I bit my lip, and it was hard to breathe; then I started to cry.
“Oh, Thea, I didn’t mean to upset you. Did your mother not tell you that we knew each other?”
I shook my head.
“Yes, I know all about you. She entrusted you to me, in a way. Another place might not have been suitable for you.
“Do we understand each other, Thea?” Mrs. Holmes asked, after a moment.
I nodded.
“Please look at me.”
I did as she asked. Her eyes were almond-shaped. That I was looking into the same eyes my mother had once looked into seemed impossible.
“And there’s another thing: if you notice anything unusual, anything . . . bodily, please come and see me at once.”
“Bodily?” I repeated.
“Bodily. I’ll expect you know what I mean if it happens.”
I told her I understood, even though I didn’t.
—
As I walked alone to the stables for my evaluation, I thought she must mean my monthly cycle. But I already had that, and knew what to do myself.
I was glad no girl could see my red eyes; I was grateful that I had the walk to compose myself. My understanding had been that Yonahlossee was a place arrived at by accident, by circumstance.
The path past the privies narrowed into a lane wide enough for two people; trees rose on either side, blocking out most of the sunlight. I shivered, and was relieved when I emerged suddenly into a large circle of flat space, bordered by mountains.
I gasped, in spite of myself; I had told myself I would try not to be surprised by everything new at Yonahlossee. But I had never seen anything like this; I hadn’t even known something like this existed. There were three stone barns, all in a row, and they were massive compared to my barn at home, as if they housed an army of horses. My barn at home was barely a barn at all, I realized, compared to this. Horses hung their heads out of their stall windows, and I saw an Appaloosa with a spotted head, a breed I’d only read about, never seen.
Grooms milled about the grounds, pushing wheelbarrows or leading horses. One man caught me staring, and I turned away, blushing; he looked like Docey’s male counterpart, skinny and wiry, capable.
There were five riding rings, two with jumps. Everything looked perfect and new, the rings freshly raked, the fences newly painted. I wondered where Yonahlossee got all its money. The few towns we had driven through on the way here had looked very poor—the buildings falling down, the people dirty—but I knew we were entering Appalachia, which was poor anyway, aside from the financial crisis. Father mentioned a terrible drought. Another reference to unpleasantness, uncharacteristic, but I was quickly learning that my life was turning into a series of surprises.
“It’s unexpected, isn’t it?” a voice asked, and I spun around to find a tall man standing at my left. A horse, already saddled and bridled, stood at his side.
“You startled me,” I said, my hand clapped over my heart, as was my habit when surprised. I hoped my red eyes didn’t give me away.
The man laughed. He had a German accent; I’d met a German man before, Mr. Buch, who used to come visit my father every year or so for business about the oranges.
“You’re German?”
“Yes. I’m Mr. Albrecht.”
“I’m Thea Atwell, pleased to meet you.” I curtsied slightly, to compensate for my rudeness. I recognized Mr. Albrecht from the photographs hanging on the wall. He was the man who presented the awards. He was extremely thin, with a flat chin, which surprised me. I thought Germans came with square jaws. But his skin was smooth, for a man, and his teeth straight. He was, if not handsome, passable. He seemed as old as my father.
“And this,” he said, “is Luther.” He stroked the ridge of Luther’s neck, and Luther lowered his head and watched me. Luther was a homely horse, dull brown with a too-large head and small ears. But he had kind eyes.
“He’s the first horse everyone here rides. Your father said you were an experienced rider?”
“Yes.”
“You shouldn’t have any trouble with Luther. Tap him on over the jumps, keep him steady through the doubles. He’ll jump anything, but sometimes he balks if you’re shy.”
Mr. Albrecht gave me a leg up, and I settled into the saddle while he adjusted my stirrups. My heart raced, from some mixture of the shock I’d just experienced at the hand of Mrs. Holmes and the anticipation of riding in front of a stranger. Luther was huge, over sixteen hands, maybe even seventeen, the largest horse I’d been on. That doesn’t matter, I told myself. Control is control. Mr. Albrecht mapped out the course, and I followed him to the farthest ring. He gave me ten minutes to warm up, and I trotted around the ring, testing Luther. I tugged on my left rein and he tugged back; I gave him a sharp jerk. Mr. Albrecht stood by the gate and watched. He had a simultaneously formal and relaxed air about him; he stood with his hands in his pockets, his head cocked, his white shirt spotless, his breeches neatly ironed and creased.
I tried to ignore the figure of Mr. Albrecht watching me ride. When he told me it was time, I halted Luther from a trot and then asked him to canter from a walk; I wanted his reflexes sharp. Another man had joined Mr. Albrecht by the gate; I squinted—Mr. Holmes. He waved, and I bowed my head in response. I wasn’t wearing a helmet, no one in those days did, and though other people wore gloves, they dulled the feeling in my hands. The jumps I was to clear were over three feet tall; we weren’t afraid of anything, in those days. We didn’t know there was anything to be afraid of.
I completed the course in a blur. I could never remember my courses after I’d finished them, someone would have to tell me if I’d knocked down a rail, or made a wrong turn. After I jumped the last combination, I cantered Luther around the perimeter of the ring until the tension in both our bodies eased. I walked over to where Mr. Albrecht stood; Mr. Holmes was gone.
Mr. Albrecht nodded, and slapped Luther’s neck.
“Cool him out. You did well.”
I could still see Mr. Holmes; he hadn’t reached the trail yet, where the woods would swallow him. I wondered how long it would be until Sam was as tall as Mr. Holmes. Right now he was still a child, or half child, half adult, like me.
I held on to the reins by the buckle at their end and let Luther hang his head. We walked leisurely around the ring. That Yonahlossee was not a place picked at random disturbed me, but also confirmed that my parents’ plan was beyond my understanding. Mother had chosen a place a little like paradise, as far as horses were concerned; at least there was that. That my mother could have been friends with a person like Mrs. Holmes was almost unbelievable; yet I had to believe it. My mother had been cruel to me in the past few weeks in a way that I knew I deserved but was nonetheless hard to bear. My parents had not sent me into the arms of strangers; instead they had sent me into the arms of a woman who knew at least part of my terrible secret. But what part had my mother told her? Surely not everything.
Mr. Albrecht had disappeared into the barn. I stopped Luther and dismounted; then I did a childish thing. I wept into his hot shoulder, salty with sweat, and for the first time in weeks I felt comfort.
About the Author
Anton DiSclafani is the author of the nationally bestselling novel The Yonahlossee Riding Camp for Girls. She was raised in northern Florida and now lives in Alabama with her husband and son, where she teaches at Auburn University.
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Visit Penguin.com for more about this author and a complete list of their books.
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The After Party Page 31
