Father James, who had done some show riding in his youth, saddled Millefiori, the most spirited of the mares, while Marjorie, who had already saddled Don Quixote for herself and El Dia Octavo for Tony, urged Brothers Mainoa and Lourai to help her with Her Majesty and Blue Star. These two were graceful and elegant mares with habits of calm good sense. “You’ll ride these two, Brothers. All you need to do is sit on top and relax. The horses will do the rest.”
Brothers Mainoa and Lourai looked at one another in embarrassed surmise. Rillibee had ridden something a few times in his childhood, ridden at a slow walk, with someone leading the horse or donkey or whatever it had been. Brother Mainoa could not remember ever having touched a riding animal of any kind before. Marjorie had no time to reassure them. She was busy at the top of a short stepladder, putting a saddle on the great draft horse, Irish Lass.
“Who’s going to ride that?” Rillibee/Lourai asked.
“Irish Lass will carry most of our supplies. And Stella can ride her, when we find Stella.”
When we find her, Father James thought quietly to himself. If. If we find her. He had not gone back to the house he shared with Father Sandoval. He had not told the older priest he was going on this wild venture. It would be easier to ask forgiveness later than to seek permission now, permission which he would not receive.
“I have to go out into the grass for a while before we leave,” Brother Mainoa said. “Something I need to do if we want to get where we’re going.”
Marjorie stared at him, eager to be off and yet aware of what dangers lay out there. “Is it necessary?”
“If we’re going to get to bon Damfels in one piece, yes.”
She gestured, biting her lip. “Hurry. If you can.” Then she stood looking after him into the darkness, wondering what he was up to.
Tony came into the stables with a pile of things which he set down on the floor, announcing, “These have to be sorted out. There’s food and some equipment. I have to make another trip.”
“Father James?” Marjorie indicated the pile. “Is there anything that we need that Tony hasn’t found?” She leaned wearily against the flank of the huge horse, asking Tony, “Did you tell your father where we’re going?”
“I didn’t find Father,” Tony reported. “I went through the house.”
“Leave him a message on the tell-me,” Marjorie said, relieved that Rigo was not shouting at them, telling them they could not go. He was probably with Eugenie, but it wouldn’t be appropriate for Tony to seek him there. “Leave him a note, Tony. Tell him we’ve gone looking for Stella, that we’ve taken the horses.”
“I did,” the boy replied. “I already did that.”
“Water bottles,” said the priest. “First aid supplies.”
“I’ll get them.”
The boy turned and left, the priest following him, calling, “Dry clothes in something waterproof.”
“Do you have everything you need?” Marjorie asked Brother Lourai.
He shrugged, elaborately, as though to ask who knew what was needed. “We each brought a change of clothes and boots. Brother Mainoa raided our dry stores to bring what food he could. We could use something to cook in or heat water in.”
“There.” She pointed at a miniature cooker in the pile. “And over there are the saddlebags. Before we came to Grass, Rigo and I thought we might be taking extended rides. We brought camping gear, as we would have done for endurance rides at home.”
“Home. Where was your home?”
“Lesser Britain. And then, later, Old Spain. After Rigo and I were married.”
“Old Spain?” Rillibee asked.
“The southwestern province of Western Europe.”
“Are there many Old Catholics there?”
“Many. More than anywhere else. Sanctity has not had good luck with converts in Spain.”
“Where I lived, only a long time before, there were Old Catholics.”
“Where was that?”
“In New Spain, the Middle American Provinces. Joshua, my father, said our province was once called Mexico.”
“Your father was Old Catholic? But you are one of the Sanctified.”
He shook his head no. “I am whatever Joshua was. But I don’t know what he was. He wasn’t Old Catholic, I know that.” He leaned against the horse she had told him to ride, imitating her stance, stroking the animal as she did hers, feeling the stiff, glossy hair slide beneath his fingers. “He loved trees. Miriam loved trees, too.” Tears came and he blinked them away. He had seen no trees on this place, except for the small copse near the dig. There had been no trees at Sanctity. Sometimes he thought if he could only see trees, then he would not feel so alone.
Tony and Father James returned with more supplies. Brother Mainoa, looking pensive, came in to help them sort the supplies into the saddlebags, including the two hamper-sized containers that Irish Lass was to carry. When they were done, they stood looking at one another as though reluctant to take the next, inevitable step. It was Brother Mainoa who broke the silence.
“I’ll lead if I may, Lady Westriding. For a little while. After that, it shouldn’t be necessary. If you’ll tell me how to steer?”
Marjorie explained the use of reins and legs and rode out beside him to make sure he understood. Within moments they had left the garden trail and were pushing through tall grass, each barely able to see the nearest rider. Then, almost before they had had a chance to be annoyed by the lash of the thick growth, they came through the tough stems into lower grass and turned purposefully toward the northeast. They rode silently except for Brother Mainoa’s occasional querulous, “Tell me again what I do to get farther right?” And then, after he had been told two or three times, he did not ask again. They rode for some time in silence except for the soft plop of hooves and the rustle of the grass.
Marjorie, riding alongside Brother Mainoa, thought she heard him speak and leaned closer
