The Yonahlossee Riding Camp For Girls Part 27

"Boone and I are engaged," she told me as we walked, me with my hand shading my eyes, "secretly."

I squeezed her hand. "That's wonderful. I wish you all the happiness in the world." And I did, that was true-Sissy's shining eyes seemed proof of something.

There were only a few girls outside but it was not my imagination, now: Sissy did not seem to notice-the soothing effects of love, I supposed-but they all stared. I tried not to look but that was impossible. When I waved at Molly, she hurried away like a worried mouse. I almost laughed; as if I were in a position to frighten anyone.

"People are looking," I said to Sissy.

"Are they?" She surveyed the Square. "I don't think so. Maybe they're just glad to see you." But there her tone was off; she was lying, clearly.

When we were almost at the barn we saw Gates, leading her pretty chestnut to the ring.

"Gates," Sissy called, and Gates turned. When she saw us, her face tautened; she looked stricken, as if she had seen a ghost. Her horse looked at us attentively, his ears flipped forward.

"h.e.l.lo," she called out, her voice tremulous. Her horse whuffed into her shoulder, and Gates gave a small smile before she walked on. But Sissy spoke again.

"Wait," she cried, "wait!"

"Sissy," I whispered furiously. Other girls were looking, now. I saw Henny eyeing the situation curiously, her head c.o.c.ked, Jettie at her side, always at her side. I watched them for a second. It dawned on me that Jettie loved Henny. But then I hurried after Sissy, who was marching toward Gates.

"Is there something I should know, Gates?" she asked, her voice steely. "Some reason you're ignoring me?"

Gates shook her head, and I felt sorry for her. She wasn't ignoring Sissy; she was ignoring me. She was kind, Gates-right now she kicked at the dirt and looked like she might cry. I smoothed her horse's red forelock down between his eyes, and he looked at me warily. "It's okay," I murmured.

And to Sissy: "It's not you. Leave her alone," I said. "It's me," I added, in a whisper.

"But we walk together!" Sissy cried furiously, and she made me glad I had come, still, willing to be confined in this place if it meant finding Sissy. I looked at Gates and saw what Sissy did: a spineless girl.

"I've known you since you were twelve, Gates Weeks! You should be ashamed." I saw Mr. Albrecht coming toward us and pulled Sissy away. We almost ran into Alice Hunt, who led her giant bay; she managed not to acknowledge our presence.

"Sissy," I said, after I had pulled her into Naari's stall, and she had brooded silently for a few minutes. I was untangling the knots in Naari's tail to give me something to do-whatever else happened in the world, there were always knots in a horse's tail. "I'm going to leave, but you'll stay. Don't make an enemy out of everyone."

"You can't leave," she said. "And why would you want to?"

"It's time.

Sissy looked like she might cry. But when she spoke she was angry.

"It's not that simple. You can't just pick up and leave."

"I'll think of something," I said.

"I wish you'd never met Mr. Holmes," Sissy continued. "I wish Mrs. Holmes hadn't left. I hate him," she said, and looked up at me, her cheeks burning. "I know you don't hate him, so I hate him twice as much."

"He's-" I started, but Sissy shook her head.

"Please don't," she said. "I'll always hate him. It's wrong," she said. "All wrong. You could have loved someone else." I watched her for a moment, my good and true friend, her brown hair tucked behind her ears, her cheeks still scarlet, her forehead creased in anger. She meant I could have loved David; she meant I could have been more like her.

"I loved another boy before I came here."

"I know that," she said impatiently. But she didn't know. I had never even told her I had a cousin.

"You don't know the boy was my cousin. And not a cousin I never knew, a cousin twice removed who lived in another state." I spoke quickly-I had to say it all at once, or not at all. "He was like a brother to me."

Sissy said nothing, only watched me, so I continued, half out of fear, half out of relief, because the telling felt so good, and as I spoke I remembered that telling had this power, this sweet release I had not experienced in such a long time. When I was little, my eardrum had burst from an infection, and though the pus and blood that streamed down my neck horrified Sam, who had run for Mother, I had felt nothing but relief from a pain that had come upon me so gradually I hadn't even known my ear was hurt. And this was the same, but with the heart.

"My brother found out."

"Sam," Sissy said softly.

"Sam. My cousin told him. There was a fight, between my cousin and Sam. A horrible one." My voice broke. "That's why I was sent away."

"Was Sam sent away, too?" When I didn't answer she lifted my chin up with her finger, like Mother would have.

I shook my head. "I'm not a right girl."

