Saratoga Sunrise (4 page)

"Thank you, Mr. Reed," Bea said to the waiter, who again bowed. Then she addressed Jack. "I am Beatrix Bishop. You must be Mr. Summers. I am glad you were able to accept my invitation. Do sit down."

# # #

Sara felt her face flush when Jack Summers appeared at their table and smiled at her. She couldn't help but notice how dashing and masculine he looked in dinner attire. She tried not to stare at him as Aunt Trixie explained that she'd sent a messenger to the stable, inviting Jack to dine with them.

Mr. Reed started to pull out an empty chair, but Jack waved him off. "That's not necessary. I can get it. Thank you." The headwaiter bowed, then sharply turned and left.

Jack smiled at Sara as he took the seat across the table from her instead of the other chair. "Thank you for the invitation, Miss...er...Mrs. Bishop," he said to her aunt.

"It's Beatrix, but please call me Bea. We are not very formal when we are at the Springs."

Jack nodded, then turned to Sara. "Miss Peterson, how are you feeling?"

Sara's heart beat wildly as she stared at the elegantly dressed man. At the same time, she realized that had he been wearing his work clothes just then, she would have found him just as appealing. He was boldly handsome and striking, clearly a man whose mere presence commanded the attention of every female in the room.

"I never was ill, Mr. Summers." She could have kicked herself for sounding so snippy. She was just so nervous that the right words wouldn't come.

"I'm sorry if I offended you, Miss Peterson, I just remembered that earlier at the train, you–"

"I-I..."

Thankfully, Aunt Trixie interrupted before Sara made more of a fool of herself. "Mr. Summers, I invited you to dinner, so we could thank you for what you did for our Sara. We are ever so grateful, aren't we Bond?"

Bond stood up and reached over the table to shake Jack's hand. Jack hesitated, then rose from his seat and clasped Bond’s hand in return. They both sat down.

"Dinner wasn't necessary. I was glad I was able to assist Miss Peterson," Jack said.

"Please, let's not be so formal. Let's call each other by our first names," Bea said.

Sara glanced suspiciously at her aunt. Aunt Trixie only smiled back. Vaguely, she heard the others talking about Seawind and the upcoming races, but she couldn't help stealing glances at Jack. She wondered why he seemed so reluctant to be around her father. And she wondered what Aunt Trixie was up do. Was she matchmaking?

All too soon, a familiar voice woke her out of her reverie.

"What is that groom doing at this table?"

Sara jumped, startled at Monty's tone. His face, usually a gray color, was flushed with anger.

"I invited him, Monty," Aunt Trixie said in a tone that dared him to challenge her. "I request that you be more courteous to our dinner guests. And you are late. Explain yourself."

Sara hid a smile behind her gloves.

"I-I apologize," Montague stuttered. "I was...tied up...at the stables. Bravo Joe arrived on the late afternoon train. I was directing my staff as to how I wish him to be handled."

"I won't introduce you to Jack, since you both met earlier," Bond said.

Jack stood and offered his hand in friendship. Monty stared at Jack's hand in obvious distaste, and did not take it. Sara held her breath and Aunt Trixie gasped beside her. Jack's blue eyes were full of mirth as he continued to hold out his hand. Finally, Monty relented, but only after he noticed everyone staring at him in shock.

A booming voice with a French accent distracted Sara from the reoccurring disgust she felt whenever she looked at Montague.

"It is true! My little friend Sara is here. Mr. Tompkins told me you were arriving today. I made a very special menu this evening just for you."

"Chef Morris! How nice to see you! I hoped you have a lot of dishes prepared. I am very hungry.” She pretended to sniff the air.

Chef Morris laughed and clapped his hands in delight. "How I've missed you and your wonderful appetite, Sara Peterson! We'll talk later. I must get back to work. I shall expect a report from you later on my cooking. Oui?"

"Oui."

"Try my Frog Legs Cardinal and the Russian turnips, although you will like the veal and the lamb, I am sure." He kissed his fingers and raised them into the air. "I will see that you get all of them, ma cherie." The rotund man patted Sara's shoulder, smiled at the others, and plodded away.

"All of them?" Jack asked, looking at Sara in amusement.

