Ширли Мерфи: The Grass Tower

She pushed back the lace curtain and stared out the window; the morning was white with fog; she could hear the horn from the point. The sea would be muffled and the dunes would be lovely, she could take a thermos and— Oh, she wished for Ollie suddenly. He had died a year ago, when she was fourteen, a quiet death in his sleep. Aunt Bett, to Bethany’s surprise, had let her dig him a grave under the apple tree in the back yard. And Aunt Bett had shed a tear for him, which had moved Bethany more than anything else could have.

She wished for Ollie to be with her, and for the pony, Joey, with a longing that made her feel desolate. Yet a hope rose within her. There was Mr. Grady to see today. She thrust the thought aside, not daring to encourage herself.

“Hurry up, Bethany, you always make us late,” Aunt Bett called. “It’s the same every Sunday, child. You don’t see Marylou and Colin dawdling.” Colin scowled and made a face behind Aunt Bett’s back, and when he opened his closet door—he had the big hall closet because he didn’t have any bedroom—Bethany caught a glimpse of the blue flier from the Church of the Zagdesha sticking out of a pocket.

Walking to church through the fog, Colin led them by way of the main street and Aunt Selma’s church, and Aunt Bett didn’t seem to notice until they were right on it. Colin and Bethany and Marylou lagged behind to peer in. Aunt Selma was there all right, wearing blue jeans and a smock, of all things … and painting red symbols on a long length of black cloth that was spread across a table. Some cans of paint stood by a stack of wooden benches, and the door had been painted red and was sticky when Bethany touched it. When Aunt Bett came back to hurry them on, she said little, but she was tight-lipped, furious that Selma was in there on Sunday.

Bethany wondered why Selma was doing it, really why. She climbed the church steps deep in thought, wondering what Selma imagined would happen when the Church of the Zagdesha started having seances. Did Selma really think some kind of spirit would appear? Then she turned her attention back to this church, to the white satin altar covers and the rack of votive candles flaming red and yellow near the pulpit; she sighed softly, and filed in between the benches behind Colin.

The church smelled of damp wool and varnish, and the kneeling rail was cold and hard. Bethany’s red hair caught uncomfortably on the itching navy crepe. She made no attempt at all to hear the mass. She rose when everyone rose, sat down with the rest, and knelt when Colin, next to her, knelt. But her mind was out in the fog, swimming in the fog-shrouded sea, then galloping a phantom horse along the wet shore. To ride in the fog again, to have a horse again—she savored the hope she had thrust aside in her mind, hardly daring to believe it could happen. But maybe Mr. Grady would take her.

She had met Reid Young when she was coming from the store last night, had almost run into him so that he caught her unbalanced grocery bag and grinned down at her. “Hey, Bethany, come have a coke, I want to talk to you.” And, when they had ordered, “I never see you at school except a mile down the hall, and you haven’t been to the stables since—”

“Since Mr. Grady sold Joey,” Bethany said. “I guess that’s stupid, isn’t it. I’d grown too big for him anyway, only—”

“Only you miss him,” Reid said.

“Is that dumb?”

“No, it’s not dumb. But why don’t you come back, other horses aren’t the same, but—listen, Bethany, I’m only working for Mr. Grady weekends. I’ve got a job with Mr. Hickby after school and part of the summer building that house on the hill. Joe Roberts is quitting the stables, and Mr. Grady needs some help for the summer. That was why I wanted to see you.”

“Me? You’re asking me? Would Mr. Grady hire a girl?”

“You’ve worked for him before.”

“But only just for rides, not all the time. Won’t he want a boy? With muscles?”

“Guys don’t care about horses. They fool around too much.”

“Did he tell you to ask me? Did he say I could work for him?”

“He said to look round for someone, and I said I thought you’d do. He said he’d think about it. Why don’t you go see him?”

“Yes. Oh, I will. Right now. Oh,” she had stared at the grocery bag then, “Aunt Bett has dinner almost ready, she’ll … in the morning I will, after church.”

When mass was ended at last, she made herself move slowly up the aisle; but finally she was through the door behind Aunt Bett, who began at once to talk to dowdy Mrs. Clay. The fog had thickened, it lapped at the steps like a sea. Bethany pulled at Aunt Bett’s arm, interrupting her rudely. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to the stables for a minute …”

“In your good clothes? Can’t you take time to change, it’s so damp and cold, you …”

“No,” she cried and was gone.

When the dark barn loomed out of the fog suddenly, she was quite close to it, and the lights in the alleyway made yellow fuzzy circles. She could see Mr. Grady and Reid, dark shadows, moving about saddling horses for a class. Bethany went in and began to help them, in her dress.

The horses snorted, blowing their noses in the dampness and eyeing the fog-shrouded world with some suspicion, horses warm and gently nuzzling and rich with the heady horse smell of clean, grain-fed animals, horses as loving and familiar as if she had been in the barn every day, and never had left it at all. When they were done saddling, Mr. Grady gave her a wink, making no comment about the dress, but waiting silently for her to have her say. He was a small wiry man. She had never seen him without a hat on.

“I came for the job, for Joe Robert’s job,” she said anxiously.

He looked her over then. “You’ve grown some. Can you still pitch hay?”

“Yes! Oh yes!”

“Well I guess I could try you, Bethany. You can work weekends until school’s out. Then if you’re all right, every day but Monday and Tuesday. That suit you?”

She paused, afraid to ask about the riding.

“And ride weekday afternoons whenever there’s a horse,” he added, grinning. “Reid, take her out to Danny and see if he likes her.”

Reid led her to the paddock and whistled. There was a nicker and the pounding of hooves, then a flying shape appeared in the fog, jerking to a halt and snorting. The pony thrust a demanding nose at Reid, expecting sugar and, finding none, tried to bite him. He was a bay, about thirteen hands, and stood jauntily.

“He’s spoiled,” Reid said. “He’s here for mannering; the little girl can’t handle him. Barn sour, nasty. He’s too little for me, you’ll have to ride him.” The pony stuck his nose at Bethany and pulled back his lips. But his big dark eyes looked at her appraisingly, and when she stepped back, he continued to watch her with interest.

She went away enchanted.

But after Sunday dinner, after the dishes were done and Colin and Marylou had gone off somewhere, she was reluctant to tell Aunt Bett—to ask Aunt Bett. She felt she would die if Aunt Bett refused her. And after she had told her, she could not be still but kept on arguing in favor of the job until Aunt Bett held up a restraining hand and sighed crossly. “All right, yes all right, Bethany. But I wish you’d asked me first.”

“But I didn’t know if he’d take me, Aunt Bett.” If she had asked first and then Mr. Grady had turned her down, it would have been something for Aunt Bett to hold over her, she felt, something so later Aunt Bett could say, about something else, “You couldn’t do that, no, no one would take you, no one would want you—”

“You could have just come to me and said you wanted to get a job. I don’t think that stable is the best place in the world. I should think that the library or one of the shops—”