Page 29

O phelia’s body was leaden with fatigue, all the anxious fire from the night having leached out with the watery light of dawn. She concentrated on the movement of her feet on the cobbles.

“Hallo? Where are you all? I’ve brought the vet!” Hannah’s voice rang from down the lane.

Passing Samson to Mrs. Darling, Ophelia turned toward the edge of the farmyard, between the house and the machine shed, and there framed by the hedgerows along the lane, was Hannah.

The early morning light was fiery in her hair, the sides of her coat sailing out behind her like wings, and at her side, a tall, lean man with very dark hair.

He carried a small leather doctor’s bag in one hand, and manoeuvred a walking stick with the other.

Hannah gestured as they approached, her long fingers flying, and the man nodded as he listened.

Arriving in front of Ophelia, Hannah said, “Here’s the vet, though I see you got Samson up an’ going. ”

“Only an assistant, ma’am,” the man insisted, his voice low and rough with the hint of a Scottish burr. “Dr. Mill is delivering a particularly difficult foal, so I’m here in ’is stead. Edward Crane, at your service.”

“We’re very glad of your arrival, I’m sure,” said Ophelia warmly. “We’ve been walking him all night, but I’m not sure he’s any better than bef?—”

“Hallelujah! By God, ye’ve done it, that’s my boy!” Mrs. Darling hollered and laughed from behind them.

Ophelia and the vet turned to watch Mrs. Darling cackling and running her hands up and down Samson’s neck. Behind him was a steaming pile of manure.

“Ah, good lad, good lad,” said Mr. Bone, emerging from the house with a teacup in his hands.

“I’m sure the vet will confirm, but a movement is the best sign in a colic-ing horse.

” He moved toward Mrs. Darling, still at Samson’s head and proffered the cup of tea.

“’Ere, Arabella, I’m sure you could use a cuppa after the night. ”

Mrs. Darling looked sharply at him for a long moment, and then her face relaxed, a small smile playing across her mouth.

She took a sip and sighed deeply. Dr. Crane stepped quickly in their direction and deposited his bag, taking a stethoscope and thermometer from it.

He tucked the thermometer in his coat pocket with a deft movement, and speaking softly to Samson, ran his hand down the gelding’s flank.

Ophelia noticed he didn’t use his cane while examining the animal, but left it standing against the barn wall.

Leaning forward, he pressed his ear to the horse’s side and listened carefully, then placed the stethoscope to the same spot and listened again.

Moving slowly around Samson, Dr. Crane examined him from every angle, missing nothing, his thick, blunt fingers moving efficiently over the horse.

“Well, he’s most likely over the worst of things, and as Mr. Bone said, having manured is an excellent sign,” said Dr. Crane.

“Offer him as much water as he’ll take and only a handful of dry hay at a time.

If he continues to improve and behave as normal, he may have half a flake of hay in four hours, and another four hours after that, then a full flake by this evening.

Keep him moving, and no matter how sorry he makes you feel for him, don’t offer him too much hay.

In fact, you want him a bit angry at his lack of food. ”

“Thank you so much, Dr. Crane,” said Ophelia. “I’m so relieved he’ll be okay. It was my error that he got into the field, and I feel sick about it.”

“You all seemed to have it under control when I arrived, and had done all the right things early on. You’ll need to be extremely vigilant about him for the next little while though; he mustn’t overeat nor get into anything too rich.

Horses’ stomachs are finicky at the best of times, and now that he’s had an episode, he’s a little more likely to be set off again. It’s an easy mistake to make.”

Ophelia felt herself blanch, thinking again of how close she had come to truly endangering the farm. She blinked back tears and nodded quickly.

“Ah, I’ve upset you, miss. I apologise, it’s a hazard of dealing with animals all the time.

You’ve done fine. He’ll mend and be on with life ’afore you know it.

Horses are the most delicate, but stubbornly resilient creatures I’ve ever worked with, and a horse that knows it’s valued seems a hundred-fold more likely to perk up than one who’s not. Seen it time and time again.”

She felt a soft hand squeeze hers and she looked up to find Hannah standing beside her, a small smile on her face. Ophelia squeezed Hannah’s hand back and let out a sigh, trying not to let the tears come again.

