Page 85 of The Lost Hours
She swallowed. “I don’t want to.”
“Lucy . . . ,” Tucker began, but I put a hand up and he stopped.
“Why not, Lucy? Why don’t you want to get back on?”
She shrugged. “No reason. I’m tired, I guess.”
I went over to Captain Wentworth and adjusted the stirrups one more time before returning to stand in front of Lucy. “Why not?” I asked as I squatted down to eye level.
She looked down at her feet.
“Why not, Lucy?” I asked again, leaning toward her. “Because you’re afraid?”
Her eyes rose to meet mine. “I’m not scared.”
“Then get back on the horse and ride him.” I put my hands on her shoulders. “Or else you forget the reason you used to get up on the horse in the first place, remember? I hadn’t ridden a horse in more than six years because I forgot. Do you want to wait that long to ride again?”
Her eyes skittered over to Captain Wentworth, then traveled back to me. “Were you scared?”
I thought of how I had felt perched up in the saddle, how the barely restrained power of the horse had made me feel powerful and in control again, and the frisson of fear I’d felt before I’d lifted myself onto the horse’s back when I thought that maybe I might be wrong, that maybe getting in the saddle again wouldn’t be enough to take the pain away.
“Yeah, I was,” I said. I stood and held out my hand. “Come on. Captain Wentworth is tired and wants a good rubdown and a carrot. Let’s not make him wait, okay?”
She looked at Tucker for intervention, but he gave a quick shake of his head. “Listen to Miss Piper, Lucy. She knows what she’s talking about.”
“But I fell off,” she said, and her voice held such surprise, as if she’d managed the impossible. She turned to Tucker, looking for sympathy. “I was riding Captain Wentworth, and I fell off.”
Tucker’s eyes slid to mine and I gave a little nod, and was relieved when he didn’t say anything, acknowledging that this was between Lucy and me. Although I had no doubt that he’d grill me about it later, and it made me want to smile.
“Yes, you did,” I said. “And it was a nasty fall. You’re lucky—you could have really been hurt. But you need to understand that it was your actions that caused it and not the horse’s. You were doing something you weren’t ready for, which is why you fell off. And to convince yourself that you can get back on a horse, you need to do it right now or you might not ever. That would be the real tragedy, wouldn’t it?”
Her brow furrowed again, and I realized I’d used a harsher tone than I wanted to.
“Come on,” I said gently. “You only have to walk and I’ll walk right beside you if you want.”
With a deep breath, she slid her boots back on, then took my hand and allowed me to lead her over to the mounting block. “I’m not afraid,” she said again as she jutted out her chin and stared at the large horse. Without assistance, she climbed into the saddle in one quick movement, as if she were afraid that if she moved slower she’d change her mind.
“Do you want me to walk with you?”
She shook her head, grabbed the reins, and dug her heels into the sides of the horse. They ambled around the ring three times, Lucy’s face regaining color and the stiffness in her shoulders and legs relaxing into the comfortable rhythm I’d been used to seeing with her.
“You ready to stop?” I asked.
She shook her head again and did one more lap.
“Good job,” I said, helping her out of the saddle.
She surprised me by hugging me. I hugged her back and held her for a moment. Then she cupped her hands around my ear and leaned forward to whisper. “It doesn’t matter to me if you never ride a horse again, Miss Piper. Because to me, you’ll always be the one who made me get back on my horse the first time I fell off. I think that makes you pretty special.”
I gave a half sob, half laugh and hugged her tighter. Then we headed together toward the barn to untack Captain Wentworth and rub him down. I stopped outside the barn for a moment while everyone else moved ahead of me and took a deep breath of air that smelled of fresh-mown grass. I looked over to the alley of oaks, where only the towering tips were visible, imagining that they looked different to me. The limbs bent softly in the breeze instead of rigidly defying it, the knobs at the base of each limb looked rounder. I smiled into the growing night, understanding casting a gentle glow over the house and fields of Asphodel. It seemed as if in defining the end of my own grief, the old trees had also discovered the end of theirs. With a soft sigh, I headed into the bright lights inside the barn, leaving the darkness behind me.
CHAPTER 24
Lillian’s head swam as she pulled herself out of the bed, not knowing whether to blame the dizziness on the sherry or just the number of years she’d spent on this earth. She felt the ghosts in the room, too. Though she could no longer see them, she felt their recriminating gazes, heard the house breathe with expectation as if it, too, was waiting for the truth.
She dragged herself to each window, throwing open all of the shutters to let in the dying light of day, afraid suddenly of the encroaching darkness. She stared out at the alley of oaks, watching as the uppermost branches caught in the early evening breeze. But their movements were stiff and unyielding, as if they also waited for Lillian to acknowledge her ghosts.
Lola still hung around her neck and she lifted it off. She knew each charm by touch, had memorized the feel of each one along with their meanings and which of the three women had added it. Her fingers danced clumsily along each charm: the musical note, the heart, the rope. The baby carriage. She pressed it against her heart, willing the tears to come, but still, after all these years, they stayed in the place around her heart where she dared not visit, the place where regret lived. The place that, if examined too closely, would destroy her, as it had Annabelle.
