The Downstairs Girl by Stacey Lee

Author:Stacey Lee
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2019-08-12T16:00:00+00:00

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ASIDE FROM THE apprehensive stutter of my heart, the cogs of the Payne Estate are running smoothly. Nature’s groundskeepers—the chickens—scratch and fertilize the grass, while the hired groundskeepers trim branches and repair fences. Squirrels run patrol over their trees.

A group of men that includes Jed Crycks and Merritt watch Johnny Fortune ride the defiant Arabian across an expanse of pasture. The jockey shows Ameer his whip. “This is what you’ll get next time you go lazy in the lead,” he yells, his voice high and whiny. Ameer snaps at the whip.

In front of the stables, Mrs. Payne leans over the corral fence, where Sweet Potato and a few other horses are kicking around a ball blown from a sheep’s bladder. There’s a crane-like gracefulness to her slender figure, a breathless hovering as if she might fly away if I approach too quickly. On the other side of the corral, Old Gin oils a saddle with even strokes of his skinny arms.

Mrs. Payne doesn’t acknowledge my presence. It’s as if her eyes have turned inward, and instead of watching the horses, she’s watching another scene evolve in her mind.

When I am two paces away, her gaze finally drifts to mine. In the streaky light filtering through her straw bonnet, she is as hard to read as vapor, unlike Caroline, who hangs her wet feelings around her. “That Sweet Potato sure has legs on her. Old Gin has done an excellent job.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She lifts her petal-like cheeks to a cloud, adjusting the rim of her hat to shield her eyes from the glare. “She reminds me of another filly I used to have, Savannah Joy, named for the city in which she was born.” She speaks slowly, as if reading the words from a faded page. “She was a beauty, just like her mama. From the sweet curve of her cheek to the nap of her hair, you could see the hand of God in her shaping. Good-natured, too. A good nature can make or break a horse, not just in a race, but in life.” The trace of a smile tugs at her face.

“What happened to Savannah Joy?”

“They made me give her up.” Her fingers twist her gold ring. “I wept every night for a year.”

Why would Mrs. Payne’s parents make their only daughter give up a filly with whom she was so smitten, especially when they were in the business of horse breeding? It makes no sense. But then, trying to understand Mrs. Payne is like trying to unfold a wet newspaper, impossible to do without tearing the pages.

We warm in the afternoon sun, watching the horses, and I wonder if the reason Mrs. Payne called me out here was to tell me about her lost filly and nothing more. But then she sweeps a hand in front of her as if clearing away fog and says, “How are your rides with Caroline going?”

“Fine, ma’am.”

“You’re not letting her out of your sight, are you?”

Merritt pops into my head, the only one who could expose my lie.

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