PART FIVE — WEDNESDAY
Although success appears to be just over the horizon, the course of love rarely runs smooth... and the deadline for accomplishment of the mission is fast approaching.
CHAPTER 12: "Believe and act as if it were impossible to fail" • Charles F. Kettering
As before, the rains were over before daybreak and Slugger smiled as dawn brightened the window where he was watering the potted geraniums on the sill and revisiting the previous evening's soirée. He was feeling fairly good this morning with only a few minor arthritic twinges in knees and elbows reminding him of his age. It wasn't yet six o'clock when Bernard sauntered into the kitchen, yawning and pulling on a tee shirt and clearly in a sunny mood himself.
In the clear morning light it was difficult to equate Dottie's extravagant claims with this seemingly ordinary young man with his sleepy green eyes and tousled hair. True, that feather provided a jarring note but it was no more gaudy than some of Ron's furred, fringed and riotously multi-colored vests. He could easily have passed for any local farmboy except for his accent and obviously duskier skin tones. Slugger poured tea them both.
"Good morning, Slugger. Thanks."
"Yer welcome." Slugger glanced at the clock on the mantel; they had fifteen minutes before the alarm clocks upstairs would begin awakening the rest of the crowd.
"That were a nice party last night," he offered. "Can't remember when we've had as much fun around here. Was that yer idea?"
"Oh no... strictly Dora's, although I might've provided a little instigation. It's all too easy for a family to fall into a rut of chores and business and forget life is for living and enjoying."
"We're not really a family, yer know... not related by blood or anything, even though I do think of them as me children."
"You function as a family, and that's what counts... all you're lacking is a mother figure and it's kinda looking like you've just acquired one." Bernard nodded significantly toward the window where Dottie's Hillman was rolling into view.
"Oh... er... aye..." Slugger blushed for no apparent reason and jumped up to hold the door open.
Bernard was studiously pulling on his socks and boots when Dottie swept in.
"Any progress?" she queried without preamble, thumping her carryall onto the table and herself into a chair opposite Bernard while Slugger hurriedly prepped a third mug and slid it over. "Thank you, Edward."
"Good morning to you, too, Mrs. Doyle."
"Call me Dottie. And you'd better get busy. Time and tide, you know..."
"I know! I know!" Bernard barked.
Taking exception to his tone, Dottie launched into a harangue that quickly dispelled any latent afterparty good humor Bernard might have been enjoying, concluding with a reminder that only four more days—including today—remained in which to accomplish his task. Furthermore, Plan A—a no-go from the get-go in her opinion—did not appear to be yielding quantifiable results at a significant rate. Her rant subsided only when the faint ringing of alarm clocks going off upstairs signaled the imminent arrival downstairs of the parties under discussion.
Bernard morosely slurped down the rest of his tea and excused himself to trudge out the door. "I'll be in the feed shed starting the mash." By the time Dora came out twenty minutes later he'd already mixed up rations exactly as she had shown him and had a row of buckets ready to be distributed.
Dora instantly noted that Bernard seemed dispirited about something but didn't pry. Conversation was sparse as they joined Steve and Ron to finish feeding. Steve and Dora went off with the horses to the pasture, leaving Ron and Bernard to put away the barrows, tubs and tools and start the mucking out. During breakfast Bernard kept his nose in his cereal bowl and didn't join in the usual breakfast banter.
"What's wrong with him?" Ron asked eventually, pointing with his fork.
Dora chuckled. "He thinks Mrs. Doyle's a witch out to get him. But then, he also claims he's from the future."
Naturally, Ron couldn't let that one go by. "Flew in on the TARDIS, didja? You and yer magical horse."
"Actually, we did." Bernard looked up. "How did you know?"
"I was making a joke."
"I wasn't."
"You're a nutter!"
"So everyone keeps telling me," Bernard replied sourly and refused to say anything more for the duration of the meal until Slugger read out his to-do list.
Steve volunteered for some of the minor chores around the yard as the farrier was due for his monthly visit this morning and Steve would be needed then. Animals requiring attention had been kept back and allowed to roam the confines of the stableyard. Ron was detailed to begin construction of a byre for Queen Maude adjacent to the donkey pen. Dora went to her boarders without inviting Bernard to join her, which left him at Slugger's mercy.
