9

At the track below Beacon Hill, Katherine tapped Nugget with her riding crop, urging her into a gallop. The wind blew sharp against her face, and the ground slid below her in a blur of motion. The faster Nugget ran, the more Katherine loved it. All her troubles flew away, left behind by the speed of her magnificent horse.

By the time Katherine slowed Nugget to a walk and started back, dark shadows lurked in the leafless oak woods on each side of the trail. Katherine’s mind started up again, nagged by a dozen little worries. She thought of all those ladies who flounced about Victoria in their fashionable dresses with their long, hooped skirts so wide they sometimes had difficulty squeezing through doorways. They looked down on her, those British wives and daughters, thinking her a poor farm girl from the wild colony of British Columbia.

Emma Curtis was one of them. Emma thought herself of a better class; Katherine saw it in the way Emma always kept her distance and refused to look directly at her. Perhaps more telling was her manner of speaking. The way Emma pronounced each word with such dreadful slowness made Katherine cringe, as if the girl thought Katherine would not understand if she spoke too quickly. Although she didn’t wear hooped skirts, Emma’s clothes were of excellent quality, if slightly out of date. And she wore that beautiful ring. Katherine had scarcely been able to drag her eyes away when Emma lifted her hand to stroke Nugget. She had never before seen such a ring on a girl of Emma’s age.

Obviously she came from an upper-class family, but even so there was something mysterious about Emma, as if the girl kept a dark secret hidden so deep within her no one would ever find it. Some great sadness perhaps, or a fear she could never admit to having. And those eyes. As much as Katherine wanted to dismiss Emma as a snob, her eyes – so big and dark they should have been beautiful – instead held a haunted look in them.

What was Mr. Bentley’s role in all of this? Why should he buy a horse for Emma? The two had a similar look about them, both being tall and thin with dark hair and eyes. Could they be related in some way? Perhaps he was an uncle on Emma’s mother’s side, since he had a different last name. Emma had never once mentioned her parents, and Katherine had an idea she didn’t live with them. Yes, there was certainly a mystery surrounding Emma Curtis. Katherine considered asking next time she saw Emma but decided against it. That girl was too standoffish to welcome questions from a near stranger.

Partway up the gentle slope leading to the barn, Katherine glimpsed a dark figure lurking near the open door, almost hidden in shadow. Nugget whinnied, and Katherine reined her in, unsure what to do.

“Is that you, Miss Harris?” Mr. Bentley’s voice floated out of the darkness.

Not certain whether to be relieved or apprehensive, she urged Nugget forward.

Mr. Bentley followed her to the stall, where she went about grooming her horse, a process that normally relaxed her and Nugget both. Today was different. Today Nugget snorted uneasily and her skin flinched where Katherine touched it with the currycomb. Katherine knew it was her own tension that passed itself through to the horse. It was Mr. Bentley’s fault. Must he stand behind them watching her every move? What did want from her?

“Miss Harris,” he said at last, “I wonder if you can tell me if Emma came by today?”

Oh, so it was information he was after. Katherine considered her answer. She did not want to lie to this man, and yet she did not fancy acting as his spy either. “She did.”

“Did she take an interest in the horse?”

“Yes.” With long, quick strokes, Katherine continued brushing Nugget’s coat.

He waited. When Katherine said no more, he asked, “All right then, what did she do?”

She stopped brushing. “Emma fed Nugget an apple.”

“Aha! Then it is working! I knew my idea was a good one and Emma’s curiosity would get the better of her.”

Katherine glanced over her shoulder. Mr. Bentley rose up on his toes and back down, a pleased smile splitting his beard. She turned back to Nugget, too angry to speak. Too angry to remind him that the idea was Edward’s and not his at all.

“And is she ready to try riding?”

“No. Not yet. You can’t rush her into something she isn’t ready for.”

She became aware of Mr. Bentley’s silence. She looked over her shoulder, let her gaze travel up and over his crossed arms all the way up to his face. What she saw was a heavy beard and two thick eyebrows pulled low over dark and threatening eyes.

“Miss Harris, I’ll have you know that I am not trying to force Emma into anything.” His voice was tight and angry. “But the fact is, she must be a good rider by next spring when we will be travelling into British Columbia to start our farm.”

Oh. Starting a farm together? Emma Curtis and Joseph Bentley? Why would Emma want to leave her comfortable life in Victoria? None of this made any sense at all.

When Katherine didn’t reply but only stood there gaping up at him, Mr. Bentley uncrossed his arms, glared over his beard, then turned and walked briskly from the barn.

