by Bonnie Leon
“When I visit here, I’m always reminded of England,” Willa said.
Rebecca stepped out of the carriage. “It’s lovely. The house reminds me of some of the cottages near my home in Boston.”
A frail woman leaning on a cane stepped onto the front porch.
“Oh my. Aunt Ada,” Willa whispered, allowing the coachman to give her a hand down. She moved toward the house. When she started up the steps, she extended her hands. “Aunt Ada, how wonderful to see you!”
The old woman’s face broke into a smile, and as tears escaped she pulled Willa into an embrace. “My dear Willa.” After a few moments Ada stepped back. “Oh, how I’ve missed you. Five years is too long. I ought to throttle you.” Her smile assuaged the words. Holding Willa at arm’s length, she continued, “Let me have a look at you. Why, I’d say you haven’t aged a bit.”
“I wish that were true,” Willa said with a grin. She turned toward the steps. “I’ve brought guests. I’d like you to meet my—”
“This must be Rebecca.” The elderly woman smiled. She was so thin that her skin stretched taut across high cheekbones. Blue veins trailed a map across her forehead, and deep-set eyes nearly disappeared in folds of skin.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Rebecca said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Well, don’t listen to everything you hear.” Ada smiled, and her blue eyes flickered with mischief.
“I assure you, I heard only complimentary words.”
Ada chuckled. “That’s simply the benevolence of my Willa.” She held out her hand to Joseph, who clung to his mother. Gently patting his back, she said, “And this is Joseph. How handsome he is. I dare say, those blue eyes are exactly like his father’s.”
“Yes, exactly,” Rebecca said.
“And this is Callie, one of our servants,” Willa said, smiling at Callie.
“Callie,” Ada said, then looked back at Willa. “Please come in.”
The tired travelers followed Ada inside.
Ada looked at Callie. “You may go into the kitchen. The cook will tell you where to put your things.” She turned to Rebecca. “Now, let me see that young lad. I dare say, he has the look of his grandfather.”
Rebecca watched Callie quietly move toward the back of the house. She’d accepted her place with grace. I wouldn’t do so well, Rebecca thought.
“I’ll have your bags taken to your rooms,” Ada said. “And then we can sit in the garden and have a cup of tea. You must be exhausted.”
“Yes. It’s been a long trip. And tea sounds lovely.” Willa linked arms with Ada. “I’ve missed this place. I have sweet memories of my days here, especially of the garden. Mum and I used to work there together.”
“I remember.”
Joseph whimpered.
“Oh dear. He’s probably hungry,” Rebecca said. “I’ll have to feed him.”
“Of course. You will find privacy in the nursery. I’ve kept it just as it was.” Ada winked at Willa, then hobbled toward a hallway. “Come along, then.”
The first days in Melbourne were spent relaxing and catching up on family news. However, once rested, the three women and occasionally Joseph made the rounds of Melbourne. They attended the philharmonic, where the music carried Rebecca back to Boston. Throughout the performance, she fought tears of joy and of longing for home.
They visited museums, an art gallery, and a vineyard where they picnicked along a river. Ada belied her age and was quite spry, seeming to enjoy the gadding about. And as she showed off Melbourne, her pride at the budding city was evident.
Willa had spent her early years in England, but she’d lived much of her life in Melbourne, and at every turn she found something that reminded her of her youth.
“I wish Bertram were here to share this,” she said one afternoon as they walked along a sandy beach. Her eyes glistening, she gazed out at the waters of the Tasman Sea. “He so loved the ocean.”
Rebecca was reminded of her father. She missed him. Sometimes life was unbearably cruel, snatching away loved ones.
Joseph chortled in delight as he toddled across the sand in front of her. I couldn’t endure it if something happened to my little boy. Joseph stopped and bent to pick up a treasure. Rebecca’s throat tightened with the joy of him and at the painful thought of losing him. No. That will never happen, she told herself. She couldn’t even imagine such a thing. It would be an endless, excruciating agony.
One afternoon while Ada and Willa sat in the garden sipping tea, Rebecca approached the women. “Would you mind if I went out?” she asked.
