limited tolerance for the companionship of children. It worked both ways. I was thrilled for the opportunity to escape their oppressive prattle. Besides, I wanted to keep looking for Vera. On the other hand, I was intrigued by discussion concerning Michael Devlin. My mother was obviously trying to get rid of me. Things so rarely went unsaid in the Camperdown household that when they did it usually meant I had stumbled across a mystery worth exploring.
As I was walking away Greer called out to me, “Find that puppy! Don’t you dare come home without her. If anything happens to Vera you have only yourself to blame.”
She turned her back on me and took up with Gin in her brittle way—the uninflected chilliness, the precision of her evisceration, her aloof sociability. She was a late frost and I could feel my toes curling.
I walked away, her heedlessness a listless wind against my back. I broke into a jog, then a run. Sprinting toward the barn, shouting for Vera all the way, I shivered to think my mother might be right.
Chapter Five
I RACED ALL THE WAY TO THE STABLE, PRAYING FOR MY LOST puppy as I ran. “Please, please, let Vera be safe at home with Camp,” I said, coming to a stop, eyes shut, hands forming a steeple, fingers touching my lips.
Gin had two barns. I sprinted past the big white stable, heading toward the yellow barn, which was smaller and less grand, a kind of poor relation. Off the beaten path, remote and largely unused, it housed a handful of mares and their foals. The first three stalls were empty, their residents turned out to pasture. I surprised a mouse in the feed room that popped out of a bag of oats and then just as quickly vanished into a worn section of barn board. Shoulders slack and feet dragging, I continued down the broad aisle of the stable.
A dapple gray mare whinnied at my approach, head extended over the door of her stall. Her tottering charcoal-black foal peeked out at me from behind her. “Come here, I won’t hurt you,” I crooned, extending my arm over the top of the stall door. Unlatching it, I slid inside; the mare greeted me with interest, pushing against me with her head, looking for a treat. I reached into my pocket and gave her a carrot. The baby horse cautiously approached my outstretched fingers, standing just outside my reach, bobtail flicking back and forth as his mother munched on my gift.
Sun streamed into the stall, thick yellow bedding of clean straw warm and glowing, breeze blowing soft and mellow through the stable. I felt more truly myself when I was with my dogs and my horse than I ever did with most people. Grabbing the mare’s mane, I hoisted myself onto her bare back, the foal looking on. Her back was hot from the sun’s rays; tail flicking lazily, she nuzzled through the hay, snacking. I lay down on her back, a human blanket, arms and legs extended downward, limp and defeated, my face pressed against her withers, soaking up her body heat even as she absorbed mine. For the next few minutes, I breathed in the dusky rich scent of horse, my adolescent girl’s version of an intoxicant, and I felt comforted even through my anguished thoughts of Vera.
I heard a muffled voice coming from somewhere both near and far. My first thought was that it was my mother and Gin. My second thought was that it wasn’t them at all. Hastily I dried my eyes, vaguely uneasy. My instinct was to get away from there, though I couldn’t say why exactly. I sat up to go but uneasiness, like a hand against my chest, held me in place.
Slithering back down to the floor, embarrassed and confused by my fear, I receded into the far corner of the big stall, wedging myself behind a stack of straw, the foal peering at me as I pulled my knees into my chest. The door to the tack room at the far end of the aisle opened and thudded shut, startling me. The foal’s head jerked up. I pressed myself against the wall, instantly alert, radar twitching. Someone was running down the long stable
As I was walking away Greer called out to me, “Find that puppy! Don’t you dare come home without her. If anything happens to Vera you have only yourself to blame.”
She turned her back on me and took up with Gin in her brittle way—the uninflected chilliness, the precision of her evisceration, her aloof sociability. She was a late frost and I could feel my toes curling.
I walked away, her heedlessness a listless wind against my back. I broke into a jog, then a run. Sprinting toward the barn, shouting for Vera all the way, I shivered to think my mother might be right.
Chapter Five
I RACED ALL THE WAY TO THE STABLE, PRAYING FOR MY LOST puppy as I ran. “Please, please, let Vera be safe at home with Camp,” I said, coming to a stop, eyes shut, hands forming a steeple, fingers touching my lips.
Gin had two barns. I sprinted past the big white stable, heading toward the yellow barn, which was smaller and less grand, a kind of poor relation. Off the beaten path, remote and largely unused, it housed a handful of mares and their foals. The first three stalls were empty, their residents turned out to pasture. I surprised a mouse in the feed room that popped out of a bag of oats and then just as quickly vanished into a worn section of barn board. Shoulders slack and feet dragging, I continued down the broad aisle of the stable.
A dapple gray mare whinnied at my approach, head extended over the door of her stall. Her tottering charcoal-black foal peeked out at me from behind her. “Come here, I won’t hurt you,” I crooned, extending my arm over the top of the stall door. Unlatching it, I slid inside; the mare greeted me with interest, pushing against me with her head, looking for a treat. I reached into my pocket and gave her a carrot. The baby horse cautiously approached my outstretched fingers, standing just outside my reach, bobtail flicking back and forth as his mother munched on my gift.
Sun streamed into the stall, thick yellow bedding of clean straw warm and glowing, breeze blowing soft and mellow through the stable. I felt more truly myself when I was with my dogs and my horse than I ever did with most people. Grabbing the mare’s mane, I hoisted myself onto her bare back, the foal looking on. Her back was hot from the sun’s rays; tail flicking lazily, she nuzzled through the hay, snacking. I lay down on her back, a human blanket, arms and legs extended downward, limp and defeated, my face pressed against her withers, soaking up her body heat even as she absorbed mine. For the next few minutes, I breathed in the dusky rich scent of horse, my adolescent girl’s version of an intoxicant, and I felt comforted even through my anguished thoughts of Vera.
I heard a muffled voice coming from somewhere both near and far. My first thought was that it was my mother and Gin. My second thought was that it wasn’t them at all. Hastily I dried my eyes, vaguely uneasy. My instinct was to get away from there, though I couldn’t say why exactly. I sat up to go but uneasiness, like a hand against my chest, held me in place.
Slithering back down to the floor, embarrassed and confused by my fear, I receded into the far corner of the big stall, wedging myself behind a stack of straw, the foal peering at me as I pulled my knees into my chest. The door to the tack room at the far end of the aisle opened and thudded shut, startling me. The foal’s head jerked up. I pressed myself against the wall, instantly alert, radar twitching. Someone was running down the long stable
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