Sapphire

by Rosemary Rogers

  “Don’t mind if I do. And I know the perfect place to stop tonight. Best fishin’ around these parts.” He glanced at Sapphire. “You know how to fry a fish on an open fire, boy?”

  “I can learn.”

  Sapphire and Stowe traveled with Petrosky for the next day and a half. True to his word, they stayed the night in a secluded cove where the old man, who she learned was close to seventy, caught two fat fish, and she fried them in a pan he’d brought along. The next day, the countryside began to change, getting rockier, hillier, and she became more and more thankful that Petrosky had come along.

  The old man was good company. He didn’t ask a lot of questions and seemed content to rattle on about people he knew, things he’d done in his lifetime, things he wished he’d done. The best thing about Petrosky was that he liked Stowe and the little hound liked him.

  “I’ll almost be sorry to see you go when we reach the city,” Petrosky told Sapphire. The sun was beginning to set and the air had grown cooler. They were riding along a beautiful river he said was called the Hudson. “You sure the two you don’t want to go into the ladder-makin’ business with me?”

  Sapphire laughed. “Thank you, but no. We got our hearts set on New York City.”

  “And seein’ this aunt of yours,” Petrosky offered.

  “Yes.” She smiled.

  He was quiet for a minute, then looked at Sapphire from beneath the brim of his hat. “You got no aunt, do you?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Run away from home, haven’t you?”

  She wrapped an arm around Stowe, but still she said nothing.

  “Eyesight’s bad, but it ain’t so bad that I can’t see you got rough hands. Your mama make you work hard? Woman’s work? Cleanin’, scrubbin’?” He cackled. “Was the same way with me, only I was younger than you first time I took off. It’s what young boys do.”

  “No, I don’t have an aunt,” she said quietly.

  “So you got no job and no place to stay once you get to the city?”

  She hugged Stowe close to her side, trying not to be afraid. “No,” she answered.

  “You know,” Petrosky said after a while, “I was thinkin’ I’d stay with a cousin just outside the city tonight. Mama’s brother’s youngest. First groom, he is, in the Carrington stables. You heard of the Carringtons?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Rich people. Family been here a hundred years, at least. They’re rich people who like horses and horse racin’, which is big in these parts. Got them a big stable. Always lookin’ for a strong, healthy lad to shovel stalls.” He moved the reins back and forth in his hands, then leaned back. “Yer a bit on the skinny side but ya look like ya could muck a stable or two. Ya afraid of hard work, boy?”

  At the mention of stables, Sapphire was immediately captivated. It was something she’d missed tremendously since she’d come to Boston. Mrs. Dedrick had kept her so busy with household chores that she’d barely even had time to steal a moment to walk through Blake’s stables.

  Petrosky eyed her. “You want me to ask my cousin Red if he could use another lad for the winter?”

  The opportunity would give her a place to stay for the winter while she saved money for passage back to London. The only problem Sapphire could immediately foresee was that she would have to continue to be Sam; no one would hire a woman to work in a stable, and certainly not a rich man’s racing stable. She had apparently been convincing enough as a young man with Petrosky, but, as he’d admitted, his eyesight was poor. Could she fool this head groom, and what of the other stable boys?

  Without thinking, her hand went to her cap. Her hair was too long; she would never be able to keep it all hidden beneath the hat while mucking stalls all day. But she’d already made her decision.

  The hair would have to go.

  26

  “Mon chèr,” Tarasai said, gently shaking Armand’s shoulder.

  He startled awake in his chair on the veranda, knocking his book to the ground. “Yes? Yes, what is it?”

  “A letter,” she said as she offered it to him. “George said it was from London.”

  “From Lucia, I hope. My glasses—” He reached to his head, and when he discovered they weren’t there, he began to glance around him, still befuddled with sleep. “Where have my glasses gotten to, Tarasai? I had them here just a moment ago, I know I did.”

  She made a shushing sound as she searched the table, then the area around the chair for his reading glasses.

  “I had them just a moment ago. I was reading,” he said tersely.

