her head when Mr. Albrecht ran in front of her in pursuit of Bright, who might be lost in the mountains forever if he was not found quickly.

I emerged from the cover of the forest into the Square and screamed, "Henny!"-again and again until she emerged angrily from the house mistresses' cabin.

"Decca's hurt," I managed, and Henny yelled to Docey, who had followed her outside, to call the doctor immediately. We ran back through the woods, Henny so far ahead of me I lost sight of her brown skirt. Her speed surprised me. My chest felt like it was boiling, I could hear watery sounds when I inhaled. I slowed to a walk, tried to pace myself. I wanted rain, or snow, or wind. Something to make me feel not so alone. I wrapped my arms around myself.

No one noticed me when I materialized from the woods. The girls and their horses had disappeared. Mr. Holmes was kneeling next to Decca, had made himself small next to his daughter; Mr. Albrecht had his hand on her forehead. The first-aid kit was open next to him, the iodine overturned and running into rivulets. Sarabeth squatted nearby, rocking back and forth on her heels.

I focused on the pattern the iodine made in the dirty-beige sand. A complicated design, improbable and random. But I hadn't seen any blood.

I went to Sarabeth and smoothed her dark hair, removed a leaf that had gotten caught in her braid. Someone had taken Luther back to the barn. Her upper lip was covered with mucus, and she was crying, silently. I'd never comforted anyone besides Sam. And that was second nature to me; or it used to be, when we were young and so much a part of each other. Now I went to Sarabeth with Sam heavy in my mind and embraced her, and I was surprised at how eager she was to be comforted: she rested her cheek on my shoulder, and clutched my waist.

"It'll be all right," I murmured. I don't think Sarabeth heard me, but maybe later the memory of the words would resonate. She would believe me. She was a child. Father had told me things would be all right, and I had believed him.

Rachel was nowhere to be seen. I would have hidden, too. She had hurt the wrong sister. Rachel was the sister who needed to be told it would be all right, that her world and her family had not collapsed. But whoever told her this would be lying. And it would not be me-I did not have the heart for it.

{12}.

Word spread quickly through the camp about the youngest Holmes girl. There was an unfamiliar car parked behind Masters, where a girl would not notice it unless she looked. The doctor's car, I knew. Decca was hurt, it was just a matter of how badly. She had lost consciousness; I knew this was a bad sign.

On my way back from the bathhouse-for I was filthy, covered in dirt and sand-I saw a gaggle of young girls, Molly among them, whispering dramatically. She waved at me, brightly, and when I half-heartedly waved back she galloped over to me. She was still all arms and legs, like a filly. Her cheeks were bright red from the cold, her hair tied into some sort of knot. If Mrs. Holmes had been here to see it, she'd have sent Molly back to her cabin to repair her grooming.

"Thea! They're saying Rachel lost her mind! That she tried to kill Decca!" Her voice was practically a squeal.

I wasn't taller than many people, but I was taller than Molly. I bent down and encircled her wrist with my hand. I could feel her bones like a bird's beneath her skin.

"Molly," I said, "that is nonsense. Do you understand me?"

Molly nodded, slowly, and I saw a gleam in her eye that had not been there before. I had handled this all wrong-I should have laughed off the rumor, brushed it away as if it were no more than a speck of dust.

I released Molly's wrist. She stared at me, her eyes wide in antic.i.p.ation. What would I tell her next? What could she bring back to her clutch of friends, who were all waiting just ahead? Molly wasn't part of a group of girls that mattered, but still-gossip multiplied so quickly here, spreading through our ranks. Katherine Hayes walked by, coolly, but she was listening to every word. She'd rush back to her cabin and disseminate the information thoroughly and coldly. I glared at Katherine, who hid behind her screen of curls. She, who had so recently been the subject of the camp's scrutiny, should have sympathy for Rachel. But now her uncle was two months dead, and talk of him and the Hayeses' errant ways had disappeared. I saw Miss Brooks across the Square, her nose in a book. The adults at Yonahlossee were useless.

And there was always truth to the rumors, sometimes just a morsel of it, but still. Everyone must have heard Rachel screaming. And what of me, who had put the girl I loved most in harm's way because I wanted her father to watch me? I turned back to Molly.

"It was an accident," I said, loudly and uselessly.

The last time something terrible had happened, I had tried to explain myself, also loudly and uselessly. But I was smarter now, or at least not as foolish. I retreated to Augusta House and pretended to sleep, ignored even Sissy, whom I could feel behind me once or twice, waiting for me to turn around, to give a sign. Finally she left, all the girls did, for dinner. Life went on, it always went on, and Decca could be near death but still Yonahlossee would feed its girls three square meals a day. It had seemed so cruel, at home, that Mother still neatened my bed in the mornings, that Father still left after breakfast to call on his patients.

I could not force the image of my cousin from my mind, and I was usually so good at precisely that, at living a life at Yonahlossee that had nothing to do with Georgie, or Sam, any of them. I saw Georgie when I opened my eyes, when I closed them: not as he was when I left him, but as he had been when I'd known him best. Mother would be so disappointed in me. I realized that part of Yonahlossee's comfort was that it was a world completely separate from home, and now the two worlds felt like they were eerily merging, and why? Because of me, Thea Atwell, a wrong girl if there ever was one.

"Thea," Sam had said, over and over and over. "Thea, Thea, Thea."

