by Amanda Deed
That must have been the first piece of information she’d volunteered of her own accord. So far, their conversation had been his questions followed by brief answers from her. Not that he found her dull. On the contrary, he found her intriguing and was impatient to learn more. Clearly, this would be a challenge. It was as if she clammed up every time he spoke to her.
Price followed her to the stables, where she showed him the horses’ stalls. Behind the stables were fenced yards, in which several horses roamed. Miss Jane led him around the fence towards one horse, a shiny black mare—big, he guessed at sixteen hands or so.
‘This is my horse, Essie.’ She glanced sideways at him. ‘Esther.’
Moses flapped his wings and left her shoulder to land upon the horse’s withers, where he bobbed his head up and down and flared his crest.
‘Moses likes to ride, eh?’ Price grinned.
Miss Jane nodded with a small smile of her own.
‘I must confess I’m becoming quite fond of this bird of yours. I’ve never seen the likes of him. Rather unique, and even more interesting than those wonderful kookabirds.’
‘Kookaburras?’
‘Yes. That’s the one. I can’t help but laugh along when they start cackling. Amazing creatures.’ Speaking of amazing creatures, he turned his attention back to Essie. ‘She’s a beautiful horse.’ He bent to put a leg through the rails. ‘Do you mind if I say hello?’
‘I wouldn’t …’ Miss Jane’s voice sounded unsure.
Price ducked through the railing. He’d grown up surrounded by horses, why should this mare be different? He glanced back at Miss Jane and noticed she looked anxious and had her bottom lip clamped between her teeth. ‘Don’t worry, Miss Jane, I’ve had plenty of experience with horses. My father bred horses for a hobby, remember. I helped break in many of them myself.’
‘But …’ Whatever she was going to say, she never finished it. Instead, she ducked through the fencing behind him.
Price turned his attention back to Essie and approached her with his hand outstretched. ‘Hey, girl. I’m Price.’ Although he spoke in gentle tones, the big mare’s ears twitched and she made a nervous nicker in the back of her throat. ‘It’s okay, Essie. I’m not going to hurt you.’
‘Mr Moreland, I think you should back away.’ Miss Jane stood just behind him.
‘It’s okay, Miss Jane. I’ll calm her. She will soon realise that I don’t pose a threat.’ Price would not be intimidated by a horse.
He took another step closer and reached out to touch Essie’s nose. Before he knew what had happened, the mare’s eyes rolled back. With a loud whinny, she reared, knocking him to the ground, then bolted to the other side of the yard. Moses squawked and flapped as he lost balance, and flew to the fence rail. Price looked up into the face of Miss Jane, whose green eyes twinkled, then swerved away from him, even as she bit her lip into a grim line.
‘What just happened?’
‘I tried to warn you.’ Miss Jane’s cheeks flushed pink.
‘Is she not broken in or something?’ He squinted up at her.
‘She doesn’t like white hats.’
‘What?’ Price couldn’t believe his ears. He picked up his hat which had rolled clear of his head in the fall, and dusted it off, wondering what was so frightening about a hat. As he pushed himself up off the ground, he brushed dirt and pieces of straw from his clothes. ‘That’s the strangest thing I’ve ever heard.’ But Miss Jane had gone over to her horse and spoke soothing words to the mare while stroking the silky black coat. A horse that had no problem with white birds, but was afraid of a white hat? He shook his head and climbed back out of the yard, pressing his hat back on his head.
A few minutes later, Miss Jane joined him again. They stood at the rail watching the horses for a long moment.
‘We bought Essie from a man who we think used to ill-treat her. He wore a white hat.’
Price digested her words for a moment. ‘Oh.’ Then the silliness of the moment hit him and he began to laugh. Just a chuckle at first, but as Miss Jane giggled, too, it became a full belly laugh. Then, of course, Moses joined them. He’d been so proud of his white Boss of the Plains hat. He’d never have guessed a horse could find it offensive. ‘Well now, I think I need me a new hat.’
8
After their tour, Miss Jane led him to the cookhouse where Mrs Ferguson procured them a glass of lemonade and something she called teacake.
