The Life She Was Given

by Ellen Marie Wiseman

  He entered the mudroom, closed the door behind him, and waited with his hat in his hand at the edge of the kitchen while she went to get her coat. “Nice house,” he called after her. “It’s got a great kitchen.”

  She grabbed her coat from the foyer closet and hurried back to where he stood. “You’ve never seen it?”

  He shook his head. “Mrs. Blackwood was an odd duck. She never allowed us inside. If we needed something we had to call on the barn phone.”

  She pushed her arms into her coat and buttoned it up. “That sounds about right. My mother loved rules.”

  He grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t realize the former owner was your mother. I thought she was a long-lost aunt or something.”

  She smiled. “Don’t worry. If anyone knows how odd my mother was, it’s me.” She started to take her crocheted beanie out of her coat pocket but changed her mind. It was dirty and the edge was starting to unravel. Then she realized her coat wasn’t in much better shape. If Fletcher and Claude knew how she’d been living the last three years, they’d never take her seriously. She stuffed the beanie back in her pocket, at the same time realizing she couldn’t go over to the barn wearing Keds. She quickly scanned the mudroom for something to wear and, for the first time since her return, noticed Mother’s barn boots in their usual spot beneath the bench. She slipped off her sneakers and pushed her feet into the rubber boots as if she’d done it a hundred times, despite the fact that they were two sizes too big. Somehow, it felt wrong to put them on. She stood and did her best to ignore the hollows and lumps in the soles, misshapen from years of wear and tear beneath Mother’s bunioned feet.

  “Claude didn’t tell you I was Coralline’s daughter?” she said, trying to act calm and composed.

  “If there’s one thing about Claude,” Fletcher said, “it’s that he does his job and keeps his mouth shut. He never breaks the rules or gets into anyone’s business.”

  “Well, that’s good to know. So why didn’t you call me on the barn phone?”

  “It was disconnected after your mother, mean, Mrs. Blackwood, passed. Claude didn’t see any reason to have it working again until you arrived.”

  She started toward the door. “Makes sense to me. I’ll call and have it connected again.”

  He grinned, put on his toque, opened the door, and held it for her. They left the house and she walked beside him toward the barn, her hands in her pockets. Her hair whipped in her eyes, and a cold wind made her nose run, making her wish she’d worn her hat despite its appearance. Maybe later she’d find a more suitable coat and hat in the house, until she could buy new ones anyway.

  Unfazed by the harsh wind, Fletcher turned his face to the sun and strode across the lawn, scanning the distant horizon. Then he turned his head and smiled at her, as if going out to the barn together was something they did every day. Unlike Julia, who hated awkward silences and always tried to fill them with conversation, he seemed completely at ease with the silence between them. Somehow, walking side by side was enough.

  Then again, she didn’t like small talk either, so she was glad he wasn’t commenting on the weather or landscape. Life was too big and too short and too important to talk about the lack of rain or the latest gossip. She wanted to know how people felt about themselves and one another, whether they were happy or sad. She wanted to know what made them feel loved and what hurt them to the core. She wanted to know about their past, how they got where they were, and their relationships with their mothers and fathers and siblings. She wanted to know if she was the only mixed-up person in the world who felt completely and utterly alone. But she couldn’t ask Fletcher about any of those things, and she had to say something.

  “How long have you worked at Blackwood Manor?” she asked.

  “I don’t just work here. I work at farms all over the county.”

  “Of course,” she said. Maybe sometimes it’s better to keep your mouth shut. “Well, how long have you been the vet here?”

  He twisted his mouth to one side, thinking. “Around three years, I think.”

  “So you started right after my father died.”

  “A couple months before, if I recall. Your father was great with the horses. He really knew his stuff.”

  She shrugged and smiled, not sure what to say. Other than seeing him heading over to the barn or working outside on fences and equipment, she never knew that side of her father.

  “If you don’t mind me asking,” he said. “Where have you been the last few years? Away at school? Claude never told me Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood had a daughter.”