"All of them," Sara stated.

Bond shrugged. "My daughter likes to try different foods."

"And she doesn't gain a pound," Aunt Trixie added.

"It is quite strange," Montague said flatly, looking at Sara as if she had sprouted two heads. "Do you think that such an appetite is appropriate? Maybe Sara needs to be examined by a physician."

"It's appropriate for Sara, but not for you Fordice." Jack chuckled. "Seems like you could stand to lose a few pounds. Maybe you should stop after the first course every evening."

Monty looked like he was ready to explode into a rage, as everyone laughed. Sara particularly enjoyed Jack's joke and was charmed that he came to her defense.

Just as Monty was about to say something, a bell rang and the waiters filed out. Course after magnificent course was served, all elegantly prepared. For two hours they dined and conversed, all except for Montague, who sulked, and Sara who tried to participate in the conversation, but was nervous in Jack's presence for some reason. She didn't eat as much as she usually could have, and knew she grinned like a fool throughout the meal.

After desserts of eclairs, whortleberry pie, peach meringue tarts and tea, they took the customary promenade around the lighted courtyard to walk off the sumptuous dinner.

Aunt Trixie turned toward Jack and Sara. "You young people go ahead. I have something I wish to discuss with Bond and Monty."

Sara was rooted to the ground as Jack shifted his weight uncomfortably beside her. Monty looked as though he was going to erupt like an angry volcano.

"Run along. We'll catch up with you." Aunt Trixie shooed them away with her hands.

Sara looked up shyly at Jack. He bowed slightly and offered her the crook of his arm. She took it, and a rush of excitement went through her. His muscles flexed under the soft fabric of his coat. She could smell the scent of sweet grass on him. Vetiver hair tonic, she decided. Trying not to limp, she steadied herself and concentrated, but her leg was stiff from sitting.

In an embarrassing moment, her hip banged into him and she stopped. Looking away, she held on to the nearest pillar, trying to calm her fluttering stomach.

# # #

"I'm sorry," she said.

Jack turned to her, puzzled. "What are you sorry for?" He looked into the vibrant, violet eyes of the lovely woman at his side and tender feelings coursed through him. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off her all evening. Matter of fact, she crept into his thoughts constantly since their meeting at the railroad station.

"I am sorry that I am walking so...awkwardly."

"I hadn't noticed," he lied. "Just relax and we'll go slower and enjoy the beautiful evening."

When she smiled at him, he felt invincible. However, he reminded himself that he was wooing Sara Peterson for only one reason: to find information that would convict her father and clear his.

She leaned on him heavily, and he felt a stab of sorrow that she had to endure such pain.

"Shall we sit for a while, Sara?"

"If I do, I might not ever get up."

"Shall I lift you then and carry you as I did this morning?" he teased.

She smiled and shook her head. He could see the color paint her cheeks and her eyes sparkled in amusement, but she didn't answer.

"Let's sit," he said, steadying a rocker for her. She sat down quickly, obviously glad to be off her feet. He sat down next to her.

"Thank you, Mr. Summers."

"As your aunt said, let's be less formal. I understand that I am only a groom, but this is the Springs and you know that the class system is mostly forgotten here. Please call me Jack."

"And you must call me Sara."

They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the motion of the rockers and the starry night. The rockers creaked and the subdued chatter of the other people strolling off their meal was soothing.

Sara finally began to seem more comfortable in his company, more than she had at dinner, and Jack decided that it was time to begin his plan to gain her trust and confidence.

"Tell me about your accident," he urged. "That is, if you don't mind."

Sara closed her eyes as if readying herself to begin speaking. She opened them, and he smiled in encouragement.

"But if I'm prying, please forgive me, and do not answer."

She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "It happened just before Christmas. It was a carriage accident, I believe I told you that at the station. It was raining, and the rain had turned to snow. Then it became icy. Mother and I were coming home from visiting my Aunt Trixie. The carriage must have slid, or the horses. I don't know."

Tears flooded her eyes and she struggled to continue.

He took her hand and held it in his. "Forgive me. It's upsetting you. Don't go on." He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He didn't want to make her cry. He’d just wanted her to confide in him. "I shouldn't have asked you such a personal question."

