Call Me Softly

by D. Jackson Leigh

  At that moment, John led two ponies out of the barn, saddled and ready to go. He held Swain’s mount while she gave Lillie a leg up on a seasoned bay gelding and handed her a mallet.

  “Should I get Miss Wetherington a helmet?” John asked.

  Swain considered his question, then shook her head. “We won’t be mixing it up today, just practicing some swings. Unless she hits herself in the head with her own mallet, she should be okay.”

  “Perhaps you should watch your head,” Lillie said, lifting her mallet in a mock challenge. She turned her pony and trotted off to join Rob, who was loosening up his horse by jogging in large figure eights.

  John chuckled. “I’d keep an eye on that one.”

  “Doing my best.” Swain grinned. “Toss us some balls out around midfield, will you, John?”

  They took turns galloping toward the balls and smacking them toward the goalposts. Lillie missed the first few, but she was soon nailing them dead-on as her confidence grew. Swain watched her wheel her mount around to return after a particularly good hit. Lillie couldn’t drive worth a damn, but she was a natural horsewoman. Her cheeks were flushed and her smile dazzling. Beautiful.

  “That’s probably enough for today,” Swain said as Lillie drew near. “We need to walk these guys a bit to cool them down, then we can grab some lunch.” She usually worked through lunch, but she didn’t want to miss an opportunity to spend more time with Lillie.

  “One more,” Lillie begged. “I want to hit one more.”

  Swain laughed. “Okay. One more.” She signaled for Rob to send a ball back toward midfield so Lillie could line up for one more shot. But Lillie didn’t wait for the ball to come to a stop. She spurred her pony forward to intercept and raised her stick. In her eagerness, she leaned over her pony’s shoulder too soon. When the experienced gelding shifted to adjust his course to accurately intercept, Lillie was thrown off-balance, tumbling over his shoulder and under his feet.

  Swain watched in horror as the horse galloped on downfield and Lillie lay in the grass, not moving. She kicked her pony forward and, before he came to a full stop, jumped from his back.

  “Oh, my God. Lillie!”

  “Don’t move her.” Rob’s face was pale as he looked down from his horse. “I’ll go call the EMTs.”

  “Bloody hell,” Lillie mumbled into the grass. She rolled over and stared up at them. “Don’t do that. I’m okay, I think. Ow.” She had started to push herself into a sitting position, but sank back and clutched her left arm.

  “Go call them, Rob,” Swain ordered.

  Rob galloped away and Swain ran her hands down each of Lillie’s legs, checking for injuries.

  “My legs are fine,” Lillie grumbled.

  Swain cupped Lillie’s face, looking into her eyes. Her pupils looked okay. She felt along Lillie’s neck and gently along her skull. Damn it. She should have made her wear a helmet.

  Lillie caught Swain’s frantic hands as they slid along her collarbone, feeling for a break, and held them. “My head is fine, too. The only thing that hurts is my shoulder.”

  Rob galloped back. “John’s calling for help.”

  “Help me up. I’m bloody fine.”

  When Lillie was standing, Swain wrapped a protective arm around her waist. “You should let the medical people decide that. Your arm could be broken or your shoulder dislocated. We need to take you to the hospital for X-rays.”

  “It doesn’t hurt that badly.” Lillie was feeling stronger now and a bit foolish for tumbling off her pony. “Stop making such a fuss. Haven’t you fallen off a horse and gone arse over teakettle before?” She flexed her arm, then rotated her shoulder. “See. I couldn’t do this if it was broken or dislocated.”

  Swain hadn’t missed the wince when Lillie moved the shoulder. She began to brush some of the grass out of Lillie’s hair and stopped. “Damn. You’re bleeding.” Swain stared at the small rip in Lillie’s T-shirt and the red stain around it.

  Lillie frowned. “Where?”

  “Right here on the back of your shoulder.” She turned Lillie and started walking her toward the main house. “Rob, take care of the ponies, will you? And send the medics up to the house when they get here.”

  *

  Lillie sat on a tall stool in the kitchen and batted Swain’s hands away. “Stop it. If you want to be useful, help me get this shirt off and clean up whatever’s bleeding on my shoulder.” She tugged at the T-shirt.