  Julia swallowed. She didn’t want to lie, but she didn’t want to tell him the truth either. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “Sorry. Sure.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “So when was the last time you were around the horses?”

  “It’s been a while. I wasn’t allowed in the barn when I was growing up.”

  He jerked his head back, his eyebrows raised. “What? Why not?”

  She hunched her shoulders against the cold, or maybe it was against her emotions. “Like I said, my mother loved rules. She said it was too dangerous for a young girl to be in the barn, and it was a business not a playground. I’m pretty sure she didn’t want me in there because she thought I’d cause trouble or ruin something.”

  Fletcher looked down at his feet as he walked, his brows knitted. “That’s too bad. Most young girls love horses. It would have been good for you.”

  She studied him out of the corners of her eyes. What made him think she needed something good for her? Did she look that beaten down?

  When they reached the round pen, Claude tipped his cap in her direction. “Morning, Miss Blackwood.”

  “Please,” she said. “Call me Julia.”

  Fletcher rested one arm on the fence. “So, what do you think?”

  Inside the pen, three horses ran back and forth, their tails held high, like black flags in the wind. Their coats shined like oil and their hooves pounded hard on the dirt, making the earth beneath Julia’s feet tremble.

  Seeing the horses up close, a memory came to her. She was nine years old and home sick from school. Normally, Mother was always home, but that day she had an important appointment in town. Father was supposed to check on Julia when he came in from the barn around noon, but as usual, he went into his den and locked the doors. When Julia crept down to the kitchen to get something to drink, she looked out the window above the sink and saw a black horse in the garden, trampling the tomatoes and eating the lettuce and carrot tops. She ran to the den to get her father and started to knock on the door, then stopped, her knuckles on the wood. On the other side of the double doors, her father was weeping, his favorite record—“Little White Lies”—turned up loud.

  She stood for a moment, sick and scared and not knowing what to do, then hurried back to the kitchen, put on her shoes, and went outside. At the edge of the woods, she picked a bunch of clover, then went over to the garden and slowly approached the horse, her hand outstretched. The horse yanked up its head and snorted, startled by her presence. Talking soothingly, Julia took one step at a time toward it, not making any sudden moves. Finally, the horse took a step forward and nibbled at the pink blossoms in her hand, its soft lips like velvet on her palm. When the horse moved closer, munching the clover and looking down on her with big brown eyes, Julia stepped backward and the horse followed. She kept going until they reached an empty paddock outside the barn, then opened the gate and led the horse through. After putting the rest of the clover on the ground, she shut the gate, went back to the horse, and ran her fingers through its black mane. The horse nickered and rubbed its heavy head against her side, loving the attention.

  Overcome by the horse’s show of affection, she wrapped her arms around its muscular neck and pressed her nose into its warm hide. It was the first time she had ever touched a horse and, somehow, it seemed as though she could feel its strength, radiating like the warmth of the sun into her skin. It was like nothing she h
ad ever felt before. On her way back to the house, confusion stirred in her mind. Why would her parents keep her away from such wonderful creatures? It didn’t make sense.

  After that encounter, she looked out her bedroom window every day, aching to be with the horses. Once in a while, when Father wasn’t watching and on the rare occasion Mother was out, she snuck over to the fences near the back of the barn. But she only dared stay a few minutes. Sometimes the horses came over to eat clover out of her hand or let her pet them, but other times they were too busy grazing, running, and sleeping. Either way, she was happy just to be near them. When she ran away from home three years ago, the horses were the only things she missed about Blackwood Manor.

  Now, seeing these stallions—her stallions—up close, she was surprised to feel the old longing return with such undeniable force. “They’re beautiful,” she said, a lump forming in her throat.

  “We have a buyer interested in the black one, and the one with the white blaze,” Fletcher said. “But it’s up to you if you want to sell or not.”

  “Not sure if you’re aware,” Claude said, “but your father bred a lot of blue-ribbon winners in his time. Course, it was Mrs. Blackwood who bought the stud that started it all. But these are some of our best stallions yet. All you have to do is say the word and we can keep them and rebuild our reputation.”

