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“Unlike some people I know, I mind my own business.”
She touched a finger to her lips as she pressed them together, then pointed at him. “You know what? You’re right. It’s none of my business if you shun your own family, but in the end, you are the one who is going to suffer.”
The sound of horses approaching at a rapid trot heralded the return of the troop. Avery took a step closer to her. “Do you charge for your advice, Dr. Jenny? I hope not, because it isn’t worth anything.”
Jennifer drew a deep breath to keep from making another comment. No matter what she said, he would always find a way to have the last word at her expense.
She spun on her heels and marched to her truck. Trying to help Avery had been a total waste of time.
Avery started to go after Jennifer and apologize, but stopped himself. It was better to let her believe he was a complete jerk. That way she wouldn’t be tempted to interfere again. She was better off staying out of his family feud. His grandfather might pass himself off as a caring old man, but Avery knew better.
Edmond wasn’t above using anyone or anything to gain the upper hand. He had certainly proved that to Avery beyond a shadow of a doubt.
Yet the old man still possessed the ability to make Avery feel worthless and insignificant.
No one could live up to the expectations his grandfather had set. Avery had given up trying years ago. It wasn’t until he saw his grandfather again today that Avery realized he still cared what Edmond thought of him.
As the column of riders approached the stable yard, a jeep stopped on the roadway in front of them and a young corporal got out. Captain Watson reined his horse to a halt beside him as the rest of the unit continued on. The corporal saluted, handed the captain a thick envelope, then jumped in the jeep and drove off.
The previously quiet stable became a hive of activity around Avery as the group dismounted and led their animals into their stalls. The men’s jovial chatter, the eager nickering of hungry mounts and the clatter of iron shod hooves on the old cobblestone floors brought the stable to life as it had for more than a century.
Although Avery would never admit it out loud, he was proud of his part in keeping the cavalry’s heritage alive. He loved the unit and all it stood for. The army had been good to him.
Captain Watson rode up, dismounted and handed the reins to Avery. “Tell the men to gather in the ready room. We have new orders.”
“Yes, sir.” Avery saluted and led the captain’s horse into the barn where he passed the word, then rubbed down and stabled the captain’s mount.
Twenty minutes later, the sixteen soldiers of the Commanding General’s Mounted Color Guard were seated in gray folding chairs in a small meeting room at one end of the barn. They rose to their feet when Captain Watson walked in.
“Take your seats, men. As most of you know, the American Cavalry Competition is being held at Fort Riley this year and we’ve just received permission to participate.”
A cheer went up from the group. Grinning, the captain motioned for silence. “We also have three major performances scheduled during the next few weeks. That means a lot of travel for some of you, but I’m confident that this year we’re going to bring the Sheridan’s Cup back where it belongs. To the home of America’s cavalry!”
Avery observed the buzz of excitement in the group with mild amusement. The chance for the CGMCG to showcase their skills and outshine the unit that had won last year’s contest had them trash-talking like a pumped up high school football squad.
“Okay, men,” the captain continued. “This isn’t just about beating the socks off the Fort Humphrey boys. We’ll be facing police mounted units, National Guard mounted units and quite a few re-enactor units in the Platoon Drill event.
“All of you are free to enter the individual riding classes. They include Mounted Saber, Mounted Pistol, Military Horsemanship and Military Field Jumping. A plaque will also be awarded for the outstanding horse at the competition.”
“It should go to Dakota,” Lee suggested.
Captain Watson smiled. “Dakota has certainly earned a special place in this unit, but I’m not sure he is up to performing at such a high level. Dr. Cutter will give us his opinion on that soon.”
Avery had been riding Dakota in the various parades and performances where jumping and rapid stops weren’t required, but he suspected the horse was strong enough to compete.
Shuffling through the papers in his hand, the captain found the one he was seeking. “Winners of the individual events will be invited to compete in a combination test of skills for the Sheridan Cup. Besides the silver trophy and a one thousand dollar cash prize, the winner will have his name added to the bronze plaque displayed in the U.S. Cavalry Memorial Research Library. I don’t need to tell you that Command is hoping it will be a Fort Riley soldier this year.”
Captain passed out the entry forms to the men crowding around him and then dismissed the group. Avery rose and left the building. He had just reached his car when he heard Captain Watson call his name. Turning, he saw his commander approaching holding out a sheet of paper. “Aren’t you going to enter?”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
The captain pressed his lips together and frowned. “The Sheridan Cup carries a lot of prestige for the brass here. You are better than anyone I’ve ever seen with a saber and just as good as most with a pistol. I think you could win.”
