All The Blue of Heaven (Colors of Faith)

by Carmichael, Virginia

  “Not even noon,” Mr. Bascomb muttered, voice filled with disgust.

  The driver took another sharp turn and the street narrowed even further. The sounds of a blacksmith rang out from a low building. A small group of men stood at the corner, laughing loudly. As the carriage pulled around the turn, they swiveled as one and watched Allie go past. Mr. Bascomb seemed oblivious of the stares, focused on the shop ahead. The doors were large and opened wide. It was so large it was practically a barn, and the unmistakable smell of horses wafted toward them.

  “Here we are,” he said as they pulled to a stop, the light carriage stuttering against the stone gutter. Mr. Bascomb moved to leave and Allie glanced up, surprised.

  “You won’t send your driver to pick up the goods?” she asked.

  “No, no. Come on out, Miss Hathaway, you’ll want to see this.” He stepped down from the carriage and held out his hand. Allie folded her parasol and followed, carefully jumping over the large horse dropping that was directly beneath the step.

  Mr. Bascomb led the way, his hand on her elbow. Allie looked with interest as they passed into the darkened interior, and the smell of horse became nearly overwhelming. A boy swept the rough wooden floor with a stiff broom, gathering piles of manure into a bucket. He immediately stopped his task trotted toward them, tipping his cap at Allie. “Hello, Mr. Bascomb. May I assist you today?” His soft words were thickly accented.

  “No, thank you. I am here to see your employer,” he said without meeting the boy’s gaze. He looked over his head toward the back of the gloomy building. “Why can’t you put in some windows? It’s so dim I can’t make out a thing.”

  The boy frowned, clearly not understanding the criticism. He looked to an older child walking by, arms full of bridle gear. He spoke quickly to him in a lilting language. The other, who resembled him enough to be a brother, nodded and answered back.

  Allie’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. The main area of the building was open, with five wooden stalls toward the back. Each was occupied with a very fine horse, tall and strong. An enormous black stallion stamped and tossed its head in the last stall, high whinny ringing out. A powerfully-built man stood to the side, stroking the horse’s muscled neck, his face nearly touching the beast’s mane. His white shirt was rolled up to the elbows and the neck was open. Rough work pants ended in leather boots that looked as if they had spent a fair amount of time striding through horse muck.

  A man in a bowler hat hurried past with a syringe that seemed as long as Allie’s forearm. Perhaps it was only magnified by her fear. She shivered, thinking of the San Francisco hospital and the injections she endured there.

  The sliding wooden doors stood open behind them and Allie turned at the sound of hooves. Another young boy was leading a beautiful mare into the dim interior, his fist wrapped in the rough rope tied to her bridle. His shirt was threadbare but clean and he held his head high, clearly proud of his job. Allie smiled at the familiar expression. Janey had the same look when she helped in the studio.

  An older boy, cap tilted to one side, ran over from the far corner with brushes and bucket at the ready. He led the mare a few feet away and fastened her lead to a dark iron ring attached to the wall. As the boys set to work, Allie found herself wandering closer, watching intently as they began at the mare’s head and worked their way down.

  “Miss Hathaway, you will not want to be too close to these animals. They are filthy,” Mr. Bascomb called after her.

  The boys worked silently. They used quick, short brush strokes with a circular metal comb that would have caused pain if the animal had thinner skin. As it was, the horse half-closed her eyes and shifted lazily from foot to foot. Allie stood close, yearning to reach out and touch the stiff bristles on the horse’s muzzle. She had spent so many hours at the carriage house, talking to Thomas, watching him do just as this young boy was doing. Taking a deep breath, she felt something hard and tight around her heart began to loosen. It was an old, familiar comfort to watch the horses being groomed. Her eyes stung with sudden tears and her throat constricted as she thought of herself, back then. So young and full of dreams. She thought she could do anything.

  As if she noticed the attention, the mare turned her head and blinked at Allie, her liquid dark eyes reflecting the dim light.

  Allie reached out a hand, palm up, even though she had no sugar cubes. The mare stretched out her neck, lipping along Allie’s palm, hot breath snuffling against her glove.