  Julia had no idea what to do. Her head was spinning with memories and doubts and insecurities. Of course she wanted to keep the horses, but could she really run this farm? Could she really take care of these beautiful animals and make the right decisions for their future? “Umm . . .” she started. Then she noticed Fletcher studying her, as if trying to read her mind, and her face flushed with embarrassment.

  Fletcher grinned and turned toward Claude. “Maybe we should give Miss Blackwood a minute to catch her breath,” he said. “After all, she just got here. I know you told the buyer we’d have a decision right away, but the buyer can wait.”

  Claude scowled and pushed his thumbs into his belt.

  Julia breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at Fletcher to show her gratitude. “Can I have a day or two to think about it? I haven’t decided anything yet, if I’m selling the horses or keeping them. I haven’t even unpacked yet.”

  Claude’s frown deepened. “You’re the boss,” he said. “But I’m telling you right now, selling these studs is a big mistake.”

  Fletcher gave Julia a bemused uh-oh look, then directed his attention at Claude. “I’m sure Julia will take your advice into consideration. And I’ll let the buyer know she’ll be making a decision soon.” Then he winked at her and said, “How about a tour of the barn since you’re out here?”

  She nodded. “Thanks, I’d like that.” She waited to see if Claude was going to say anything else, but he busied himself stomping dirt around the base of a fence pole, brooding silently. “I’m sorry for not making up my mind right now,” she said to him, “but I will. And I know you’ve got work to do, but after I have a look around, could you please show me how to turn up the furnace? The house is freezing.”

  Claude moved away from the fence pole and started toward the manor, his face dark. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll take care of it right away.”

  “You don’t have to do it right now,” she said.

  Claude ignored her and kept going, his head down.

  When he was out of earshot, she glanced at Fletcher. “Did I say something wrong?”

  Fletcher shrugged. “I have no idea. But I have to admit, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that cranky.”

  CHAPTER 9

  LILLY

  Trying to catch her breath, Lilly kicked the door and pounded on the walls inside the tiny, dark bathroom inside Merrick’s sleeper car. The rough wood tore at her knuckles, and the heavy stench of old urine made her gag.

  “Let me out of here!” she screamed.

  Muffled voices filtered in through the outer walls of the car as performers and workers left the train on their way to work. She shouted again, then forced herself to stand still on trembling legs, trying to hear above her own labored breathing. Nothing. She closed her eyes and struggled to pull air into her lungs without gagging. They’ll come back, she thought. When the show is over, they’ll come back. She pushed her thumbnail into each fingertip—one, two, three, four, five—over and over again, trying to calm down. After what seemed like forever, her lungs loosened and her breathing returned to normal. But then her muscles started to cramp, like a hundred knives in her legs, and the lack of oxygen made her dizzy. She reached blindly for the toilet and sat on the closed lid, her jaw clenched and her shoulders hunched.

  A little while later, the distant sounds of the big top found their way into the car from outside—music pulsing, people whistling, clapping, shouting, several collective intakes of breath and a smattering of nervous shrieks. An elephant trumpeted and children laughed. To distract herself, Lilly tried to picture the circus in her mind, the clowns and zebras and elephants and balloons. But what once seemed like a dream had turned into a nightmare, and all she could think about was Abby and going home. She put her head in her hands. There was nothing she could do now but wait.

  After a while, the outside sounds changed from laughter and happy shouts to quiet talking and the distant clang of metal doors. Finally, the show was over and, hopefully, Glory was on her way back to the car. Lilly stood and pounded on the door again, even though she knew no one would hear. Her jaw ached from gritting her teeth and a sharp, stabbing pain throbbed at her temples. She could hardly breathe, she couldn’t move, and she didn’t know what she would do if she wasn’t let out soon. At last, she heard muffled voices outside the car, footsteps coming up the steps, and the door to the passenger car opening. She put her ear against the door and strained to listen.

