Emily's Dream (5 page)

“Hmm.” Dede sounded doubtful. “I don't know if you could manage him, Emily.”

“I've ridden at the Cranes', and I know how to take care of a horse,” Emily said. The words came out in too much of a rush, and Dede narrowed her eyes. Emily took a deep breath and tried to sound practical.

“It's a job Alice and Lizzie won't want, and you said yourself how busy you are.”

Dede sighed. “Yes, I suppose it's the only thing to do when I won't be able to take the carriage out myself.”

She looked thoughtful.

“But the back field is too full of holes. You'll have to ride on the road.”

Emily's heart leapt. This was even better than she'd hoped. She nodded, afraid that if she spoke she might say something to change Dede's mind.

“You are old enough,” Dede said, though she did not sound convinced of this. Emily thought of all the times she'd gotten in trouble lately and been accused of not acting her age.

“You will have to keep to the nearby roads,” Dede added. “I don't want you riding through town or going too far.”

“Yes, Dede,” Emily said, composing her face into what she hoped was an obedient and trustworthy expression. “I could take him out now and be back in time to set the table for supper.”

“All right,” Dede said. “I'll watch how you ride out of the driveway.”

Emily headed to the back door, careful not to hurry. She could hardly believe her luck.

“Emily!” Dede's voice sounded stern, and Emily froze, one hand on the doorknob. Had Dede changed her mind already?

“You must ride like a lady,” Dede told her.

“Yes, Dede,” Emily said. She pushed open the door and was out of the house, a grin of triumph wide across her face.

 9 
Johnny

Out by the barn, Emily called Johnny, and he trotted over to her. She wished she'd thought to bring him a carrot from the pantry, but all she had to offer him was another handful of long grass. She used it to coax him into the barn. The old sidesaddle and bridle hung on the wall beside his stall. Emily wondered for a moment if she could get away without using the saddle, but Dede would be watching her, and Dede had said she had to ride like a lady. Ladies did not ride like men or boys with their legs spread over a horse's back. Ladies rode sidesaddle with both legs on one side of a horse, well covered by a long skirt.

Emily dusted off the saddle and placed it on Johnny's back, fixing the girth strap under him. Then she slipped the bridle over Johnny's head and buckled it securely. She stood back and looked the horse over, frowning at the saddle. When she'd ridden a horse at the home of their family friends, the Cranes, she'd been young enough to ride cross-saddle and had not had to worry about her dress hiking up and her legs showing. But now Emily was almost grown up.

Emily had watched the oldest Crane girl ride sidesaddle. The girl had talked with an air of superiority about how it was done, showing off her skill, and Emily was sure she could remember everything she needed to know. But first, she had to get on the horse. At the Cranes', they'd always had help mounting their horses.

Emily looked around the barn for something she could stand on. She found an old wooden box and dragged it over to Johnny's side. She took hold of the reins with her right hand and stepped onto the box, trying
to remember how she'd seen the Crane girl place her body as she was helped up to the saddle. The girl had held onto the pummel with her rein hand, and Emily did the same. She took a deep breath and jumped up. She made it part way, then slid back down the horse's side.

“Drat!”

Steadying herself, Emily tried again. This time, she landed in the saddle and quickly placed her left foot in the stirrup and hooked her right knee over the pummel. Then, with some difficulty, she adjusted her tangled skirt. She shifted the reins to both hands and called out with satisfaction.

“Giddyup!”

Johnny walked forward, and Emily found herself facing the same direction as her legs, off to the left. How could she ride like this? She remembered what the Crane girl had said about keeping her right shoulder back and looking straight ahead between the horse's ears. She shifted her balance accordingly, and by the time she and Johnny rode out past the front of the house where
Dede stood watching from the porch, Emily felt confident she would pass Dede's inspection. She smiled and waved.

“Wait!” Dede called.

Worried, Emily glanced down at herself. No, her legs weren't showing. Her skirt was hanging properly.

Dede came down the front steps, holding something out to Emily. It was the riding whip–the same one Dede had used on the back of Emily's legs more than once.

“You'll need this,” Dede said.

Emily took the whip and waited for Dede to say more. But Dede stepped back.

“Well, go on then,” she said with a nod toward the road. “Don't be too long.”

Emily took up the reins again and urged Johnny forward.

“Let's go,” she told him softly.

