said quietly. “I love you, and I really am sorry about what happened with Beth tonight. From now on, I’ll do my best to be nice to her. All right?”
She felt her father’s body stiffen for a moment, then relax as he returned her hug. “Thanks, Princess,” he said into her ear. “That would really help out.”
“Then I’ll do it,” Tracy whispered, giving him one more kiss, then rolling over in bed. “Good night, Daddy.”
When he was gone, she rolled back over and lay staring at the ceiling. When the house was silent and she was sure everyone had gone to sleep, she got out of bed, and quickly dressed.
A minute later, she was down the stairs and out of the house, moving across the terrace, then disappearing into the night.
18
The warmth of the morning woke Beth early, and she stretched luxuriously, then kicked the covers off and got out of bed. But a moment later, as she came fully awake and remembered last night’s fight with Tracy, her good feeling vanished.
It would be another day just like all the rest — a day of trying not to make any mistakes, of trying to stay out of Tracy’s way, of not knowing what to do next.
Maybe she should go down to the village and find Peggy.
Or maybe, instead of looking for Peggy, she should go to the mill. Maybe, if she promised to stay out of everyone’s way, her father would let her spend the day at the mill. Then, while everyone was busy, she could go down into the basement, and sneak into the little room under the stairs. And Amy would be there, waiting for her.
They could sit in the dark together, and Beth could talk to her. It would be nice, Beth thought, to be alone in someplace cool and dark and quiet, with no one around except a friend who wouldn’t laugh at you, or tease you, no matter what you said. That’s the kind of friend, she was sure, that Amy would be to her. Someone for her to talk to when she got so lonely she felt like no one in the world wanted her, or understood her, or cared about her.
She began dressing, then looked at the clock. It was only seven-thirty. Hannah would be in the kitchen, starting breakfast, but neither Peter nor Mr. Smithers would have come to work yet.
Maybe she should go down to the stable and visit Patches before Peter got there. Because Peggy, she was sure, would have told Peter what happened yesterday. Peggy always told everybody everything, and by now Peter probably would have decided she was crazy, too.
What if he told her she couldn’t come to the stable anymore? That, she decided, would be awful. Going down to see the horses in the morning was the best part of every day. Still, it hadn’t happened yet, and even if it did, she could just start getting up earlier every day.
She tied her tennis shoes, then quickly made her bed and put away the clothes she’d been wearing last night. Then she left her room, and glanced down the hall in both directions, listening. She heard nothing. Both Tracy’s door and her mother’s door were still closed. Everybody but her was still asleep. She scurried down the stairs, and through the long living room, then slowed down as she crossed the dining room. She could almost feel the portraits of all the dead Sturgesses glaring disapprovingly down on her, even though she always did her best not to look at them. When she came to the butler’s pantry, she let out an almost audible sigh of relief. Here, in Hannah’s territory, she always felt more comfortable. Finally she pushed open the kitchen door.
“Must be a quarter to eight,” Hannah said without turning from the stove where she was scrambling some eggs. “You’re getting to be as regular as clockwork. Orange juice is in the refrigerator, and the eggs’ll be done in a minute.”
“I could have made my own eggs,” Beth said as she reached into the refrigerator and brought out the pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice. Even though she hated the pulp in it, she wouldn’t hurt Hannah’s feelings by telling her so, so she poured a big glass, then took a deep breath, squeezed her eyes shut tight, and tried to drink it all in one gulp. When she was finished, she opened her eyes to see the housekeeper shaking her head sympathetically.
“Don’t see how you can do that,” Hannah said, her face serious but her eyes twinkling. “The pulp in that stuff makes me gag. I always have to strain it, myself.”
Beth’s eyes widened in surprise; then she giggled, and sat down at the table to dig into the plate of eggs that was now waiting for her. When she was finished, she scraped the leavings into the sink, rinsed the plate, then picked up the waiting bag of garbage and headed out the back door. She dumped the trash in the barrel as she crossed the little terrace, then waved to Ben Smithers, who was busy in the rose garden.
She ran all the way to the door of the stable. As soon as she stepped inside, she knew that Peter, as she’d hoped, was not there yet. There was a stillness in the little barn — a quiet that was broken only by the soft snufflings of the horses as they became aware that someone had come into the stable.
Beth let herself relax as she closed the stable door behind her, and started down the aisle toward Patches’s stall. The big mare was stretching her neck out as far as she could, and whinnying softly.
“Hi, Patches,” Beth whispered, reaching up to scratch the horse’s ears. “Have you had breakfast yet?”
The horse snuffled, pawing at the floor of her stall, then tried to poke her nose into the pocket of Beth’s jeans. Across the stall, the feed trough was empty.
“I don’t see why Peter can’t leave you something to eat during the night,” Beth told the big mare, scratching her affectionately between the ears. “What if you get hungry?”
The horse snorted softly, and her head bobbed as if she had understood every word Beth said, and agreed with her. That, Beth decided, was the neatest thing about Patches — she could say anything to her, and never have to worry about whether the horse believed her or not.
It wasn’t at all like it was with people. With people, if you said something that sounded just a little bit strange, they started calling you crazy.
Either that, or they didn’t believe you were telling them the truth.
Beth sighed, hugged Patches’s neck, then started down the aisle toward the feed bins to find something for the horse to eat. The hay wasn’t down yet, but there was a big sack of oats beneath the hayloft.
As she found a pail and began filling it with oats, Beth wondered if anyone would ever believe that Amy was real.
So far, it didn’t seem like anyone would.
Except for old Mrs. Sturgess.
But had the old lady really believed her, or was she just pretending to for some reason that Beth couldn’t understand? Yet if she was only pretending, why would she have said that when she came home from the hospital she’d show Beth something that proved there really was a girl named Amy? And why would she have asked Beth what Amy wanted?
Beth didn’t think Amy wanted anything. All she wanted was for them to be friends.
She took the pailful of oats back to Patches’s stall, opened the door, and let herself inside.
“Look what I’ve got for you,” she said, holding the pail up close to the big mare’s nose.
The horse sniffed at the pail, then backed away, tossing her head.
“It’s only oats,” Beth said, moving slowly forward until she could reach out and take hold of Patches’s halter. “You like oats, remember?”
She offered the pail once more, but the horse, sniffing at it again, tried to pull her head away. But Beth, prepared for it, tightened her grip on the halter, and held Patches in place.
“Maybe she doesn’t want any,” she heard a voice say from behind her. “Maybe she’s not hungry.”
Beth felt herself redden, and whirled around to see Tracy standing at the stall door, smiling in that superior way of hers that never failed to make Beth feel stupid. “She likes oats,” she said. “She just wants me to feed her, that’s all.”
“She doesn’t want you to feed her.” Tracy sneered. “She doesn’t even like you. She just wants you to go