  “Hold on just a minute.” Swain pulled the bloody shirt away from the injury site and carefully helped Lillie strip it off over her head.

  Lillie stared at the bloody tear in her shirt. “Oh, no.”

  Startled by the distress in Lillie’s voice, Swain peered at the cut. The bleeding appeared to have stopped. Was something else wrong? Did Lillie have some health condition that made a small cut more dangerous than usual? “It doesn’t look that bad.”

  “Yes, it does. This was my very favorite shirt and it’s ruined.”

  Swain looked over Lillie’s shoulder at the white shirt. “Celine” was written in a faint, pink script across the chest. “Celine?” Swain frowned. What woman goes around writing her name in pink on other women’s clothes?

  “Yes. I was twelve when Dad played a show with her and got her to sign it for me. That’s not a stamp. That’s her actual handwriting. See up here at the top in the small letters? ‘For Lillie.’ It was a teenage crush, but the shirt still means a lot to me because Dad was my hero that night.”

  Lillie held the shirt up for a clearer view, but Swain had her gaze fixed farther down, on the two creamy breasts nestled inside a skimpy, white lace bra. She jerked her eyes up as Lillie turned around. “Uh, right. The singer.”

  A knock sounded at the back door and Swain frowned. “Could you…” She grabbed the shirt in Lillie’s hands and pressed it to her chest. “…uh, cover up a bit until I see who it is.”

  She went to the back door and stepped outside to greet the two paramedics—a stocky woman and a muscular, bearded man.

  “What’s up, girl? You don’t look too hurt,” the woman said.

  Swain smiled. She knew the female paramedic well. She was heterosexual…and happily married. “Hey, Mandy. It’s not me. It’s Lillie, Abigail’s granddaughter. She’s inside. I don’t think she’s hurt bad, but she took a spill off a horse and has a cut on her shoulder. I’d appreciate it if you’d check her out.”

  “Okay. Let’s take a look.”

  Swain held the door open for Mandy, but stopped her friend’s burly partner with a hand in his chest. “We had to take her shirt off.” She wasn’t about to let some guy come in and ogle Lillie’s breasts like…well, like she had.

  “I’m a trained health professional.”

  “I don’t care. You wait outside.”

  Mandy shook her head, but smiled. “I’ll yell if I need you.”

  The man shrugged. “I’ll wait in the truck.”

  Swain hovered while Mandy checked Lillie’s pupils, palpated ribs, and probed the sore shoulder. She cleaned the cut and closed it with two small adhesive strips. Then she and Lillie commiserated over the torn shirt.

  “What about her shoulder?” The discomfort in Lillie’s face when she tried to raise her arm concerned Swain.

  Mandy took the hint to get back on subject and began to gather her medical supplies. “Take some ibuprofen for the pain and put an ice pack on it, twenty-minute intervals for the rest of the afternoon. Nothing appears broken, but if you have any excessive pain or swelling, you should get it X-rayed.”

  Still sitting in just her bra, Lillie had chill bumps along her arms because of the air-conditioning.

  “Let’s get you upstairs.” Swain gently held Lillie’s uninjured arm as she slid off the stool.

  “Y’all go ahead. I’ll let myself out. Oh, and when you shower, be sure to wash out those scrapes on your face and arm, then put some antibiotic cream on them.”

  “Thank you for your help,” Lillie said. “It was nice to me
et you.”

  “No problem. Y’all take care now.”

  Lillie didn’t protest as Swain led her upstairs.

  “Could you get me another T-shirt from the second drawer over there?”

  Swain fixed her eyes on Lillie’s boots, pulling them off for her, while Lillie carefully removed her bra and slipped the clean shirt over her head. Swain looked up only when she was sure Lillie had covered herself. “Why don’t you get comfortable while I go find some ibuprofen and an ice pack? I’ll be right back.”

  When Swain returned, Lillie lay with her eyes closed. Her thick blond eyelashes fluttered against pale cheeks, full lips parted slightly. She was loath to disturb her. But the fine arch of her brow was drawn with pain.

