by Tinnean
One way or another, she would get her own back.
Chapter 18
Tom came home in the middle of the afternoon. Olivia stood beside Mrs. Hall, listening intently as the other woman instructed her on whatever it was they were preparing for the evening meal.
“Querida, fetch your bonnet.”
“Tom! What are you doing home so early?”
“I’ve got a surprise for you. Where’s George?”
“In the paddock with the horses. You’re being very mysterious.”
Tom just grinned at her. “Mrs. Hall, you can deal with dinner?”
“I can, Mr. P.”
“Okay. Olivia?” He waited for her to put on her bonnet, then escorted her out the kitchen door. “George!” he called.
“Yes, Papa?”
“Come along. We’re going on an outing.”
His son’s eyes lit up. He patted Sunrise’s neck, raced to the paddock fence, and bounded up and over it.
George knew what they were about to do, and he’d been good about keeping it a secret.
Tom had borrowed a buggy from Hudson, and once they were all seated in it, he snapped the reins over Outlaw’s brown and white rump.
“Where are we going, Tom?”
He smiled down into her eyes. “We’re going to get you a birthday present.”
“But my birthday’s past.”
“And we missed it. So George and I are going to remedy that.”
George wriggled in his seat, grinning so broadly Tom thought his face would split.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“That’s why it’s a secret.” Tom knew his grin was pretty broad, too.
It didn’t take them long to get to their destination, and when they did, Olivia let out a breathless squeak.
“The horse fair!”
“Yes. I’m hoping they’ll have a horse with a flaxen mane and tail for you.”
“You remembered!” She slid her arm through his and hugged it to her. “Thank you!”
“We may not find one.”
“It doesn’t matter. That you’d do this for me…”
“If there isn’t a palomino here today, we’ll find one another time.” Tom brought Outlaw to a halt under a shade tree and hopped down. Once he’d secured the gelding, he caught Olivia around the waist and swung her down.
George had already jumped down, and he ran around to join them. They strolled around the roped-in enclosures, searching for a horse that struck Olivia’s fancy. Tom pointed out horses that looked good but had one problem or another, bowed tendons, fistula withers, capped elbows.
He sighed. “It looks like everyone is trying to get rid of poor horseflesh today. I don’t see a palomino, querida, but—”
A horse’s outraged scream interrupted him, and he spun around. Behind a tent that had been set up with refreshments, a mare struggled against the rope around her neck. Her ears were flat against her head, her teeth were bared, and Tom could see the whites of her eyes. Sweat darkened her golden hide, which was streaked with bloody welts.
“George.”
“Yes, Papa.”
Tom didn’t have to tell his son to watch his Mama. He stepped forward and grabbed the arm of the man who was beating the mare.
“Let me go! This nag needs to be taught a lesson!”
“If you don’t drop the whip, it’s you who’ll be taught a lesson.”
The man growled and yanked his arm free. “This…this…I paid twenty-five dollars for her, and I can’t get near her. I can’t use an animal this hotheaded. I’ll have to sell her to the knacker, and I won’t get back a quarter what I paid for her.”
“Where’s the man you bought her from?”
“He’s gone. He took off as soon as he had my money in his hand. The son of a bitch probably knew this flea-bitten hay burner was good for nothing.”
“Why’d you take a whip to her?”
“Everyone knows you have to show ‘em who the boss is from the start.”
“I’ll buy her from you.” Tom couldn’t blame the mare for reacting the way she had. This was the type of man who should never be permitted to own a horse.
“How much?”
“Fifteen dollars.”
“Are you mad? Thirty.”
“Twenty.”
“I already said I’d paid twenty-five for the nag.”
Tom shrugged. “All right, I’ll give you what you paid for her.”
“She’s worth more than that.”
“Maybe, but you said yourself you wouldn’t get more than six bucks for her from the knacker.”
“All right, fine.” He dropped the mare’s lead rope and thrust out his hand.
George caught up the rope before the mare realized she was free and began crooning to her in Spanish. His boy did have a way with horses. Tom liked to think he was a chip off the old block.
He hadn’t planned to spend so much on a horse, but he wouldn’t let an animal be treated like that. He took the bills from his wallet and paid the man, who stormed off. “And good riddance to bad rubbish,” he muttered. Then he turned to Olivia. “I’m sorry, querida. I don’t know if anyone will be able to ride this horse.”
“You can train her, Papa.” George always carried carrots when he worked with the horses, and now he took one from his pocket, broke it in half, and offered it to her. “How did you wind up here, Bella Dama?” he asked. “She is a beautiful lady, isn’t she?”
“She is. But…”
“Oh, please, Tom?” Olivia had approached the mare. She removed her glove and held her hand out for the mare to become familiar with her scent, the way Tom had shown her. George gave her the other half of the carrot, and Olivia fed it to the palomino. “How could anyone beat such a magnificent animal?”
The mare stamped a hoof, but she seemed to be calming down. Tom went to her and stroked her neck and shoulder. George stayed at her head and rubbed a palm over her nose and up her face.
“She’s got good breath to her chest. She’s a little thick through the girth, though.” He ran a hand over her barrel. “Hmm.”
