The Sea Hawk

by Brenda Adcock

  Julia's headache wasn't getting any better and she wasn't in the mood for inane conversation about handwriting or junk mail. "Then open the damn thing and then toss it."

  "Oooh. Someone's a little touchy this morning," Frankie said.

  "I've got a horrendous headache brewing. Sorry."

  "It's nearly time for a lunch break. Maybe you're just hungry," Frankie offered as she laid the envelope on the corner of Julia's desk.

  "Maybe. Well, aren't you going to open it?"

  "It's not addressed to me."

  Snatching the rich-looking envelope, Julia glanced at it briefly before running her index finger under the back flap and popping open the wax seal. "Someone wasted a lot of money just to try and sell me swampland in Arizona. So where do you want to go for lunch?" she asked, sliding what looked like an invitation from the envelope.

  "How about Billy Bob's?"

  "Burgers again? Don't you ever get tired of eating that crap? Your arteries have got to be clogged with fat by now."

  "I'm still a starving grad student until January, remember?"

  Julia read the engraved invitation and picked up the envelope, studying the front and back, carefully examining the wax seal. There was something unsettling about it she couldn't put into words. "Ever heard of a place called Montserrat Farms?" she asked.

  "Nope. I'm not into cows and pigs."

  "It's an invitation to a horse show featuring quote 'the finest in Arabian horses this side of the Mississippi River' unquote."

  "Someone wants to sell you a horse! Boy, do they have the wrong gal, unless it's a seahorse," Frankie said, moving to read over Julia's shoulder.

  Julia ran a fingertip over the raised monogram embossed on the top center of the invitation. "Does this look familiar to you? The initial, I mean," she asked.

  "It's fancy, that's for sure. You gonna go?"

  "I don't know. How about you and Danny go with me? It's the weekend after Thanksgiving. Unless you've got other plans."

  "We can't afford plans and neither of our parents can afford to fly down until Christmas. So why not? Might be an interesting way to kill an afternoon."

  JULIA HAD ACCEPTED the invitation, but now as she waited for Frankie and her husband Danny to pick her up, she was having second thoughts. The Savannah area had been her home for the last six years and she had never heard of Montserrat Farms. Of course, there was no reason she would have. The breeding horse and fox hunt crowd were not a part of her world.

  The weather hovered in the mid-fifties, comfortably pleasant for late-November. Julia rubbed her forehead absently, once again absorbed in thoughts concerning events that couldn't have happened. She was grateful when the chiming of her doorbell brought her back to the present. Grabbing a lightweight down vest from the hall tree, Julia opened her front door to greet Frankie.

  "You're early," Julia said.

  Glancing at her watch, Frankie shrugged. "Maybe we'll get a chance to see the horses up close and personal if we get there a little early."

  "Do you ride?" Julia asked as she pulled the front door closed behind her.

  "I have, but certainly nothing as disciplined as dressage," Frankie said while they walked to Danny's car. "I've seen it on TV, of course, but can't imagine the amount of patience it must take to train a horse that well."

  "It takes a special rapport between the trainer and the horse," Julia said, opening the back door of Danny's Jeep Cherokee.

  Montserrat Farms was located in the gentle countryside ten miles west of the Savannah city limits. Julia exchanged idle chit-chat with Frankie and Danny for the relatively short drive. She loved the area the map indicated as the farm's location. Two miles from the main entrance to the farm, a stark white fence enclosed pastures, occasionally interrupted with copses of trees covered with Spanish moss. A half mile from the entrance, Julia smiled at the sight of foals frolicking in the pastures. She frowned to push away thoughts of Simone with her horses when Danny signaled to turn onto the main road of the farm.

  A long straight road led them to the main buildings which were canopied by large old trees that had lost their foliage for the winter. In a few months the trees would begin to fill with new leaves again, creating a shadowy tunnel for visitors.

  "It must take a small army to keep the grounds looking this good," Danny observed. "Must be a well-paying business."