Friday morning Katherine sat in her school room, gazing out the window. Rain streamed down through low grey cloud, making ghosts of the graceful cedar trees not twenty feet away. It thundered against the roof, a sad, depressing sound.

“Miss Harris!”

Her head jerked back from the window.

Mr. Brett studied her from behind his desk. “Pray tell me, Miss Harris, is the work so boring that you must look for inspiration outside the window?”

All the students paused, every eye turned to Katherine.

Her cheeks flushed warm. “No, sir. But you see, I...”

“If you would stop staring out the window and start paying attention to your lessons, you might get somewhere,” Mr. Brett said, and his hard eyes glittered.

“But I have finished all the work you gave me, sir.”

“Impossible!”

Katherine didn’t answer. A student must never argue with a teacher. Mr. Brett was a man who did everything quickly. He strutted about the room and often talked so fast it was difficult to understand him. And he could lose his temper in the blink of an eye. He stormed over to her now. “Let me see what you have done!”

Katherine handed him her work. He trotted back to his desk, sat down and checked it over, making large quick marks on the paper. “Miss Harris,” he said, “come to my desk immediately.”

Fingers interlaced on the desk in front of him, he watched Katherine make her way to the front of the room. She couldn’t imagine what she had done wrong, the work was so simple. Every eye in the classroom followed her, most of them happy to see her in trouble. One step, another, and another after that, the aisle seemed endlessly long.

Mr. Brett handed back her work and Katherine saw in a glance that she had made no mistakes. She looked up in surprise. Why was she in trouble?

“Well done,” he said, folding his chubby arms on his desk. He glanced up sharply at her classmates. “You could all learn a lesson from Miss Harris here. Now, stop your staring and get back to work.”

The teacher was a small man with a round red face, wide, sloppy mouth, and thin brown hair combed straight back from his forehead. “I can see you are far advanced over all the other students in this classroom. May I ask where you were educated?”

“Yes,” Katherine said. “I grew up in England, where my father saw to it that we were well schooled. He believes education is necessary to better oneself in life.” Even if only to entrap a higher class of husband.

“Quite right,” Mr. Brett agreed. He looked at the class again. “I hope you all heard what Miss Harris here has to say.”

Katherine cringed. If she had difficulty fitting in until now, Mr. Brett’s praise could only make matters worse.

“Please return to your seat, Miss Harris, while I work out a way for you to use your time with us profitably.”

Katherine returned to her seat. The distance seemed even further now, with the older students glaring at her every step of the way. She sat down and studied the scratched surface of her desk.

“You think you’re so smart!” The whisper came from behind.

Katherine glanced over her shoulder. Even with her thin eyebrows pulled close together over her wide blue eyes and her mouth turned down in a hard line, Margaret Steeves still looked pretty. Fifteen-year-old Margaret had light blonde hair and soft pink and white skin. When Katherine had first seen Margaret, she was reminded of Susan and hoped they might become friends. But this girl was nothing like Susan. Nothing at all. Margaret was cruel and vain, while Susan had been the kindest person in the entire world.

In spite of Margaret’s harsh nature, the other pupils looked up to her. Whatever Margaret liked, they liked. Whatever Margaret did not like, they did not like. And Margaret Steeves did not like Katherine.

“It’s not that I am smart,” Katherine tried to explain. “It’s only that I’ve done all of this work before. We had a tutor in England, that’s why it’s easy for me.” A sudden idea occurred to her. “I’ll help you if you like,” she offered.

Margaret rolled her eyes. “I’d rather die,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “What makes you think I need help anyway?”

“I only thought,” Katherine stumbled over her words, “if you believe I’m so smart you must be having difficulty.”

“Is there a problem here, Miss Steeves?”

Katherine whirled around. Mr. Brett loomed over the two of them.

“This wretched little farm girl offered to help me with my schoolwork. Me!” Margaret said, as though the very idea were preposterous.

The teacher sighed. “While I’m certain you could learn a lot from Miss Harris,” he said, “I don’t think it fair to ask such a formidable task of her.”

He turned to Katherine. “I’m hoping Miss Harris will agree to helping out with the younger pupils?”

“Of course, sir, I’d love to.” She’d be happy to get away from Margaret, if only for a short time.

For the first time since Katherine had joined his classroom, Mr. Brett smiled. “Thank you, I appreciate it. In the meantime, I shall look into providing you with more challenging work.”

“I would like that.” She stood up and crossed a silent classroom with every eye trained on her. She felt Margaret Steeves’ eyes burning into her back.

