Fade to Grey (11 page)

“What happened to the little girl?” Mr. Bradenton asked. “Did the parents decide they would miss her? I know a trip to Europe can take a good three months to do the Grand Tour.”

“It wasn’t so much that the parents would miss little Emily. It was that the spinster aunt had a secret romance brewing with a man and decided to up and marry rather quickly!”

“Oh, ha! What a good story,” Mrs. Bradenton said, clinking her cup into the saucer. She seemed to be in good spirits this morning and with no appearance of any back pain. “A quick romance and then an even quicker marriage! I love it!”

“With this change of plans, I don’t have to be in a rush to get back like I first thought.”

She was glad they didn’t quiz her much on her family back in Chicago. She still was of the mind that they were confusing her for someone else. Perhaps if she gave enough vague disinformation they might give her more hints to go on herself.

“Well, we love having you here, my child. And since you’re from Uncle Grayson’s side of the family, that’s even better.”

Yes, yes,
Donna thought.
Finally I am figuring out where I fit into the family tree!

The maids began bringing food out. A pot of oatmeal followed by a platter of bacon and scrambled eggs. Everything looked delicious and smelled heavenly. Lilly began scooping food onto each plate and then set the plates in front of Donna and her hosts.

Placing her napkin on her lap, she sprinkled some salt on her eggs.

“Good old Uncle Grayson. God bless him,” she said.

Mr. Bradenton looked at her strangely, and then picked up a piece of bacon.

“Er, Grayson is feeling alright, isn’t he? I know he had a spell of gout a few years back. I should keep in touch with him. He has a stable of wonderful horses—used to anyway.”

“Oh, Uncle’s doing fine.” Donna took a chance and thought she’d give an update.
At least
he’s alive
she thought or they would surely have heard word to the otherwise. “He tries to stay busy with the horse sales when he’s not at the bank.”

“Remind me, which bank does he own in Chicago?” Mrs. Bradenton asked.

“Planters and Merchants Bank. It’s—er—new, actually.” Donna felt sure this misinformation couldn’t be easily checked, at least not for a while. Planters and Merchants sounded generic enough to be plausible. Anyway, if they did check it out in the near future, she might be gone for good, back to her own time. More importantly, she now knew they were trying to figure her out, discern her background and familial ties. And the vaguer they were kept, the better off she was. She continued eating and they nodded their head in acceptance of what she said. Fine. Exactly what she hoped.

“Donna, dear,” Mr. Bradenton started.

“Yes?”

“You simply must begin calling us by our first names. George and Elizabeth. Now if you don’t want to do that, at least Aunt and Uncle will suffice.”

“I’d love that! I hate being so formal, but you know, it’s better to err on the side of politeness I always think.”

“Oh, I feel so much better now!” Elizabeth said. “We are blood relatives you know. And I feel as if I’ve known you all my life anyways!”

Uncle George had told Royce earlier in the morning to clean and prepare the horses for their outing. He told Donna to go change her footwear; it was safer if she replaced those flimsy shoes she was wearing. He said to meet him outside the front door and they would walk to the stable together.

She thanked Aunt Elizabeth for the breakfast and, taking a last sip of her coffee, she headed upstairs. Aunt Elizabeth said if she didn’t have the proper boots, to let her know, either she or the maids would come up with something.

Alone in her room, she dug quickly through the trunks, hoping against hope that she would find something suitable for horseback riding. It would have been asking too much to have found a good pair of black knee high boots in the trunks. Underneath the layers of clothing she hadn’t unpacked yet, she felt something like leather under some sweaters. She pulled the item out and was pleased that it was a cordovan leather boot, short, almost like a modern Jodhpur boot. That would do the trick, but only if it fit. She removed her shoe, and pulled the boot on. Luckily for her, it didn’t lace up. It was a plain pull on style. She put the other one on and found it a bit snug but otherwise perfect. They had even been broken in and a bit scuffed, so much the better. They looked like hers she decided.

Removing her white cap, she thought she might wear some kind of appropriate head covering for a hack with her Uncle. The white cap looked more suited to the bedchamber. Now with her hair back to a normal condition, she could remove it if she wished. Nobody in this day and time wore a decent black safety helmet. However, they might very well wear a cap or scarf she decided. For formal wear they probably even wore black silk top hats! She thought back to old daguerreotype and paintings she had seen of equestrian styles and events. Finally she settled on a nice black silk scarf that would do the trick. She knotted it loosely around her neck for the time being and went downstairs.

