Chapter Sixteen
Ginger took her seat at dinner, silently stomping her foot underneath the expensive mahogany table. She’d hoped to be seated near Joseph, but he was not at the table. She and her maid, Colleen, had taken extra care with her grooming this evening. Her new dress, with its full skirt of patterned blue organdy, complemented her hair beautifully. The sleeves fell just below her elbows and were finished off with a wide band of creamy Maltese lace. The bodice was cut in a low V, with another band of lace inset at the middle. The tight bodice made her waist look even smaller, and her hair had been brushed until it gleamed. Ginger knew she looked her best, but it seemed her dress and her grooming were all for naught, for there was no one at dinner she wanted to impress.
She was seated between Basil and Mrs. Curran, their hostess, and across the table from William, who would be racing the next day.
“Basil, where is Joseph this evening?” Ginger asked.
“He’s eating with the stable hands tonight.”
“But why would he eat in the stable, instead of feasting on this wonderful meal Mrs. Curran has provided for us?” Ginger smiled at Mrs. Curran, who accepted the compliment with a nod of her head.
“Maybe he doesn’t want to show his face, knowing how soundly I’m going to beat him tomorrow,” William sneered.
Ginger flicked an angry glance across the table at William, then turned back to Basil. “Well?”
“He’s worried about his horse, and doesn’t want anything more to happen to him.”
Ginger caught her breath. “Anything more? Has something happened to Midnight?”
“No, but only because Joseph is never far from him. Someone tried to slip moldy hay into the horse’s feeding trough this afternoon.”
She glared at William, who would not meet her gaze. “Why, moldy hay would make the horse sick for at least a day! Who would do such a thing, knowing that the big race is tomorrow?”
William straightened in his seat, pulling his body into military erectness. “Are you accusing me of foul play? I have not been anywhere near the stables since this morning. And I don’t need to resort to trickery to win the race.”
“But you nearly ran into me this afternoon as you were hurrying away from the stables! Surely you remember? It was right before you punched me.”
Basil turned to his sister. “William punched you? What are you talking about?” He rose from his seat and reached across the table, grabbing William’s arm. “You hit my sister? I’ll beat you to a bloody pulp!”
Ginger pulled on her brother’s arm and hissed. “Sit down. There’s no need to cause a scene. I’d be happy to show you the bruise, Basil, if you’d like. It’s of no consequence, really — he certainly didn’t have much power behind his punch. I’ve received harder blows from you and Halwyn when we were just playing. But Mr. Douglas and I did see Officer Davenport leaving the stables this afternoon, so his claim he hasn’t been there since morning is indeed false.” Basil took his seat once more, but he continued to glare across the table.
William glared back. “So now you’re accusing me of lying as well as insinuating I’m trying to harm a horse?”
Basil covered his sister’s hand with his own. “Despite the fact that you hit my sister, I’m certain Ginger did not mean to cast aspersions on your character. She knows you are a horse lover, as is Joseph. But in addition to the moldy hay, one of the workers tried to take Midnight out for a run this evening. When Joseph caught him leading the horse out of the stall, the stable boy said he’d made a mistake and had the wrong horse. So, Joseph thought it for the best he take off his fancy dinner suit and stay in the barn for the night, in order to avoid any more mix-ups.”
William’s hand flexed into a fist on top of the table. His eyes flashed as he stared at Basil. “It seems to me Joseph is finding one excuse after another for why his horse will lose tomorrow. Why doesn’t he just accept the fact his is the lesser horse and he is the inferior rider instead of trying to pin blame on someone other than himself and his steed?”
“Believe me, William, Joseph is not trying to point fingers. He would never have said anything about it, but I felt an explanation for his absence from the table this evening was owed to our hostess.”
Mrs. Curran nodded her head as she accepted the explanation.