“’S okay, Ophelia,” Hannah said quietly.

“What’s done is done, and there’s no sense in dwellin’ on’t.

I feel sure Dr. Crane is right about Samson recovering.

Speaking of recovering, you’ve not had a bite all night, so let’s take care of that.

” She nodded her thanks to the vet’s assistant and guided Ophelia toward the house.

Ophelia pulled back, protesting that she needed to settle Samson in his stall with water, slipping past her friend and into the dark cool of the barn.

She just needed a moment to sit, calm herself.

Her head felt both empty and full of persistent thoughts blaming herself, berating her irresponsibility and carelessness, pointing out every failing.

If she could just sit for a minute, gather herself, she could assess things properly.

She found herself in Silas’s bedroom and made her way to the iron bedstead, sinking onto the eiderdown.

The tears were coming in earnest now, as much from spent fear as from sadness, and she let them fall.

Living with her father, she had been careful not to let any emotions show while in his presence lest it invite a lecture on the weakness of the feminine person, but here on the farm she had discovered the catharsis of a good cry.

She let the feelings wash over her, trying her best not to let her mind hook on the bad ones.

Yes, she had made a mistake, a serious one, but with the help of the others, Samson was likely to recover, no real harm done.

She noted this, and also her mind’s insistence that her mistake was the more pertinent piece of information.

“Ophelia Mae,” she said aloud, trying to think of what she most wanted to hear, what she imagined someone might say to make her feel better.

She immediately thought of Mrs. Darling’s kindness in the night.

“Things go wrong, they always will. And you still have a place here.”

It didn’t entirely dissolve the remonstration that sat in the pit of her stomach, but it felt less overwhelming.

A thing that might be dealt with, not the end of the world.

She snuffled a little, her nose wet from the tears, and rummaged around on Silas’s bedside table for a handkerchief.

She found one tucked next to the small portrait of his family.

Pulling at it loosened a small stack of papers which fluttered to the floor.

Blowing her nose, Ophelia leaned forward to gather them.

A letter or two, much folded, covered with small, spidery hand, and underneath those, the distinct yellow of a telegram from the War Office.

Ophelia had seen the type when the committee man came to inform Mrs. Darling of the required increase.

Not thinking before doing so, she smoothed the papers on her lap, her eyes skimming the text.

The telegram was brief, a reply to what was obviously Silas’s request to be reassigned.

The superior officer wished him well but assured him no other assignment was possible.

Ophelia held the telegram to her lap, not sure what to think.

It was dated two weeks ago, when he arrived, and she recalled her own thought that perhaps she ought to leave rather stay to work together.

It made sense even if it hurt a little to contemplate his desire to leave.

She wondered if he still felt the same way.

Placing the telegram on the bed next to her, she smoothed the small pages of the letters in her lap.

She didn’t know his mother’s hand well enough to know if the letters were from her, but she guessed they were.

The heavy footfalls in the hall startled her and she stood up just as Silas came through the doorway.

The letters fell from her lap to the floor, and she darted to pick them up.

“I wasn’t reading them, Silas, honestly, though I know that’s what it must look like.

” She knew she was gabbling but couldn’t seem to stop.

“I came to sit down for a moment, and when I pulled your handkerchief from the table they fell out. I wasn’t snooping, honestly.

” She paused when Silas stepped forward.

“It’s okay, Ophelia.” He raised a hand, motioning her to be calm. “You’re okay.”

“Still, it was rude of me to handle them. And I did actually read the telegram.” She could feel the embarrassment flame up her neck and across her face.

Silas said nothing for a breath. “I should have told you right away,” he said. “Don’t know why I didn’t honestly. When I first arrived, I thought I had better find another posting.”

“Because of me?” Ophelia asked.

“Not you, but because we knew each other, and I guess I worried that we had parted on strange terms.” He pushed his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels trying to find the words.

Ophelia waited. “I could see you were uncomfortable with my arrival, and I didn’t want to disrupt anything here. ”

She wondered why he hadn’t spoken to her about it at the time. But then, they hadn’t really known what to say to each other about anything at that point, had they?

“Oh.”