  “Lilly?” a voice called out. “Where are you?” It was Glory.

  “I’m in here!” Lilly shouted, her voice raspy and hoarse. She banged on the door with both fists.

  Footsteps raced across the bedroom floor. The handle on the bathroom door rattled.

  “Hold on,” Glory said. “I’ll get you out.” Footsteps hurried across the floor again, and Glory’s muffled voice said, “Where’s the key, Merrick?”

  Merrick’s muffled voice answered, but Lilly couldn’t make out his words.

  Finally, a key rattled in the lock and the handle turned. The door opened and light sliced into the dark bathroom. Lilly blinked and covered her eyes with one shaking hand, briefly blinded by the glare. Then she bolted across the bedroom and living room, and headed for the exit. Merrick blocked her way, grabbing her by the shoulders.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he said.

  She yanked herself from his grasp and hid behind Glory, breathing hard.

  “Leave her alone,” Glory said.

  “She’s trying to escape again,” Merrick said.

  “Because you locked her in the toilet!” Glory shouted.

  Merrick took a step closer and pushed his face into Glory’s, his chin jutting out. “She needs to learn who’s boss around here, just like you did.”

  Glory moved away from him, almost stepping on Lilly’s toes. “Well, you don’t need to lock her up like an animal to prove it.”

  Merrick scowled at her as if fighting the urge to hit her again, then turned away and took off his jacket, mumbling under his breath. He loosened his bow tie and fell into his chair. “I need a drink.”

  Glory shot a Lilly a wide-eyed look and jerked her chin toward the sofa, then went over to the sideboard and poured Merrick a glass of whiskey. Lilly went to the sofa and sat on her hands, unable to stop shaking. Glory flashed her another worried look, her lips pressed together in a hard, thin line. Lilly wasn’t sure if Glory was warning her to keep quiet, or if she was concerned about something else, but she planned on staying still and silent anyway. Merrick was just like Momma, and if he was trying to teach her a lesson, it worked. Glory took the drink to him, pushed a footstool over to his
chair, took off his shoes, and lifted his feet onto it. Then she knelt beside his chair.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?” she said. “Are you hungry?”

  Merrick took a long swig of his drink, then looked at Glory with amusement. At first Lilly thought he was going to thank her, or give her a kiss. Instead he abruptly sat up and threw his drink in Glory’s face. Lilly jumped and shrank back into the sofa, her heart racing again. Glory gasped and blinked, her mouth open in shock.

  “Yeah,” Merrick said to Glory in a mocking voice. “There’s something else you can do for me. You can stop telling me what to do.” He put the empty glass on the arm of the chair, then stood and stormed into the bedroom.

  Still on her knees, Glory gazed at Lilly with sad, tear-filled eyes, whiskey dripping from her hair and face, mascara running down her cheeks. Lilly hung her head and started to cry.

  * * *

  After locking her in the bathroom, Merrick kept Lilly prisoner in his sleeper car for three days. Glory brought her wash water from the changing tent, meals from the cookhouse, and fresh clothes from the Monday man, who stole clothes from clotheslines in nearly every town. And when Merrick finally let Lilly out, it was time for her to go to work.

  After breakfast in the cookhouse, Merrick took her over to the sideshow to see the new canvas banner being hung outside the freak-show tent to announce her act. When they arrived, Mr. Barlow—in a top hat and jacket—and Alana—in a powder blue dressing gown—were there, watching the painter put the finishing touches on the giant image. Merrick swore under his breath when he saw it.

  Lilly stared up at it, not sure what to think. In the image, she was ten feet tall, with her chin held high and her pale hand around a sparkling staff, like a white version of the bad queen in Sleeping Beauty. A winter scene surrounded her as she stood in front of an icy spaceship and an igloo. She couldn’t imagine why Mr. Barlow wanted people to think she was from another planet. What was she supposed to do and how was she supposed to act? And what happened if everyone found out they were lying? She thought about asking Merrick, but changed her mind. She’d ask Glory later.