Page 10 of Rainshadow

Anyway, anyone who loved horses could not be truly bad.

The wooden crates were tied with stiff, brittle hemp rope. Flora loosened them effortfully, struggling to untie a knot that seemed to have been tied thirty years before. She tossed the rope aside and opened the wooden trunk. The inside smelled like a very old house, and inside, there was a clutter of gardening tools, packed haphazardly, as though in a rush, then forgotten about for who knows how many years.

She rifled through mismatched cracks leather gloves, rusty serrated knives, wood- handled spades that looked a hundred years old, clawed trowels with dirt still clinging that was now really just dust. Finally she found a pair of bulky shears. They weren’t sharp, but they would work.

Before she closed the box, though, something caught her attention—a tied fabric bundle with a floral print—pink roses.Flora unrolled it and found that it was a beautiful, well-loved apron with a cross-stitched embroidery monogram in red.

Agatha.

It was an old name that she had always been fond of. The apron was beautiful, and obviously no one was missing it, so she slipped it on. Then, putting the shears into the pocket, she set out to cut back the already overgrown lavender.

6

It was after noon when Sylvia finally emerged from the house.

Flora watched, kneeling, in the lavender fields, as she crossed to collect Mars from the grazing paddock. He came to her right away, unusual for such a spirited horse, and Flora watched Sylvia run her hands over his smooth velvet muzzle and lean in to kiss him, as tenderly as a mother kissing a child. She clipped a lead to his halter, but he barely seemed to need it, so eager was he to trot alongside Sylvia, who patted his haunch as she closed the paddock gate and led him away.

Flora tried to get back to work, but she was distracted by thoughts of Sylvia, who didn’t seem to be worried about her at all. It made sense that Sylvia was so devoted to her horses. She didn’t seem to like people very much, and Flora doubted very many people liked her.

She went back to methodically cutting the lavender, which needed to be trimmed into tight bunches before winter. She worked, hunched over, listening to the rhythmic pounding of Bane’s heavy hooves as Sylvia worked with him in the training arena. Flora felt, again, that flicker of envy, bitter that someone as unpleasant as Sylvia would have such beautiful horses, a perfect house, and a handsome, rich husband. She reflectedthat perhaps it was Sylvia who was rich—that would explain the younger husband, anyway.

She tried to stop thinking about it.

She noticed, as the afternoon sun blazed across the last of the late autumn sky, a small, ugly little car rolling up the driveway, and two people getting out. A man and a woman. The man wore a white coat, and the woman lifted a vacuum from the trunk of the car. A chef, Flora figured, and a cleaner. She didn’t recognize them.

When she was done with the lavender, she returned the shears to the garden shed, ate a peanut butter sandwich she’d brought for her late lunch, and, feeling quite anxious, went to find Sylvia. She found her in the tack room, putting Mars’s bridle away after her ride.

“Hi… Hey…” she said, and Sylvia clearly startled, but recovered quickly. At the sight of Flora, her eyes widened and all the color drained from her face.

“Where did you get that apron?”

“Oh, uh.” Flora looked down at the old apron. “I found it. In the garden shed.”

“Take it off,” Sylvia nearly gasped. She looked like she was struggling to breathe. “I don’t care what you do with it, but I never want to see it again.”

“I’m really sorry, I?—”

“I don’t care,” Sylvia snapped, her voice so high she was yelling. “Why are you so… craven?” Sylvia made a mocking impression of Flora. “Uh… h-h-hi uh, I’m sorry… So sorry…Pathetic!” Sylvia slammed a lead rope onto a hook, making Flora jump.

“I-I’m sorry—” Flora started again.

“Oh my god, shutup!” Sylvia sounded extremely exasperated, but Flora didn’t know what else to do but continue to apologize.

“I really didn’t mean to?—”

“Just take it off!”

Flora rushed to take the apron off and tucked it behind her while Sylvia regained her composure. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. Flora noticed a vein throbbing in her forehead and lavender circles that looked like bruises under her eyes.

“Are you done for the day?” Sylvia finally asked, turning to Flora as though she had not screamed at her.

“Oh, uh… you never gave me a schedule.”

“Neither did I willingly hire you,” Sylvia said slowly, like she was speaking to an idiot. “You can leave whenever you want.”

“Is there anything else you need me to do? If you show me where you keep the feed, I can feed them all and get them back in from grazing.”

“And if I show you how to feed them,” Sylvia said, “you won’t come knocking on my door in the morning? You’ll get straight to work?”

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