* * *
Garth raced away from the manor. During the ride, the sudden death of Charles and the urgency of his retrieving the constable were pushed to the back of his mind as anger overwhelmed him.
“Alex!” he spat, spurring his horse on faster. There are many things I could curse you for, the rundown condition of the manor, the seething denial of recognition, the charge of intruder, but usurping my position with Father has always been, and will always be, unforgivable.
Garth’s mind whirled with his anger over Alex and then Brice. Brice, he knew, had a reason to hate him. But Alex’s hate wasn’t justified. Though his looks had changed over the years, Garth still thought that Alex should have recognized him. What did Alex hope to gain by denying him? Was he after the estate or simply the jewels? Would he murder to get them? But why Charles? Did the old man really know where the jewels were hidden?
He hadn’t always hated Alex. In their youth, they were fast friends as their fathers had been before them. They spent every day of their early boyhood together. Fleeting scenes of a more blissful time filled with fun and adventure coursed through Garth’s mind. Then ever so slowly, they disintegrated under the unspeakable images of that fateful day. Garth’s heart churned with anguish as his mind was caught in a maelstrom of memories.
What wretchedness makes me remember after all this time? Garth breathed. But the memory wouldn’t recede. He recalled how he, Alex, and Brice ‘terrorized’ everyone on the estate with their playful antics. Now tentacles of sorrow and anger squeezed his heart as he thought of that day when their friendship came to an end, the day their mischievousness took a dangerous turn. Piercing the long buried memory, his own voice echoed through his mind, revealing the impish boys’ plot.
“The horse will scare them to death,” said the eleven-year-old Garth to his friends, “and this will be our best trick ever!” But seeing the hesitation on the other boys’ faces, Garth threatened, “You will be proclaimed cowards forever if either of you back out of it. I’ll see to that!”
With anguish he recalled how Alex and Brice shrugged, reluctantly agreeing to the plan. In those days Sir Robert owned the fastest horse in the countryside. Bolt was a beautiful stallion of impeccable breeding with great power. Sir Robert prized the animal above all his possessions. At this moment, Garth still couldn’t reason what induced him to use that very animal as part of their prank. If his intent was to anger his father, he more than succeeded. If it was to belittle the status of the prized horse by making his father’s vested interest look the clown, he more than succeeded. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter at the time.
It was supposed to be a harmless trick. The boys snickered all the while stuffing a suit of clothing with hay, fashioning a ‘hay man’. It took the three of them to strap their creation onto Bolt’s sleek back. All they wanted to do was to scare the girls playing at the edge of the field. But it went terribly wrong.
They led the horse behind some bushes and waited until the small group of girls was deeply preoccupied with play. Everything was set. The three together gave a great yell, smacked the horse’s haunches, and waited for the fun to begin. But instead of racing forward, the stallion reared, wildly kicking and spinning about to free itself of the wobbly grotesque thing on its back. When finally freed of it, the frenzied creature charged its massive body directly into the group of hysterical girls. Its hooves pounded everything in its path. Then swiftly tearing out over the uneven terrain of the moor, it disappeared.
Later they found the lathered pure-bred, its front leg broken. The shot that killed it still echoed through Garth’s memory. One of the girls severely injured by Bolt’s frenzy was Brice’s younger sister. She would have scars from her terrible wounds and, having her leg broken, would require crutches in order to walk for the rest of her life, which wasn’t long. Hence Brice’s animosity toward him.
It didn’t matter that the boys were tearfully repentant and remorseful over what they had done. The three of them suffered a brutal punishment at the hands of their parents. As the eldest, most of the blame fell on Garth’s shoulders. But for him, the beating was easier to take than his father’s rage and disdain. Yet, as if the punishment and his father’s cruel shunning weren’t enough, there was forgiveness for Alexander and Brice but none for him. After that, and worse than the shunning, Sir Robert took Alex to his heart as if he were his son and gave him all that should have been Garth’s: special schooling, an apprenticeship, his love and attention.
Unable to hate himself, Garth turned his bitterness onto his father and Alexander. It was then a series of action and reaction between him and Sir Robert, which started Garth down the path of unhappiness he would constantly have to try to conquer as he grew older. He had traveled a self-destructive path as a result of this hate. Viewing his life now with adult eyes, he knew he needed to master that hate to heal the past. For years the mere mention of Wistmere drove him into a drunken stupor. For a complete catharsis, he had to return to the place where both he and the hate had been conceived. But now that he was back, he wondered if the past could ever be healed.
With his mind on the past, Garth didn’t realize that he had directed his horse off the road and into a field. Once he returned to the road, Garth drew his attention back to the mission