  “Watch out! It may take a bite,” Mr. Bascomb barked from behind her.

  Allie tried not to flinch at his tone but leaned closer to the mare’s soft neck. The boys moved to the other side, working down the mare’s hind quarters with swift strokes. Allie closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of warm hay and dusty horses. The ache in her throat eased and she sighed, leaning her forehead against the silky neck. For the sweetest moment, all the clamoring worries were silent. There was only peace and quiet. The mare turned her head and nuzzled Allie’s scarf, ears twitching.

  “We really must find our friend, Mr. Bradford,” came Mr. Bascomb’s voice from somewhere far away. Allie squeezed her eyes shut tight, willing him to leave her be, but the words finally filtered into her consciousness.

  She whirled to face him. “Mr. Bradford? Why would he―” And then she understood, this errand was to Thomas’s new business. Her eyes swept the dark interior, disoriented, trying to distinguish him from any of the other men in work clothes and heavy boots.

  “There he is,” said Mr. Bascomb, motioning toward the far stall.

  Allie looked again at the pair in the last stall. Of course, she could see him now, the dark hair and strong jaw. He turned slowly, large hands gently smoothing the nervous horse’s mane. His lips were moving and he seemed to be speaking to the animal, a steady stream of words. The black ears twitched forward and back, as if the stallion was listening. Two men stood far away, watching intently. Thomas slipped a heavy leather bridle over the horse’s head, and fastened it to a thick, iron ring set into the stall wall.

  The two men ventured forward and one handed Thomas a long metal instrument. He gently pulled the head toward him, running a finger between the horse’s lips. Allie gasped as the horse opened its mouth and Thomas inserted the metal prong, swiftly peering into its maw. The stallion stood still, jaw cranked wide, as Thomas crouched down and motioned for the other young man to hold up the gas lamp. Whatever he was looking for, he found it swiftly and removed the prong with a practiced twist of his hand.

  “A bit of a change from dinner last week, wouldn’t you say?” Mr. Bascomb asked, his voice thick with laughter.

  Chapter Ten

  Allie didn’t answer. She saw the same gentleness, the familiar movements she had seen a thousand times as he cared for her family’s horses. Her heart pounded like a drum. She could almost smell the grass near the carriage house, almost hear him whistle his welcome notes as he came to feed them every morning and evening.

  “No fine suits here. This is how he spends most of his days.” It was obvious that he meant this to be very shocking. And it was, in a strange sort of way. Allie didn’t remember his arms being as muscular or the tendons standing out in sharp relief under his tanned skin. Her parasol dropped to the ground and the dust flew up in a puff, little bits of straw carried on the breeze. What she had felt blossoming in her chest during the dinner, or on the porch, was nothing compared to the fierce feeling that clamored within her at that moment. This was the Thomas she remembered, a man whose skill and care with these giant beasts was nothing short of miraculous.

  “Not a fit profession for a gentleman, not even with that fancy degree he has.” Mr. Bascomb bent down to retrieve her parasol. He gingerly shook off the dust and offered it back to her. She stood motionless, eyes wide, and moved to take it from him.

  He grinned. “He does present himself as a gentleman, and I must say your mother encourages his deception. But now you can see for yourself what sort of man Thomas Bradford is. Louise L
loyd has set her sights on him and she would do well to visit this foul-smelling place, as well. No lady will want to be a horse doctor’s wife.”

  Allie flinched at the girl’s name. She had guessed as much, but felt her chest constrict with the harsh words. Louise, with her perfect skin and her flawless face, would be a perfect match for Thomas’s rugged handsomeness. Allie’s stomach knotted at the thought of them together. Of course Louise was right to pursue him. It was evident the sort of man he was. The sort of man he had always been, even at dinner. He was patient and thoughtful, but there was power in his movements. She felt the small hairs on her arms stand up as he went about his work oblivious to her. The odd sensation that she was looking into the past and the future at the same time made her dizzy.

  The two men moved toward a light chestnut mare. With the same careful steps, Thomas went about checking the smaller animal. The two young men stepped close, clearly more at ease with the docile mare. The young sweeper trotted across the dusty floor, and spoke to Thomas.