  When she couldn’t find them on the stone patio, she began to look through the folds of the blanket on his lap.

  “Don’t fuss,” he said. “Please don’t fuss.” With his last words he began to cough.

  Tarasai stopped what she was doing and looked up at him, her usually sweet face turning stern. She waited until his coughing fit had ceased and he had wiped his bloody lips with a clean handkerchief. “I am not fussing,” she said quietly. “I am looking for your glasses.” She hesitated. “Do you want your glasses, monsieur?”

  He sighed and looked away. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Tarasai. It’s just that I am distraught. I cannot read my letter without my glasses. I cannot protect my Sapphire and I do not—”

  “Here they are, mon chèr,” she said, rising from the stone pavers, the wire frame reading glasses in her hand. “Now calm yourself or you will be too ill to read your letter.”

  Armand put on his glasses, tore open the letter and quickly scanned it. “It is from Lucia. She says I am not to worry about Sapphire.”

  “You should know that by now.”

  “She says she has not heard from her again, but letters have probably crossed in the mail.” He looked over his glasses at Tarasai. “She doesn’t say why this man has not married my daughter.” He threw the letter down in his lap. “It is so frustrating being here when they are so far away! I don’t know what to do. I must write to Sapphire in Boston. No! I should write to Lord Wessex and tell him he must marry my daughter at once.”

  Tarasai picked up the book that had fallen, closed it and placed it on the table. “Perhaps she does not wish to marry this man.”

  “That’s ridiculous. If she went to America with him, surely she must want to.”

  She shrugged her delicate shoulders. “Some men are meant to wed, others only to be lovers.”

  “Bring me my writing box, Tarasai.”

  “I will not,” she said. “You will come inside, take your medicine and read me the letter Lucia has sent.” She leaned over him, taking the letter from his hand and removing the blanket from his lap. “Come.”

  “Who are you to tell me what to do?” he asked.

  “I am someone who cares for you, and I will not let you meddle where you should not meddle—now come.” She offered her hand to him, and after a moment, he took it.

  That night, Petrosky took Sapphire to the Carrington Farms stables and introduced her to his cousin Red. The jolly, red-haired man took an instant liking to Stowe and hired “Sam” immediately. Later, alone in a tack room where she’d been given a pallet to sleep on, Sapphire stood in front of a tiny piece of cracked mirror with a pair of scissors in her hand. Taking a deep breath, she began to cut her hair, and she didn’t stop until it fell just above her shoulders, the length two other teenaged boys around the barn had worn their hair.

  She laughed at herself, turning this way and that in the mirror with only the light of a kerosene lamp to see by. Between the linen strips Myra had given her to bind her breasts—which fortunately were not large to begin with—and her short hair and stable boy’s clothing, Sapphire really did look like a young boy.

  The next morning, with her newly shorn locks and the cap pulled down over her head, she met Petrosky, who was headed into the city, to say goodbye. “I don’t know how to thank you,” she told him as she stood beside his wagon, knowing she mustn’t cry. Stable boys didn’t cry over old men who w
ere kind to them.

  “No need for thanks.” Petrosky settled his straw hat on his head. “An old man did the same for me some fifty years ago, first time I ever took off.” He looked up from under his hat and winked. “Just returnin’ the favor.” He picked up the reins. “You take care of that dog.”

  She nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll do that.”

  Petrosky tipped his hat to his cousin and the wagon rolled down the drive.

  “You be knowin’ what you doin’, Sam?” Red asked, handing Sapphire a pitchfork as they entered the barn’s center hall.

  His Irish brogue was thick and Sapphire had to listen well to follow his orders. It wasn’t so much the dialect that was difficult to understand as the musical lilt with which he spoke.

  Sapphire took in her surroundings as Red gave her instructions; the stable was the largest she’d ever seen. There were fourteen stalls on each side of the aisle and behind the barn was another identical to it. She wondered how many horses these people owned.

  Sapphire grinned, taking the pitchfork from him. Stowe ran behind her. “Well enough.”

