The Lost Hours (50 page)

The sun glinted off of Lola around Sara’s neck, illuminating each charm like chapters in a book. There were two new charms added on the gold chain: yet another horse, as a nod to Lucy’s new mare, Jane Austen, and a tiny trophy for Sara, who’d learned to swim across the pond without her floaties not once, but twice. It was Lucy’s turn to wear Lola, but I’d told her any jewelry visible to the judges would mean an instant deduction. With great fanfare and seriousness, she’d placed Lola around Sara’s neck, extracting a promise that Sara would return Lola as soon as Lucy finished her three equestrian events.

The crisp fall air exaggerated the steam from our coffee mugs as Tucker and I sat with Sara between us in the bleachers in front of the beginner’s ring, trying to ignore the wistful looks Lucy kept giving to the nearby covered ring, where the advanced riders conquered impossibly high fences and barriers. I nudged Tucker with my elbow, drawing his attention to the six people approaching the bleachers from the snack stand. George was using the cold weather as an excuse to place an arm around Helen’s shoulders, and Mr. Morton was helping his wife negotiate her path between mud and horse droppings in her plum-colored suede ankle boots. She kept brushing away Mardi, who loped beside her, churning up red clay dirt like a small child in a mud pit.

Alicia was there, too, chatting with Helen and holding the hand of one of her granddaughters. The little girl pointed at horses and tried to pet each one as they walked by. I smiled to myself, knowing that was just the beginning, and wondered how long it would take before I’d hear from Alicia about riding lessons.

They sat down beside us and Mr. Morton gave me a kiss on the cheek. We’d shown him Lillian’s letter and he’d nodded once as if to set things into their new order, then moved on to the next topic of conversation. But he’d made a great show out of coughing, bringing out a handkerchief, and wiping his eyes. I’d patted his hand but looked away.

I’d read the letter to Helen, and she’d been silent for a long time. I thought then that I’d made the wrong decision in sharing it with her. But then she’d smiled and asked if she could place the letter on the back page of the newly reconstructed scrapbook containing Lillian’s and Annabelle’s pages. Sara and Lucy will be able to read it when they’re older, after they’ve had the chance to learn on their own that disappointments are never permanent. And the large bouquet of tulips on Lillian’s grave had been from Helen—white for forgiveness.

Mr. Morton came to the Asphodel cemetery for Lillian’s funeral and for services for Samuel and Susan. The dark earth beside Charlie’s obelisk was moved aside for Lillian, and Samuel’s remains were exhumed and placed in the coffin with his mother. We moved Susan inside the enclosure, welcoming her into the family’s stone garden, where her daughters could visit and place the flowers that they’d nurtured since seedlings. The girls and I like to visit at dusk and wait for the moonflowers that have begun to bloom finally on the vines Lillian planted. She has the perfect vantage point to witness the blossoming of the delicate flowers, courageous enough to open only at night without a guarantee that anybody will see.

The judge over the loudspeaker announced the equitation class, and I turned to Tucker. “That’s Lucy. Wish us luck.”

He kissed me soundly on the mouth, then took my coffee as I stomped down the bleachers in my mud-spattered boots and jeans and found Lucy already mounted on Jane and talking with another rider.

“You ready?” I asked, feeling the lurch of excitement in the pit of my stomach. She was only competing in the flat classes, but I couldn’t still the thrill of being here again among the horses and the riders, the smell of horse and leather heavy in the air. But I was here only as a spectator and a cheerleader for Lucy, and for me it was enough.

“Yep.” She said good-bye to her friend and then I led Jane toward the ring.

I patted her on the leg. “You remember what you need to do?”

She nodded and rolled her eyes. “Smile. Keep my shoulders back and my heels down. But when do I get to jump?”

I reached up and straightened her competitor’s number, which had been tied around her chest. “Soon, I promise. But we’re going to take it slowly, remember? I want you to enjoy riding—not just winning. That’s the deal if you want me to be your trainer.”

She rolled her eyes again, but this time she smiled. “But I wouldn’t mind taking home some blue ribbons today.”

“That’s my girl,” I said, tightening the yellow bows at the bottom of her pigtails as she gathered her reins and approached the ring.

The woman announced the class again over the loudspeaker, and Lucy and Jane entered the ring at a measured walk with the rest of the riders in her class, then pulled to a stop as they waited for the judge’s signal to begin.

A trace of perfume wafted past me as a woman walked by, turning my thoughts to my grandmother’s garden. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with the house, but I’d begun to restore the garden. The first frost was still ahead of us, and I’d mulched and tilled and planted my spring bulbs, and made plans for the lantana, smilax, and tea olives that my grandmother had loved so much. I’d started taking classes in landscape architecture at night, filling my time between the gardens at Asphodel and Monterey Square. It gave me more time with Tucker, too, as he’d returned to his medical practice in town.

Fall had already bleached the colors from the summer blooms, and as I prepared the gardens for winter, I felt closest to my grandmother, understanding more than ever the cycle of the garden: the barren earth that sleeps during the cold months and then erupts with life in the spring. I understand it now. Finally, I understand.

I waited at the fence as Lucy moved through the paces, listening to the instructions from the judge as she transitioned from walk to trot, then changed directions at the judge’s cues. When she was done, Lucy guided Jane to the middle of the ring with the other riders and turned so the judges could read the numbers on their backs. I watched as her eyes scanned the crowd, searching until they settled on me. She seemed to relax and her smile broadened as she realized I was watching. I stood without moving, cherishing the moment, and remembering the woman who’d come to my first shows and braided my hair with gentle hands.

When the judge announced the results, Lucy winked at me before turning her horse toward the gate to exit the ring and accept her ribbon, gracious in her nods to her fellow competitors as she moved forward. I hadn’t taught her that, or how to hold her head with grace, and I smiled to myself, feeling Lillian near.

Full darkness had already fallen when we returned to Asphodel. Sara rode with Helen and George, but Lucy slept on my shoulder between Tucker and me in the truck pulling the horse trailer, her three blue ribbons pinned to the jacket she’d refused to remove. The moon rose high in the sky, full and round with possibilities, outlining the branches of the old oaks and their sleeves of Spanish moss, transforming them into welcoming arms.

I rolled down my window, the puffs of my breath visible in the moon’s glow. The trees were heavy with new leaves, the limbs no longer hovering over the drive but now waving gracefully as they bent gently to the earth, their season of grieving over. Even the wind as it made its endless circle through the branches had changed its sound, the whistling now a hum of voices, a new lullaby to remember years from now.

Over Lucy’s head I leaned onto Tucker’s shoulder and smiled up at him, feeling the rush of blood to my heart and head. Like a dormant garden I had found my way back from the fallow ground, my life the fertile soil in which hope can now flourish and possibilities bloom. I lifted my hand toward the moon, cupping it in my palm like a secret, then opened my fingers one by one until it slipped out of sight.

Karen White
is the author of nine previous books. She lives with her family near Atlanta, Georgia. Visit her Web site at
www.karen-white.com
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