Johnny walked at a steady sedate pace down the driveway, and Emily concentrated on sitting straight and square in the saddle, holding the reins just right. Once they had turned on to the road and were out of Dede's sight, Emily relaxed.

“Come on, Johnny!” she called out. “Let's have some fun!”

She pressed her left leg into Johnny's side and tapped his other side with the whip. Johnny shifted to an eager trot, and Emily began bouncing up and down in the saddle, her hair shaking loose from its ribbon. After a few jarring moments, she caught the horse's rhythm and began to move more comfortably. Soon they were riding down the quiet lane through Beacon Hill Park, and Emily slowed Johnny to a walk again.

The whole park was alive with growing. On both sides of the road, the dark green branches of cedar and fir trees hung like graceful skirts, their edges trimmed with pale new green. Maple trees unfurled tender new leaves, and the pale white blossoms of wild cherry trees glowed in the shadows. Sweet smells filled the air.

Johnny seemed to know his way, so Emily relaxed her hold on the reins and let herself drink in the beauty around her.

 10 
Serious Art

“I don't want to see any outlines,” Miss Withrow told the art class as she walked around the room. “In nature, there are no lines around objects.”

Emily looked down at her paper and rubbed at a dark line with her finger. She looked up at the bowl of fruit they were all supposed to be sketching. Miss Withrow had arranged apples and pears in a shallow blue bowl in the center of the long art table. Emily had sketched their rough shapes on her paper and was beginning to fill them in with different tones of her pencil, pressing harder for the dark shadows and receding areas. She looked back to her paper
and decided the smudging she'd just done created a nice modeled effect, giving her apple more roundness.

“Miss Withrow?”

Emily turned to see Sophie Pemberton with her hand raised and her eyes looking to the art teacher with suppressed excitement.

“I have some news,” Sophie continued when Miss Withrow acknowledged her. “My parents have agreed that I should go to England to study art. They've written to the Slade School of Art in London, and I've been accepted.”

A buzz of excitement rose around the room.

“Congratulations, Sophie!” Miss Withrow said, smiling and clapping her hands together. “How wonderful for you.”

Emily looked at Sophie with envy and awe. She was so lucky. Everyone knew that if you wished to be a serious artist you'd have to go abroad to study. There were no art schools in Victoria yet or even in Vancouver, the nearest large city. The best schools were
in London, England or Paris, France–both very far away. Dede would never let Emily go away to study. The idea of leaving home and leaving Victoria was a scary thought as well. Sophie must be very brave and confident. Even if her mother went with her, Sophie would need a lot of courage to study among strangers in a place that might not take a girl from Canada seriously.

“There you go, girls,” Miss Withrow said, looking over her students. “Perhaps our Sophie will inspire others among you.” Her eyes rested briefly on Emily. Emily looked away. Miss Withrow couldn't be suggesting that she, Emily, should go to art school. Emily did love art, but she was sure she didn't have nearly enough talent or courage.

After breakfast the next day, Emily stole back up to her room. It was Saturday, so there was no school. She slipped a sprig of groundsel weed she'd found near the front of the house into the canary cage and whistled a greeting to the bird. The cage stood in front of the dormer window next to her easel. She'd made
the easel several years ago, using branches Father had pruned from the big cherry tree at the side of the house.

That was when she'd first felt the urge to be an artist. She'd tried more than once to put the urge aside and concentrate on being more like what her family wanted her to be, but it was never any use. Art always pushed its way back. She couldn't ignore her need to draw and create, but to go away to art school? That was something she didn't know if she'd ever be ready for.

Emily looked out the window into the branches of white blossoms. Perhaps she could sketch one of the branches. But where was her sketchbook? She looked around the room and didn't see it. Thinking back, she remembered having it with her in the sitting room after school yesterday. She must have left it there.

Emily raced down the stairs. In the hall, she could smell the vile smoke of Mr. Piddington's cigarettes. Voices came from the sitting room, and Emily hesitated outside the door.

“She does draw rather prettily,” said Mrs. Piddington's voice. It was less shrill than usual, but there was still something about it that Emily disliked.

“If you say so,” Mr. Piddington answered, sounding bored as always. “I suppose they're not bad for an annoying kid.”

Suspicion set Emily's heart pounding. She stepped into the room to see Mr. and Mrs. Piddington sitting with her sketchbook between them, flipping the pages. Mrs. Piddington looked up, startled, but Mr. Piddington only glanced at her.