Saturday afternoon, Katherine stood at the window of the small library in the Morris house, watching rain pound against the glass, blurring and distorting the outside world. She heard a footstep and turned to see Mrs. Morris flounce down the stairs. At the bottom she stopped to check her reflection in the mirror. She adjusted her hat and pulled on her gloves, admiring herself all the while.

Katherine pretended to be engrossed by Mr. Morris’ books that still lined the shelves. Accounting books for the most part, which might interest Mother, but Katherine had yet to find one book she wanted to read. She listened for the sound of the door closing behind Mrs. Morris. What was keeping her?

“Still moping around the house I see,” Mrs. Morris said in her high-pitched, nasal voice. “Honestly Katherine, I simply do not understand you. When I was your age it was one party after another, picnics, tennis. We had such a wonderful time!”

“This is not a very good day for a picnic,” Katherine pointed out, “and I haven’t been invited to any parties.”

“Now that’s not true, Katherine. You know Mrs. Steeves specifically invited you in person just yesterday when she was here for tea. She has a daughter about your age and was kind enough to include you in a gathering in her home. But you, rather rudely I might say, refused.”

“Only because I know Margaret and she doesn’t like me. She would not be pleased to see me in her home.” Katherine didn’t add that Margaret would see to it that the occasion was as wretched as possible for her.

Mrs. Morris pursed her mouth. She was only a few years older than Katherine’s mother, but while Mrs. Harris was still slender and young looking, Mrs. Morris’s waist and hips were thick from all the sweets she ate, and she had the beginnings of a double chin. “And what makes you say such a thing? Margaret is a lovely, gracious girl, and pretty too. I expect she has plenty of friends and admirers even if her parents don’t have money enough to send her to a suitable school. Not with all those boys of theirs who need a proper education.”

Margaret has lots of friends who do her bidding, Katherine thought but could not say. She must not upset Mrs. Morris, who would go running to Mrs. Steeves and tell her everything. Mrs. Steeves would surely tell Margaret, who would find new ways to make Katherine’s school life miserable. “I expect you’re right,” she agreed.

Mrs. Morris took her umbrella from the stand near the door. With one hand on the door handle, she glanced back at Katherine. “Yes, well, I shall be off then.”

Relieved that Mrs. Morris didn’t press the matter, Katherine spent a few more minutes searching the shelves, then hurried upstairs to change her clothes. She would go to Beckley Farm and visit Nugget in spite of the rain.

Sunday morning, Katherine sat in church beside Mrs. Morris. Being early, she used the time to watch people file in. James Douglas, Governor of Vancouver Island and British Columbia, strode down the aisle in his dark suit and high starched collar. His grey hair curled down his neck but was in short supply over his forehead. Thick white sideburns grew almost to his chin. As if he sensed Katherine watching, he turned her way, his face stern, a sad look to his round dark eyes. Beside him walked his wife Amelia, kind-faced and matronly, her black hair mostly hidden by her bonnet. Their two youngest children, James and Martha, followed close behind. And behind them someone else. A tall young woman who looked like – yes, indeed, it was – Emma Curtis! The Douglas family settled in their pew at the front of the church, leaving Katherine to speculate.

It seemed she was right. Emma did not live with her parents at all but with the Douglas family. Since Emma wasn’t one of their daughters, who were all married now except little Martha, Katherine decided she must be a niece. As often happened, Emma likely had been sent from a remote Hudson’s Bay fort to stay with relatives while she completed her schooling at an expensive school for girls.

Still, that didn’t explain why Emma was more free to do as she pleased than other young women who had two parents watching their every move. Katherine studied the back of the governor’s head. From what she knew of him, he was an exacting man who expected all around him to behave with the strictest of etiquette. Which meant any relative living in his care would be held to the highest possible standards.

Katherine’s thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the Steeves family. They settled directly behind her and Mrs. Morris.

“The nerve of that girl!” Mrs. Steeves said in a whisper meant to be overheard. “Imagine turning down an invitation to our home!”

“Katherine Harris has disliked me from the day she arrived, Mama. I suspect she is jealous of our social position.”

“I expect you’re right, dear. Of course, I only invited her out of the goodness of my heart. I felt sorry for the poor, dreary child.”

The service began, and Katherine blocked the two of them from her mind. During the interminable sermon, she fixed her eyes on a church window, hoping for some sign the endless rain had stopped. Finally, as the last hymn began, a glimmer of sunlight sparkled through the glass. Katherine could hardly wait to get out there.