William would not back down. “Well, tomorrow will tell the tale, won’t it? When we were out today, both of us going over the course, he merely walked his horse through the race, and let him sniff around, rather than keep the horse on task and get to the finish line. I don’t think much of the mount myself, and can’t understand why he’s gained so much attention from everyone. You’d think all of New York had never seen a horse before, until Joseph came to town with his steeds.”
“But Midnight is the most handsome horse I’ve ever seen.” Ginger’s voice was almost a whisper. And the rider the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.
“Handsomeness has nothing to do with performance. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.” William gulped a long swallow from his wineglass.
“Indeed, we will,” she replied. “I can’t wait.”
Chapter Seventeen
The Fourth of July dawned cloudy. A hard, steady rain had fallen during the night, making the ground spongy and soft. Guests on horseback, as well as the two racers, assembled in the front yard, gouging holes in the finely manicured lawn, so recently the scene of spirited croquet and bowling matches.
As the horses milled about, Nathaniel Curran explained to the excited crowd what was about to happen. Standing on the front steps of his home, he cleared his throat dramatically before he began speaking.
“Essentially, there are no rules for this race, other than the starting and ending points. It can be run in any order and on any route the riders choose so long as they cross the four major obstacles — the great stone wall, the ravine, the creek, and the wooden fence. We will begin here at the door to the estate, and end at the steeple of St. George’s Episcopal Church in Hempstead. The course is approximately four and a half miles long and consists of a flat but rough terrain portion, a heavily wooded area, several small fences, and a creek. Officials are already positioned at each of the four chosen obstacles to make certain they are crossed by both riders.”
Mr. Curran looked out over the crowd. “We will give the spectators ten minutes to get into position before we send the racers off. This will be a difficult and dangerous course, which adds to the excitement. Good luck to both of our riders, and have a safe and clean race.”
The crowd dispersed with a cheer, riding off to vie for the best positions along the route of the race. Ginger and Elizabeth rode together, along with Cedric, who had not been far from Elizabeth’s side in the weeks since their passionate encounter in Niblo’s Garden.
It’s so like Elizabeth to jump into romance with both feet, as she’s done with every other experience since we were just young girls, thought Ginger. If it had not been for Elizabeth’s influence, Ginger would have missed out on some of her most treasured escapades. Like the night in Niblo’s Garden, when Joseph saved Elizabeth from certain ruin. That night, anyway.
She sighed briefly reliving in her mind every detail of that evening. She’d caught his quick glance at her exposed bosom before she could realign her bodice, and, despite the circumstances, had hoped that furtive glance would be enough to enflame Joseph’s lust. But, alas, he had remained aloof. At least until the moment she snatched him from certain death when she threw herself at him, knocking him out of the way of a speeding buggy. And then he forever changed her life by branding her with his kiss.
Elizabeth and Cedric paused their horses and exchanged a kiss, leaning precariously over their mounts to do so. Ginger caught her lower lip in her teeth as tears came to her eyes. She knew, deep in her heart, Joseph’s feelings for her were as strong as hers were for him, but he kept mounting a resistance. The other day in the stables, he nearly tore her heart out when he told her not to think of him anymore and to select one
of her many suitors. Then he referred to his horse as Midnight, the name she had bestowed upon him. Why had Joseph not taken her into his arms and kissed her again, like Cedric was doing with Elizabeth right now? She truly didn’t understand his reluctance. Or his strong will. She had tried coquetry, brazenness, helplessness, and every other feminine wile she could think of to break down his resistance, all to no avail.
Cedric and Elizabeth were whispering to each other as their horses stood side by side. Elizabeth looked like she was ready to leap from her sidesaddle and into Cedric’s arms.
“You two are moving much too slowly for my tastes,” Ginger said. “I want to be at the finish line to see Joseph take it all. I’m going on ahead, if you don’t mind.”
Elizabeth didn’t turn her eyes away from Cedric, as their horses continued to bump up against each other. “We don’t mind at all, do we, my love?”