Uncle George was in a fine mood, she hoped it was her company at breakfast that made him that way. Though her aunt was temporarily injured, she knew it could be difficult on a marriage for one of the partners to be sick. Perhaps her unexpected visit was a diversion for her Uncle. Whatever the reason, perhaps she could feel him out on this subject without appearing to be prying.

“Isn’t this wonderful weather?” Uncle George asked, his eyes scanning the fast moving clouds above.

“Yes, it’s great, and so unseasonably warm,” replied Donna. “Nothing like a normal Chicago October, that’s for sure!”

They headed up the path, towards the stable. Rex the dog decided to join them and trotted alongside.

“Tell me, dear, how you stand the Chicago winters? They are so fierce.”

“Ah, you get used to them. Actually I find them invigorating.” Donna laughed at the puzzled look on Uncle George’s face.

“Invigorating? I never heard anybody describe a Chicago winter that way!” he said. “Now I want you to tell me again what you did before the tutoring job? You may have said it earlier, but I might have been preoccupied with Beth’s back.”

“When I finished boarding school, Uncle Grayson offered me a bookkeeping job at the Planters and Merchants. My parents thought it wonderful of him, but I thought it terribly boring. So, I am afraid I wasn’t the best at keeping books. My heart lay in writing; I thought I’d try my hand at a novel.”

“How is it going?” Her Uncle looked pleased at this piece of news.

“Well enough. It’s much more fun than looking at figures and columns on paper all day. I know Uncle Grayson loves it, but it was torture to me.”

“A young woman sometimes finds it hard to be cooped up in a bank, I would imagine.”

“I loved writing. Since I was in no rush to be married, my parents told me I could pursue my passion for one year and then I should either marry well or find other employment. They said I could write in the evenings just as well.” Donna sighed. “Then the tutoring position was dumped in my lap and they were overjoyed.”

“Tutoring children is a fine occupation.”

“Yes, and I think it’s a cut above being a nanny!” They both laughed at this. Now they were at the stable door and saw Royce had one of the bay geldings hitched up to a racing buggy. Plus he had a grey mare saddled for himself. What Donna saw next jolted her. He had a third horse tacked up and ready to go—a red roan—complete with a sidesaddle!

While Uncle George patted his gelding, Royce saw the look of fear in Donna’s eyes. Unfortunately, with her Uncle close at hand, she couldn’t tell Royce that it was impossible for her to ride sidesaddle. She could ride, of course, even do elementary dressage and jumping. But sidesaddle? That was another thing altogether! Of course, some people still did it. She saw it on television during equestrian events. Women in formal wear rode this way, perfectly composed and elegant, putting their mounts through dressage moves. Yet it was the exception rather than the rule. How could she get out of this one?

“Your Uncle said to saddle up a mount for you, Donna.” Royce appeared confused at Donna’s apparent frustration. “You said you love to ride, so here we are.”

Donna stood rooted to the spot.

“Whatever is the matter? Is something wrong with the tack? It’s the same that other female guests ride with.”

Donna glanced over at her uncle; he was preoccupied with fiddling with his horse’s cheek straps and the placement of the bit in the horse’s mouth.

“I thought we were going for a buggy ride. Yes, of course I can ride! But who ever heard of riding sidesaddle?”

“Every woman rides sidesaddle! Unless, of course, you’re a farmer’s wife!” Royce shot back at her. “Why are we quibbling? This should be a simple task for you. Besides, your Uncle said you were a crackerjack rider.”

He took a long look at her. Now he realized what she was talking about. This whole scenario was strange to her! She really was from a different time!

“You have to help me,” she whispered. “I don’t have the slightest idea how to mount with this kind of saddle. If you help me, I think I can fake it. That is, as long as we don’t do anything other than walking.”

“Here, I’ll help you.” Royce’s voice was gentle. “Let’s go over to the mounting block.”

Donna was familiar with the mounting block; every stable worth its salt had one. You simply led the horse up to it, with his near side to the steps. You climbed up the two or three steps and quickly and neatly vaulted on the horse’s back. It was convenient for youngsters, older riders and even people with too tight riding pants.