It was mid afternoon before she managed to get away, having told Mrs. Morris that she was going for a walk in the sunshine. Not that Mrs. Morris cared where she went, the only reason the widow allowed Katherine to stay with her at all was to collect the room and board Katherine’s parents paid her.

Katherine had the sidesaddle on Nugget and was bent over to cinch it up when she heard footsteps approaching. She recognized them immediately. The little shuffle, as if her leg hurt, gave Emma away and made Katherine smile to herself. Edward was right: Simply let her alone, allow her to choose her own time, and Emma would soon show an interest in the horse. “Did you bring an apple?”

“No, I...uh, not today.”

Katherine straightened up and reached for the bridle. Should she ask if Emma wanted to try riding today? Would that be pushing her? This girl was far too sensitive for her own good. Katherine had figured that out by now, and so she hesitated to ask any unnecessary questions. Right now Emma was gazing at Nugget with such a faraway look in her eyes Katherine wondered if she saw the horse at all. Emma looked unhappy, and Katherine thought she knew why. “Mr. Bentley tells me you’re going off to start a farm next spring,” she ventured.

Emma blinked. She turned to Katherine with a mixture of surprise and confusion on her face. “I’m considering it,” she said in her slow and guarded way. She turned toward the door, dismissing Katherine.

All right then, Katherine thought, if that’s the way she wants to be, then fine. There was no point in trying to get to know this Emma Curtis, who made it quite plain she had no interest in talking to her. From now on she would simply take care of Nugget and stay clear of this unfriendly girl.

“Has Tall Joe been by here lately?” Emma asked, still eyeing the door.

“Tall Joe?”

“I mean Mr. Bentley. I call him Tall Joe because that’s the name he got up in the Cariboo, where he mined for gold.”

“Oh, I see. The name suits him, don’t you think?”

Emma turned back to Katherine but didn’t reply.

Katherine almost changed her mind then. She almost asked Emma why she would want to leave Victoria and go off to start a farm with this Mr. Bentley, who seemed so gruff. But Nugget chose that moment to paw the ground and snort her impatience.

Emma jumped back.

“Don’t worry, Emma, Nugget is only anxious to get going. She needs a good run.”

Emma watched Katherine lead the horse from the stall. On her walk to the farm today, Emma had considered trying to sit on the horse, in the yard, with no one watching and Katherine holding the reins. But now she changed her mind. She would be daft to climb on such a wild beast, snorting and pawing the ground as it was, and under the control of a girl who seemed to think that great beast should belong to her. Well, but Tall Joe bought the horse and gave it to Emma, whether either girl liked it or not.

At the door, Katherine stopped and looked back. “I have an idea,” she said. “Why don’t I take Nugget for a run on the track at Beacon Hill and come back? Once she has burned up some of her energy, she’ll be much calmer, and you can try riding her.”

Emma walked toward the door, giving herself time to think. This Katherine might be confused, but she did know about horses, and that’s for certain-sure. “I might try it today,” she said, “but I shall follow you to the track. I want to watch the horse gallop and see how you ride without bouncing off on your head.”

“All right then.” Katherine led Nugget to the block and climbed into the saddle. She bent her right leg around the pommel.

Emma stared at that saddle, at Katherine’s right knee twisted around that curved pommel. She felt ill. Her own poor knee ached at the thought of bending so sharply.

Katherine studied her face. “I have a perfectly marvelous idea,” she said. “I don’t expect anyone will be about and I have yet to see a soul on the track at this time of day. So I’m going to take off this sidesaddle and ride the way I find most comfortable.”

She dismounted, led Nugget back inside, tied her reins to a post, and set about switching saddles. “You must promise not to tell,” Katherine said, when she had the new saddle in place.

“I promise,” Emma whispered.

Back at the block, Katherine hitched up her long skirt and swung her leg smoothly over the horse’s back to ride astride. Her full skirt bunched over the horse’s withers and hung down to the tops of her boots. She tapped Nugget with her heels. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

Emma’s stomach twisted in alarm. “Wait!” she cried, raising her hand, desperate to change her mind.

But Katherine trotted off, looking straight ahead, sitting gracefully in the saddle, with its high back and saddle horn at the front. Emma’s hand fell to her side.

She followed in the direction Katherine had gone, wanting with every step to turn around and walk as fast as she could in the other direction. But she would rather die than have that Katherine girl think she was scared. So she continued on, making every effort to disguise her uneven gait. One wrong step and she’d find herself lying in the slippery muck they called a road, and that’s for certain-sure.