Page 28

T he blue-black of night was falling all around them, and the calls of crickets and frogs echoed at the edge of the field.

Lanterns set at the edge of their tableau sent their shadows off across the field, horrific silhouettes stretching long, petering out into the dark.

Silas and Mr. Bone had worked the ropes under Samson’s legs and were organising to help him stand and, hopefully, walk home.

They quietly directed Bess and Ophelia, needing their extra hands everywhere.

Hannah had gone straight away to the village to see if the vet might come in time.

Ophelia worked without thought, pushing away the nausea that threatened in her throat, concentrating only on the sound of Samson’s breathing and the next instructions.

Mrs. Darling soothed Samson, stroking his aquiline nose and murmuring softly.

She moved quickly to Mr. Bone’s side when he seemed ready to begin moving the horse.

“Lucky ’e’s not rolled, Arabella. Just might be the thing what saves ’im,” Mr. Bone said, his breath coming sharper as he prepared to move the gelding.

Looking across the horse’s sweaty flank to Silas, he continued, “One of you needs to take his head and work to get ’im standing .

.. the rest of us are going t’ ’elp ’im up. ”

Silas nodded and got a firm grip on the thick rope.

Ophelia watched his fingers grasping, the cording of muscles in his forearms, and wished with all her might that she had come to him for help earlier.

This whole night, the injured horse, eyes rolling, nostrils flaring with fear and pain, was her fault.

She would never forgive herself. Of all the irresponsible?—

“Ophelia?” Silas’s voice cut into her thoughts.

She realised by his tone that it wasn’t the first time he had said it. Her eyes snapped to his, and she nodded.

“Take the rope at Samson’s head. He knows and trusts you. Speak to him softly, but firmly ... anything to get him up and standing. Stay close, but watch that he doesn’t knock into you when he rises, he might be clumsy or lash out. Understand?”

She nodded, feeling unshed tears hot behind her eyes.

She had wanted to prove to Silas that she was capable, not a lightweight, but she had done the exact opposite.

Even though the fear that she had done harm, perhaps irreparable, to Mrs. Darling and the farm felt suffocating, she tried to hold on to Mrs. Darling’s words, to remember that she was part of this team.

She could lean into their help now. She felt the tears begin to push past her lashes and blinked miserably.

“Fee,” said Silas, soft, but firm. Catching her blurry eyes he made a tiny nod in her direction, his chin sharp, but his mouth soft. Focus , his face said, you can do this . She dipped her chin in response, acknowledging his reassurance.

Then it was a blur of coaxing and pulling, moaning and heaving, every muscle straining to make headway.

At last, Samson was standing, supported on all sides, and the exhausted group stumbled and lumbered the short distance to the barn.

Mrs. Darling disappeared into the house to return with a dusty bottle of brandy, which she passed round, each one of them taking a swig.

Mr. Bone wiped his mouth with his sleeve appreciatively, and Ophelia coughed when the sweet liquor burned its way down her throat.

The fire in her belly reminded her of the sweet burn of desire.

Silas accepted the bottle from Bess, who had taken a sailor-like gulp, and taking a deep breath, took a drink.

Ophelia watched him hold the brandy in his mouth for a moment before he swallowed, the column of his throat lean and smooth against his rumpled collar.

While the others took their sips, Mr. Bone had taken Samson’s lead and was slowly walking him around the farmyard, his rough voice persuading when the gelding’s footsteps faltered, praising when he walked on.

Ophelia watched the man as he moved in and out of the lantern light.

He was not as old as she had first estimated.

His hair was mostly silver, standing out in spikes from under his cap, but his face in the lamp light wasn’t goblin-like any longer.

More craggy, as though he had been formed from the local stone, his cheeks a little lean, but the cheekbones high and strong, lips wide and set firmly.

She wondered at the change in him, or perhaps the change in her own seeing.

He had seemed so miserly when she first met him, but tonight had changed something.

There was an air of confidence, of willingness to help she had never noticed before.

Before she could think on it any longer, it was her turn to walk Samson.

The night passed more slowly than Ophelia thought possible, and she couldn’t ever remember feeling so tired.

When the first rays of the morning began to prick through the velvet cloak of the night, she thought it was her imagination.

Passing her hand over her eyes, she clucked softly to Samson, pulling him forward for yet another circle past the barn door.

Inside, Delilah pawed and stamped in her stall, calling to Samson every once in a while.

For the entire night, he had made no reply, and Ophelia could not even be sure he heard the mare’s whinny, but this time, he raised his head a little, one ear pricking forward, and nickered softly.

“Good boy, Sam, good boy,” Ophelia murmured against his warm, flat cheek.

She continued on her circle, passing a sleeping Bess crumpled against Mrs. Darling on the stack of hay bales next to the door.

Silas emerged from the barn with a bucket of water, motioning Ophelia to let Samson drink if he was interested.

“I think you’ve got him through the worst of it, Fee,” he said quietly. “Thank God you found him when you did, it all could’ve been much worse.”

He set down the bucket and reached to run a hand down her free arm.

Even exhausted and anguished over the night, she felt the hairs on her arm lift, the blood in her veins stir toward his hand.

She wanted to drift toward him, to take shelter in his arms, against his broad chest. Samson only sniffed the water, not ready to drink, so Ophelia began moving forward, worried to let him stop too long.

Silas managed to brush a hand against her shoulder as she moved.

His fingers squeezed gently before dropping.

“Proud of you, your instincts were spot on.”

She didn’t feel proud of herself, she felt anxious and embarrassed. Despite Mrs. Darling’s reassurances, she still worried that she had let everyone down.