‘What happened to you, Mr Moreland?’ Mrs Ferguson had seen the smudge of dirt on his sleeve no doubt.
‘Essie took exception to my hat, I believe.’
Mrs Ferguson’s eyes sparked. ‘Ha. Don’t take it too personally. Essie doesn’t even appreciate my Mr Ferguson too much.’ She turned to Miss Jane. ‘Didn’t you warn him, lass?’
‘I tried.’ She flushed pink.
‘I’m afraid I wasn’t listening very well.’ Price admitted. ‘Serves me right really.’
Mrs Ferguson chuckled while busy shelling peas at the table where they sat. ‘It must have been a sight. Wish I’d been there.’
‘Yes, that’d be right. Everyone wants to laugh at the lanky fool, floundering on the ground.’ Price rolled his eyes in good humour and helped himself to a second piece of teacake.
Mrs Ferguson rapped him across the back of the wrist with a feigned scowl. ‘You watch the sweets Mr Moreland, or you won’t be lanky for long. You’ll be a barrel with legs.’
A glance toward Miss Jane saw her mouth drop in shock at Mrs Ferguson’s playfulness. Price threw his head back and laughed at that. He winked at Miss Jane, and spoke in confidential tones. ‘I like your Aunt Ruby.’
Another rare smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. ‘I like her, too.’
‘And I like her as well.’
Price turned to see an old man, somewhat stooped and with wisps of grey hair on his head, enter the cookhouse. ‘Quite a lot, in fact.’ He shot Price and Miss Jane a wink.
‘This is my husband, Darcy Ferguson. Most folks around here just call him Old Darcy.’
Price stood to his feet and stretched out a hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Ferguson, or Old Darcy.’
‘And you, sir.’ Old Darcy nodded.
Price sat back down and Old Darcy joined them at the work table.
‘So, Mr Moreland. Where did you learn to cook?’ Mrs Ferguson went back to her peas.
Price grinned at her. ‘I learned from the … our servants. The cook was especially nice to me.’ He mentally chided himself. He’d almost used that word he never wanted to use again: slaves. The issue of slavery had been what started the trouble. Before the war, Pa kept several slaves. Price grew up with their children, and even played with them. One of his best friends … Price jerked his mind away from the memories. Even all these years later, it was still too raw.
He picked up his glass of lemonade and gulped it down, trying to push away the sudden emotion that had risen in his throat.
‘So this cook of yours taught you to make your version of scones?’
Price nodded, thankful that no one had picked up on his momentary vulnerability.
‘What else did she—assuming she was a she—teach you?’
Price managed a smile. ‘She taught me to make biscuits and gravy, pumpkin pie, corn bread, many things. Why, she even showed me how to prepare the Thanksgiving turkey once.’
‘You must have spent a lot of time in the kitchen.’
Price chuckled at that, self-conscious. ‘Well, if not out with the horses, or playing with my younger brothers, or climbing trees, the kitchen was my next favourite spot. Particularly in winter.’ He glanced at Miss Jane at the mention of tree climbing to see how she might react, but the chair she had occupied was empty. In fact, she had managed to slip away without him being aware of the fact. ‘How does she do that?’ he mumbled, still searching the room.
‘Well, yeah.’
‘Let me guess. You were so engrossed in the conversation, you didn’t see her rise, nod to all of us, take Moses and go.’
Price let out a long breath. ‘I suppose so. You’re saying I wasn’t paying enough attention.’
‘Most people don’t pay enough attention to our Janey.’ Mrs Ferguson’s eyes were wide with sorrow. ‘That’s why she manages to slip away so quietly.’
Price shifted his gaze from Mrs Ferguson to Old Darcy and back again. This couple seemed to care much for Miss Jane. Perhaps they might be able help him. ‘She doesn’t talk much.’
Mrs Ferguson sighed. ‘Again, she’s learnt not to speak because people don’t listen to her thoughts or opinions. She may look inferior to every other woman in their finery, but she has a keen mind and a gentle spirit.’
‘And a creative side, too, I’ve noticed.’ Price didn’t want them to assume his attitude toward Miss Jane was as careless as the rest of the community.
