anything.
The only thing is, the more I see him and Corr together, the more I think of how unbearable it would be for Sean to lose him.
But we can’t both win.
For a week we ride together, until it’s hard to remember my daily routine of going to the beach. I miss the lonely early mornings on the sand, but not enough to trade them for Puck’s company. Some days we barely speak at all, so I’m not certain why it makes a difference to me. But then, Corr and I have never needed words, either.
So it’s just hours of riding Corr slowly, building up what is already there, and hours of watching Puck invent new games for Dove to keep her interested in the work. Already Dove’s hay belly has disappeared, either through regular schooling or through better feed. Puck’s changing, too – she has a stillness about her when she rides now. More certainty and less self-conscious petulance. The transformation from the horse and rider I first saw in the surf weeks ago is startling. I no longer question why I’m training alongside her.
I’m not sure the exact moment when I realize that Corr is actually trying, not hard, but he is trying, and Dove keeps stride beside us. Even after an hour of schooling. Even beside a
I pull Corr up. He trips with purposeful clumsiness, showing off for the mare, and I wiggle his reins to remind him that I’m here. It takes Puck a moment to realize I’ve stopped. She doubles back. Dove’s sides heave and her nostrils flare, but her ears are still pricked and game.
I say, “You might pull this off.”
Puck’s face is half frown, half smile. She didn’t hear me. I repeat myself. I see the moment when she understands what I said, and her smile vanishes.
“I don’t know if you’re being serious,” she says.
“I’m being serious. Tomorrow you should take her down to the beach to make sure you can still handle her with all the others. To get used to it.”
Now the frown really has taken over. “Two days isn’t very long for her to get used to that.”
“It’s not for her. It’s for you. And it’s one day, not two,” I remind her. Corr dances, and I still him with my legs. “Last day the beach’s off-limits to horses. Tomorrow’s the last day on the sand.”
Dove scratches her belly with a back hoof, like a dog. She looks like less than a sure bet when she does this, and Puck must know it, because she looks annoyed and taps her boot into Dove’s side to make her stop. “You aren’t just saying that because I gave you a cake, are you?”
“No, it’s been in the rules for as long as I’ve been racing.”
She studies my expression to see if I’m serious and then makes a face. “I meant about us standing a chance.”
Corr bends around my leg, restless and losing interest in the idea of standing still. It reminds me that I need to swap his stall with Edana’s. Since she hasn’t been worked on the beach, Edana has been getting more and more restless in her window-less stall in the back seven stalls of the stable. Corr’s view isn’t much, but it might keep her settled until after the races when I have time for her again.
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”
“I mean really have a chance.” She looks away from me then, as if she thinks the idea we’re both competing for first might offend me.
“There’s a bit of money for second and third,” I say. She fumbles her fingers through a knot in Dove’s mane. “Would that be enough?”
Puck’s voice is faint. “It would help.” Then her tone changes abruptly. “You should come to dinner with us. It’ll be beans or something else absolutely lovely.”
I hesitate. My dinner is usually taken in my flat, standing up, the door hanging open, the stable waiting for me to go back out to the rest of my work. Not with my legs tucked under a table, trying to find words and answers to polite questions. Dinner with Puck and her brothers? It’s mere days until the race. I have to clean my saddle and my boots. I need to wash my breeches and find my gloves in case it is rainy or the wind is brittle. I need to swap Corr and Edana and clean their stalls. I should go to the butcher’s again to see if they have anything that would do Corr good.
“It’s okay,” Puck says. She has a quick way of hiding her disappointment. If you’re not looking for it, she’s put it away somewhere before you know it was there. “You’re busy.”
“No,” I tell her. “No, I’ll – think about it. I’m not sure if I can get away.” I don’t know what I’m thinking. I cannot find the time to get away. I’m not a good dinner companion. But it’s hard to think of that. Instead I’m wishing that I’d spoken sooner, before I’d seen her disappointment.
Puck rallies with the best of them. “If not, I’ll see you on the beach tomorrow?”
This I’m certain of. On horseback, it’s easy to be certain. “Yes.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Gabe brings home a chicken and Tommy Falk for dinner. Truth be told, I’m not unhappy to see any of them: Gabe, because it’s been so long since we’ve had dinner with him; the chicken, because it’s not beans; and Tommy Falk, because his presence makes Gabe cheerful and goofy. They toss the plucked chicken back and forth over my head until it loses its wrapping and I shout at them as I pick it up off the floor.
“If we all die of plague or whatever is on this floor, I want you to know it’s not my fault,” I say. There’s a bit of silt stuck to the dimpled skin of the chicken’s back.
“Just scrub it off. A little dirt never hurt anybody,” Tommy Falk says. “Gabe says you make a mean chicken.”
Finn, who is sitting by the fireplace making smoke, comments for the first time. “Well, she certainly doesn’t make a nice one.”
“You can shut up or make it yourself.” It turns out that the dirt on the chicken is the least of my worries. My hands are filthy. It takes me quite a long time to make my hands clean, and even once they’re mostly pale again, they still smell suspiciously like both Dove and Corr.
Gabe crouches over the radio, trying to get it to pick up one of the mainland music stations, which only works when the weather is just right and the appropriate slain sacrifices have been made. In the absence of radio entertainment, Tommy Falk sings a bit of a song that he caught on the radio before the storm. The house feels full for the first time in months.
“Bands, Gabe,” Tommy says. He’s settled next to Finn, helping him turn the smoke into fire. He stretches out to take my father’s concertina where it had been abandoned near the armchair. He plays the same tune he just sang; it sounds more mournful on the concertina. “Can you imagine it? Concerts.”
He’s talking about the mainland, of course. Because it’s not just the race that is days away.
“And the cars,” adds Gabe. “And oranges every day.”
“Also,” says Tommy, “bands.”
Finn studies the fire.
I study the chicken.
“Don’t be down,” Tommy says, leaping up when he sees my expression. “It’s not like we won’t come back. We’ll send money, too. Haven’t you seen Esther Quinn’s clothing, Puck? Her brother’s on the mainland selling something to somebody and he sends home money – that’s why she looks like she was bought from a catalog. When’s a good visit, Gabe? Easter, maybe? Easter’s a good time to come back. We’ll throw more chickens.”
Gabe takes the concertina from Tommy and slides out a tune; I’d forgotten how well he could play. Tommy grabs my waist and swings me around in a circle. I drag my feet because I am opposed to people touching me when I’m not expecting it. Also because it will take more than dancing to cheer me up. Tommy says, “Come now, you can move faster than that! Everyone says you were a spitfire on the cliffs this morning.”
