Fox River (38 page)

I
n moments of blinding rage Ian continued to strike me, and I continued to find ways to take what he had done and make it my fault. Forced to choose between an uncertain future and a husband who claimed to love me, a husband who later promised not to hit me again, I took what I thought was the easier path.

Although Ian still lashed out at me, he ignored our Alice for the first years of her life. I was secretly pleased, since I found her so utterly perfect myself. I doted on the tiniest things about her, the shape of her fingernails, the soft dark curls that covered her head, the eyes that were the green of my own. She was six weeks old when she first smiled up at me, and I was glad Ian wasn’t there to share it. She was my child. He had abandoned her at birth. Had he lived in ancient Rome, he would have left her to the wolves.

As she grew, I was the one who witnessed her first faltering steps. I was the one who taught her to count, and the names of all the flowers in our gardens. Alice was my joy, the purpose of my existence, and the reason why my marriage to Ian Sebastian wasn’t a complete failure.

Then, after time went by and Ian was sure at last that I would never give him a son, his attitude toward Alice began to change.

Until that time he had only noticed his daughter in passing. When I returned from taking her to visit my mother who was sick and growing sicker, Ian hardly seemed to have noticed Alice had been gone. She called him Daddy in her childish voice, and he dutifully showed her off to guests as a proud father was supposed to. But I had been certain if I stood Alice in a row with other little girls of her age and coloring, her father would not have been able to pick her out. Now, suddenly, he noticed everything.

“She’s a timid child,” he said one night after supper, when Alice was playing with three new puppy hounds Ian had brought up to the house.

I watched our daughter trying to evade puppy teeth. “Well, they do nip, and she’s not even three. She’ll be used to them soon enough.”

“I can’t imagine you were that shy.”

“Every child is different. There’s no comparing.”

The next evening the scene was repeated. “Alice,” he commanded. “Stop whining. Push them away if you don’t want them biting you.”

Alice’s eyes grew huge. Until that moment Ian had hardly spoken to her. “Dey hurt!”

“Push them away!”

She tried, but her hands were small, and she was still frightened of their teeth. Ian got up and went to her. “I told you to push them away.” He shoved the puppies back. What had been a game with Alice was something else with Ian, and the hounds understood. One went belly-up, the other two slunk away.

“You must always be brave,” he said sternly. “Animals know when you aren’t, Alice, and they will take advantage. You must always be strong and brave.”

She looked up at him with her heartbreaking eyes spilling over with tears. He shook his head and walked away.

I realized then how easy Alice’s early years had been. Ian’s detachment had caused no problems, but now this sudden attachment might. She hadn’t pleased him at this first test of courage. And there would be other tests that she would fail. She wasn’t a weak child, but she was a sensitive one. Colors were brighter; noises were louder; tastes were so strong she preferred only the blandest foods. She was acutely aware of the moods of those around her, and they affected her own. I expected her to be a poet or a musician, but never the brash, courageous athlete that Ian certainly wanted.

I saw trouble ahead.

The trouble began in earnest when Ian decided it was time for Alice to learn to ride. Alice was fascinated by horses. It would have been difficult to survive at Fox River if she hadn’t been. But horses, large, lightning-quick creatures that they were, frightened her. She respected their hoofs and lithe long legs, and although she liked watching them from a distance, she understood that distance was best.

The week before our daughter’s third birthday, Ian returned from a trip to a local auction with a tiny pinto pony. “Come see what I’ve bought Alice,” he told me that evening. I followed him down to the stables and exclaimed over his choice.

“But don’t be hurt, darling, if she isn’t excited at first,” I warned. “As small as that pony is, it will still seem huge to her.”

“You coddle her too much. Someday this farm will belong to her, and she’ll need to know everything about horses and riding to make a go of it.”

I marveled that he had moved this far in his thinking, but I worried all the same. Our daughter was not the tomboy he hoped for.

On the day of Alice’s birthday, neighbors arrived to celebrate. The Carroltons, a family with two young boys, were leasing Sweetwater in hopes that the Joneses would sell to them eventually. Ian admired Bob Carrolton, who had hunted extensively in England, and Etta Carrolton was a fine horsewoman herself. Alice was dumfounded that the boys, Dick and Gil, five and six respectively, could make so much noise, but she liked to watch them from the protection of my lap.

Lettie served ham with a variety of salads, then a huge coconut cake to celebrate Alice’s birthday. The evening had cooled by the time Ian led Alice’s pony to her for inspection. Wide-eyed and cautious, she allowed her father to lead her to the pony’s head to pat his nose. Then, the moment Ian let go of her hand, she threw herself at me.

The boys thought this was hilarious. They were already vying to ride, although by their standards, Alice’s pony was much too tame.

“You may have a turn, but Alice first,” Ian said. He lifted Alice from my lap and seated her on the pony’s bare back. The pony wore a simple halter, but since it was well-behaved, it needed nothing else. With Alice clinging to the scrap of mane within her reach, Ian led the pony around the yard.

I was thrilled that Alice did so well. I had expected tears if Ian tried to put her on the pony’s back, but Alice stared straight ahead, not moving so much as a muscle in protest. After several turns around the yard, Ian lifted her off. Only then did I realize just how frightened she had been. When Ian deposited her in my lap, she was trembling so hard I couldn’t hold her still. She put her arms around my neck and wept. Most telling, her skirt was damp.

Ian was disgusted. I could see it in his expression, although he politely supervised rides for the two little boys. But when the party had ended and the Carroltons had gone home for the night, he exploded.

“It’s your fault,” he told me. “You want her to cling to you.”

“I don’t,” I insisted. “She’s just three, Ian. She’ll love the pony when she gets used to him. She’s a real little soldier. She rode him even though she was scared. She’ll be fine if you just give her a chance.”