"We need kindling. Can you handle an axe?" Slugger asked.
"Yes sir. Just point me in the direction of the woodpile."
"North side of the house... axe is in the shed next to it."
And there went any chance of valuable face-time with either Dora or Steve.
Bernard didn't respond to the lunch bell and Dora went to fetch him. With his shirt off, he was industriously chopping away at a fair-sized alder log and she paused to study the play of muscles under the sun-bronzed skin of his arms and back. Not as classically proportioned as Steve nor as whipcord thin as Ron, but very nicely put together and easy on the eyes all the same. The early afternoon sun glinted off his riotous hair and a blue-black feather that had formerly graced a raven's tail. He'd been hard at it since breakfast and a considerable pile of kindling was already neatly stacked inside the woodshed. She walked around into his line of sight and he put the axe down.
"Didn't you hear the bell? It's lunchtime."
"No." Bernard grabbed his shirt off the woodpile and wiped his face with it before putting it on.
"Slugger and Mrs. Doyle have gone shopping. We're having leftover stew." Dora screwed up her face and made a gagging gesture with a forefinger.
"That bad?"
"It's enough to turn anyone into a vegetarian who isn't one already."
When Bernard emerged from the lav to join the others at table, Steve and Ron were scowling and using chunks of bread to prod at glutinous gray lumps squatting on their plates, swimming in gelatinous mud. Bernard leaned over to investigate the contents of the soup pot on the table and recoiled. Dora reached around to pull another smaller pot out of the warming oven.
"Slugger says there no meat in this... whatever it is." It looked and smelled exactly the same as what was in the larger pot. Bernard shuddered. He noticed Dora had buttered several large doorsteps of bread and was applying a secondary layer of an unidentifiable gooey brown substance from a glass jar.
"What's that?"
"Marmite. Want to try some?"
"What is it?"
"No one knows for sure, but I don't think there's any meat in it."
"I'll pass. Do you have any peanut butter?"
Dora slid over the platter of sliced bread and the butter dish, followed by a jam jar. "No, sorry... I think there's some Nutella in the pantry."
"And that would be?"
"Something like peanut butter but made with hazelnuts and chocolate."
"I guess I'll stick with jelly or jam," Bernard sighed. On the other side of the table, Steve and Ron smirked and consumed their mystery meat as Bernard made do with a butter and plum jam butty and an apple from the sideboard. The telephone rang in the office and Dora went to answer it.
"That was Lady Butler," Dora informed them, returning to the table. "She's got two new horses on trial and wants us to have a look at them to see if they might be show jumping prospects."
"Where'd they come from?" Steve asked.
"They're two-year-olds, Thoroughbreds from Blair Statham's... evidently they didn't make the cut for racing so he's offering them on the cheap. Will you have time to ride over with me this afternoon since Slugger and Mrs. D have the Rover?"
"Can't," he said, "Farrier's late already and I have to be here."
"Right, I forgot!" Dora smacked her own forehead. "What about you, Ron?"
"Sorry, luv. The man's coming with the car today and I should check it out before accepting delivery. Make sure everything got fixed that was supposed to be."
She sighed with irritation and turned to Bernard. "I guess that leaves you. Feel like going for a ride? We need to exercise some of those boarders anyway."
"I guess so." He didn't seem overly enthusiastic, though.
With leads in hand, Dora pointed out an undistinguished blue roan gelding and a blood bay with a zigzag blaze. "Pepper and Flash could do with a little cross-country work. Steve mentioned your problem with saddles but I don't see how you'll manage without one. It's four miles to Elle's place and there's walls and watercourses along the way."
"I'll manage," Bernard said easily.
The two horses came along peacefully and Bernard helped Dora secure the saddle on the bay, then gave her a leg up. She watched with curiosity but no comment as he went through his bonding ritual with the roan. Steve had also described this and Bernard's mounting technique.
"We try to alternate the horses when we work them in pairs," she explained as they rode south along the farm track. "We don't want them becoming dependent on each other's presence because then they tend to become intractable when separated."
"Makes sense."