“Hop up, then straddle the horse as a man would,” Royce said in a low voice. “Then hitch your skirts up and hook your right knee around the pommel.”

Donna did as he said, not wanting to draw further attention from her Uncle. This little expedition wasn’t turning out as she planned, by now she thought she’d be in a buggy with a lap robe over her legs.

The mare stood stock still until Donna got on. Flipping her skirts around, she managed to get the folds of material arranged.

“What are you staring at?” she asked Royce as he handed her the reins.

“You don’t have any riding breeches on! Just skirts and pantaloons!”

“What in thunder do you think a woman would ride in?”

“A lady wears riding breeches! On top she wraps an apron to cover everything up! If your uncle saw your underpinnings, he’d think you were daft!”

He put his hand on her thigh and casually slid it higher up her leg. With the mounting block between him and Mr. Bradenton, no one was the wiser. A smile begin to curl up Donna’s lip.

“What are you doing?” she murmured.

“Touching you. You don’t mind, do you?” He slid his hand up to the juncture of her legs. “I liked being in here yesterday. I guess I am saying I want some more of you.”

Donna began squirming under his touch. “Now you’re teasing me and I can’t do anything about it. Oh, never mind. What is the mare’s name?”

“Her name is Eden. Your secret is safe with me. Just don’t fall off.”

“Not if I can help it,” Donna said. “I’ll stand here until you mount.”

“Fine. The mare will stand firm. I trained her myself. She’s fit for any lady to ride safely.”

Royce ran his hand down Donna’s leg. He then handed her a long stiff whip topped with a scrimshaw whalebone handle in the shape of a fox head.

He mounted his grey deftly, settling into the saddle softly. Donna could tell that he was an experienced rider by the fluid way he positioned himself into the saddle. Uncle George was now getting adjusted in his seat, arranging the reins in a familiar manner. He was a man in his element, happy to be out with his horses in the country air. Royce maneuvered his horse next to Donna’s, positioning himself so her Uncle couldn’t see his face or possibly read his lips.

“We’ll stay together. The horses were raised together and won’t fuss. Your Uncle will probably want to take his bay around the track he made in the summer. We’ll let him go about it and then we can talk.”

“Won’t he expect me to go galloping around a bit?” Donna asked.

“You can just say you’re unused to the saddle or the mare. Make something up.”

“Yes, I’m getting good at that,” Donna replied wanly.

Uncle called out to them. “Let’s head out to the track, Royce! This bay feels ready to go!” His horse was pulling forward in the traces.

“Yes, sir! Right away!” To Donna, he nodded. “Let’s go. You’ll do just fine.”

The three of them headed down the lane towards a westerly meadow. Donna had not noticed the track on her walkabout, probably since it was mainly a grassy plain. At a casual glance, it was just a fallow meadow, covered with soft grasses. When they reached the outer edge, she saw an oval, beaten into the sod, probably a good half-mile. She saw that her Uncle wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to her or her mount. Uncle George turned the bay towards his track. Once he got the buggy positioned the way he wanted, he let the bay walk at his own leisurely pace in a counter clock-wise manner. Royce tilted his head at Donna to pull her mare nearer to him.

“You look lovely on Eden. Like you were born to ride sidesaddle. And your posture is perfect. No one would guess you are new to this.”

“Thank you,” Donna said. “I’m settling down a bit. I don’t want the mare to sense my fear.”

“Oh, she won’t. I raised her from birth.” He gripped his reins lightly in one hand and shielded his face from the sun with his other hand. “Your uncle will be busy for a good hour. We can go walk around the edge of the meadow.”

Donna nodded and nudged her mare behind Royce’s mount with a touch of the whip on Eden’s right flank.

The morning was crisp. The warmth and lack of rain was keeping the fields and meadows colorful and dry. Cornstalks were still brown and brittle, not black from rot. The horse’s hoof beats fell soundlessly on the leaves.

The horses were still glistening with their summer coats. The weather had slowed the growth of the heavy winter coats they would eventually carry far into the Michigan spring the next year. The tack they wore was soft and shiny with a well-kept sheen. The bits and buckles of the harness and bridles glinted softly with burnished cleanliness.