from
the time she was old enough to understand what they were saying to
her. Perhaps they hadn't meant to be cruel; perhaps they had been
challenging her to be her best. Whatever the case, the result had
been to make her retreat into herself, to shy away from a world
that also thought she was a gangly, awkward, four-eyed
bookworm.
Virtually friendless and scorned by her
beautiful parents, she had eventually found solace in animals. From
an early age she had made friends of her pets, confiding in them,
playing with them, telling them her joys and sorrows, her deepest
secrets, caring for them in a way that others found eccentric. As
she'd grown older, she'd begun to nurse her pets and any other sick
or injured animal she came upon. Birds, dogs, cats, even a racoon
and a chicken.
She had discovered that she could communicate
with her pets on a level that most people would consider
amazing—or, more likely, frightening. She'd kept this knowledge to
herself, knowing that her family would disapprove anyway. She had
decided early on that she wanted to be a veterinarian, a profession
that would draw an equally unenthusiastic response from the powers
that be.
She was expected to go to the "right"
schools, blossom into a beautiful debutante, and eventually marry
the "right" man. If she must work, she must do something genteel.
Charity committee work, board directorships, perhaps something in
the art or publishing worlds, if not too commercial, might fill the
bill.
Valerie had gone to the "right" schools. Just
before Armand died, she had even been presented to society in a New
York City debutante ball. All to please her parents.
It was about this time that Valerie began to
blossom. The gangly, awkward girl who'd been all knees and elbows
with no breasts to speak of was gradually turning into a swan.
Suddenly young men began to pay attention to her, but Valerie,
who'd spent her childhood and youth alone, didn't really know how
to cope with the attention. She had no use for small talk, was
terrible at the social niceties, and really preferred the company
of her menagerie, who understood her as she understood them.
When the question of college came up,
Marguerite, newly bereaved, insisted that Valerie attend one of the
Seven Sisters or, preferably, go to an exclusive finishing school
in Switzerland. Valerie, however, had defied her mother for the
first time in her life, choosing instead to go to Cornell and
prepare for veterinarian school.
"Then you'll pay for it yourself," Marguerite
had said. "You could be in Switzerland learning the proper way to
be a wife and mother and a social figure of importance. Besides
which, you would inevitably meet young ladies of your class and an
appropriate young man to marry. But Cornell! I won't give you a
penny for such nonsense."
"I'll find a way," Valerie had responded.
And she had, working part-time and taking out
student loans, year after year. She never once asked her mother for
anything, and her mother never volunteered it. Nor had Marguerite
deigned to come to her graduation ceremonies.
Now, sitting in her office, Valerie imagined
that her mother would be very pleased if she knew how miserable she
was this morning. She caught herself laughing suddenly, amused by
the situation. Well , she thought, I'm not going to give
her a reason to gloat. No way! I've succeeded in doing what I set
out to do. And if I stick it out, I know I can do the rest.
An image of Storm Warning abruptly came into
her mind. She could see the stallion, panicked at first, rolling in
his stall, covered with sweat, scared for his life. And later,
after her gentle care, she could see the trusting look in his eyes.
She could still sense the bond that had been formed between them,
and it made her feel good.
Then she remembered the shadowy figure she'd
seen while she'd been working on Storm Warning. Was it Conrad? she
wondered. And, if so, why the secrecy? For that matter, why hadn't
a single person hereabouts laid eyes
the time she was old enough to understand what they were saying to
her. Perhaps they hadn't meant to be cruel; perhaps they had been
challenging her to be her best. Whatever the case, the result had
been to make her retreat into herself, to shy away from a world
that also thought she was a gangly, awkward, four-eyed
bookworm.
Virtually friendless and scorned by her
beautiful parents, she had eventually found solace in animals. From
an early age she had made friends of her pets, confiding in them,
playing with them, telling them her joys and sorrows, her deepest
secrets, caring for them in a way that others found eccentric. As
she'd grown older, she'd begun to nurse her pets and any other sick
or injured animal she came upon. Birds, dogs, cats, even a racoon
and a chicken.
She had discovered that she could communicate
with her pets on a level that most people would consider
amazing—or, more likely, frightening. She'd kept this knowledge to
herself, knowing that her family would disapprove anyway. She had
decided early on that she wanted to be a veterinarian, a profession
that would draw an equally unenthusiastic response from the powers
that be.
She was expected to go to the "right"
schools, blossom into a beautiful debutante, and eventually marry
the "right" man. If she must work, she must do something genteel.
Charity committee work, board directorships, perhaps something in
the art or publishing worlds, if not too commercial, might fill the
bill.
Valerie had gone to the "right" schools. Just
before Armand died, she had even been presented to society in a New
York City debutante ball. All to please her parents.
It was about this time that Valerie began to
blossom. The gangly, awkward girl who'd been all knees and elbows
with no breasts to speak of was gradually turning into a swan.
Suddenly young men began to pay attention to her, but Valerie,
who'd spent her childhood and youth alone, didn't really know how
to cope with the attention. She had no use for small talk, was
terrible at the social niceties, and really preferred the company
of her menagerie, who understood her as she understood them.
When the question of college came up,
Marguerite, newly bereaved, insisted that Valerie attend one of the
Seven Sisters or, preferably, go to an exclusive finishing school
in Switzerland. Valerie, however, had defied her mother for the
first time in her life, choosing instead to go to Cornell and
prepare for veterinarian school.
"Then you'll pay for it yourself," Marguerite
had said. "You could be in Switzerland learning the proper way to
be a wife and mother and a social figure of importance. Besides
which, you would inevitably meet young ladies of your class and an
appropriate young man to marry. But Cornell! I won't give you a
penny for such nonsense."
"I'll find a way," Valerie had responded.
And she had, working part-time and taking out
student loans, year after year. She never once asked her mother for
anything, and her mother never volunteered it. Nor had Marguerite
deigned to come to her graduation ceremonies.
Now, sitting in her office, Valerie imagined
that her mother would be very pleased if she knew how miserable she
was this morning. She caught herself laughing suddenly, amused by
the situation. Well , she thought, I'm not going to give
her a reason to gloat. No way! I've succeeded in doing what I set
out to do. And if I stick it out, I know I can do the rest.
An image of Storm Warning abruptly came into
her mind. She could see the stallion, panicked at first, rolling in
his stall, covered with sweat, scared for his life. And later,
after her gentle care, she could see the trusting look in his eyes.
She could still sense the bond that had been formed between them,
and it made her feel good.
Then she remembered the shadowy figure she'd
seen while she'd been working on Storm Warning. Was it Conrad? she
wondered. And, if so, why the secrecy? For that matter, why hadn't
a single person hereabouts laid eyes
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