The south side of the big lake was fringed by a thin strip of trees and beyond were great expanses of meadow and rolling hills. Dora gestured toward that as they rode side by side, saying, "Almost everything you can see is part of the Harewood estate; the rest belongs to Sir Hughes Butler. Harewood allows access to the general public. Sir Hughes doesn't but he was a personal friend of my uncle's so we have special permission to cross his property and do some of our schooling there. We... Steve and I... feel these two are ready to be introduced to the kinds of conditions they'll encounter in the field. The terrain here is diverse with a lot of natural obstacles and bits of old drystone walls and such. We'll have a warm-up first."
They turned off the track into the practice jump arena and Dora indicated that she'd go first. Bernard's task would be to replace any rails that Flash knocked down. Even at a restrained canter it was clear the bay had potential, collecting and tucking nicely if not doing so well with hanging and recovery. After three rounds she dismounted and tied Flash to a tree as Bernard untied Pepper and once again leaped up onto the horse's back.
"I'm not so sure this is a good idea..."
"Don't worry about it."
"Wait a minute... there's something you should know about him..."
Flash and Pepper, though matched in size and general conformation, unfortunately did not share equal talents, Dora commented ruefully. The roan was sulky and disinclined to follow directions. "I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to do much with him. He's just not trying. He balks, too, just when you least expect it and there's you with nothing to hold onto..."
"I'll be careful."
As Dora looked on, Bernard first walked his mount up to and around each hurdle, allowing the animal to examine it. When they'd made a full circuit, he scrunched forward and said something to the horse, who swiveled his head around and appeared to be listening intently. Then Pepper moved off and broke into a canter with Bernard maintaining a loose rein, both hands tightly woven into mane. Without a visible signal, Pepper approached the first jump and took it flawlessly... and the next... and the next. Dora was completely baffled by the time horse and rider concluded the third round and pulled up.
"I... I just don't understand it. Why won't he do that for me... or Steve? It's as if he's... bewitched."
Bernard shrugged. "There's nothing wrong with this horse. He's got opinions about how he wants to be ridden, is all."
"Still, he's of no use to anyone if he can only be ridden bareback."
"That's not the problem," Bernard said, "but I think you might be right about him not being suited for the field. He'll do okay in a controlled environment like a show ring but only with an experienced rider who understands him."
"What do you mean?"
"First, he doesn't like a snug rein. Second, you have to let him pick his own pace and make his own judgments about the barriers..."
"But that's nonsense!" Dora broke in, "The whole point of schooling is teaching the horse that the rider is in control."
Bernard ignored that. "Third, he's easily distracted if he feels his rider isn't feeling secure, so it's important that you feel comfortable and don't even think about falling off because he'll sense that."
Dora shook her head in disbelief but clucked to Flash and they moved off briskly. They rode over a greensward blanketing several modest hillocks and threaded by small streams, not quite giving the horses their heads but letting them out just enough to see how they reacted when confronted with unfamiliar objects. At first Flash and Pepper tended to stop and inspect such overwhelming oddities as watercourses, boulders and clusters of shrubbery. But after thirty minutes of stop-and-go ambulation they had both become so blasé that they started hopping over rivulets and small embankments. The riders steered them toward more heavily vegetated areas where fallen logs abounded. Dora had to admit that Bernard was a superb horseman, crouching low on Pepper's neck and clinging with burr-like tenacity and inhuman balance.
They had reached the summit of a small grassy tor crowned with a granite outcropping. Dora signaled a halt so that they could dismount and stretch their legs for a few minutes. Bernard sprawled on his back in the grass while Dora leaned against a squat flat-topped rock.
Prior to their departure, Bernard had removed his boots and socks in the face of Dora's disapproval. She wondered if this was an American thing or just a Bernard thing. They'd had a short, sharp exchange before leaving the paddock in which she'd lost the argument over his stubborn insistence on going barefoot.
"What is it about you and shoes, Bernard?" she finally asked. "You could so easily step on something sharp and hurt yourself."
Bernard rolled over, propping himself on one elbow. "When you were a little girl, didn't you ever stand in a puddle and let mud squeeze up between your toes?"
Dora thought about it and couldn't suppress a giggle. "Yes... just the once. My governess took me for a walk in the park after a rain and I escaped from her long enough to pull off my shoes and stockings and jump into a mud puddle. I got in so much trouble for that, though."