“No. Of course not.” Willa set her cup in its saucer. “Where are you going, dear?”
“Do you remember the stables I mentioned? I contacted the owner, a Mr. Brandan Sullivan, and he’s agreed to meet with me.”
“Hmm,” Ada said. “I believe I’ve heard of Mr. Sullivan—in the papers. Just recently one of his horses won a very important race, as I recall.”
Willa smiled. “You go right ahead. If we’re lucky, that little boy of yours will wake up, and we’ll have him all to ourselves.”
“Callie’s agreed to care for him,” Rebecca said.
“She’s quite good with him. And we’ll let her know if we need her help.” Willa glanced at Ada and smiled.
When Rebecca approached the stables, she was impressed by the imposing property. There were long rows of stone fences and green pastures where handsome horses grazed. Even before her carriage approached the house, she passed by three large, freshly painted barns, each with an arena. The property was magnificent—reminding Rebecca of a southern estate. The colonial home had broad verandas on the ground floor plus another on the second story that was supported by large white pillars.
When the carriage stopped, she could feel her nerves jump. She’d never approached a horse trader on her own. Although Daniel had said they couldn’t purchase a horse right now, she wanted to make a good impression. Perhaps in the future she would be in a position to do business with Brandan Sullivan. She took a slow breath and stepped out of the carriage.
A man dressed in casual attire approached. He looked rather dashing and carried himself with self-assurance. A smile touched his lips. “G’day. You must be Rebecca Thornton.”
“Yes. And you’re Brandan Sullivan?”
“That I am.” Brandan dropped a kiss on her hand. He held on to her hand a moment too long, and Rebecca gently pulled it free.
Blue eyes coolly assessed her.
“I’ve heard you have a fine stable, Mr. Sullivan.”
“Then you’ve heard right.”
He continued to study Rebecca. She felt as if she were being deliberately intimidated, purposely set off balance. She hadn’t been completely honest with him about her intentions. He assumed she was here to purchase an animal, and she hadn’t told him otherwise. In all likelihood, he had little respect for an unescorted woman looking to buy a horse.
“I was hoping to have a look at some of your horses,” she said in her most businesslike voice, enjoying the pretense.
“Yes, indeed.” Hands clasped behind his back, he walked toward a barn.
Rebecca hurried her steps to keep up. Brandan was a daunting man. She’d have to be sharp-witted to convince him she was truly looking for a horse.
“She’s a fine mare, just seven years old.” He stopped in front of a stall where a chestnut-colored horse stood munching oats. “Michael?”
A short, balding man appeared.
“Get the lead rope, eh?”
Michael nodded and disappeared through a doorway. A moment later he returned, carrying a lead. The mare remained still while Michael clipped on the leather strap. She followed well when he guided her out of the stall.
Rebecca stepped back and studied the horse. She stood with one foot slightly in front of the other. “Could you take her outside for me?”
The man glanced at Brandan, who gave him a nod.
Once outside, Rebecca asked, “Please, would you walk her f
or me?”
Michael led the horse in wide circles. Each time the mare stepped forward with her left foot, her head bobbed up. “She seems a bit lame in that right foot.”
“She picked up a pebble a few days ago. It’s nothing more than a bruise. Right, Michael?”
“Yais. That’s right, sir.”
Unconvinced, Rebecca said, “Please walk her toward me.”
Michael did as he was asked. The mare’s gait was uneven, and she continued to favor the right foot. Rebecca quietly approached the animal, then ran a hand down the front leg, feeling for a pulse on the fetlock. It throbbed.
Rebecca released the leg. “She has pain in that foot, sir.”
“Like I said, a bruise.” Brandan folded his arms over his chest.
Rebecca moved around the horse. She ran a hand down its face. The mare didn’t flinch; that was good. She removed a glove and let her hand rest on its soft lips and then opened the mare’s mouth. Moving the tongue to the side, she studied the teeth. “I thought you said she was only seven.” Rebecca turned and looked at Brandan. “She’s at least thirteen.”