"A right girl," she said. Her husky voice was soft. "I wonder what that is, or where we would find her."

"You don't understand," I said, finally.

"No?" she asked. "I understand enough, I think. We don't choose who we love, do we?" She smiled, and I knew she was thinking of Boone. "We don't choose our families, either. But you can choose to be angry at least." She took my hand and squeezed it, hard.

"Ow," I said, but she would not let go.

"Don't let your family decide the rest of your life."

"That's what Mr. Holmes said."

"Then we agree on something, he and I. What do you think you're going to do?" she asked. "You're just a girl."

"I know," I said quietly. "I'm just a girl. But I'm his sister, too. I need to see my brother. He did nothing wrong."

"Neither did you."

She dropped my hand, and drew me to her. She smelled unusual, of sweat and dirt. "You've been unlucky so far," she whispered into my ear, "but luck changes, all the time. G.o.d grants happiness only to those who seek it."

- Mary Abbott came back to the cabin while everyone else was at the Hall. This was when I would be with Mr. Holmes, at Masters. It wouldn't be long until Mrs. Holmes noticed my absence, observed that I wasn't studying enough. I needed to leave before that happened.

Mary Abbott looked at me for a long time, her head at an angle. "What's the matter with you?"

"Why do you care?" I snapped.

She looked away and said nothing.

"I'm sorry. I'm tired. I need to sleep."

"But that's all you do now. Sleep. We are friends, aren't we?"

"Yes, Mary Abbott." Why had Mary Abbott chosen me? Why not Eva, or Gates? Or Sissy? Sissy surely would have been nicer, would have known how to handle her. "What do you need?" I felt like I was daring her to tell me that everyone knew about me and Mr. Holmes, that all of camp was talking.

She lowered herself onto the edge of my bed. "Someone saw Sissy in the woods last night," she whispered, even though we were alone. "Did you know she was there? With a boy. Everyone's talking. The rumor's that Mrs. Holmes knows."

I sat up, so that my face was only an inch from hers. "Who, Mary Abbott? Who saw Sissy?" Today played quickly through my mind: all the girls turning away, but not from me; all the girls staring, but not at me.

But Mary Abbott didn't know, or wouldn't tell me. She looked worried, and I wondered if she was afraid of Leona. Because I knew who had told. Leona, who hadn't been at the dance, who had probably been at the barn; walking back, she could have so easily seen Sissy and Boone. She was the only girl I knew here who would tell on Sissy. Who would hurt another girl so terribly in order to hurt me.

But anyone could have seen Sissy last night-she had been so careless. I felt a flash of anger, again. How could she have been so careless? I looked at Mary Abbott, who picked at my bedspread. Could it have been her? I didn't think so-I had always been her focus, her eyes burning so consistently into my back it felt like a strange sort of plague. Me, not Sissy.

I took Naari into the mountains that night while everyone else was at dinner. The light lasted until eight o'clock these days, and so I stayed out until I could see the faint outline of the stars.

It was so easy to close my eyes and see Sissy's fine brown hair, her wide-set eyes; I could see her face more vividly than I could my mother's, my brother's, my father's. When I left I would ask for a photograph. Mary Abbott said Sissy would be sent home in the next day or so, now that word was starting to spread, and though I didn't particularly trust Mary Abbott, I knew she was right. Mrs. Holmes would find out; she always did. And if Sissy was sent home because of a boy, she would never be allowed to marry that boy, the one who had shamed her, marked her otherwise pristine reputation. All her plans, all her life, in shambles. She who had been so sure just yesterday of how my family should have acted. Who could say what her family would do, would think of her, regardless of how she might defend herself? Certainly not Sissy herself. Not having permission to marry Boone might be the least of Sissy's troubles.

I saw Mr. Albrecht's silhouette in the barn as I dismounted. It was too late to remount and ride around until he disappeared.

"Thea," he said, and nodded.

"h.e.l.lo."

"No more cla.s.ses for you. Just the nightly trail rides."

I shrugged. His accent lent such a strange rhythm to his speech.

"I don't think I've had a chance to congratulate you on your success," he said, and extended his hand. "Well done."

I let him shake my hand, his coa.r.s.e palm around my small, relatively soft one. "Thank you." And I felt near tears again, inexplicably. I placed my other palm on Naari's broad forehead. It would be as if I had died, once my scent disappeared, once she learned to stop expecting the sound of my boots against the floor in the afternoons, once she became used to the noises and smells of another girl. But I would always remember my first horse. I would never forget.