  Finally, the Jeep rounded a gentle curve and they saw several buildings ahead. Looking around, Julia identified three long brick, red-roofed buildings that looked as if they might be stables. The three buildings formed spokes around a matching octagonal building she assumed was a training arena. Smaller buildings, all with similar architecture, dotted the grounds. As Danny pulled into a marked parking area and turned off the ignition, she opened the back door and climbed out, stretching her legs.

  "I don't think I'm going to need this vest," she said, pulling it off and tossing it back inside the Jeep.

  Frankie shaded her eyes with her hand to look around and said, "That must be the main house. Cool architecture. Looks a little like the old homes we saw in the Caribbean on our honeymoon, doesn't it, Danny?"

  "Well, it's not your typical architecture for around here, that's for sure," Danny agreed.

  Julia turned to follow Frankie's gaze. Surrounded by brick-outlined gardens and standing in a small grove of trees, a paved walkway led to a two-story building with a red roof. Crème-colored shutters stood open on the second-story windows. A screened-in front porch covered the entire front of the house. Turning away quickly, Julia lowered her head to catch her bearings as she leaned an arm against the side of the Wrangler.

  "You okay, Julia?" Frankie's concerned voice asked.

  Taking a deep breath, Julia pasted a smile on her face and nodded. "Yes, I'm fine. It's just that that house seems familiar in some way. As if I've seen it before somewhere."

  Taking Frankie's hand, Danny said, "Let's wander down by the stables before we find a seat in the arena."

  Julia followed the couple and wasn't surprised that the horses they saw were magnificent animals. The fastest and most beautiful in the world, Joaquin had announced proudly. There was something noble and haute about the way they stood quietly and regarded the strangers staring at them. By the time the trio made their way into the arena and climbed into a seating area running three quarters of the way around the earthen floored arena, Julia began to relax and chatted amiably with Frankie and Danny about their work at the Institute and Frankie's doctoral dissertation. There was still work to be done on the Peach, but nothing urgent enough to prevent Frankie from completing her studies. She was a careful and meticulous scientist and had feelers out to several agencies and museums for possible positions.

  At exactly two o'clock a stately-looking older man strode into the arena and brought a wireless microphone to his mouth. For a moment Julia half-expected to hear a booming voice such as the ones used by ringmasters in the circus. But there was no music and the man, dressed in a black top hat, black riding jacket over a stark white shirt, camel riding pants and dark brown riding boots, spoke with a melodic, soft voice.

  "Welcome to this exhibition of the dressage quadrille. The art of dressage has been practiced in Europe since before the time of Charlemagne. Developed as a military tactic for battle, the earliest practitioners of dressage strenuously trained young military officers in the maneuvers you will see today. Armies, traveling in columns of two to four horses, were trained to act in absolute unison when facing an enemy.

  "The most famous schools for training in the dressage were the Saumur in France and the Spanish Riding School in Austria. The Spanish Riding School was primarily what its name implies, a riding school, while the Saumur incorporated military tactics as well as riding skills. Today in modern competition riding for the dressage, judges look for a number of points on which to evaluate riders and their horses. Judges look for proper spacing between the animals, how well they move together as a unit as well as the alignment of the animals both late
rally and longitudinally. Other things taken into consideration are the impulsion or energy of the horse, the degree of submission of the horse to the rider, and, for groups, how well they perform as a unit. For the single dressage, important points to watch for are the even gait of the horse, the alignment of the rider over the horse, and most importantly, the seemingly undetectable commands the horse receives from its rider, as if the horse knows exactly what it is doing without assistance.

  "Today you will see a demonstration of both group and single dressage. The groups will perform two, three and four column maneuvers, crossing one another's path closely, fanning into a position as if to meet an enemy in battle, and the cloverleaf pattern. In the single dressage, the horse and rider will make their way around the arena in straight and oblique lines, change gaits at various points to show the virtually motionless control the rider exhibits. Hesitation to obey a command from a rider would receive negative scores from judges in any competition. There is a degree of trust and rapport that must exist between the horse and rider in order to give a flawless performance.