“And how would you know that?” Brandan challenged.
“The last incisor has two hooks on it.” Rebecca faced him squarely. “What is it you’re trying to do here, Mr. Sullivan? I understood you to be a reputable businessman.” She held his gaze. Michael handed her a cloth to wipe her hand clean.
His mouth turned up in a grin. “Just testing you to see how much you know. Seems you’re right good with horses.”
“And do you test everyone who comes to your farm or just the women?”
Brandan’s smile disappeared. He squared his jaw. “I don’t want my horses going where they aren’t properly cared for.”
Feeling her anger wane, Rebecca said, “I can understand that. Now, can I have a look at your better stock?”
Brandan showed her a two-year-old chestnut colt, and Rebecca’s pulse jumped. He wasn’t especially tall, but he was well muscled and balanced.
“He’s a beaut, isn’t he?”
“Yes, a fine animal.” Rebecca watched him from a distance, then approached slowly. He didn’t shy away or pull on the lead when she stepped up to him. He remained calm but watched her closely. Rebecca moved to his left side. He stood quietly. That’s good, she thought. He’s steady. His eyes were big and round. “Good boy,” she said, laying a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t flinch or step away. She ran her hand up his neck. He let out a blast of air from his nostrils but seemed unruffled. “Ah yes. You’re a fine lad.”
Rebecca quickly checked his teeth. Brandan was telling the truth—a two-year-old. She placed her hand on his forehead and gently ran it down to his nose. He seemed to enjoy her touch. “So you like attention,” she said.
She walked around to the side of the colt. He had a long, sloping shoulder, short back, and long hip. His legs were straight, with a nice slope to the fetlock. As her eyes moved to his legs, she could see that he had a short cannon bone and long forearm, which would make it easy for him to stretch out and cover a lot of ground quickly if needed. Drovers would appreciate that.
She studied him from the front and the back, then had Michael gallop him around the arena. There seemed to be no faults in this animal. He was exactly what Douloo needed. If only she could purchase him. She turned to Brandan. “Can you tell me about his breeding?”
“Good bloodlines. Both parents are from champion stock. I can get the papers for you if you like.”
Rebecca wanted this horse. If only there were some way to convince Daniel they ought to purchase him. “How much are you asking for him?”
“He’s a fine animal.” Brandan acted as if he was thinking. “I couldn’t take any less than fifteen hundred pounds.”
“That’s a bit steep, Mr. Sullivan. He’s a beauty, but he’s not made of gold.”
“He’ll bring you gold.”
“I can’t pay more than eleven hundred pounds.”
The horseman shook his head. “No. I can’t do that. But I’ll drop my price a hundred pounds. That’s all I can do.”
Rebecca studied the colt. “Thirteen hundred.”
“Thirteen hundred and fifty pounds—not a farthing less.”
“All right, then. I’ll wire my husband and get back to you.”
Rebecca gave the horse a pat. No matter how grand the colt, she knew what Daniel would say.
“Good day, Mr. Sullivan.”
He tipped his hat.
Feeling slightly guilty, Rebecca walked back toward the carriage. I ought to turn around and face Mr. Sullivan with the truth. Tell him outright that I’ve deceived him. The idea of humiliation kept her moving.
A sharp wind cut across the pastures and caught Rebecca’s skirts. The air felt cool. She climbed into the carriage and settled onto the seat, the colt foremost in her mind. He’s one of the finest horses I’ve ever seen. She imagined him grazing in the pastures back home and pictured the fine foals he’d throw. Then, knowing he would never reside at Douloo, she told the driver to move on.
Wind drove heavy rain that hit Rebecca like hard pellets. Head down and clutching her skirts, she ran for the front steps, splashing through a rivulet flowing down the center of the pathway. By the time she reached the porch, she was drenched.
The door opened. “Thank the Lord you’re safe!” Willa cried, pulling Rebecca inside. “I was afraid something had happened to you.” She helped Rebecca out of her wet cloak and handed the wrap to a housemaid. “Could you hang this to dry?”
The maid took the garment and disappeared into the back of the house.