  With a start, Thomas straightened from the position he had assumed under the mare’s mouth. His eyes flew to Allie and he glared. She started, surprised by the unwelcome expression.

  He handed the metal instrument to one of his assistants and strode toward them. Rolling his sleeves down over his muscled forearms almost angrily and swiftly buttoning the neck of his shirt, he looked far from pleased to see them. Allie felt a thrill course through her that was only part surprise.

  “Mr. Bascomb, Miss Hathaway,” he said, his tone curt.

  “Hello, Mr. Bradford. I have come to retrieve the vitamins you recommended for my horse,” said Mr. Bascomb, a wide smile on his face. He blinked repeatedly as he spoke.

  “You could have sent your servant just as easily,” Thomas said smoothly, his gaze never leaving Allie’s face.

  “Yes, well, I thought Miss Hathaway would appreciate a tour of your enterprise.”

  Thomas nodded, a stiff jerk of the head. “I would be honored.” He moved toward Allie, and she thought for a moment he was going to take her arm, but then he glanced down at the dust that coated his hand. Instead, he brushed at the dirt and the straw, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

  Allie took a quick breath. “If it’s any trouble, please don’t stop your examinations on our account.” She wondered if she was using the correct word. “What was the metal prong for, if I may ask?”

  “I was checking oral health. And the horses will still be there when we are done.” How handsome he was, disheveled, dark hair falling over his forehead. She felt a blush start near the base of her neck and hurried to ask another question.

  “There are quite a few horses here,” she said, and bit the inside of her cheek in frustration. What a stupid thing to say. It was a horse barn, after all.

  He nodded, as if it were a perfectly normal observation. “Tuesdays and Thursdays we have horses brought in all day, five at a time, for seven hours. It’s a long day but I can make sure that the horses under my care have not developed any issues. As you can see, we begin with the mouth, and work our way down.”

  “I don’t want to know what else you have to examine,” Mr. Bascomb said with a snort. Allie wanted to roll her eyes. She wondered if he had ever moved past the humor of a ten-year-old boy.

  “It is preferable to some other tasks I can imagine,” Thomas said lightly, winking ever so briefly at Allie. She suppressed a laugh, knowing he would prefer examining a horse to having dinner with Mr. Bascomb.

  “Your assistants seem rather young,” Mr. Bascomb said swiftly, a snide tone in his voice. “And rather foreign.”

  Thomas’s face was bland, but his posture stiffened. “There are two young brothers here who are originally from Portugal. Also, one of my best assistants and his young nephew are from Italy. They are all hard workers and willing to put in the time to learn what is needed.”

  “Of course, with this sort of profession, I can imagine there would not be a surfeit of good labor available,” Mr. Bascomb said, sniffing. He surveyed the barn with narrowed eyes, giving the young men a haughty once-over.

  “I have been blessed with good help. As I said, the men are hard workers and take direction,” Thomas said, his tone even.

  “Even if they can’t understand a word you say?” Mr. Bascomb chuckled, looking to Allie for agreement.

  “Sometimes a willingness to understand can be the most valuable,” Allie said. She kept her voice light but felt anger rising in her again. Was there no redeeming quality at all in Mr. Bascomb? It was as if he worked at being as disagreeable as possible.

  “Well, I have persuaded the mayor to hire only Americans for the new railway project. It’s a shame that there are Americanmen who cannot find job because there are so many immigrants taking their spots,” said Mr. Bascomb.

  To Allie’s surprise, Thomas laughed out loud. The warm, deep sound sent a jolt through her.

  “And here I was worried about the railway project going through East Tooms. But if he’s going to hire only American men, that project will never make it more than a few feet. Most of the men in this city don’t want that job, with the hard labor in the boiling hot sun. It’s dangerous, too. Only the most poor and desperate will take it.”

  Mr. Bascomb straightened up and glared at Thomas, his watery blue eyes blinking rapidly. “We shall see. The plans are laid, everything has been approved.”

  “As you said, we shall see.” He shook his head, chuckling a bit and turned his attention to Allie. “ Now, if you wanted a tour, Miss Hathaway, I should be quick about it.”