  "While many of you may be familiar with the famous Lippizaner Stallions of the Spanish Riding School, the horses you will see performing today are all Arabians which were sired, raised and trained here at Montserrat Farms. They are the descendants of horses brought to this country nearly two hundred years ago. Although many are now owned by others, most are stabled at Montserrat Farms when not competing and they have been rewarded many times for their skills. Ladies and gentlemen, the dressage quadrille!"

  For the next hour and a half horses entered the arena single file, in pairs, threes, and fours and performed a series of complex maneuvers in which they passed through a column of horses and reformed. Their turns, movement, and pace were so well synchronized they seemed to Julia like waves moving across the arena. Although she was certain the riders were making minute commands with their hands, they were undetectable, and the riders seemed to be no more than mannequins placed on the backs of the powerful animals. Each round of maneuvers was explained as they occurred and received appreciative applause at the end. After a short intermission for drinks, the single dressage began. The riders and their mounts were introduced as they entered the ring and went through their paces. Some of the riders were obviously young students, but their performances were virtually flawless. It was apparent to the observers that their instructor had been successful in training them to a high degree of competency. After the last rider acknowledged the audience and the applause faded away, the announcer stepped back into the center of the arena.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, the final exhibition this afternoon will be performed by the dressage instructor and owner of Montserrat Farms. She is the winner of numerous national and international competitions and a three-time member of the United States Olympic Dressage Team. Please welcome into the arena, Mademoiselle Dhuperior riding Jackson."

  The moment she was introduced, the rider walked her sleek, dark brown Arabian, its mane braided along its neck and wrapped in white, into the arena and sat motionless until the applause died away. The rider wore a solid tan riding outfit with a dark brown top hat and riding boots. The horse and rider stood as motionless as a statue while the announcer explained that the snow-white wrappings on the lower portion of the horse's legs helped judges see imperfections in the animal's gait as it moved around the dark earthen floor of the arena. At the end of the explanation, the horse began moving, as if by its own volition, changing its gait into something Julia thought resembled a skip. Turning at the center of the arena, the rider sat ramrod straight and motionless as Jackson moved effortlessly in an oblique line, his front hooves crossing one another to perform the sideways movement, first to the left and then to the right. Julia paid particular attention to the impassive-appearing rider. Her body never moved and no matter how closely she looked, Julia could detect no wrist movements commanding the animal into the next maneuver. Following a fifteen-minute exhibition, the rider stopped her horse facing the audience. In the first discernable movement Julia was able to detect, the rider patted her mount and coaxed him into a bow, bringing appreciative applause from the audience. Grasping her top hat by its rim, the rider removed it and bowed her thanks to the crowd and smiled as she accepted their appreciation.

  Julia stopped clapping, gasping when she saw the rider's face fully. A gleaming shock of short black hair combed forward from the crown framed the woman's face. Without an explanation to her companions, Julia stood abruptly, unable to look at the woman a moment longer and left the seating area as quickly as possible. The rider replaced her hat and turned her horse to leave the arena as the remainder of the audience rose to leave their seats.

  WHEN FRANKIE AND Danny caught up to Julia, she was bent over the hood of the Jeep, her head resting on her forearms. She felt like she was going to hyperventilate and struggled to control her breath. Frankie's hand on her back startled her.

  "Are you all right?" Frankie asked, concern evident in her voice.

  "Yeah," Julia answered, fighting to take oxygen deeply into her lungs. "I...I don't know what happened, but I suddenly felt almost claustrophobic in there and had to get out. I'm sorry."

  Rubbing a hand gently over Julia's back, Frankie smiled. "The show was over anyway. So at least you didn't miss anything."

  "That's good," Julia said. I'd already seen more than I wanted to.

  "I guess you're not planning to come back this evening for the reception then," Danny said.

  "What reception?" Julia asked, looking up at Frankie.

  "The invitation said there would be an open house and reception later this evening," Frankie said. "You should stay home and get some rest. Skip the free food and booze."