Ginger needed no further encouragement. She tugged on her top hat to position it squarely in place. She nudged her horse into a trot, then a canter as she sped away from the two lovers. She pondered whether to stay on the path and follow the crowd to Roslyn Harbor, or to take the shorter route through the woods. Because she wanted to be the first to make it to the steps of St. George’s, she dug her heels into her horse’s sides and turned him towards the woods.
Chapter Eighteen
Joseph and William glared at each other, their horses pawing the ground in readiness.
“I have looked forward to this day for weeks, Joseph Lafontaine. Today I am going to show everyone what you’re made of.”
Joseph glanced over at his rival. He put his hand on Midnight’s withers. The horse’s body was shivering in excitement; Joseph knew he was eager to race, and race hard.
“We both have fine steeds. This will be a good race.”
William tightened his grip on his horse’s reins as he swirled in a circle. “And after you lose to me, Miss Ginger Fitzpatrick will be lost to you as well. She will realize her loyalty is misplaced and I am the better man to claim her hand.”
“I thought the race was to prove which was the better horse, not which of us is the better man.”
William’s lip curled in disdain. “I grow weary of you, pretending not to realize what’s going on here. I will win this race, and I will win Ginger’s hand and heart as well, before this season comes to an end.”
Joseph extended a hand to the man, as Nathaniel Curran mounted the steps of the estate house to signal the start of the race. “Best of luck to you then, on all counts.”
William ignored the hand stretched out to him. “I will not soil my hand by touching yours, you filthy Frenchie. I cannot wait until I have bested you and can celebrate with a bottle of the finest cold champagne and Ginger’s warm body.”
Joseph pulled his hand back and straightened in the saddle. “So be it.”
Mr. Curran fired a gun into the air, and both horses took off at a gallop.
The first obstacle on the long course was the barrier separating the Curran estate from the neighboring property. It was constructed of stone and about four feet high — a good test of both horse and rider. William and Joseph pounded toward it side by side. As the stone barrier approached, William cut in front of Joseph and sailed over it with a victorious yell, his fist raised to the sky.
Joseph had to pull his horse sharply to the right in order to avoid a collision with William, yet Midnight cleared the barrier with room to spare. Joseph shook his head at the impetuous young man whose actions placed both horses in jeopardy. Joseph raced along in the other’s wake, content for the time being to avoid further peril to his horse by letting William take the lead.
The horses’ hooves pounded over the soft ground of the neighboring estate. As the rolling hills gave way to the woods, both riders had to slow their mounts. Footing became more treacherous, and low-lying branches threatened to unseat the two riders. The rain, which had held off all morning, began again. The horses easily leaped over a downed tree and continued their pace along a narrow path through the woods. William’s horse momentarily lost his footing on some wet leaves, allowing Joseph to slip into the lead. He marked the way for William as he sped through the last of the wooded area.
As Joseph cleared the forest, he kicked Midnight into a gallop. He had only a few minutes before he came to the next obstacle — the creek, which by now was swollen with last night’s downpour. Yesterday, during their inspection of the course, it had been an easy matter to run the horses through the creek, which had been no higher than the horses’ fetlocks, but today it was a swirling torrent of brown water. Joseph spied the best opening at the bank for him to cross, and looked over his shoulder. No sign of William yet, but he should be clearing the woods at any second.
Joseph rode downstream to the slight opening on the bank and quickly plunged Midnight into the rapidly running current. As he cleared the water on the other side, he caught a glimpse of William attempting to take his horse into the creek at the same point he had yesterday. The horse whinnied and backed away from the crushing water. Joseph did not wait to see the outcome of this standoff between horse and rider, but instead urged his horse toward the next hurdle in his quest to be first to the steeple.
Midnight’s muscles bunched as he jumped the waterlogged ravine, gaining a foothold on the other side in a long easy stride. The cries of the crowd gathered at this obstacle, yelling out encouragement from both sides of the ravine, reached Joseph’s ears in a blur of noise as he sailed past. He looked back to see if he could spy William and caught sight of him coming up quickly behind him. He spurred Midnight on to the last obstacle. A wooden fence was the only obstacle left before the horses would race across open fields to the steeple in Roslyn Harbor.