"But do you remember how it felt?"
"Oh yes... it was delicious!"
'Have you ever stood on a sandy beach, right at the edge of the water... and felt the sand shifting under your feet as the waves receded? Almost like the sand itself was alive and caressing your feet, didn't it?"
"Yes... that's exactly how it felt!"
"And after you've had shoes or boots and socks on all day and you finally take them off... how nice it feels just to wiggle your toes..."
"I'm beginning to get the point..."
"In some cultures, the foot is considered an erogenous zone because it's so sensitive."
"Oh go on!"
"No kidding... a good footrub is the next best thing to... well... never mind that. Anyway, when someone asks you how something feels to touch, you generally think in terms of how it feels to your hands and fingers. Most people overlook the fact that there're just as many nerve receptors in their feet as in their hands. Shoes block tactile sensation. The earth itself is alive, Dora, and nature speaks to me through my hands and my feet, along with the other four senses."
"I never really thought about it but it does make sense, I suppose... except, what about in winter when there's snow on the ground?"
"Why, then, I wear boots like everyone else," Bernard grinned. "I may be eccentric but I'm not an idiot."
Dora steered them along a narrow access road leading to the rear of the Butler estate. Several dozen or so horses of varying breeds, all in prime condition, grazed in the pastures abutting either side of the road. Four long low stone outbuildings formed a quadrangle around a cobbled yard where a bevy of young men and women were busily attending to other horses. Prominent among them, a slightly older woman grooming a massive grey hunter looked up and smiled and waved—the trophy wife in the flesh: thirtyish and indeed petite, blonde and attractive.
Dora and Bernard dismounted a short distance away and a pimply-faced teenage groom rushed up to take charge of their mounts. Dora took a few steps toward her friend and neighbor before realizing Bernard had not moved. When she turned she could see that he had assumed an expression similar to his earlier reaction to Dottie but decidely more hostile.
"Bernard... what...?" Before she could complete the question the other woman had approached them and stood with her hands on her hips, critically regarding Dora's companion.
When she spoke it was with the syrupy Cajun accent Bernard knew only too well.
"So this here's your new stablehand I been hearin' about?"
Dora flinched. Bernard's presence wasn't supposed to be common knowledge and that the news had got around so quickly was disconcerting.
"Uh... Bernard, this is..."
"Good afternoon, Elayne," Bernard said flatly.
"Good afternoon to you, too. Lookin' mighty good there... for your age."
"One might say the same for you," Bernard returned drily.
"Excuse me... do you two know each other?" Dora demanded.
"Oh... Boo and I go way back, don't we?"
"Boo?" Dora looked from one to the other.
Elayne explained. "It's a family name... 'Bernard' is sooooo stuffy, don't you agree?"
"But you said you'd never met the Butlers!" Dora addressed Bernard with confusion.
"That was before I knew who you were talking about. And she wasn't a Butler last time we met."
"How did you know he was here, Elle? No one's supposed to know..."
"Pah. You cain't poot around here without the hired help gossipin'!"
Had to have been Ron, Dora thought furiously. Telephone, telegraph, tell Ron and the whole world knows. She'd recognized several of the stableworkers as Ron's mates from the village.
"I'd like to have a closer look at that grey," Bernard said and walked around Elayne, rather rudely Dora thought.
"Feel free to take Hagrid out for a test drive, Boo," Elayne called out after him. Without turning around Bernard made a subtle but unmistakably rude gesture with his right hand. Dora was shocked.
"What do you mean... 'Boo' is a family name?" she asked, "and how is it you know each other?"
"Related by marriage... distantly. Boo's his nickname, short for Booger." Elayne took Dora's arm, guiding her in the direction of a pair of satiny black Thoroughbred geldings tethered side by side across the courtyard. "Come take a look at these bad boys. I'm thinkin' they'll make right nice show jumpers for my stepgrandsons. But I wanted your opinion first since you'll be the one trainin' 'em."
Dora inspected the two horses and observed as Elayne had a stableboy walk each one around. She knew her friend had a keen eye for horseflesh and no need whatsoever for a contribution from Dora.
"Why do I get the feeling you've got me over here under false pretenses?"
