I pat his cheek with my flannel sleeve. “I will get Grandmother’s bottle back for you.”
—
AFTER A RIGOROUSafternoon of drilling at Six Paces, I return Sweet Potato to the Payne Estate, which is now fully festooned for a party. The groundskeepers have cut topiaries in the shape of horses, and shaved the lawn so close it looks like carpet. Balls made of flowers trim the gazebo. Hired domestics are twisting wire around mason jars with candles, which will be hung in the trees. The post-race party will be worthy of a visit from President Harrison himself.
I am straightening Sweet Potato’s tack when I feel someone behind me.
Caroline seems to have grown thinner since her episode with the face cream. It’s as if the assault had siphoned off the baby fat and left wisdom in her cheeks. Her hair falls in unkempt waves around her shoulders, and her gray dress with a lace bib makes her look mature without being matronly. She carries a cardboard box with a handle, the kind given with purchases at fancier shops.
“You’re not with your father today?” I ask, when no words are forthcoming.
She shakes her head. “Mama wanted me to stay with her.”
I nod, not wanting an explanation. My heart tears a little, remembering all the years we were at war without understanding why. The grievances I’d held against her have dropped off like shriveled leaves.
“You look—” Her gaze spreads over my damp riding silks and to my pebbled-goat-leather boots with my bulging toes. I brace myself for a jibe. But then she finishes, “Like a winner.”
“I thought you were going to say train signal.”
She smiles. “That, too.” An emotion flits over her face, hard to read in the filtered light of the barn. She takes a measured breath.
“Is everything okay, my lady?”
She winces and the box handle tightens in her grip. Another breath. Her frost-blue eyes seem to melt, expanding in her face. “I am lost.”
I’m surprised at the tears forming in my eyes. “Then you should look up. The sky reminds us that troubles are not permanent. Of course, right now, there’s just cobwebs.”
She attempts a smile, but a tear splashes out. She whisks it away with the back of her hand. “This is for you.” She holds up her box. “My riding boots. You will need them for tomorrow.”
“Your violin boots? I—I can’t.”
“They are just boots.” She sets them down by my feet. “And besides, I want you to braid my hair.” She pulls a comb and pins from her pocket. “If you don’t mind.”
Tomorrow is the start of the debutante season, and Caroline will be the belle of the ball. I square a stool into the ground. “Your chair, my lady.”
I begin to braid, and the soothing scents of hay and leather mingle with wonderment over what could’ve been. A strange and meditative peace settles over us. We don’t speak until I’ve pinned the last pin and adjusted the curls around her face.
“I’ve been thinking,” says Caroline. “I might buy one of those safeties for myself.” A dozen emotions paddle across her face. None find mooring. “Do you think Noemi would show me how to ride?”
“Probably not,” I say, though we both know, if Caroline demanded it, Noemi would have to give in.
A flush builds on her cheeks, and she shakes air into her skirts.
I sigh. I may never be friends with Caroline Payne. But maybe the freedom machine will move us all a step forward. “Let’s go ask her.”
—
SATURDAYARRIVES WEARINGa cloud shawl over her damp shoulders. I step into Old Gin’s room, scarlet silk skimming my figure, my hair braided into two tight buns on my head. Old Gin refused the tincture last night, preferring pain to feeling groggy. His face is a sunset of blue, red, purple, and gray, with more bruises blooming each day. Deeper injuries take longer to surface.
I shake the tincture. “How about half a dose? I’m worried about infection.”
He shakes his head. “If I don’t feel the hurt, I wonder if I’m alive.”
“Then you must feel very alive.”
His forehead crimps. “In life, there will be many races. Not all must be run. Sweet Potato will not be disappointed if she misses this one.”
Short of using the Paynes’ family telephone, I can’t imagine how our mare managed to convey that. “As it turns out, Billy has agreed to return the bottle if Sweet Potato can cross the line before Thief.”