  Allie was torn between wanting the workings of this enormous barn full of bustle and energy was run, and leaving Thomas to finish his work.

  “I would like to see, if you don’t mind terribly,” she said, shyness making her voice softer than she’d meant it to be.

  “I’m afraid we can’t waste any more time, Miss Hathaway. Mrs. Larson is quite punctual. I was ten minutes late one evening and she was very displeased.” Bascomb stepped primly over a pile of horse dung and took Allie’s arm.

  She looked to Thomas, hoping he would see the disappointment in her eyes, but he was already turning toward the door.

  “The vitamins are given once daily. Have your carriage man come to me with any questions. And please give your mother my regards,” he said to Allie.

  “Of course,” she said, hating how subdued she sounded. A tour of his business was the best thing that had happened all week, and it was cut short by a tea date.

  ***

  Thomas strode toward the back of the building and fairly threw the large braided rope at the empty stall. Bascomb was a thorn in his side, an irritation than never ended. No. Worse than irritating, Bascomb was making him angrier than he had any right to be. The railway plans were poorly designed and a crime against the people of East Tooms. It was clear that with enough money changing hands, anything could happen in Chicago. Thomas leaned against the stall door for a moment. But the railway plans weren’t the worst of it. The idea of Bascomb squiring Allie around the city was worse. She would never marry someone like Bascomb, no matter how rich he was. But would she marry Bascomb if he promised to take care of Janey, too? The thought of it made him ill.

  Seeing Allie standing in the middle of this mess of hay and horse muck had been the best part of his week. She looked lovely and bright, almost ethereal, when he had first glimpsed her across the barn. She seemed to be drinking in every detail, her eyes wide with wonder and perhaps, admiration. At least, he hoped so. Thomas brushed at his filthy trousers and wondered if he smelled as dirty as he felt. That was not a thought he usually entertained in the middle of a bustling day. The smell of the horses’ sweat and the dusty floor was as natural as a sunny morning in July. The high barn roof kept air circulating. The drains and gutters were sluiced with water each evening and the hay was fresh every other day.

  This was his calling, he was sure of it, but he wished for a moment that God would have given him a moment’s warning. He could ha
ve at least brushed the straw from his pants and scraped the muck from his boots.

  ***

  “You must bring Jane next time,” Mrs. Larson said, in a tone that was a command and not a suggestion. She regarded Allie steadily, her pale gray eyes narrowed slightly. “I think it would be very good for her to meet my sons. Let me call them in.”

  She reached out one elegant arm and touched a burgundy-colored bell rope near her chair. Everything about her was elegant and graceful. Allie wondered how many hours it took to prepare the woman of the house. Her lips were a bit too pink for nature, her brows a bit too dark for the color of her softly sweeping hair, gently curling tendrils left against her neck. After years in the artist colonies of San Francisco, Allie could spot a woman who had given Nature a helping hand. The girls used burnt matchsticks to darken their lashes and geranium petals to stain their lips. She wondered why Mrs. Larson felt she needed any help. She was beautiful. And wealthy. And graceful. But something in her expression spoke of insecurity.

  Within moments, the Larson boys shuffled in, followed by an older woman with the tightest bun Allie had ever seen. Her back was as stiff as a poker and she kept each small boy’s shoulder in a pincer-like grasp. They introduced themselves very well, like miniature gentlemen in immaculate suits. She couldn’t help noticing that each child glanced repeatedly at the older woman, as if to gauge her approval. Allie tried to smile kindly at them, but they avoided her gaze and when they quietly left the room, Mrs. Larson was quick to praise their nurse.

  “Miss Anthony was in very high demand after her last appointment ended. The Follettes and the Ronsons were both eager to acquire her but I am pleased to say she chose our household. She seemed to believe the boys could be trained easily. And she was right. In a matter of weeks they display fine manners and comport themselves with dignity. No more running through the house, shrieking like Indians,” she said, her tone satisfied. “Your mother inquired about etiquette lessons for Jane. I suppose we could spare Miss Anthony for a few hours a week. I understand she has had a less than traditional upbringing.” Her lips thinned at the last few words, her disapproval evident.