would discover Mr. Enright. She dashed to the door.
She was right. He’d just gone through the garden gate and was taking long strides toward the stables.
Sabrina flew out the door. She hurried down the step, scampering as fast as she could with any dignity toward the stable, her mind awhirl with a plausible story about Mr. Enright’s presence, and that is when she came to a halt.
She couldn’t tell her father she’d just come across the man in a bothy and brought him home. In the mood her father was in right now, he would never let the man in the house. She could tell him Mr. Enright was a friend of someone she’d come across today and that person had asked the Davidsons to keep their friend for a bit.
That wouldn’t work either.
Her father might ask the name of the person. And then what would she say—?
Her father came riding Rainer out of the stables at a high gallop. He even slapped his reins against the bay’s sides, urging him to go faster. The horse was happy to oblige. Mud and stones were kicked up into the air as his huge hooves dug in and surged forward.
“ Wait. ” Sabrina ran to the gate, wanting to know where he was going, but her father didn’t stop. Indeed, he acted as if he didn’t see her. In a blink of an eye, he galloped across the bridge into Aberfeldy and was gone from view . . . heading in the direction of Borlick—home of the Widow Bossley.
Sabrina stared after him, stunned by his abrupt abandonment.
He hadn’t said a word to her about leaving. Her father had never done that before.
And if she had needed a demonstration of exactly where she fell in his affection when compared with the widow, she had received it.
Within the half hour, her father and Mrs. Bossley would be cozying up together and giggling over how “innocent” his daughter was.
Sabrina reached down, grabbed a handful of stones, dirt, and new grass and tossed them at the road her father had just taken. She was furious and feeling more than a little betrayed. She hated her life.
Caring for her mother had not been easy, but at least she’d had a purpose and reason for being.
Now, she had nothing. Even her cousins had married and gone off on their own. Why had the Almighty given her a keen mind and common sense if all she was supposed to do was arrange flowers and dust tabletops—?
A frantic whimper interrupted her temper tantrum.
Rolf had come out into the stable yard. He stood in indecision, as if wanting to cross to her but afraid to leave the building.
He whimpered again.
“What is it?” she asked, walking toward him.
He disappeared inside the stable, then returned to stick his head out to be certain she still followed, and her thoughts went immediately to Mr. Enright. She lifted her skirts and began running.
Satisfied she understood the urgency, Rolf ran ahead to the pony cart. He whimpered, pacing as if anxious she check on her patient.
Mr. Enright was curled up in the bottom of the cart, sprawled exactly as she had left him, but he was quiet. Too quiet. And his skin had the look and texture of wax.
He didn’t even move when Rolf jumped against the cart, making it rock to and fro—and Sabrina’s immediate thought was that he was dead.
Chapter Five
P anic propelled Sabrina into the cart.
The vehicle bounced beneath her as she scrambled over the bench so that she could check him closely. Dumpling, always curious and in the stall next door, put his head over the wall as if he had something to say about the goings-on in the stable. Rolf whined and paced as if he thought he should be doing something.
Mr. Enright’s skin was still hot, but that did not always mean life. Fever had so consumed old Mrs. McDavid that her skin had been heated to the touch for a good fifteen minutes after her death.
Sabrina searched for his pulse in the vein along his neck and listened hard for sounds of his breathing.
His heart beat—and then Rolf jumped right on top of him. The dog had leaped right into the cart,
She was right. He’d just gone through the garden gate and was taking long strides toward the stables.
Sabrina flew out the door. She hurried down the step, scampering as fast as she could with any dignity toward the stable, her mind awhirl with a plausible story about Mr. Enright’s presence, and that is when she came to a halt.
She couldn’t tell her father she’d just come across the man in a bothy and brought him home. In the mood her father was in right now, he would never let the man in the house. She could tell him Mr. Enright was a friend of someone she’d come across today and that person had asked the Davidsons to keep their friend for a bit.
That wouldn’t work either.
Her father might ask the name of the person. And then what would she say—?
Her father came riding Rainer out of the stables at a high gallop. He even slapped his reins against the bay’s sides, urging him to go faster. The horse was happy to oblige. Mud and stones were kicked up into the air as his huge hooves dug in and surged forward.
“ Wait. ” Sabrina ran to the gate, wanting to know where he was going, but her father didn’t stop. Indeed, he acted as if he didn’t see her. In a blink of an eye, he galloped across the bridge into Aberfeldy and was gone from view . . . heading in the direction of Borlick—home of the Widow Bossley.
Sabrina stared after him, stunned by his abrupt abandonment.
He hadn’t said a word to her about leaving. Her father had never done that before.
And if she had needed a demonstration of exactly where she fell in his affection when compared with the widow, she had received it.
Within the half hour, her father and Mrs. Bossley would be cozying up together and giggling over how “innocent” his daughter was.
Sabrina reached down, grabbed a handful of stones, dirt, and new grass and tossed them at the road her father had just taken. She was furious and feeling more than a little betrayed. She hated her life.
Caring for her mother had not been easy, but at least she’d had a purpose and reason for being.
Now, she had nothing. Even her cousins had married and gone off on their own. Why had the Almighty given her a keen mind and common sense if all she was supposed to do was arrange flowers and dust tabletops—?
A frantic whimper interrupted her temper tantrum.
Rolf had come out into the stable yard. He stood in indecision, as if wanting to cross to her but afraid to leave the building.
He whimpered again.
“What is it?” she asked, walking toward him.
He disappeared inside the stable, then returned to stick his head out to be certain she still followed, and her thoughts went immediately to Mr. Enright. She lifted her skirts and began running.
Satisfied she understood the urgency, Rolf ran ahead to the pony cart. He whimpered, pacing as if anxious she check on her patient.
Mr. Enright was curled up in the bottom of the cart, sprawled exactly as she had left him, but he was quiet. Too quiet. And his skin had the look and texture of wax.
He didn’t even move when Rolf jumped against the cart, making it rock to and fro—and Sabrina’s immediate thought was that he was dead.
Chapter Five
P anic propelled Sabrina into the cart.
The vehicle bounced beneath her as she scrambled over the bench so that she could check him closely. Dumpling, always curious and in the stall next door, put his head over the wall as if he had something to say about the goings-on in the stable. Rolf whined and paced as if he thought he should be doing something.
Mr. Enright’s skin was still hot, but that did not always mean life. Fever had so consumed old Mrs. McDavid that her skin had been heated to the touch for a good fifteen minutes after her death.
Sabrina searched for his pulse in the vein along his neck and listened hard for sounds of his breathing.
His heart beat—and then Rolf jumped right on top of him. The dog had leaped right into the cart,
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