Chapter 57
She said, all demure, “I can’t tell you, husband, there are too many people about to hear my rather indelicate ideas.”
His eyes nearly crossed, he took a step toward her, got hold of himself.
He introduced her to Stanley. She’d petted him, of course, when Mr. Sherbrooke had sent him over to her father’s house.
Graham gave her a carrot to feed him. Cam praised him, a beautiful boy, so full of spirit, perfect for his equally perfect master. Stanley, obligingly, whinnied.
Riker brought out a cream-colored mare with a thick line of brown down the middle of her nose and brown withers, a lovely creature with liquid brown eyes.
“Lord Vereker believed you would deal well together. Her name’s Glory and she will keep you on your toes.
” Riker handed her several carrots. “If she gets twitchy, feed her the carrots.” He gave her a huge grin.
“I was in church yesterday when you and Lord Graham stopped the big storm. God was smiling, he was.” And he nodded, stepped back.
“Oh dear,” Cam said to Graham as they cantered along the wide graveled driveway. “Do you think folk really believe we controlled the weather? Could this mean all believe we’re magic?”
Graham said, “Maybe so, at least until it rains after church next Sunday.”
The path into the eastern forest wasn’t particularly well marked, but Stanley knew his way. He shared the trail with Glory. The day was cool, the sun in and out of gray clouds and who knew when those clouds could turn black as sin?
Graham said, his voice thoughtful, “Blakeney told me Simon and I knew these woods better than anyone else, perhaps even better than my father when he was a boy. He talked about how we fought with wooden swords, shot bows and arrows from the branches of oak trees, raced each other from Uncle Tally’s cottage back to King’s Head.
Blakeney said we were always laughing like loons no matter who won.
He told me about the time Simon and I tried to herd the sheep into the Green Stream—I asked and no one knows who first named it that, not even my father—but when the sheep got to the edge, they’d drink but they wouldn’t step a hoof into the water.
Froze they did, he said, wouldn’t move no matter how much Simon and I shoved their hindquarters.
” Graham paused a moment. “My father added stories of our adventures at the Augustinian ruins, how we were convinced there was buried treasure, namely, church relics and naturally stacks of gold coins. As you know, the abbey was closed by Henry VIII in 1537 and the monks had to flee.” He paused, looked through Stanley’s ears.
“I know my father and Blakeney are telling me stories to spur my memory.”
“It’s an excellent idea. I only wish I knew stories to tell you as well. They both love you, they want you to remember how much they’ve always loved you.”
Her words snapped him back from feeling sorry for himself.
His first fourteen years were gone, but forever?
He prayed not. Since he’d come home, he’d had the occasional glimpse of something or someone blurred behind a sort of white veil or curtain, nothing solid, only a tease.
He was afraid to hope but maybe, just maybe, it could be a beginning.
He smiled at his wife and knew to his boots if he had to choose between a childhood forever lost to him or a lifetime with her, there would be no contest.
They came out into Tally’s meadow, nearly a perfect circle, oak and Dutch elm trees surrounding it.
Grass was turning a lovely spring green and was perfectly scythed.
A wide stone walkway cut through the middle of the big circle and led from three tethering posts to the front door of the cottage.
A stream of gray smoke spiraled out of the single stone chimney scenting the air with sweet maple.
Cam couldn’t help but stare. “Goodness, I really hadn’t expected this. It’s lovely.” She pointed. “Oh my, Graham, look at the garden. Tally’s built a white fence around it. To keep out the varmints, I suppose.”
Graham dismounted, petted Stanley’s nose and looped his reins over one of the tethering posts.
He lifted Cam down off Glory’s back before she could jump down.
Glory tossed her head, tried to pull free, her tail swishing.
“Twitchy, are you? Let’s see if Riker’s right.
” Cam gave her a carrot. She chuffed, quieted and if Cam wasn’t mistaken, she moved a bit closer to Stanley, unfortunately for her a gelding.
“The miracle of food,” Cam said, stroked her gloved hand down her glossy neck. “Look, the door is bright red. Your uncle has a touch of whimsy.” She turned in a slow circle. “I don’t know what I expected, but this? Everything looks perfect.”
Uncle Tally met them at the red front door, showed them into a small, quite charming parlor, and if Cam wasn’t mistaken, there was a Carrera marble fireplace with a lovely stone mantel.
Burning embers sent up the occasional spark, keeping the room cozy.
There were paintings on the cream-painted walls, most of ocean scenes with tall ships in full sail.
Tally waved them to a lovely dark blue velvet sofa.
After serving them tea and some scones sent that morning from Mrs. Sample and brought to him by Blakeney, he said, “There are raisins in the scones. I’ll admit I was leery at first but I’ve discovered they’re quite good. ”
Graham laughed. “I hear her ladyship had only a single slice of toast. Mrs. Sample was disappointed since she’d made them for her as a welcoming surprise.”
Her ladyship. And didn’t that have a fine sound to it?
Tally said, “I knew staff would like you, Cam. You’re cleaning out the shadows, and will add much-needed laughter and, well, lightness, to the house. My poor brother has lived in these shadows for far too long.”
Cam knew it was Graham’s presence, not hers, that had lightened King’s Head.
After laughing at Riker’s comments on Cam and Graham being responsible for diverting the after-church storm, Tally, like Blakeney and Lord Vereker, began telling them stories about Graham’s youth. Cam would wager they’d all gotten together and decided this was the way to spur Graham’s memory.
“—once two sheep got into a fight, all the other sheep were baaing, probably placing bets. I believe one of the fighters was King Henry, ready to take on the dominant role. King Henry finally managed to butt the other ram into the Green Stream. The baaing changed immediately. The sheep began bleating their heads off, raised such a ruckus, you, Graham, and Simon, your father in the lead, of course, came running. The three of you managed to pull the ram out. I remember you and Simon and all the stable lads poured bucket after bucket of water provided by Riker on the sheep to clean off the green slime. Your father laughed himself silly and asked the next buckets be thrown over the lot of you since all of you smelled as bad as McCulty’s rotted mushrooms. If I remember aright, Blakeney formed a bucket brigade. ”
Odd, but at that moment, Graham smelled something vile in the air. Was it a memory of the sheep before they’d cleaned him, or of him and his brother and father? But then the smell was gone and Graham wondered if he’d imagined it since Uncle Tally was such a good storyteller.
When they took their leave half an hour later, Tally said, “Wait a moment.” He went through the small gate into his garden and pulled up two carrots and fed one to each horse.
He hugged Graham, smiled at Cam and wished them good explorations.
“Graham, be sure to show her the monk’s cell with the writing on the stone wall.
Oh yes, I’ll be dining with the family tonight.
” And he turned, whistling, and walked back into his cottage.