  “Good. You’ll be startin’ on the far end, eh?” He pointed. “Most the horses are out on pasture. Any in their stalls, you just move to a clean stall while you fork the dirty one, then put ’em back in the right stall, eh? Mr. Carrington is funny ’bout his horses bein’ in their own stalls, he is. Says they run better, and who am I to say diff’rent?”

  “I’ll get started right away, sir.”

  “’Round here, we’re pretty relaxed. Take a break to piss when you need it. Grab eats same place we had them biscuits and ham this morning,” he said, referring to the main room in the building where the jockeys, trainers and horse handlers and Red slept. The lowly stable boys put down a pallet wherever they could. “Take time noonday to have a smoke, wink at the dairy lasses, whatever your pleasure.” Red winked himself. “Just don’t let me see you bein’ lazy,” he warned. “And them stalls better be whisper-clean, eh?”

  She nodded. “Will do.”

  He made to go, but turned back. “One other thing, me boyo. I said you could move horses. All but one. Hisself you daresn’t lay a hand to. Prince Caribbean be his name.” He pointed. “Last stall on the end, eh? Black as the devil’s heart, that stallion. Mean bastard, eh?” He shook his head. “Runs like that Caribbean wind he’s named after, but as foul-tempered as they come is Prince Caribbean. You mind now, boyo. Stay clear of that’n, eh?”

  Sapphire nodded. She liked horses, but she was no fool; some were just of bad disposition and a person had to respect that, considering their size and strength. “So I don’t clean his stall?”

  “Wait until the trainer takes him out. Cosco’s the only man that’ll get near him. Once hisself goes out into the paddock, then you can go to it, eh?”

  “Sure.”

  “Now, don’t get cocky with me, Sam,” Red warned, pointing his finger at her. “You new lads always want to show the boss how good you be with horseflesh, eh? Well, I’m tellin’ you that son of Satan horse has broke two legs, three arms and a jaw, not to mention our best jockey’s ribs and knee. You follow?”

  “The stallion breaks people’s arms and legs?”

  “Sure’s the sun comes up in the east, me boyo. Like’s to dance on ’em once they go down.” Red shrugged his massive shoulders. “Don’t say that I blame ’im. The man Mr. Carrington bought him from, a man down south, is known for havin’ a stable that beats his horses.”

  Sapphire cringed. “That’s terrible.”

  Red turned away again. “I’ll look in on you later, eh? And don’t forget my words or you’ll come to regret it. You stay clear from that black devil of a horse.”

  “You hear that?” Sapphire said to Stowe as the dog walked through the barn beside her. “You stay away from that killer horse, otherwise he’ll trample you, eh?”

  Stowe wagged his tail.

  “What a good boy,” she said, reaching the last stall and flinging the door open. The smell made her draw back for an instant, but she swallowed against her revulsion and walked in wearing the rubber galoshes Red had dug up for her. Mucking stalls for Red would certainly be better than serving Blake his dinner on silver platters.

  Morning came and went and Sapphire continued to fork manure into a wheelbarrow, roll it out to the compost heap along the woods line and then return to the barn to fill it again. Each time she rolled the wheelbarrow out of one of the stalls, she took a different path to the manure pile.

  The Carrington farm was nestled along the Hudson River and was breathtaking with its rolling hills and open pastures dotted with fine horses grazing, its red barns and outbuildings, and the white and gray limestone and granite mansion perched on a hill overlooking the river. The landscape was beautiful. The leaves had turned all colors of red and yellow before drifting to form bright carpets beneath the trees and the vast sloping fields were broken up by random jagged outcrops.

  Setting her pitchfork against a wall, Sapphire leaned over to scratch Stowe behind the ears. “So, boy, are you hungry?”

  Stowe whined and panted.

  “Me, too,” she said as she grabbed her canvas bag and tugged at the brim of her hat. “And I know the perfect place to picnic. Did you see that rock off in the pasture to the south? It must be as big as a carriage and I bet it’s as warm as a winter hearth out there in the sun like that.”

