Chapter 19: Horses
"Good morning!"
Shana jumped up from her seat at the breakfast nook, where she and Snake Eyes and Cam and Charlie were having breakfast and ran to the door at the sound of her father's voice. "Morning, Dad!"
"Good morning, Shan." Her father kissed her cheek good morning, then put his fists on his hips in mock sternness. "And do you always leave your front door unlocked for every wandering hobo who walks by to come in?"
"Some hobo you'd make," Shana rolled her eyes, then grinned at her father. "Besides, the threat isn't out there, it's in here."
"What's that supposed to mean? You trying to kill your new husband already? Give him some time, Shana. Time and training. It works miracles with even the densest man." Mr. O'Hara said as she stepped back and allowed him to step in after her and close the door. Even though it was still early in the morning, the humidity was already high and climbing higher. It was going to be another sticky, humid, muggy Atlanta day, and Shana had put on a tank top and shorts this morning with a wish that they had decided to go out to the cabin; it would be much cooler and drier. The plantation house here, as lovely as it was, simply wasn't 'home'. I wonder if I could get the historic society to buy it and maintain it? She wondered. Or turn it onto a bed and breakfast. Yeah. That would be nice. It's not that far away from the downtown business district. Since it was used as a business retreat, could that be leveraged to advertise it for business conferences or short-term corporate housing? Nah, it'll do better as a bed and breakfast. I grew up here, and this should be my home, but it doesn't feel like home anymore; home is the cabin in California.
She nearly ran into her father's back as he stopped to look at the chair still propped under the doorknob of the basement door. "What on earth is this?"
"Er. We had some…interesting experiences last night. Come into the kitchen and have breakfast and I'll tell you about it."
While the refrigerator hadn't been stocked with anything that would perish, items in a freezer could be left frozen almost indefinitely, and she'd found a huge box of frozen waffles and frozen sausage. A few seconds in the microwave for each person's plate, and they were having as hearty a breakfast as any they'd ever had on base and plenty more if any of them wanted seconds or thirds. Coffee had been kept in tightly-sealed canisters, and it had been the first thing that Snake Eyes made that morning (knowing how grumpy she got before getting her first cup in the morning), so Shana was feeling pretty cheerful as she put a plate down and forked a couple of waffles onto it for her Dad.
Over breakfast she told Mr. O'Hara about the events of the evening before. "I swear, the bottle just jumped out of the rack and smashed on the floor," she said as her father got up, opened the basement door, and looked down into the basement.
"Well, the place is old enough to have a ghost, I'd say," Mr. O'Hara said as he turned on the light to the basement and put a foot down on the top step, testing the wood steps for soundness. "In fact, I think the locals said there have been unusual sounds around the place—"
The doorbell rang, and Shana headed for the front door, curious. The curiosity disappeared when she saw Siobhan, and she moved to slam the door in her sister's face.
"I came to say I was sorry!" Siobhan exclaimed, putting her hand on the doorframe, and Shana paused in the act of slamming the door; as much as she hated Siobhan right now, she still didn't want to break her sister's fingers. "I didn't mean to say all the stuff I said last night, I was disappointed I wouldn't get to share the day with my sister and my new brother-in-law, and upset that you chose to share the day with someone who isn't family."
"Dad made Cam part of the family." Oh the sour expression on Siobhan's face—Shana could almost have laughed. 'So she's now your sister too. And Snake Eyes took on the O'Hara name when he married me, so he's an O'Hara too."
Considering how much Siobhan hated Snake Eyes, Siobhan was making an admirable effort to control herself, and Shana wondered why—until she saw Siobhan's eyes flick upward, toward the high arched entryway to the manor; and then past Shana, to get a peek at the interior. And her sister's niceness was explained. Siobhan hadn't come here with an olive branch of peace, she just wanted to see what Shana now owned. Uh huh.
"You're not coming in, Siobhan," She planted herself firmly in the doorway, folding her arms. "This is my house now, and you are not welcome in it while I'm here. Not after your rudeness and insults. I'm your sister, I deserve better than you, and so does Cam. Now go away. I don't want you here."
"Seriously, Shan, can't I come in and we can talk about this? I know Dad's here, his car's out front—Dad!" she called out. "Shana won't let me in—"
A sudden gust of cold air—really cold air—made Shana turn in astonishment to see who was behind her, causing her to step back from the door. Siobhan took that as an opportunity to try and push her way in, only to be stymied a moment later as the door literally slammed shut in her face. Shana stood staring in surprised befuddlement as it closed in front of her, without her touching it; a moment later, the deadbolt turned on its own, and she heard the click as it shot home.
From the other side of the door she heard Siobhan's fist hit the door, saw the knob jiggle slightly as her sister tried to turn the knob and open it, but Shana made no move to open the door again. "Well," she said at last to the empty air. "This ghost thing might be an unusual thing for me, but at least you're a helpful ghost, you don't just break bottles of wine." She cleared her throat. "Okay. That was my sister, Siobhan. She is not allowed in this house while I'm in it. You have my permission to scare the hell out of her if she tries to break in or something."
