by Xanthe Opaline
‘Come on Harlan, you can do better than that.’ Xanthe grinned back at the boy running behind her, sweating and gasping. Xanthe was breathing easy and trying not to run too fast for Harlan’s chubby little legs. He looked up and smiled at her - minus two front teeth. She leaped over a log in her path, risking a glance ahead of her, the thought forever in her mind that she would probably step in a rabbit hole and twist her ankle. The house was only about a hundred feet away, big and intimidating. It reminded her of the father she remembered fondly, if faintly. He had never intimidated her, no one had, and he had always been gentle and paternal with her and her brother.
‘De, wait up,’ Harlan moaned loudly.
Xanthe slowed her jogging down and waited for his plump legs and red face to draw level with her long slender legs. ‘You O.K Harlan?’
He nodded, his lips tight together. They didn’t talk for the remainder of the run. Xanthe was afraid that he might collapse of too short breath if he said anything. When the reached the house he propped his rear end against the stone wall and placed his hand’s on his knee’s, leaning over and panting. After a few minutes of recovery he turned to Xanthe, who had suffered no ill effects from the long run. ‘What now?’
She considered her reply carefully, she didn’t want Harlan to kill himself with training, but she didn’t want to offend him by going easy on him either.
‘Miss, Miss!’
Xanthe turned quickly, anticipating a worried neighbour with a sick family member. It was her head footman; his hat held tightly on his head by one hand the other hand was grasping a telegram. He collapsed at her feet, breathless and handed her the piece of paper. Xanthe delicately took the message and read it; her face grew as pale as her horse’s coat. She looked up. The note fluttered to the ground turning over and over as it went. She moved her swirling eyes to Harlan, watching fearfully from the wall, spread-eagled vertically against the bricks. ‘Go home Harlan, go.’
He stumbled, watching her anxiously over his shoulder as he made his way back to his parent’s cottage. Xanthe scooped up the innocent white scrap and walked shakily up to the house.Xanthe grabbed hold of the banister and clutched the letter to her stomach. Damn him, She thought angrily. He just had to didn’t he? Xanthe’s brother had been struck down by a speeding wagon and was currently being healed. However he was sinking fast into a coma and kept on muttering Xanthe’s name, asking her to come. After she had gotten over the initial fear and shock anger had taken over. She hated this. She hated her brother for the feeling of guilt and obligation in her gut. She loved her brother, of course, but this could not have come at a worse time. She had wanted to continue training Harlan; he needed it desperately if he hoped to win the race at the annual festival. But she was going to go. She had to. He was her only family and if he went into a coma she would have to take over the family business. Something she definitely didn’t want to do. Her maid was packing her bag and her stewards were saddling Satine. She had informed her maid to pack only breeches. Her maid had looked shocked that she would wear breeches to the city but had obliged at Xanthe’s wide-eyed ferocious glare.
Xanthe turned to the spiralling metal staircase behind her and strode up it too her room. She pushed open the door and sat politely on a chair, waiting for her plump faithful maid to conclude with the packing of the simple wardrobe she had chosen. The maid, Gwendolyn, was taking care to pick out the best looking of all the shirts, breeches and coats. Most of the packed items were silk, un-practical, but she knew Gwen would become sulky and stubborn if she complained. Gwen carefully tied and buttoned the bug, making sure the knots held fast by tugging brutally at the sides. She turned the bag over in her hands for a while before passing it to Xanthe.
‘Be careful Miss,’ she whispered, her eyes shimmering. She turned away quickly to straighten the quilt that was as orderly as everything else that Gwen touched. Xanthe didn’t know what everyone was so sad about; she would be back as soon as her brother became better, soon hopefully. She turned to the door with a cheery goodbye and galloped down the stairs. Out in the courtyard it wasn’t much better. She jumped onto her horse and trotted over to the gate. She turned Satine alongside the iron bars as the gate slowly raised. She gave the stewards and guards a sarcastic salute and rode out without a second glance.
These graphics are from
Story Text © Xanthe Opaline
© Lady Star 2002