  Stowe danced around her as they made their way out of the barnyard through two gates and into the pasture. The rock was farther than she had guessed, and by the time she reached it, she was famished.

  Lifting Stowe onto the rock, she crawled up after him. They ate the last biscuit she had bought from the old lady, three pieces of bacon she had brought with her from this morning’s meal and her last apple from the ones she had picked up along the road after leaving Boston. Stowe enjoyed his piece of biscuit and his share of the bacon, but scoffed at her offer to take a bite of her apple. He whined for more bacon.

  “All gone,” she laughed, holding her hand out to let him lick it. “You see?” She took a bite of the crisp, cool apple and lay back on the warm rock. Every muscle in her body ached but she felt good—surprisingly good. She’d been so busy today that she’d barely thought about Blake, and she knew that with time, she’d forget him…no, not forget him, but at least her chest wouldn’t ache when she thought of him.

  Sapphire closed her eyes and, tossing the apple core over her head, wrapped her arm around Stowe who had settled down for a nap beside her. She was just drifting off, thinking she needed to get back to the stalls, when she heard men shouting and cursing in the distance.

  When she looked in the direction of the stables, she saw Red waving his arms and another man running. Ahead of them was a black horse that galloped over a paddock gate, his lead rope flying behind him.

  Sapphire scrambled off the rock and set Stowe in the grass, then brought her hand to shade her eyes from the bright sun. The horse had cleared another paddock gate, rounded a clump of elm trees in a hollow to the west and slowed to a trot, headed in her direction. In the far distance, she could see Red and the other man walking back toward the barn. She could still hear their voices on the wind. She looked back at the horse coming right for her, then Stowe, and stopped where she was.

  Stowe dropped his bottom to the grass at once and the two waited until the stallion slowed his pace to a walk. Spotting Sapphire and the dog, the horse snorted, halted, pawed the ground and snorted again, blowing through its nose.

  “What’s the matter boy?” Sapphire asked softly. “A little spooked?” She took a step toward him, concerned about the rope still dangling from his halter. A horse could step on a lead rope and seriously injure himself. This was such a beautiful creature; she hated the thought that he might get hurt.

  “What is it, boy?” she murmured. “Did those big men scare you? Well, let me tell you, they don’t mean anything by it, those men with their big voices all stomping all over the place.” She took another step.


  The horse watched her cautiously. “I know one of the biggest stompers and shouters in all the land, and I’m not a bit scared of him, and you know why? He’s a good person. He’s got a good heart.” She slowly extended her hand to the horse that was still two arms’ lengths from her. From here, she couldn’t possibly reach the rope. She had to move closer.

  “That’s right,” she said. “So I just don’t pay any attention to him when he gets loud.” She inched forward and the horse tossed his head, backing away from her.

  She stopped again. “Whoa, there, whoa, boy.” She slowly lowered her hands to her sides and contemplated her options. She could hear the men in the distance again. They were still shouting, but their voices were getting closer.

  The horse turned his head in the direction of the barn, whinnied and snorted.

  “I know,” Sapphire murmured. “They are frightfully loud.”

  She glanced down at the dog. “So what do you think, Mr. Stowe?” she asked. “How are we going to convince him to let us catch him?”

  Then Sapphire remembered the apple core she had tossed earlier when she finished her meal. Slowly, she slid one foot behind her and then the other, backing up toward the rock. Stowe remained with the horse. When she was far enough away to think she wouldn’t spook the stallion, she rushed around the other side of the rock in the direction she had thrown the apple core. Luckily, she found it in the browning grass and was back beside the spotted hound in a minute.

  “Look what I have,” she cajoled, holding her hand out to the runaway, balancing the apple core on her palm.

  The horse caught the scent of the sweet apple, lifted his head and snorted.

  “Nope,” she told him. “I’m not bringing it to you.” She looked down at the dog. “Just like a man,” she said. She looked up again. “If you want this apple, you’ll have to come get it.” She recalled that Armand had had a gelding that was afraid of shadows, so she would edge around him until she was standing where her shadow wouldn’t frighten the stallion.