I sat up in bed and pressed my fingernails into my forehead. I wished I could dig through my skin and skull into my brain, remove my memories of Georgie, of that day, entirely. But what of my soul? I knew from Father that though our brains stored our memories, our souls were the reason we remembered in the first place. And there was no way to get at the soul. The pain from my fingernails, though small, distracted, brought relief.

I was still in bed when Mary Abbott brought me a roll from dinner, knelt beside my bed, and unwrapped it from an embroidered handkerchief.

"Here," she whispered. The other girls filed in: Eva, Gates, and then Sissy, who raised her eyebrows behind Mary Abbott's back.

"Thank you." The roll was cold and doughy in my palm. When warm, these rolls melted in your mouth. The air ruined them.

"You're welcome."

Mary Abbott stayed beside me, twirled a piece of hair around her finger, avoided my eyes. There was a faint rash across her forehead, where her wool hat chafed. The sight of her, so peculiar, suddenly enraged me.

"Do you need something?"

She looked at me, unsurprised. "Aren't you going to eat that?"

I shook my head.

"That's fine," Mary Abbott murmured. The other girls were preparing for bed; Eva's creamy shoulders, her back dotted with black moles; Sissy's fine, knotty hair, freshly brushed, a pretty gold bracelet on her wrist, which meant Boone would be coming again, two nights in a row. I felt like something awful was going to happen. I could smell it.

"Mr. Holmes came out and gave us a speech. I thought you'd want to know. Was I right?" she asked, suddenly bold, her cold, sticky hand upon mine.

I slid my hand from under hers, nodded.

"I knew you would." She smiled, but to herself, she'd made a bet and won. "He came out for prayer. He asked us to pray for Decca and his family. And then he asked us to pray for you, Thea." She paused. "For you and Decca."

Sissy watched us, from her bed. But I was all Mary Abbott's now.

"Are you glad he asked us to pray for you?"

"I'm flattered," I said, and closed my eyes, "and tired." Though it was not unusual to be mentioned in Mr. Holmes's prayers, right now his request felt like a betrayal. He hated me. Why had he ever agreed to put me in charge of his children? He knew something of my life in Florida. He knew enough to know I shouldn't be trusted. But now he hated me, he had to-since I had hurt one of his girls, what choice did he have?

"I thought you'd be glad, when I was walking over here I thought you'd be happy." Mary Abbot leaned in, conspiratorially. Her breath was dry and hot. "Because he's not mad."

I made my voice as cold as ice. "Leave me alone."

Mary Abbott backed away, but not before leaning forward, so quickly I could not s.h.i.+eld myself. I turned, and she caught my lips with hers.

- I slept dreamlessly, hot and itchy, woke up dozens of times, unreasonably frightened, the tall bunk beds and the white-clad girls in them unfamiliar, terrifying. Then I calmed myself, it was a trick sometimes, remaining lucid, convincing yourself that the world had not arranged its enormity in opposition-to you, against you. I say I calmed myself but truly my mind was merciful in deciding not to unhinge itself as it had in the days before I was sent away, when I wept until my eyes were ugly pouches in my skull.

"Thea."

I sat up, startled.

"It's fine, it's fine," Sissy soothed, "you're fine."

"I'm hot."

"Are you feverish?" She felt my forehead with the back of her hand. "No. You were talking in your sleep."

"What did I say?"

"Nothing, babble. Are you all right?"

I nodded. "Have you heard anything about Decca?"

She shook her head. "I prayed tonight. I haven't prayed in so long . . ." She trailed off. "What happened? Everyone's saying Rachel tried to kill Decca, that she lost her mind."

"An owl," I whispered.

"An owl?" she repeated. When I said nothing, she continued, "The doctor is here. Mr. Holmes must be worried sick."

"Mr. Holmes is alone," I muttered. Eva stirred above us. "I'd forgotten," I said, lowering my voice. I brought my hand to my mouth. My fingers smelled of leather.

"Thea, I have to go. Boone's here."

"Don't go," I said, "please."

"Oh, Thea," she whispered, and kissed my forehead. "I have to. But I'll be back."

She stood. Her hair was tucked into the back of her coat, her gloves stuck out of her pocket like hands. I felt the unpleasant bite of jealousy: I wanted so badly to be Sissy, going to meet a boy who loved me.

Sissy waited for a second, and then pointed to her bed impatiently.

"Oh!" I whispered, and went to her bed, a little wounded-all of these things had happened to me today, and still a boy was more important.

After she left, I rose, put my coat on, and stepped outside. Then, nervous I might have woken Mary Abbott, peered back into the cabin through the window. Mary Abbott slept almost peacefully. Eva's arm and head were flung over the side of the bed, hanging inertly. I couldn't see Gates, but I knew she slept in a tight ball, like she always did.

None of my sleeping cabinmates needed to concern themselves with the danger outside-as far as I knew, there had never been so much as a Peeping Tom at Yonahlossee. Danger presented itself, every girl knew, from within the family-your father's mistress; mother's th.o.r.n.y relations.h.i.+p with her mother-in-law, your grandmother; the first cousin who had tried to kill himself. But we were no one, nothing, without our families.

If anything happened to Decca, the youngest, the best and favorite of the family, Rachel would have ruined her own life as well as her sister's.

With a brief and distant shock I noticed a light beyond the Square where Masters was, not a part of the Square but not completely away, either; within eyesight, in case something happened, in case a girl needed something.

My boots stuck in the mud as I walked, their soles made a quick, sucking sound each time I lifted a foot; the noise was disgusting, and that was all I could hear, the night was so quiet, so utterly dead: Florida nights were never like this. There was always a chirping, a scuttling, a howl.