"Who, me? But since you're here... I got these nieces visitin' from the States and we aim to go shoppin' tomorrow. I want you to come along so's we can find you somethin' special to wear to the party Sunday. My treat."
"I have a perfectly good frock in the closet..." Dora objected.
"Three years outta style, I bet. Look, I'm buyin' you a new outfit and that's that."
"But you don't have to..."
"No arguin'. We'll pick ya up around nine-ish, okay?"
Dora knew better than to try to change her friend's mind once she'd got the bit in her teeth. "You could have just telephoned, you know."
"Yeah, but I wanted to check out your new boy. How're you and him gettin' along?" Elayne jerked her head toward where Bernard was communing with the immense grey horse. Most of the stableworkers had stopped what they were doing to gawk. The animal had an evil disposition and they all feared him to some extent. Their mistress was the only one who could—or would—ride him and he was her favorite.
"Very well, actually... he's... interesting. I like him. I like him a lot," she confessed. Despite her natural reticence about personal matters, Dora had always felt at ease around Elayne and found herself saying things she would never dream of voicing to anyone else.
Elayne got a crafty look on her face. "I imagine Steve ain't happy with the competition."
"What competition? There's nothing between us..." Dora protested. "I have to admit, I'm sort of drawn to him... but..."
"But what?" Elayne prodded. "C'mon sweetie... you can tell ole Auntie Ellie. Go ahead, spit it out! No one's close enough to hear."
That much was true. By now Bernard had levitated himself onto the fearsome Hagrid's back and was trotting toward the nearest gate, which a startled stablehand swung open before leaping back out of the way. The gate opened to a large paddock ringed with practice jumps. The rest of the workers had abandoned their tasks to hang googly-eyed on the fence as the bareback rider took the huge grey gelding over competition-height barriers as casually as if stepping over cavaletti poles.
"It's the oddest thing... the other day I was doing some hard thinking about Steve's and my relationship... about how it wasn't going anywhere... and what I should do about it..."
"And?" Elayne encouraged.
"I'd just about made up my mind to give up and maybe start dating other people. I love Steve... I do... you know I do, but.. well... then Bernard came along and you wouldn't believe some of the strange tales..."
"Yup. He's a silver-tongued rascal all right," Elayne interrupted. "I suppose he's been giving you all kinds of advice on how to fix things with your man?"
Dora looked at her friend curiously. "As a matter of fact, he has... and that's what's odd. It's as if he's known both of us for years. What he says sounds logical, in a way. I just don't know if I can follow through on it. I'm not sure how to phrase this but... just how well do you know each other?"
"Well enough. Why do you ask?"
"Oh... well... it seems you don't have a very high regard for each other..." Dora let the statement trail off, not wishing to give offense.
"Ain't no law says you gotta like everybody, honey. And it's true there ain't no love lost between us... but that's fambly bidness. Nothin' for you to worry your little head about."
"He's not... erm... exactly normal, is he?"
Elayne contemplated this for a few seconds, her face going quite serious and her voice very low. "No, sugar... he sure ain't and you might wanna keep that in mind. I can't imagine what he's told you about hisself, which he shouldn't a done... or even why he told you, but I'll tell you this much: that boy might be a loa but he's damned good at helpin' people sort out their troubles. He'll make a right fine doctor one day. I respect him for that. So when he gets to talkin' serious, it wouldn't hurt to pay attention."
Dora would have liked to continue the conversation but Bernard was bringing Elayne's big grey hunter back into the yard, scattering stablehands like chickens.
Elayne was speaking hurriedly. "One last word of advice, kiddo... his kind can charm the panties right off a gal with just words, so whatever you do, don't let him kiss you!"
"Elle!" Dora pretended shock, but then she giggled. "I'll keep the warning in mind, but you forget you're talking to the oldest virgin in Yorkshire. I don't charm that easily—not that anyone's tried recently."
"I'm just sayin'..."
Watching Bernard tie the grey up to a post, no one having volunteered to take the horse from him, Dora noted that this was the second time she had received that particular admonition about her companion.