  "I'm fine now, but I'm not planning to return for a reception. You two can come back, though. Don't let me spoil your evening."

  "Well, actually," Frankie started as she glanced at Danny, "we sort of have other plans for tonight."

  Swept by relief, Julia chuckled and patted Frankie on the back. "That's almost too much information, Frankie."

  As soon as Danny dropped Julia at her home, she walked to her bedroom and flopped onto her bed, staring at the ceiling. She couldn't get the woman's face out of her mind and was afraid to go to sleep, fearing she would see it again in her dreams. Glancing at the clock on her nightstand, she sat up and went into her kitchen to prepare something to eat. She needed to do something to stop the thoughts that wouldn't quit running through her brain. She was convinced she might easily go insane. Her thoughts were giving her a headache and whatever was left of her heart would not stop grieving for something that had never been...couldn't have been. Looking down at the snack on her plate, she knew she couldn't live like this anymore. Dark bread, wedges of cheese and fruit were left abandoned as she walked resolutely into her bedroom and changed her clothes.

  TURNING HER CAR into the long drive leading to the main house of Montserrat Farms, Julia tried to steel herself to face what awaited her. It would either be nothing or...the impossible. The main house was awash in lights outlining the enclosed porch and eaves. Torches on either side of the walkway and gardens lit her way. Subtle, but elegant Christmas decorations adorned the porch. The front door was open and Julia sucked in a deep breath of fresh cool air before she entered the house. She was greeted immediately by a young woman who offered to take her coat.

  She proceeded into the main room which was open and furnished with comfortable looking settees and wing-back chairs. The corner to her right was filled by a beautifully understated Christmas tree that nearly touched the top of the vaulted ceiling. An elegant chandelier brightly lit the entire room. Against the far wall a buffet table was manned by two young men in uncomfortable looking starched white jackets. She scanned the room as she accepted a glass of wine from a passing waiter. She closed her eyes as she savored the first taste of an excellent full-bodied burgundy.

  Choosing a place near the back of the tree, Julia looked carefully around the small groups of m
en and women chatting amongst themselves while enjoying their hostess's food and wine. Eventually a man stepped away from a group near the far corner of the room to retrieve wine refills. Then Julia saw her and shrank farther behind the tree. She couldn't take her eyes off the woman. She was dressed in a well-pressed white evening shirt tucked into form fitting black pants which, in turn, were tucked into the tops of the dark brown riding boots she wore during her exhibition. She was breathtakingly handsome. Her arm hung loosely around the shoulders of a young man who appeared to be in his early teens. Curly black hair coiled around his young caramel-colored face. Oh, my God! Can this get any more bizarre than it already is? Julia thought, closing her eyes. She worked to control her rapid breathing and the urge to flee grew overpowering. When she opened her eyes, looking for a quick escape route, they were met by a pair of piercing golden eyes traveling down her body and back to her face again, a slow, crooked smile moving across the woman's lips.

  The woman bent slightly and said something to the boy and then bowed to the people surrounding her. Stepping away from the group, she began making her way, panther-like, across the room toward Julia. She needed to flee before the woman reached her and looked quickly to her left and right for an exit. Julia set her wine glass on a small table and darted into a hallway leading from the main room. Glancing over her shoulder she hoped the hallway would lead to the front entryway so she could make her escape. Discovering no exit she stopped in front of a closed door, turned the knob, and stepped quickly inside, closing the door as quietly as possible. She pressed her body against the wall next to the door and held her breath.

  The room was dark except for a single small light. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting. She blinked several times before glancing around the room for a better place to hide. The room was filled with floor-to-ceiling bookcases on three walls. Portraits in ornate frames filled the majority of the remaining wall space. Across the room she saw a large desk and ran to it, kneeling to hide beneath it. She glanced up to check the door and stopped. The light which partially illuminated the room came from a small spotlight suspended from the ceiling a foot from a large, almost life-sized portrait.