‘She’s a lovely lass,’ Old Darcy told him.
‘Well, that’s what I thought.’ Price admitted with a self-conscious grin. ‘So, how do I get her to talk to me?’
‘Give her time, Mr Moreland.’ Mrs Ferguson frowned. ‘My guess is so far you’ve done most of the talking. If you keep prattling on, she’ll keep listening. If you stop and be quiet, she will open up. But you’ll have to be patient. If silence makes you nervous, you’ll end up chatting endlessly and it will be a one-sided conversation.’
‘You seem a decent fellow,’ Old Darcy added, ‘and I don’t think you’re one to make fun of her as some do, so I’ll tell you this. She’s worth the effort.’
Price nodded, digesting their words. In a round-about way, they said he was being too selfish—forever talking about himself and not giving Miss Jane the attention she deserved. Not that it was easy to accept, but they had a point. He’d always been good at chattering, especially about himself. Ma used to say he talked to anybody and everybody. It didn’t matter whether he knew them or not, or whether they were interested in what he had to say or not. He’d even talk to inanimate objects such as his wooden soldiers as a boy.
‘Thanks for your advice, Mr and Mrs Ferguson. I’ll endeavour to hold my tongue the next time I have a chance to spend time with her.’ He stood to his feet. ‘It’s past time I rejoined the O’Reilly family, or they’ll think I’m terrible rude.’
‘Don’t forget to come by with your American baking, Mr Moreland.’ Mrs Ferguson wagged a finger at him.
A perfect excuse to return and spend more time with Miss Jane. ‘Well now, you can be sure I won’t forget that, Mrs Ferguson.’ Price collected his offensive hat and pressed it on his head, tipping it toward the Fergusons. ‘Good day to y’all.’
As he strode for the house, he marvelled at the strange mix of people who lived on this farm. Mrs O’Reilly and her two daughters were rather overbearing. Nice enough, he supposed, but not people with whom he wanted to spend much time. Mr O’Reilly and Miss Jane were the opposite, reticent to a fault, although he expected they would be good to know if he managed to get that far. Then there were Mr and Mrs Ferguson who appeared to be lovely, homey country folk, who accepted one as family from the moment they met you. Where the rest of the family made him feel awkward by their respective behaviours, the Fergusons put him at ease at once.
But Miss Jane was worth the effort, they’d said, and Price determined that he would make that effort. She was far too interesting to set aside now. As he pictured those green eyes, which never quite met his, and the spattering of freckles across her petite nose, his heart skipped a beat. Miss Jane was also too pretty to ignore.
What was happening to her? Barely had Jane found out that Danny had married another, and already she constantly had pictures of Mr Moreland in her head. Jane nudged her foot into Essie’s flank, encouraging the horse to run. She wanted to feel the wind in her hair. Hopefully it would blow away the cloud of confusion that kept fogging up her mind.
Danny. Danny. Danny. I should be thinking about Danny. Shouldn’t I? Wasn’t it the right thing to do to spend a certain time grieving over one loss before losing your heart to another?
But Mr Moreland was so handsome, and heaven help her, he seemed to take notice of her, instead of ignoring her like everyone else. Could he be trusted, though? Could she be sure he wasn’t gathering information so he might use it to gossip to his customers—the latest fool story about that loony Plain Jane? It wasn’t as though it had never happened.
Prissy Stevens.
Jane bit on her lip at the memory of that agonising time. Her days at the Hay Public School had been unpleasant. Well, in between classes at any rate. She hadn’t minded the learning part and the teacher was nice enough if one managed to keep out of trouble. It was the playground that caused her humiliation to grow.
To this day, Jane suspected one of her stepsisters manipulated Prissy into her callous behaviour. Perhaps they cajoled her with promises of sweets or everlasting friendship, Jane didn’t know, but Prissy betrayed her in a most painful fashion. Feigning an interest in Jane, Prissy spent time during their recesses talking and playing with her. For a week, it went on, and Jane had been in wonder of her new friend. Finally, someone with whom to share her likes and dislikes and to play games.