“What is it, Papa?”
“I think she may be in foal.” He ran a firm hand over her side again. “Late fall or early winter, I’d say.”
“Then we got two horses for the price of one, Papa?”
“It looks like we did.”
Olivia clapped her hands, and Tom smiled at her.
She was such a sweet girl.
He rubbed the mare’s neck, then smoothed her mane. “Come along, Bella. We’re taking you home.”
Chapter 19
George knew a number of boys at the academy he attended, boys he’d say hello to or smile at, but none that he was interested in pursuing a friendship with.
He’d talked to Papa about it.
“They’re acquaintances, Georgie, and that’s fine. Don’t let it worry you.”
“But—”
Papa ruffled George’s hair. “Your Uncle Guillermo was the first man I liked enough to call friend, and I was…” His gaze became unfocused as he considered it. “I was twenty-five when we first met. It nearly tore out my heart when he died.” He looked almost as sad as when he thought about Mama—George’s first mama.
“Are you sorry you became friends with him?”
“No. I wouldn’t have missed that for the world. He was the sort of man you wanted at your back when you knew trouble was brewing. The sort of man I want you to grow up to become.” Papa smiled. “So you’ve got plenty of time to find a friend or two.”
Because Papa had said so, George was content to wait.
And Papa was always right, because now George had two friends, Frank Thompson and Bart Hall.
George liked Frank. They worked together grooming the horses, and George helped Frank with his riding lessons. Frank helped him with his schoolwork, because while Papa was a smart man and knew many things, he wasn’t very good at teaching book learning to George.
“You�
�re not stupid, George,” Frank told him. “You can do this.” And he set to work teaching George how to do his sums.
They were close friends.
But George was fascinated by Bart, Mrs. Hall’s oldest son, who worked as a carpenter’s apprentice.
He first met Bart when he came around the side of the cottage while George was in the paddock exercising Nightfall.
Papa and Mr. Thompson had set up a schedule for Frank to come and help with the horses. Today wasn’t one of the days he’d come over…he’d had to go to the lawyer’s office, where he clerked.
They had three horses now, and in another five months, the number would rise to four. The beautiful palomino mare was in foal. Mama couldn’t ride, mostly because she was expecting a baby too, but that was okay. Papa worked with Bella Dama, calming her down, since not only had her last owner taken a whip to her, but so had the one before that, according to the old scars on her flanks.
That day, George had only put her through mild exercises; horses were big animals, but they could abort easily. She’d been out in the paddock earlier with Sunrise, but now she was resting in her box stall.
George had set up a few low jumps, and he rode Nightfall in a circle around the paddock before setting him at the first jump. The gelding took it easily and went on to the second jump and then the third. When they finished the course, George turned Nightfall, and that was when he saw the tall, broad-shouldered boy standing there.
For a second he couldn’t catch his breath. Hair so dark a brown it appeared black was tied back at the nape of his neck. His eyes were also a dark brown. A toolbox hung from his shoulder.
“Can…” George swallowed. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Bart Hall. I come by to walk my Ma home. I was going to the servants’ door, but then I saw you and I had to watch.” He said the last words almost defiantly.
“We don’t have a servants’ door, Bart Hall. Hello, I’m George Pettigrew.”
Bart’s brows met above his nose in a scowl. George figured he was about fourteen, three years older than him, but that expression made him seem older. Bart opened his mouth, and George smiled and wondered what he was going to say.
Bart’s scowl was replaced with a reluctant smile of his own, and George felt his heart give an unexpected thump. “Hello, George. Sorry, it’s been a long day, and I get snappy when I’m hungry.”
Did he think what he’d said was snappy? George wanted to grin at him, but he wasn’t sure how Bart would take it, so he didn’t. But he couldn’t resist a saucy smile
“Go on into the kitchen. Your mama’s putting the finishing touches on dinner. You can have some.”
“No, I can’t. I’m just a carpenter.”
“You’re a carpenter—that’s an honest profession, and there’s no just about it. I have to put Nightfall up. Go in, and I’ll join you in a minute. The side door opens into the kitchen.” George started to lean down to open the gate, but Bart bounded forward and unlatched it for him. “Thanks.” George nodded at Bart and nudged Nightfall through. “Close it, please?” He felt Bart’s gaze on him as he rode into the stable, and a quick glance over his shoulder proved him right. He sent a small salute Bart’s way, and Bart grinned at him and saluted back.
George kicked free of the stirrups, swung his leg over Nightfall’s neck, and slid to the stable floor. “What did you think of him?” he asked the gelding as he removed the saddle. “I’ve never seen anyone like him before.”
He couldn’t understand what was happening. Papa had told him about wet dreams, and he hadn’t panicked the next time his prick had grown hard and he’d climaxed, shooting white liquid over his groin and chest. Not that it happened frequently, since Papa had also told him about masturbating, an act George had taken to with relish.
But this was the first time his prick had hardened just from looking at another person.