Mr. Albrecht looked at me for what seemed like a long moment. "You're a talented horsewoman. You could stay with it." He stressed the word stay, because of his accent.

"And do what?"

"You could do things that have not been done before," he said, still holding my hand.

I looked away. "Perhaps."

There was still kindness in the world, at Yonahlossee. It almost seemed irrelevant.

{22}.

I rose early the next morning and dressed carefully, tucked my shirt neatly into my skirt, polished a scuff mark from my boot. I looked over at Sissy, who was sleeping on her back, her arms flung out beside her. I smiled. Last night she had told me that the girls knew about her and Boone; she didn't seem worried, though. She'd seemed a little bit proud. I'd acted surprised. She clearly had no idea of how far the rumor had traveled, how it had snaked its way through camp to Mrs. Holmes's ears.

As I examined myself in the mirror I was nearly certain I could feel Mary Abbott watching me, but when I turned around and looked her eyes were shut, her mouth closed in a thin line.

I got to the Castle early, to catch Mrs. Holmes before breakfast. The dining hall was nearly empty, except for a few second-years sitting at a table. I took the long way around them, and as I was pa.s.sing the kitchen, the door swung open.

"h.e.l.lo," Emmy said, and looked away, down to a spot on the floor. She carried a trayful of gla.s.ses, a dish towel slung over her shoulder. The door swung shut behind her.

I said nothing, and began to walk by when she spoke again.

"Aren't you going to say h.e.l.lo to me?"

"h.e.l.lo," I said. "h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo. I'm on my way to see Mrs. Holmes."

Emmy gave a short laugh. We had never really spoken before. She held herself more elegantly than her sister, didn't have the wandering eye, but their voices were the same, high, so thickly accented I had to pay attention to understand them.

"Docey feels poorly for you." She shifted the tray in her hands.

"Pardon?"

"My sister. She feels poorly for you." She spoke quickly, almost impatiently.

"Oh," I said, at a loss.

"But we have a different feeling about this," she continued. "I was there. You can say what you will about Mrs. Holmes, and girls always do, but she's a good soul. A good soul," she repeated firmly, almost primly.

I thought about all those afternoons in the library, Emmy lurking behind closed doors. I leaned against the wall, a cold sweat on my brow.

"Does she know?" I asked quietly. I turned and stared at the table of second-years watching us; n.o.body conversed with the servants here. But this table I could handle-these girls were from Kentucky, and they looked away quickly.

"Isn't that something you should have thought on before?" She shifted the tray again. Her arms trembled, and I almost reached out to take it from her.

She waited, as if for an answer. I looked from the tray, crowded with gla.s.ses, to her face, watching me imperiously.

"Thought on?" I asked, and Emmy lowered her eyes. I had shamed her, and it had been so easy. "This isn't any of your business."

As I began to walk away for the second time, Emmy shrugged. "Not from me she doesn't. Know," she added.

I was glad no one had heard me mock Emmy, a servant, born with none of the advantages I had known since birth. I'd never once thought of her as someone who could be cutting. But just now I could have been sparring with Leona, or Katherine Hayes.

I turned around before I entered the stairwell and saw Emmy setting out the gla.s.ses on the table where the second-years sat, her eyes downcast, her face expressionless. Then I saw Henny, sitting at our table, a book in front of her. She saw me and I instinctively held my hand up in a wave, before I could think better of it. Henny only raised her eyebrows.

Even though I had more serious problems than Henny's cold shoulder, I still cared. If Yonahlossee had taught me anything, it had taught me that it was impossible not to care, not to marvel at the mysteries of girls' affections, which were hard won and easily lost. If no one knew about me and Mr. Holmes, then why was Henny acting so coldly?

It was a question that occupied my mind as I climbed the stairs, slowly, half hoping she wouldn't be there. But then I'd just have to come back.

"Thea," Mrs. Holmes said, and looked up from her desk as I pa.s.sed through her door. She pointed to the chair as if she had been expecting me. Mr. Holmes stood behind his wife, looking out her window, but when he heard my name he turned around, his hands in his pockets, always in his pockets, a confused expression disfiguring his handsome face. I stood in the doorway for a moment, noticed that my own hands were trembling. I clasped them behind my back and went to the chair.

"You wanted to see us?" Mrs. Holmes asked, absentmindedly pruning the potted ivy that sat on her desk, snapping the dead leaves away with a flick of her fingers.

You, I might have said, I wanted to see you. I lifted my head. "Yes."

"About what?"