Taken aback by the praise, Avery found himself at a loss for words. In the back of his mind he heard his grandfather’s voice telling him he’d never amount to anything. Yet here was his captain, a man he admired, telling him he believed he could win the most coveted prize in the modern cavalry.
“I can’t order you to enter the individual classes,” the captain continued, “but I’m asking you to do it for the honor of this company.”
What if he entered and failed to win?
His grandfather would expect him to fail.
According to him, I fail at everything except spending money. So why do I still care what he thinks? I’m not a failure.
He did care what his captain and the men in the unit thought of him. Could he face disappointing them? “I’ll think about it, sir.”
“Let me know by tomorrow. Dakota is assigned to you, but you can pick another horse for the competition if Dr. Cutter doesn’t think Dakota should participate.”
Lee, who had been waiting nearby, came over after the captain walked away. “Are you going to enter?”
“I said I’d think about it.”
“You can enter, but don’t plan on winning.”
Avery cocked his head to the side. “And why is that?”
“I’ve seen a couple of the riders from the National Guard Volunteers in action. You’ll be outclassed.”
“You just heard the captain say that I’m the best he’s ever seen with a saber.”
“Oh, I agree, but that’s only a quarter of the overall score. You might be as good with a pistol as those boys, but they’ll ride you into the dirt in Military Horsemanship. That’s like dressage and no offence, but you stink at that.”
“Okay, my fancy riding could use some work. You seem to know so much about it, why don’t you give me a few lessons?”
“Me? I’m worse than you are. You need someone who really knows how to work with you and your horse.”
Avery glanced at the men leaving the building. “So which of the guys in the unit is better?”
Lee shoved his hands in his pockets. “I hate to say it, but most of us are pretty average.”
Exasperated, Avery said, “All right, you go to horse shows all the time. Who’s the best in this area? Who can I get a few pointers from?”
Lee burst out laughing.
Avery scowled at him. “What’s so funny?”
Controlling his mirth with difficulty, Lee managed to say, “Jennifer Grant is the best dressage rider in the area, but from what I’ve seen, she isn’t going to give you the time of day.”
Chapter Four
I t was almost dark by the time Jennifer turned into the gravel drive that led to her family’s double-wide mobile home on their twenty acres outside Dutton. To her relief she saw her mother’s green-and-white pickup and horse trailer sitting in front of their small barn. She had been half afraid that her mother wouldn’t be home yet.
The front stoop light came on and Lizzie, followed by twelve-year-old Toby and eight-year-old Ryan, piled out of the door to race toward her. She stopped beside the chain link fence that surrounded their tiny overgrown yard and rolled down her window.
“I smell pizza,” Toby shouted as he pulled open the gate.
Picking up the warm cardboard box from the seat beside her, Jennifer passed it out the window to her eager siblings.
Lizzie took the box, holding it over her head to keep Toby from grabbing it. “I told you she would win.”
Toby snatched the box from his sister’s hand. “I hope it’s pepperoni.”
Lizzie snatched it back. “I hope it’s cheese.”
“Be careful or it will be a dirt pizza,” Jennifer warned, but the two of them were already on their way into the house.
Ryan, the youngest and quietest of the Grant kids, looked up at Jennifer. “Did you win?”
She gave him a tired smile. “I won the dressage class.”
“But not the jumping class?”
“No.”
“Why? Did McCloud miss some jumps?”
“I wish I could blame him, but the truth is, I didn’t get there in time to enter.”
“Oh.” He shoved his hands in the pocket of his jeans and kicked at a bit of gravel with the toe of his shoe. “I guess that means you didn’t win enough to get me a new bike.”
“No. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I only won enough to cover the money I spent to enter, the pizza and feed for the horses.” Jennifer stepped out and began walking to the back of the trailer.
Ryan followed her. “That’s okay. I don’t really need it. It’s almost winter anyway.”
She wanted to hug him, but she knew he wouldn’t appreciate the gesture. He hadn’t been able to go dirt bike riding with his friends since their mother had accidentally run over his bicycle. Jennifer knew he missed hanging out with his buddies, but there were so many other things the family needed first.
“You should go inside before your brother eats your slices of pizza.”
“I’m not hungry. Can I help you put your stuff away?”
“Sure. You get the saddle and pad and I’ll take McCloud. I almost forgot to mention that Dr. Cutter has asked me to keep Isabella for a few day.”