Dora and Bernard arrived home in ample time for afternoon tea, which was a slapdash affair hastily thrown together and eaten on the run, except for the blacksmith and his assistant, who were in no hurry at all. Steve was still occupied with bringing to the crossties one at a time each animal needing adjustments or refittings. Slugger and Dottie, returned from their shopping expedition, were shuttling back and forth between the laden LandRover and the house, putting away their purchases. Ron was tinkering with the new car that had been delivered as arranged.
Dora and Bernard had taken the shortest path home. During the ride and while they were putting their horses up, not much talk had passed between them. But Dora's mind was tallying the many ways in which Bernard was, as she had phrased it to Elayne, 'not normal.' There were what should have been an alarming number of points... the ever-changing eye color, for instance. That, at least, she had figured out for herself: green meant he was comfortable, gray meant he wasn't.
It occurred to her that while neither Steve nor Ron had heavy facial hair, both usually sprouted some measure of stubble by evening whereas Bernard's face remained unbearded at all times of the day. Unlike Steve and Ron, who walked with the rolling gait characteristic of horsemen and sailors, Bernard appeared to glide. She had noticed how, when something caught his attention, he would become still and turn his head with unblinking eyes—very much like an owl—in the direction of the sound or object of interest. And why was his presence always attended by the scent of apples?
And, of course, Dora wondered in what other aspects he might be 'not normal.' Why were two different people so insistent that she not kiss him? If simply holding his hand had such a dramatic effect on her mood, what state of mind might possibly be induced by a kiss?
At the moment, Bernard appeared to be experiencing the sort of discomfort one might expect after riding eight plus miles and several hours bareback.
"I seem to have developed a hitch in my git-along," he announced ruefully. "Think I'll go for a short walk, work out some kinks."
"Good idea," Dora agreed, suppressing a snicker and a snide comeback. "Just be back in time for chores and dinner."
"Will do," he replied and limped away.
FIELD JOURNAL — WEDNESDAY 4 SEPTEMBER 1974 — 3:30PM
Immediate location: Under a tree in a field, several miles from the farm.
General: Since it looks like I'm not gonna get a crack at Steve today, I might as well focus on Dora, who possesses a much more complex personality than I initially assessed. One thing I am sure of, though: a girl that young and attractive shouldn't be so depressed so often. But I'm not a psychiatrist so I have no idea what she has to be depressed over, nor can I help her with that problem. In my time there would be hundreds of legal medications available in the form of over the counter drugs. In a way it's a good thing she lives in an out-of-the-way locale where street drugs aren't that readily obtainable, not that it would ever occur to her to go that route.
If Dora had never come here... if her life had followed the usual path of overindulged, wealthy but aimless young women, this is what I would have prophesied: She would have drifted into a loveless marriage with some feckless fop of her own class, borne the two requisite children to be nurtured by hired minders, been bored out of her mind by the endless cycle of social demands, and probably taken up drinking or prescription drugs as a way of escaping the tedium and uselessness of her existence. Have seen that happen too many times!
Fortunately, Dora has found a purpose in life that suits her personality and isn't in any danger of being plucked away from it. Being estranged from one's parents is an undesirable situation but in this case it's the best thing that could have happened to her. Her uncle provided, and now Slugger continues to provide, the adult supervision, guidance and attention she needed and didn't get from Mom and Dad. Steve provides an outlet for her affection, even if there hasn't been any return (yet) on that investment.
I've rarely seen a young girl so uninterested in girl things. She keeps herself up and always looks nice, but couldn't care less about clothing or fashion or being wined and dined. Much like my sisters except they've all had the presence of mind to marry men who take them for what they are, not as they'd like them to be. I think Steve might be that kind of man, except she's going to have to grow some backbone or he'll run all over her. Also, Dora will always need continuing reassurance from the man in her life and he'll have to learn to give it.
That's not to say Dora is a doormat. There's a fierce temper lurking under that demure presence. I'm thinking that before she came to Follyfoot she was probably never in an environment where she was allowed to express it. Could be all she needs is a little bit of courage, a lot of motivation, and a buttload of practical advice on how to be a woman. I thought she was gullible and could be easily led. Wrong!
Technical issue: None at present.
Plan: Also none.
Note to self: I don't know why I'm feeling so antsy. Maybe if I let Squirrel out for a run it might blow the cobwebs from my head.