Midnight cleared the fence as Joseph sensed the pounding hooves of William’s horse behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw William’s horse clear the fence with no problem. The ride across the field was on.
Joseph steered Midnight away from the most direct path, losing some ground to William as he did so.
William narrowed his eyes against the rain and yelled to Joseph, “Hey, French slug. The finish is this way.” He pointed across the field.
However, Joseph had taken his time yesterday at this point of the course, and let Midnight choose the best route through the field, which was riddled with woodchuck holes. He knew his horse could make up any lost ground with a burst of speed at the end. As Joseph and Midnight galloped along their chosen route, Joseph watched William and his horse go down. He sped on and, within a few minutes, reached the finish line and acknowledged the roar of the crowd as he crossed the line alone. He turned in his saddle, but William was nowhere in sight.
Joseph accepted the congratulations of the well-wishers, many of whom had put money on the outcome of the race. He scanned the crowd, looking for Ginger, but she was not in the group, which troubled him. He knew she would be here to support him unless something happened to prevent her from doing so. He turned his attention back to the crowd hovering around him and Midnight, yelling questions to him and making offers to buy the horse.
A shot rang out from the vicinity of the field where Joseph had last seen William. The crowd fell silent, and Joseph spurred Midnight back the way they had just come. Several men from the crowd jumped on their horses and galloped in the same direction, eager to see what had caused the shot.
Joseph carefully picked his way back over the muddy field. He came upon William, standing beside his horse. William turned to him, revealing his barely controlled anger.
“This is all your fault! I had to shoot the best horse I’ve ever had, and it’s all because of you!” His eyes blazed as he stared at his foe, the smoking gun still in his hand.
“If you had taken your time to examine the course yesterday, you would have noticed all these woodchuck holes and steered your mount clear of them,” Joseph replied. “I consider this unfortunate waste of a good horse your fault, not mine.”
“We will see if the race offi
cials agree when I tell them that while I was at dinner last night, you were out here digging holes to endanger my horse. You will be disqualified.”
“Any fool can see this is the work of a woodchuck, not of man.”
“Are you back to calling me a fool? We will see about that. I’m going to lodge a complaint against you.”
“May I offer you a ride back to the estate, then?” Joseph stared down at the other man, who was soaked to the skin. William looked bedraggled in his now sodden military uniform.
“I will find my own way. I do not want to hazard a ride back with you. Lord knows what cutthroat idea you have up your sleeve to prevent me from seeing justice done.”
“As you wish, then.” Joseph saluted the officer and turned Midnight in the direction of the warm stables.
Chapter Nineteen
The rain, which had started off gently, had become a classic summer deluge before the racers were halfway through the course. By the time Joseph got back to the Curran property, hard, driving torrents slammed to the ground, obliterating the tracks of the many horses and creating fields of mud where only the morning before lovely grasses had glistened in cultivated splendor.
Although during the walk back to the stables Midnight had sufficiently cooled off from his grueling race, Joseph took his time wiping down the horse completely and checking him over for any signs of cuts or bruises from the rigorous steeplechase. Other than blowing hard, the horse appeared to be in good shape, and ready to take on another challenger.
Joseph took a peppermint candy from his pocket and fed it to the horse before he filled the trough with fresh hay and a cup full of oats. He patted Midnight’s neck and spoke softly to him in a mixture of French, Ojibwa, and English.
“Migwetch, merci, thank you, my gallant one. You have proven to everyone here that your heart, your odayin, is as big as the rest of you. My only regret is that the horse of a foolish man had to be put down.” He rested his face against the black’s neck, inhaling the familiar odor of horse sweat and hay. He sighed. “Now we are free to leave New York and return home.”
Becky Lower Page 10