Then came the following Monday. All of a sudden Prissy, along with her stepsisters and the other girls, were laughing at her and whispering about her behind her back. Jane had no memory of saying or doing anything foolish, or worthy of ridicule, no matter how often she replayed the incident. She had been her true self and genuine in her friendship toward Prissy. Jane had been duped and she’d begged the ground to open and swallow her whole. Even more so when the boys joined in and everyone stood around her chanting ‘Plain Jane.’
As soon as escape was possible, Jane ran home as fast as her long legs would carry her and begged her father never to send her there again. Pa had sent her to her room to calm down at least, but the next day her stepmother forced her back to school. ‘Pull yourself together, Jane. Everyone is teased at least once during their childhood.’
For another whole year she had to go back and endure the taunting daily. When she turned fourteen Pa let her stay home and help on the farm instead.
Jane pulled up on the reins, bringing Essie to a halt. In every direction around her there were flat plains. Not even the homestead was visible on the horizon. Her breath came in deep gasps from the exertion, but also from the emotion of the memory. Jane wiped at her moist cheeks. After all these years, the pain still became so real that tears spilled from her eyes. She couldn’t bear it if it happened again. Not with someone the likes of Mr Moreland.
She rode Essie back home at an easy pace, rubbed her down and settled her in her stall for the evening, hoping that Mr Moreland had left by now. With the turmoil in her mind, she could not sustain another encounter with him just yet. Thus, Jane took her time checking on the other animals. Then she played fetch with Jem and Zai for a while before saying a long good night to Moses and shutting him in his cage. It was earlier than usual, but she didn’t want to go into the house for supper until it became unavoidable.
Of course, when she did, she discovered with relief that Mr Moreland had been gone for hours. On the other hand, she was forced to listen to her sisters and their non-stop gushing over him. Jane sat in the parlour with them and Mother to wait for supper, and picked up a novel she’d been reading. At least with a book in hand, it was possible to hear them and yet stay out of their conversation.
Zeke, their tabby cat, wasted no time in shifting his bulky weight to her warm lap, curling up as though he belonged there. Jane absent-mindedly stroked his fur while trying to focus on the words on the page. Zeke began to purr at once, lapping up the attention. But Jane only heard her stepsisters raving over every detail to do with M
r Moreland.
‘Did you see the way he smiled at me?’ Harriet appeared confident that the man admired her more than anyone else.
‘He smiled at me, too.’ Nancy sounded put out.
‘Don’t his dimples just make you melt?’
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harriet fan her face with her hand in an exaggerated fashion, and wanted to cringe.
‘Do they ever.’ Nancy emphasised the words.
‘I think he likes me.’ Harriet announced. ‘I’m sure he’ll come calling again.’
Jane stole a glance at Nancy, who pouted. ‘What about me? Maybe he liked me better.’
Harriet let out a scornful sniff.
Nancy frowned now and in a spiteful tone, spat, ‘Or maybe he likes Jane. He did go outside and talk to her.’
Jane looked up then to find them staring at her, their expressions accusing.
‘What did he talk to you about, Jane?’ Harriet narrowed her eyes.
Jane shrugged. ‘The animals. That’s all.’
A condescending smile spread on her rose petal lips. ‘Of course. That’s all you can think about. Your boring pets. I bet he was yawning by the time he left you.’
Jane was not likely to admit that she and Mr Moreland had laughed together, or that she had walked away from their conversation, not him. Instead, she shrugged.
‘Well. I think he likes me best.’ Harriet restated her case, as though she had ownership rights. ‘Mama, what do you think?’
Mother set her embroidery aside and lifted her gaze. ‘I think he would be a fool not to notice either of you. But, as the oldest, Harry should marry first.’
A self-important smile spread on Harriet’s face. ‘I told you so.’
Jane gritted her teeth, but held her silence. Nancy went as far as poking her tongue out.
‘I learned something at church this morning that I’ve been looking forward to telling you girls.’ Mother’s eyes widened with excitement. ‘The hospital board has decided to hold a fundraising dance in spring. Of course, I am on the fundraising committee as you know, so we will be able to organise an exceptional ball.’