“I can’t believe how quickly this gale moved in,” Rebecca said, holding her hands away from her sides. In spite of her cloak, her dress had gotten wet. “I’d better go up and change.”
Ada stepped into the foyer. “We’re gathering in the study. It’s the most secure room in the house.”
“It’s just a rainstorm,” Rebecca said. “I’m sure it will pass.”
“Oh no. It’s much more than a simple storm. One of the servants told me there was a cyclone just outside of town.” She glanced at a window as a gust of wind pelted it with rain. “I’ve seen this type of gale before. They can be very dangerous, and this one’s getting worse. We must take precautions.”
Ada’s eyes looked over Rebecca. “Oh my, you’re soaking. Callie. Callie,” she called.
Almost immediately the servant appeared. Her eyes went to Rebecca. “Mum, what happened ta ya?”
“I was caught in the storm is all. I’m fine. I don’t know why everyone is making such a fuss.”
“Callie, see to it that she has dry clothes,” Ada instructed. “And then come down to the study, Rebecca. Stay away from the windows. The wind is blowing quite hard. I’m not sure this isn’t a typhoon.”
“Truly?”
“Truly,” she said, then added in a take-charge tone, “Go on, now. Get yourself changed.”
Although dressed in warm, dry clothing, Rebecca still felt chilled as she hurried down the stairs. The wind shrieked. Rain mixed with leaves and other debris battered the windows. Broken limbs were hurled at the house. Rebecca had to admit this was not an ordinary summer storm. She crossed to Willa, who sat in an overstuffed chair. Joseph rested happily on her lap, eyes closed.
“May I have him?” Rebecca asked, bending to lift her son.
“I think he’s asleep,” Willa whispered, handing the little boy to his mother. She picked up a sewing basket and removed her knitting needles and yarn. She held up her work, a dark blue sweater. “Do you think it will fit him?”
“It looks just right.” Rebecca settled Joseph against her shoulder and walked to a sofa. She took a coverlet from the back, arranged it around her shoulders, and then sat and moved Joseph to her lap, covering him with the remainder of the throw. Cuddling him close, she marveled at his peace. In the midst of a punishing storm, he knew no fear.
She glanced at the others in the room. “Children have such trust, never a car
e.” A powerful gust of wind brutalized the windows, shaking them so hard it seemed they would shatter. “If only I possessed the same sense of security.”
“Ada, do you truly think we’re in danger?” Willa asked.
“Glory be, yes. This is a fierce storm. There’s no telling what might happen.”
Willa’s needles moved more quickly.
“Where have the servants gone to, Ada?” Rebecca asked. “I’m quite fond of Callie. I don’t want any harm to come to her.”
“Most likely they’ve gone down to the root cellar. Of course, it’s possible they might be in the kitchen. They usually take these kinds of things in stride.”
Just as she finished speaking, the wind pounded with fresh ferocity. The women were silent and watched the glass, certain it would splinter at any moment. When the wind quieted, Ada said, “Now then, I think tea is in order. I’ll go see if I can find someone to make it.”
“No,” Willa said. “You stay put. I’ll see to it.”
With wind and rain still pummeling the outside world, the women settled in. They sipped tea and did their best to concentrate on something other than the roar of the storm. Ada’s arthritic hands shook as she worked on a piece of embroidery, and Willa knitted furiously, glancing at the quaking windows from time to time. Rebecca tried to focus on a book, The Fair God, a historical romance. Some might have called it drivel, but she rather enjoyed the romantic adventure.
Something thumped against one of the windows, and glass shattered, splintering onto the floor. Wind and rain blustered into the room. Joseph startled awake and wailed his outrage. Rebecca scooped him up and hurried to the farthest corner away from the window.
“My heavens!” Willa stood. Glancing at Ada, she asked, “What shall we do?”
Using her cane, Ada pushed to her feet and shuffled toward the door. “I’ll have the handyman board up the window. Come along, then. We’ll retire to the sitting room. We should be fine there.” Showing no sign of fear but leaning hard on her cane, she hobbled toward the doorway.