His eyes lit up. “Really? That’s great. She’s a cool rabbit, but won’t Mom be upset? She got kind of mad when Isabella was here last time.”
He stood aside as Jennifer backed her horse out of the trailer. “Mom was just upset because Isabella liked to run in and out of her long skirts and chew on the lace. We’ll keep Isabella in her cage when Mom is in one of her costumes.”
“Maybe we should keep her in the barn.”
Jennifer stopped and looked down at him. “Mom or the rabbit?”
Ryan’s mouth fell open, then he started to laugh and Jennifer grinned, too.
Ten minutes later, they finished putting McCloud out into the pasture with Lollypop, their mother’s black mare. The two horses greeted each other with soft whinnies. Soon they moved off and began grazing together as the last golden rays of sunlight faded from the western sky.
When Jennifer and Ryan entered the house, she sent him to wash up. Lizzie and Toby were sitting on the worn blue sofa in front of the TV. The pizza box, with two small slices remaining, sat open on the kitchen table.
Jennifer washed up at the kitchen sink, then put both slices in the microwave. When Ryan returned, she handed him the plate and a glass of milk. He took it and joined his brother and sister on the couch.
Jennifer settled for a glass of milk and the last apple in the vegetable drawer. After tossing the empty pizza box in the trash, she retrieved her textbooks from her room and returned to the table to study.
A few minutes later, Jennifer looked up as Mary Grant came out of her bedroom and entered the kitchen. Her mother was wearing one of her 1850s-style dresses, a deep blue and white plaid cotton dress with a full skirt over layers of white petticoats.
“Oh, good, you’re home,” Mary said, turning around. “Can you hook me?”
“Are you going out like that?”
“The historical society is meeting at the Dutton mansion in Old Towne tonight.”
“So?” Old Towne was a collection of log cabins, restored businesses and homes from the early 1850s. The Dutton mansion was a simple two-story house with pretentious white columns supporting a small balcony across the front of the building. It was the town historical society’s fondest hope that they could turn the area into a profitable tourist attraction.
“Really, Jennifer. You know as an employee of Old Towne I can’t go onto the property unless I’m in period dress. I am, after all, Henrietta Dutton. I’m not about to greet visitors to my home in anything but my freshest gown.”
Jennifer tugged on the tight bodice and began fastening the long row of hooks down the back of the garment. “It seems kind of silly to dress up when there won’t be any tourists to see you.”
“Perhaps, but this keeps me in the spirit of my role. I can practice greeting important people with the grace and charm of a southern belle.”
Jennifer fastened the last hook. “Don’t you think you’re carrying this a little far?”
Her mother spun around and flipped open a fan suspended from her wrist by a silken cord. “Of course not, darling,” she drawled as she fluttered the dark blue silk and ivory fan beside her face. “I’m simply enjoying my job. Wait until you see my performance on Founder’s Day. This year, for the first time ever, we are staging a stunning re-enactment of Henrietta Dutton’s charge up Dutton Heights. I get goose bumps just thinking about it.”
Snapping shut her accessory, Mary lifted her skirts with both hands and headed for the door. “I won’t be back until late, so don’t wait up. Thank goodness I don’t have to wear a hoop under this thing. I’d never be able to drive in it. But I do wish I had a carriage to ride in. It would so much more appropriate to arrive in a horse-drawn buggy than in my truck.”
As her mother departed in a flurry of petticoats, Jennifer glanced to where her brothers and sister sat on the sofa. They were all watching her with various degrees of concern on their faces.
Lizzie said, “It’s tough enough being the brainy girl in school. Having a mother who thinks she is Betsy Ross on top of that is the pits.”
“Mom does get a bit carried away,” Jennifer admitted.
Toby rose and brought his empty plate to the sink. “Carried away? Our mother is a nut case. She knows more about old Colonel Dutton and his weirdo wife than they did. Who cares what was happening in 1859, anyway?”
Their mother’s passion for re-enacting the past sometimes seemed to border on an obsession, but Jennifer felt the need to defend her.
“If it wasn’t for Mom’s respect for the history of our town and her determination to save our heritage, Henrietta Dutton’s deeds of valor would be forgotten.”
“And the town council wouldn’t have an excuse to hold a money-making festival every year and exploit mother’s zeal, not to mention her time and energy,” Lizzie added.
“When did you get to be such a cynic?” Jennifer asked.
“Between your job and school and riding, I’m the only one left to listen to her grand schemes to expand the widow Dutton’s ride into a national event.”