"Shana. That's mean," came an amused voice at the doorway, and she looked up to see Cam nearly doubled over in laughter. "Who knows what this ghost will think of to do to her?"
Shana reconsidered, then addressed the air. "You have permission to scare her, not to kill her or harm her, okay?" Grudgingly, she added "Siobhan's still my sister even if I may not like her much."
Cam was still laughing as she pushed herself off the doorframe. "Come on, let's go finish breakfast."
They were just finishing up and Shana was trying to figure out how to work the dishwasher when there was a knock at the front door. She went to it, expecting to see her mother or Siobhan again, but this time it was a man wearing a t-shirt and jeans. "Yes?" she said politely.
"Morning, Ma'am," and she heard the Southern drawl in his voice. "Mister Bennett called yesterday and told us the place'd been sold, so I came over this mornin' to make sure the place was clean and tend the horses. Wasn't expectin' to see you here, Ma'am."
"We got in very late last night. I'm Shana O'Hara."
"Pardon me, Ma'am…but you wouldn't be one of them Atlanta O'Hara's, would you?"
"Yes, I am one of 'them Atlanta O'Haras'," Shana said, glaring at Cam, who was (silently) laughing so hard her shoulders were shaking. "What gave it away?"
"Well, you kinda got the look of the clan, what with your red hair an' all," and Cam almost fell over.
Shana rolled her eyes, but Cam's laughter was infectious and she finally smiled. "Okay. So come on in and tell me what I need to know about the place."
She might have been the black sheep of the family to her sister, but Shana had absorbed enough of her mother's lessons in etiquette to offer the man a breakfast of waffles and sausage, as any well-bred Southern lady would have done. The man seemed grateful to accept, and over the breakfast he told them about the place. "Four acres of horse trails all around here; sometimes the guests would go out on the horses, other times they'd take out our ATVs and go ridin' around. The local kids sneak in to go dirt-bikin' sometimes; Mr. Kennedy got really mad about that and told me to run 'em out when I catches them, but since the place was empty a lotta the time I really didn't see the harm in lettin' em use the trails, Better than ridin' their bikes all over the roads and gettin' hit by drivers. They's smart kids, too; they knows if there's a car on the drive they don't come on the property; that there Mr. Kennedy, he's powerful mean. Little girl lost her dog come chasin' it on the land once and he darn near shot the dog." He cleared his throat. "Look, it ain't none of my business to say, but when it happened I didn' t like the way he looked at that little girl, and later when it was all over the papers what he did to you an' the other young lady there," he inclined his head toward Cam, who nodded quietly, "I knew he was guilty because he looked at that little girl the same way. "
"Thank you, Shana said, warmly enough that the man would understand she knew he was sympathetic, but shortly enough so that he wouldn't feel it was a topic open to further discussion. "So you take care of the horses? How many are there? I'll admit, I can't imagine what I'd do with horses," and she glared at Snake Eyes, who simply gave her a wide smile. Cam nearly choked on her laughter.
"There's two, both quiet , not much of a challenge to learn to ride if you're so minded. Good sturdy saddle stock, a palomino mare called Sunshine cause her coat's that bright, and a big dark snowflake Appaloosa gelding called Storm."
"I don't know much about horses, so I have no idea what you're talking about," Shana confessed.
"Well, if you're done your breakfast there, ma'am, we can mosey on out and have a look at them. I'm sort of hopin' you'll be wantin' to keep them horses, as there ain't too much call for them around here and it'd be kinda hard to sell them 'cept maybe to the dog food fact'ry." He scratched his head. "And I'll admit, I'm sorta partial to them an' I'd hate to see them go."
Shana smiled. "I won't make any promises until I see them, but I promise I'll consider it, okay?"
Breakfast over, the caretaker—whose name was Mr. Anderson—led them out the back door and along a dirt path out to a barn and a fenced-in paddock attached to it. As they approached, they all saw two horses; one a palomino mare, her coat a pretty golden color with a snow-white mane and tail; the other one, a tall rangy Appaloosa gelding with a 'snowflake' coat—dark gray flecked with spots of lighter gray with a mane and tail to match the spots. Both horses pricked up their ears at the sight of the visitors and galloped to the fence, eyes alive with curiosity.
Cam stepped forward first, murmuring something softly in Iroquois; the palomino mare took a few quick steps forward, stretched her neck in Cam's direction, then snuffled in Cam's hair. Cam giggled as the horse's whiskers tickled her neck. "Oh, Shana, she's gorgeous." She scratched Sunshine's neck, and the mare leaned into the touch with obvious delight.