  “Lillie,” she said softly.

  Dark eyes blinked open. “Oh, I almost fell asleep.”

  Swain cupped an arm around Lillie’s shoulders to help her sit up. “Take these,” she said, offering her two pain pills and a glass of water. The medicine taken, Swain cupped Lillie’s chin and tilted her face toward her. With a damp washcloth, she carefully cleaned the scrape that marred her smooth cheek.

  Lillie’s gaze was warm, her voice feathery. “You have very gentle hands.”

  Swain frowned. “I feel responsible.”

  Lillie smiled slightly. “Oh. I was hoping I was getting the extra attention because you’ve decided that you like me.”

  Swain blushed and tried unsuccessfully to suppress a small smile. “I do like you, Lillie Wetherington, even when you try to be a show-off and fall off your pony.”

  Lillie sighed. “So much for impressing you with my polo skills.”

  Swain spread some antibiotic cream on the scrape and dropped her hands to her lap, but her gaze locked with Lillie’s. “In the past year, you’ve lost both your parents and your grandmother. Now you’ve flown halfway around the world where you know no one, to figure out what to do with a bunch of ponies and property you’ve never seen before. I’m incredibly impressed with how brave you are.”

  Lillie’s eyes shifted away. “I don’t feel brave. I’m actually terrified about the thing at the funeral parlor tonight and the service tomorrow. I don’t know any of the customs here. I’m afraid I’ll do something socially awful.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be there.”

  Lillie looked up again, her gaze imploring. “Will you? I don’t mean just drop in. Will you go with me? Help represent the family?”

  “Lillie, I don’t—”

  “Please, Swain. Grandmum would want you there, I know it.”

  Could anyone say no to that beautiful face, those full lips? Swain shook her head, but smiled. “Okay. It starts at seven. I’ll come back about five and fix us a sandwich before we leave.”

  Lillie kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Thank you. You are every bit the gentlewoman Grandmum said you were.”

  Swain stood and gathered the debris of her medical ministrations. She stared down at Lillie, her eyes sad. “No, I’m not, Lillie. I’m a stray mutt Abigail hired to ride her ponies. Nothing more.”

  Lillie lay back against the ice pack Swain had prepared and closed her eyes as she listened to her retreat down the stairway. “Oh, Swain. Soon you will learn who you really are,” she whispered. “I just pray you don’t hate all of us when you do.”

  Chapter Eleven

  True to her word, Swain stayed by Lillie’s side for the two-hour visitation at the funeral home. She refused, however, to walk over to the casket where Abigail’s body lay.

  She wanted to remember Abigail tall and proud in the saddle. Abigail taking her turn sitting up with a sick horse. Abigail sitting in the summer twilight on the terrace and talking for hours about the ponies.

  Swain knew what it felt like to have people absent from her life. The absence of nurturing parents was a numb, empty hole. The absence of the twin brother she hadn’t tried to contact since the day they left the orphanage was a nagging guilt.

  But the loss of Abigail in her life was something new. It caused a sharp, heart-deep pain.

  Swain had friends. They were good people she genuinely enjoyed. They had her back when she needed a favor.

  But her relationship with Abigail had gone beyond casual friendship. They had shared pieces of themselves. Abigail wanted to know what it was like for Swain to grow up in an orphanage. Swain wanted to understand what it felt like to find the love of your life, like Abigail had in her late husband. Abigail was the first person with whom Swain felt she could confide the bleakness of her childhood and her longing to belong somewhere, to someone.

  She was still chewing on her thoughts as she and Lillie stood by the graveside and threw the first handfuls of red soil onto Abigail’s coffin. The few who were invited to the interment dispersed, but Swain stayed to watch the workmen. They sealed the vault, then shoveled dirt into the yawning hole until it covered Abigail and buried Swain’s hope that the Wetherington estate would be the place she could forever call home.

  Even under the September sun, she was cold inside and out. So cold it surprised her when she felt the warmth of Lillie’s body against her side and the comfort of Lillie’s fingers curling around her icy hand.

  “We should go, Swain,” Lillie said gently. “Mrs. Riley has gone ahead to open the house for guests, but they’ll be expecting to see us.”

