Page 9 of Rainshadow

When she arrived, however, she was not greeted with a pack of barking dogs, or the sight of Lisa in the lavender fields, wearing her apron and gloves, smiling and waving as she cut fresh, fragrant sprigs of lovely purple flowers.

There was something cold, dead about the farm now.

Maybe it was the gray weather, maybe it was the fact that Sylvia and Ethan had only just moved in. She went first to the stable, quiet but for the breathing and nickering of the horses. She went out to the arena and found it empty, silent.

Finally, hesitant, she went to the house. She hadn’t wanted to—it felt like a strangely intimate thing to do, and as much as Ethan had charmed her, she felt oddly nervous about seeing him again. He had offered to drive her home the night before, but thelook Sylvia had given her at the suggestion was icy. When she rapped with the bronze, horseshoe door knocker on the heavy wood door, the house remained silent.

She waited anxiously, feeling like she was doing something she shouldn’t even though she knew that wasn’t true. She knocked again, and finally heard shuffling, halting movement. She looked out at the cliffside, close to the house, and shivered as she waited, watching gulls hovering in the updraft.

When Sylvia answered the door, Flora was not prepared for the sight of her. She wore a gunmetal-gray silk robe with black floral embroidery along the lapels and hems, very refined looking and expensive. Otherwise, her hair was unkempt and showed glimpses of harsh silver, and her face, without makeup was sallow, almost yellow, with lavender-sprig purple crescents beneath her tired, unfocused eyes, red at the corners with strained blood vessels. Old,thought Flora, and her face must have betrayed her, because Sylvia smirked a little.

“You woke me. I haven’t put my face on.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. I’m sorry. We didn’t have a time set and I didn’t want to be late.”

“Late for a job I didn’t want to give you?” There was an awkward silence.

“Do you want me to leave and come back?” Sylvia closed her eyes and sighed heavily, like going through this tedious experience once was more than enough.

“What would you do in the mornings when you worked here before?”

“Oh, gosh.” Flora looked over her own shoulder at the stables as though checking to see if it was still there. “I guess I would start by letting the horses out to graze…? I’d lead yours of course if they’re not used to being set loose. Then I’d muck stalls, replace bedding if it needs to be done. Then I would take a horse to the arena for some exercise, work them out until they’dworked up a sweat, then bring them back in for a good brush, spray down, pick hooves, give them a good thorough clean. Then maybe I would help in the garden…? I could cut back your lavender bushes for the winter. Whatever you need.”

Sylvia stared at her without a hint of emotion.

Flora wanted to squirm under her scrutiny, but willed herself to smile and stand firm, faking a confidence she didn’t feel. Sylvia coughed. Was she sick? Flora wondered. She certainly didn’t look well. She thought about Ethan, so young, healthy, and vibrant, and wondered what the two of them had in common. It was obvious Sylvia was much older. She had assumed their relationship was romantic. Were they actually mother and son, or something similar, like aunt and nephew? They certainly hadn’t seemed like it the night before.

“So,” Sylvia began slowly, as if she had all the time in the world, “lead the horses to pasture, muck the stalls. I don’t know if you have the tools to trim the lavender. You can go look in the garden shed.”

“Have you not unpacked your gardening?—”

“I don’t pack or unpack. We hire movers. I don’t know what they did.”

Flora gaped at her. “You don’t know if you have gardening?—”

Sylvia gave her a withering look. “We moved here from England. We got rid of a lot.”

Sylvia had an American accent, so Flora assumed they had met and lived in America. The thought of moving a full household with horses from the UK to the US was astonishing to her. It barely seemed possible.

“Ok, I’ll take care of the horses and go take a look in the shed.”

Flora smiled brightly at Sylvia, knowing she wouldn’t return the smile. It still shocked her when Sylvia shut the door in her face.

The sunlight filtered through low, heavy clouds, and it felt to Flora like it had given up on coming out. Fall days on the island were short, gray, and cool, the same at nine in the morning as two in the afternoon. Flora stepped into the stable feeling a light, sparkling exhilaration. She was alone with horses, her happy place. She found the tack room and slipped a lead from the wall, a coiled blue rope, thick and heavy in her hand. She went to the first occupied stall where a gorgeous, tall velvet-black mare stood, looking at her patiently with large, dark eyes.

“Hi, you,” Flora said, reaching in to run a hand down her long face to her soft, velvety muzzle. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered. She lifted the horse’s halter from a brass hook, polished black with shining silver findings. The nameplate on the cheek said Zeta.

“Zeta,” Flora murmured, slipping the horse’s halter over her large, beautiful head.

She clipped the lead to the halter and led the horse through the stable out to the grazing paddock, slipped open the gate, and released Zeta into the field. The ebony horse broke into a trot, tossing her glossy mane. She was such a beautiful animal that Flora felt an ache at the sight of her. She couldn’t imagine ever affording a horse so beautiful, no matter how hard she worked or what she did. In her fantasy books, something magical would happen that would make everything feel that disconcerting mix of awe and envy. She trudged back to the stable to get the other two horses, Bane and the chestnut brown Mars, who also needed to be put out before she could clean.

She worked for over an hour in the stables, mucking stalls, cleaning feed bins, moving steadily through the dozens of little things that needed to be done. Then she went out to the garden shed, hoping to find a pair of gloves and anything she could use to trim back the lavender, shears or even scissors.

The garden shed was pristine, the glass skylight flooded with the gray diffused morning light. She’d been inside of it many times, but now it felt, even smelled, different, like mildew instead of fresh-turned soil.

There were three crates labeled “tools” in handwritten black wax pencil. That could mean anything. Two of them looked like they hadn’t been opened in a hundred years. It was obvious that the new owners of Rainshadow weren’t enthusiastic gardeners.

She felt a moment of irritation at the thought of rich, snobby Sylvia buying a farm with such beautiful gardens she didn’t even care about. She had often fantasized about what she would do differently with the sprawling gardens if she were the owner, but she chased the thought from her mind. She didn’t really know Sylvia. She certainly seemed rich and snobby, but she was Flora’s employer now, and she needed to try to get along. Thinking bitter thoughts about her was not going to make that any easier.

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