As if jealous of the attention the mare was getting, the big gelding shoved his nose at Cam, who obliged by reaching out to scratch the side of his neck too. He stretched his neck out as far as it would go, inviting her to reach further along his neck until she was scratching his shoulder; then he sidled along the side of the fence until she could just barely scratch his withers with the tip of one finger; this happened to be the shoulder warped by the scar tissue, and she gave him a quiet pat before bring her arms down somewhat self-consciously. He looked somewhat disappointed but turned to Charlie, giving the big Navajo a suspicious look before allowing Charlie to scratch his neck.
Snake Eyes got a similarly effusive welcome from the two horses, then Storm stretched a neck out to Shana and sniffed her—and promptly sneezed.
"Eww!" Shana ducked out of the way, ran a short distance. "No thank you!"
Cam had to lean against the fence rail, she was laughing so hard. "He just sneezed, Shana. Likely the perfume you're wearing or something like that just ticked his nose. See? He's sorry." And indeed the hose was looking somewhat sheepish, head hanging.
Mr. Anderson finally stopped guffawing. "He's taken a shine to you folks, sure as I'm standin' here. That Mr. Kennedy, he couldn't get near 'em. They saw him comin', they'd light out for the other side of the paddock. Didn't like 'im one bit, and Storm would get in between him and Sunshine and lace his ears back like he was figurin' on givin' Kennedy a good chaw. Good thing Kennedy never got it into his head to try ridin' one. Had a crippled military guy here once, Storm went under him gentle as an old plug, but he never liked Kennedy. I finally come around to watchin' how they reacted 'round some folks and they was pretty good judges of people far's I c'n tell. Look at how they are with the young missy here." The horses were overwhelming Cam with their attentions, and she looked just as delighted to be with them.
Shana deigned to come closer and pat him. "Okay. That's enough with the horses. You said there are ATV's around here somewhere, can we take a couple and go out and look at the rest of the property?"
"We could, but you gotta decide who's goin' cause we got four ATVs and six people."
"I'll stay," Cam volunteered immediately. "Sunshine and Storm don't seem to want me to go."
"I'll stay," Mr. O'Hara raised a hand. "My bones are too old to be tearing around on those contraptions."
"What old bones?" Shana grinned wickedly at her Dad before heading off with Charlie, Snake eyes, and Mr. Anderson.
Mr. O'Hara watched Cam with the horses for a while, quietly getting the measure of the young woman to whom he owed his daughter's life. Finally, he said quietly, "That shoulder bother you?"
She turned to him, startled, and he shrugged. "Hard to tell sometimes, but when you reach up to the top of the neck it shows. Not real comfortable raising your arm that high just now, are you?"
She blushed and looked down, but her hands never faltered in patting her new friends. "The scar tissue on my back warped my shoulder joint. Shana's working with me on it, but I'm going to have to have surgery on it before I can dance again."
Mr. O'Hara scoffed as he put on a broad Irish accent. "Aye, coom now, lassie, tisn't as bad as all that. Ye still got feet and legs, d'ye not? And they still work?" She giggled at the accent.
"Well, yes, but…the arm positions for ballet—"
"Aye, well, if it's an O'Hara ye're wantin' tae be, it's Irish dancin' ye'll have tae be learnin'. None of that wavin' arms about like a tree in a storm. Straight and proud, my girl, that's how a proper Irish lass dances." He stepped over to her and took her hand, pulling her away from the horses, who whuffed in disappointment but turned and headed for the opposite side of their pasture, no doubt to discuss the new humans they'd just met.
"Now, since you are already trained in ballet, you know how to stand tall and straight, I don't need to tell you to straighten up like there's a string coming out the top of your head pulling you up to the ceiling." She nodded seriously, and his eyes twinkled as he smiled. "The first time I told Shana that she started laughing. Thought it was the funniest thing she ever heard. I could never figure out how someone as good at martial arts as she is could be so absolutely hopeless at knowing how to move feet and legs and body to music, but I guess she couldn't be good at everything." He stepped back a few paces. "Now watch me." He put both hands down at his sides and proceeded to stand straight, left foot behind him, right foot out in front and turned to the side, a small amount of grass between each foot.
"We'd call that an open fifth position in ballet," Cam said, looking at his feet intently.
"Whatever you want to call it. This is the basic position from which all dances start. The step I'm going to show you is a side step in a reel; lift your right foot up to your knee, then hop onto the other foot." He proceeded to show her. "Now, you're going to repeat what you just saw seven steps to the side." He showed her, moving with fluid grace she hadn't seen in him before…and his arms never moved. "Now lift your right foot and bend your knee…"
He showed the basic steps; the side step, jump threes, and something he called hop threes, then walked her through it himself. She, having already been trained in how to move by years of ballet, quickly got the hang of how to move even with one arm at her side and one hand on her hip (it even made her shoulder tilt less noticeable) and then he started to whistle 'Whiskey In The Jar'—a song he told her was traditional Irish music. Once she heard the tune, somehow her feet started to move of their own accord, and she felt a smile stretch her lips as she felt the familiar euphoria she associated with dancing—a feeling that she was invincible, that she could do anything, that she was free and happy and the world made sense, that it was just her and the music and her body moving almost instinctively to it.