He worried his lower lip. He’d heard the boys at the academy making fun of one of the smaller students. They’d called him nellie and even tried to beat him up. George wouldn’t have stood for that—Papa had raised him better. Papa had also taught him some tricks for when you were fighting more than one opponent, but the boy’s papa must have taught him the same tricks, because while the boy had a torn shirt and a knot on his cheekbone, the bigger boys had black eyes and bloody noses, and they’d run away crying.
“Nice work,” George had said, and the kid grinned at him and flinched when the knot pulled.
“I’m small, but I’m tough.” He fingered the tear in his shirt. “Pa’s not going to be happy about this.”
George wanted to ask the kid why they’d called him Nellie, obviously a girl’s name, but he was afraid he’d come across as ignorant if he did, so he didn’t. He decided to wait until he had a chance to talk to Papa.
And that had been an eye-opening conversation.
“I’m glad you were willing to stick up for that boy,” Papa had said.
“Why did they call him nellie?”
“They were bullies, and they did that to make themselves feel big. Men do that also. When you’re faced with a situation like that, you do whatever it takes to let them know you won’t put up with it.”
“Yes, but I still don’t understand…”
Papa sighed. “You know how a man and a woman sleep in the same bed to make a baby? Well, there are some men who like to sleep in the same bed with other men.”
“Oh. I understand.” But he really didn’t. A man couldn’t make a baby with another man.
Papa looked relieved, so George let the subject drop.
Only now, George thought he did understand.
* * * *
Bart was alone in the kitchen, drinking down a glass of milk when George entered.
“Your ma said I could have some.” He toyed with a plate that had a couple of slices of buttered bread on it.
“That’s okay.” He leaned forward and whispered, “You can have my share. I don’t care much for milk.” He did care for the way Bart smelled, though—clean, even though he was sweaty and had obviously put in a hard day at work. George’s teacher at the academy wore a cologne that was so cloying it made George fight back a sneeze. The older boys also wore some kind of scent that put George’s teeth on edge.
“You don’t? How could you not? I have a brother and so many sisters and they need the milk more than I do.”
“You can have a glass whenever you come by.”
“What makes you think I’ll be coming by?” Bart was suddenly defensive.
George mentally took two steps back. “I reckoned you’d come by to collect your mama. You’d want to make sure she gets home safely, wouldn’t you?” He could imagine the boy walking beside his mama, telling her about his day.
“Oh. Yeah, I would.”
George stared into those dark eyes, and neither of them said anything for a long minute. Then he shook himself out of it.
“Where is everybody?”
“Here we are.” Mama came out of the bedroom. Mrs. Hall followed her, dressed to leave and pulling on her gloves. “
“Hi, Mama.” George kissed her cheek.
“Hello, Georgie. How were your classes?”
He shrugged. A glance at Bart showed the older boy watching him wistfully. George knew from what Mrs. Hall had said in passing that Bart regretted not being able to complete his schooling, and Mrs. Hall regretted it herself, but she’d needed the pay packet that Bart brought home at the end of each week.
“Mrs. Hall gave me the loveliest blanket for the baby.” She touched her stomach.
George couldn’t wait for this baby to arrive. He’d done some counting, and he was hoping she would be born on his birthday in January. Because he was more certain than ever he was finally going to have a baby sister.
“Are you ready to go, Ma?” Bart asked his mother.
“Sure, son.”
He stuffed the rest of his bread and butter in his mouth and got to his feet. “Thanks, Missus.”
“
You’re welcome, Bart. Feel free to come by anytime.”
“Bye, Bart. I’ll see you.” George held his breath and waited to hear what the older boy would say to that.
Bart paused at the kitchen door and glanced back at him. “Yeah, I reckon you will.”
* * * *
So now George had two friends, and what was even better…his friends were friends. Frank wanted them to call themselves the Three Musketeers, and George was fine with that, but he remembered something he’d seen when he and Papa had stayed with an Indian tribe on their way East.
Normally the ritual would call for them to slice their palms, clasp hands, and let their blood mingle, making them blood brothers, but Bart couldn’t afford to have an injured hand, and Mrs. Thompson would probably cry all over Frank if he came home with his palm wrapped in a rag. Papa wouldn’t be too happy either, since George wasn’t supposed to act like a heathen.
George decided to modify the ritual—he nicked his right thumb. He held up his finger as the blood dribbled down it and passed the knife to Bart, who did the same thing. Then they waited for Frank to complete the ceremony.
George hadn’t been sure if the preacher’s son could do it, but although Frank looked a little green, he sliced his thumb.
The three of them pressed their thumbs together.
“My blood is yours…your blood is mine. We’re brothers now till the end of time.” For a second, George was afraid his friends would make fun of him for the rhyme, but they just stared at him solemnly.
Finally, Frank asked, “Uh…now what do we do?”
George stuck his thumb in his mouth and sucked off the blood. The nicks hadn’t been deep enough to continue bleeding.
His friends grinned at him and copied his actions.
“Okay, it’s done.” George wiped his knife clean on his trousers and put it away.
They shook hands, and went their separate ways until they could meet again.
Chapter 20
The summer, with its oppressive heat, was in the past, they had enjoyed the cooler weather of the fall, and now it was winter and Christmas was just around the corner.