  Swain pulled her eyes from the workmen and stared at the fine bones of Lillie’s long, manicured fingers grasping her larger, callused hand. They were an unlikely pair, the wealthy mistress of the house and the hired help. Still, it felt right. She felt better with Lillie at her side.

  *

  Lillie surveyed the crowd drifting between the living room and the formal dining room. Where had Swain gone? The long process of making the transportation and funeral arrangements had given Lillie time to adjust to her loss. She had said her good-bye long before they stood at the graveside. But Swain’s pain was still fresh and her absence worried Lillie.

  She forced her attention to the man who had been rattling on without the least concern that she hadn’t joined the conversation.

  “I’ve been to England many times. They have wonderful polo there. I had the rare opportunity to see the princes play on the same team as their father. What amazing young men. The British have wonderful traditions. You must be anxious to settle things here and return.”

  Edward Hitchcock reminded Lillie of the politicians who carried their snobbish family crest on their chests, but would stoop as low as necessary to get what they wanted. He had been flattering her for the past twenty minutes, working up to his real purpose.

  “I still need to decide about quite a few things, Mr. Hitchcock. I expect to be here a while longer.”

  “Yes. Well, maybe I can expedite matters for you. I don’t want to be presumptuous, but the Wetherington stable has been a stalwart in this polo community for as long as anyone can remember. My son is to be married soon, and I am proposing to buy the estate in its entirety and keep the stable intact…as a wedding present for the new couple. I’d be happy to speak to Bonner about a price.”

  Lillie narrowed her eyes. She was losing her patience with these people. American men could be so arrogant. Yes, she was young. And, no doubt, they thought because of her hair color that she was less than intelligent. That rankled even more. She took a deep breath. When she spoke, her voice was tight and controlled.

  “You, and the three people who approached me before you, are being very presumptuous. The fact is—”

  “The fact is that the estate won’t be settled for several weeks. Abigail had extensive holdings, some overseas.” Bonner Whitney had appeared at Lillie’s elbow and interrupted without apology. He gave Edward a stern look. “You will certainly have a more appropriate time to talk about this.”

  But Lillie wasn’t backing down. “The fact is, Mr. Hitchcock, if the estate falls to me, I haven’t decided what to do with it. If and when I do decide, you will have to deal with me and Swain Butler, not Grandmum’s attorney.”
<
br />   “My mistake, Miss Lillie. But Abigail would have wanted to keep the stable intact. I simply was eager to put my offer to you before you accepted a lesser deal. Please forgive my indiscretion and accept my sincere condolences on your loss.”

  Edward wisely withdrew to collect his wife and say their good-byes now that he had accomplished his mission. His proposal was on the table.

  Lillie took the tumbler of cognac Bonner had poured for himself and downed it in one long gulp. Perversely pleased that it burned as hot as her anger, she coughed and cleared her throat. “Thank you, Mr. Whitney, but I didn’t need rescuing.”

  “Indeed. I was attempting to rescue Edward.”

  The twinkle in his eyes forestalled any biting remark she might have thought to utter. Bonner wasn’t the enemy.

  She shook her head and smiled. “I’m afraid I need a break. I’ll check on things in the kitchen.”

  Mrs. Riley was busily washing dishes that the never-ending stream of guests had dirtied. Lillie settled on a stool and absently rubbed her sore shoulder. “Mrs. Riley, you must let me pay you for today. I know you postponed your plans to be here. I couldn’t have done without you.”

  Mrs. Riley set the casserole dish she was rinsing in the drain and dried her hands on a dish towel. “Oh, no, dear. Your grandmother wasn’t just my employer. She was my friend. I’m happy to do this for her.”

  “Then you should be out there with the other guests, not working in the kitchen.”

  Mrs. Riley squeezed Lillie’s hand. “I’d much rather be in here doing something than out there mingling with that crowd. Don’t get me wrong. Some are very nice people. Others—”

  “Others can’t even let the dirt settle on Grandmum’s grave before they’re going after her assets like hungry dogs,” Lillie said bitterly. “And where is Swain?”