"No. That's all right. You've been so kind, I don't mind, really. I just get upset when I remember. . .my mother screams. I can hear them, you know. Even now. She kept calling my name and my father's name." She stared up at the sky. "I remember that we tumbled over and over inside the coach. Then we were thrown, and the carriage landed on top of us. I don't remember much more than that. When I awoke, my right leg hurt so very badly, and my father and Aunt Trixie were crying. I knew then that my mother was dead."

As if he were there, Jack could hear the screeching of the horses, the sickening cracking and breaking of the carriage as it tumbled, the screams of Sara and her mother.

He couldn't help but feel sorry for Sara Peterson.

He ran his thumb back and forth over the smooth skin of her hand. It felt so small in his. He knew what it was like to lose the ones you love. He'd lost both parents, too, in a way. One to a brick and mortar prison, one to a prison of the mind.

But he couldn't allow himself to feel sorry for her or he couldn't follow through with his plan.

Until he could sort it all out, he decided to change to a lighter subject. "You said at the train station that Seawind helped strengthen your leg. How is that?"

"I trained him. I walked him, rode him and taught him everything that Mr. King–he was our trainer–taught me to do. And the exercise made me stronger."

"You did a fine job with him, Sara. I know horses and I can tell. I'll be watching Toady work him out tomorrow at the training track."

"Oh! I would like to see his workout, too. I'll get up early, go to the drinking hall and drink the water. Then Aunt Trixie and I usually go for a mineral bath. After that, I could watch Seawind." She stared down at her hands, folded on her lap. "I wish I could ride him myself," she mumbled. "But unfortunately, I'm a woman and it's not ladylike unless one rides sidesaddle and wears a riding outfit. When I ride Seawind at home, I wear a split skirt and ride astride."

She lowered her eyes as if she'd just admitted some terrible, dark secret. The truth was that because she was born a woman, she couldn't even ride her own horse at Saratoga the way she wanted to.

Jack noticed her wistful expression and knew exactly the best way to gain her confidence.

"If you’d like to ride your horse, I'm sure we can work it out. Heaven knows, you'd be a perfect fit in Toady's jockey's clothes, and you can tuck your hair up under the cap. No one would have to know."

Sara could hardly contain her excitement. "That would be wonderful. You'll arrange it? And not let anyone know?"

"Certainly. Seawind's your horse, and I work for you."

Her face lit up, and it made him feel good. Then he reminded himself of his mission yet again. "Your father has some fine horses, the best I've seen."

"Yes, I know."

Jack knew the answer, but asked anyway. "Does he race often?"

"Racing thoroughbreds started off as a hobby for my father, but now I think he likes it more than he does any of his businesses."

"Where else does he race?"

"Churchill Downs, Santa Anita, and Aquaduct. Lately, we've stopped going to Santa Anita. Daddy said that it's too far, and the horses don't like all that nice weather because they are used to the terrible weather of New York."

"So you come here every year, do you?"

"Every year, but last year, we left early."

Jack's heart beat faster, maybe she'd tell him something he didn't already know. "Why?"

"My father was upset because he had to testify in court. It bothered him terribly and–"

Jack was anxious for her to finish her statement, but she was distracted by a woman calling to her from across the courtyard.

"It's Clara! Over here, Clara." Sara waved, and the woman waved back.

Jack recognized her–Clara Cunningham, the younger sister of his schoolmate and longtime friend, Steve Cunningham. He couldn't let Clara see him. She'd recognize him for sure.

He jumped up quickly and turned his face. He mumbled, "I have to get back to work now. I have to check on the horses."

"Wait, Jack! Let me introduce you to my friend. Jack?" But it was too late. He had disappeared into the night. Sara was bewildered as to why he left so abruptly.

Before Sara had time to wonder about his peculiar behavior, Clara had arrived and was hugging her.

"Sara, I've looked all over for you! I couldn't wait to see you. It's been such a long time."

They kissed each other's cheeks and hugged again.

"Who was that man you were sitting with?" Clara asked. Sara looked up at her friend. "His name is Jack Summers. I met him this morning. It's a long story that I can't wait to tell you!"

"All I know is that he wasn't Montague Fordice."