“You coddle her! I won’t have it. You’re useless to me, and now you’ve turned my only child into a scared little mouse.”

I half expected him to grab Alice for another riding lesson that night, but he strode into the house, and in a few minutes our groom came to take the pony away. I put our daughter to bed by myself, just as I always did, but she had little to say and nothing about the pony. I told her that her daddy had bought the pony just for her, and that soon she would learn to ride him like a big girl.

She turned her face away and popped her thumb in her mouth.

Ian was waiting for me in my room. My heart sped when I saw his face. He was still angry, and I knew all too well what that might mean. But this time he didn’t strike me.

“Alice spends too much time with you,” he said. “Beginning tomorrow, I’ll spend part of each morning with her, teaching her to ride. You don’t seem pleased with the prospect,” Ian said when I didn’t answer.

I knew better than to provoke him. So far he hadn’t taken his fists to me, but I recognized his struggle. “I was just thinking how much a girl needs her father,” I said truthfully. “Alice needs to spend more time with you.”

“I won’t have you interfere with anything I do.”

“She’s your daughter. I know you’ll take good care of her. Just…please remember the things that happen to her now can mark her for life.”

He looked disgusted, as if that notion was old-fashioned instead of the latest thinking. “I’ll come for her after breakfast. See that she’s ready.” He left the room without a word, and I knew, from experience, that he wouldn’t be back. Tonight I was unworthy of his attentions.

The next morning I tried to prepare Alice for her first riding lesson.

“Your father’s going to take you to visit your new pony.”

She looked apprehensive. “Mommy’s coming, too?”

“Not this time, sweet pea. Daddy wants Alice all to himself.”

She didn’t look happy at that. I continued. “Daddy found the pony just for you, and he wants you to learn to ride him. You’ll be safe. Daddy will take care of you.”

“Don’t like ponies.” She stuck out her lip.

I knew I had to be firm. “You will learn to like ponies, and you will learn to like this one. Daddy wants you to, and you must listen to Daddy.”

Whatever she heard in my voice convinced her. Her eyes got bigger, but she didn’t argue.

She was ready when Ian came for her. He never smiled at Alice, tickled her under her chin, swung her around and around, demonstrations of affection I remembered from my own stern father. Ian rarely looked at her and more rarely spoke to her. But this time he examined her closely, as if he wanted to be sure every part was present.

“Alice, we’re going riding. Did your mother tell you?”

“She said I mus’ learn to like it.”

He looked at me, and I shrugged. “I said exactly that, Ian.”

“There’s not a child alive who doesn’t like ponies.”

I was afraid there might be one. “I told her she would be safe and you would take good care of her.”

“That sounds like a warning to me.”

I was too frightened for my child to be frightened of him at that moment. “Please be gentle with her,” I said softly. “We females respond best when we’re handled with care.”

He lifted Alice in his arms and carried her out of the house. If I could have snatched her back and run away with her, I would have.

They came back together about an hour later. “Today we just had a look,” Ian said grudgingly. “She fed him a carrot, and I taught her what a saddle is.”

“I petted the horsey’s nose,” Alice told me solemnly.

“And did he pet yours, sweet pea?”

She didn’t giggle, a sure sign that the hour had taken its toll. She ran off to her room, but Ian stopped me from going after her.

“She’s afraid of everything. Of me, of the pony, of the shadows in the stable!”

“This is all very new to her. But I’m sure you made headway.”

“She had better shape up quickly.” He stomped off, and my stomach knotted.

The next day’s lesson must have gone much the same. I followed her once Ian had gone back to the stable to see what I could learn.

“Did you ride your pony today, sweet pea?”

“S’name’s Patches.”

“Is it? Did you name him?”

“He has patches.”

“He certainly does. Big patches.” She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, and I joined her. “Did Daddy give you a ride around the yard?”

She didn’t answer.

“Alice?”

“Don’ like Patches.”

My heart sank. “Alice, Patches is really a nice pony. Will you try to like him, for my sake? He’s not going to hurt you. And once you learn to ride him, you and I can go for wonderful long rides all over Fox River Farm.”

She looked up at me with the same stubborn expression I had too often witnessed on my husband’s face. “Don’ like him.”

“You must learn.” I left her to think that over.

By week’s end it was clear Ian had no patience left. When he came to give Alice her lesson, he told me he had saddled the pony and Alice would ride that day, whether she wanted to or not.

“Ian, this will go better if you just wait until she’s older.”

“Alice is a very bright child, Louisa. She’s just being stubborn.”

I was desperate. “What are you going to do to her? Hit her the way you hit me when I don’t do what you want? She’s a little girl. You could hurt her badly.”

His eyes narrowed. “Go upstairs and get her, or I’ll drag her downstairs.”

I didn’t know what to do. If I refused, he would make good on his threat. If I continued to argue, he might become so infuriated he really would harm her. In the end, I went for Alice. On the way downstairs I told her she must do whatever Daddy said today, but I knew this day wasn’t going to end happily for any of us.

“I’d like to come and watch, if I might,” I said, as Ian took Alice’s tiny hand.

“Not today.”

“But I could cheer her on.”

“Louisa, go up to your room and remain there until we return.”

“A prisoner in my own house?”

“I won’t have you interfering. Go upstairs.”

Alice was looking at us with widening eyes. I knew if we continued to argue, she would be even more frightened. “All right,” I said as cheerfully as I could. “You two have fun, please. Alice, be a good girl and do whatever Daddy says.”

I started upstairs, but the moment the door closed behind them I stationed myself in the parlor, which had the best view of the stableyard. Ian kept opera glasses. I tried to remember where he stored them, but panic clouded my mind. Finally I found them in a walnut secretary. At the window I held them to my eyes and adjusted the lenses for clarity.