Saratoga Sunrise (3 page)

but my leg is bothering me more than usual today."

"Can you walk, honey? Do you want me to carry you?" Bond

asked.

Sara saw the sadness that appeared in his eyes whenever they talked about her handicap. "Oh, no, Daddy. I can make it to our cottage." She wasn't in that much pain, and she'd die before she used a wheelchair or had to be carried by her father.

"Actually, I think she'd rather be carried by that handsome

groom you hired, Bond," Aunt Trixie teased.

“Nonsense!” her father bellowed. “She’s going to marry Monty.”

But if Aunt Trixie only knew how true her statement was! Sara felt a telltale blush heat her cheeks as they began the long walk to their cottage.

# # #

At the Peterson barn, the biggest white barn on the grounds of the racecourse, Jack Summers forked sweet-smelling hay into Seawind's stall, then poured the special feed he had mixed into a wooden trough. Seawind walked over immediately and began eating.

"There you go, boy," Jack said, petting the horse's sleek chestnut coat. "I made it especially for you." He lifted the metal bucket and poured its contents into another trough to the side of the first. "Here's something to make that plain water taste a little better." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a green bottle and paused to read the label "Wheeler Mineral Water, Bottled in Saratoga Springs, New York." He shrugged his shoulders, took a long draw, then poured the rest of the bottle into Seawind's water. "After all these years, it still tastes good," he said sadly.

Jack closed the bottom of the stall door, leaving the top half open for Seawind to stick his head out and enjoy the sun and fresh air. He thought he should take a walk down to the bottling plant and check on things.

He prayed that loyal old Uncle Max, who had a penchant for Canfield's Casino, was handling the business properly, but it wouldn't hurt to check.

A great sadness fell over Jack as he thought of his mother sitting alone in a dark corner of the parlor of the huge house on Union Street. Agatha Wheeler, once the leading lady of Saratoga society, spent her days rocking in that corner, lost in thought. She refused to leave the house, afraid she might be slighted by one of the matrons. Afraid of a giggle or finger pointed in her direction as she walked by. Afraid of being shunned by a so-called friend who had once tried to win her favor.

Anger replaced sadness as he remembered how he had felt when he read in the Saratoga Daily Sentinel that Wheeler Mineral Water was falling on hard times due to George Wheeler's incarceration.

He hadn't known about his father's trial nor that he was serving time at Auburn Prison. Again it bothered him that his mother hadn't his mother contacted him. He would have returned home immediately to help. He could have found the real guilty party or would have died trying.

Now John "Jack" Wheeler, masquerading as Jack Summers with a beard and moustache, hoped with all his heart that it wouldn't be too late, and that he could clear his father's name.

Racing season at the Springs was his father's whole life, yet he rarely placed a bet. "Just like to watch the beautiful animals, son," he would always say. "Those thoroughbred horses are beauty in motion."

Jack knew that his father would never intentionally hurt a horse. Not ever.

As he walked from stall-to-stall tending the other race horses in Peterson's stable, Jack resolved anew to vindicate his father and make sure Bond Peterson paid for his lies.

He pulled the invitation to dine with the Petersons out of his back pocket and read it again. His plan was falling into place, and tonight he'd begin to charm Sara Peterson.

CHAPTER 2

Sara awoke from her rest eager to explore the hotel and see what had changed since last year. Arising, she put on her wrapper and went to the bath area to splash some water on her face.

She walked in and out of the cottage's six other bedrooms, noticing the familiar mirrors, sofas and lounges, rockers and easy chairs. She smiled as she recognized the same Japanese vases scattered about and filled, as always, with fresh flowers and greens.

Some rooms were handsomely papered with large cabbage roses above the mahogany panels, other rooms were painted a delicate beige. The crystal chandeliers glowed in the late afternoon sun.

When she walked around the drawing room, a white piece of paper upright on the rosewood writing desk caught her eye. She read: "SARA, BEA AND I WILL BE AT THE REAR PIAZZA. JOIN US FOR A FRUIT ICE WHEN YOU AWAKEN."

Sara hurried to get ready, noticing with relief that her leg felt less tired and she wasn't limping as much. She needed that nap and now felt as though she could run a country mile without being on the back of a horse.

She dressed and walked out onto the front porch of the cottage, hoping that her friend, Clara Cunningham, was working tonight. They had been friends as long as Sara had been coming to the Springs. Clara lived in Saratoga, near the hotel, and they played together as children. Even though they corresponded throughout the year, she couldn’t wait to talk to her best friend in person. Clara was one of the reasons that she didn't want her father to arrange for maids or other servants. She didn't want Clara or anyone else to wait on her at the Springs. She would rather have the satisfaction of doing things for herself.

Training her eyes straight ahead as she approached the rear piazza, Sara held herself tall and concentrated on trying not to limp. She couldn't tolerate the pitying stares that would come her way or the feigned looks of concern from some of the ladies.

The piazza never failed to impress Sara. It seemed like one long front porch that ran along most of the nine hundred rooms of the U-shaped hotel. The roof over the piazza was three stories high and was supported by enormous pillars. In the center courtyard was a three-acre park resplendent with colorful flowers of all varieties, gigantic elms, bubbling fountains and brick walkways. Thousands of white wooden rockers gave the guests a comfortable perch to wile away the hours and watch the continual promenade of walkers on the piazza and in the park.

Sara knew her father's favorite spot. He waved at her, and she waved back. Aunt Trixie saw her, too, and waved. It would take her a while to get to them so Sara slowed her pace even more. Already, her leg was tiring.

# # #

Beatrix Bishop saw the expression on Bond's face as Sara limped toward him, and her heart twisted in pain. He was a millionaire several times over, yet he was powerless to help Sara walk the way she did before the accident. Nor could he bring his wife Rose back. The two things she knew he wanted most in the world, he would never have.

"What I wouldn't give to have Sara whole again," he muttered as if reading her mind.

Bea covered his hand with hers. How often had she heard him say those words?

"I think she's walking better than ever," Bea said for the hundredth time since the accident. "Riding has done wonders to strengthen her leg, and the mineral waters will help her."

"The doctors say she will always limp," Bond added. “And you know I don’t like her riding.”

"Sara is a very determined young lady. You can see for yourself how much she has improved in the past few months. Riding Seawind has helped her immensely. That horse loves her and she loves him."

Bea wiped her teary eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. "Heavens, Bond, must I remind you that the doctors almost removed her leg? Thank goodness one of the surgeons had some sense."

He took her hand that was still clutching the handkerchief, and kissed the back of it. Her heart lurched.

"I don't know what I would have done without you, Bea. You pulled us both back from the brink of despair. When Rose died, I wanted to die, too. You made me realize that I had to go on living and help my daughter."

"You know, Sara's like a daughter to me, too, and there is not a day that doesn't go by that I don't miss my sister Rose. I am happy that I could help," Bea said. She didn't want to, but she removed her hand from his. It wouldn't do for the gossips to start whispering about the spinster and her late sister's husband holding hands. It was bad enough that their tongues would wag soon enough about their staying in the same cottage together.

"Rose and I would sit here every summer. We met here and later married here. Our little girl was probably conceived here. We even named her after Saratoga Springs," he muttered, staring blankly ahead.

Bea felt the heaviness around her heart as she listened to the same stories Bond told whenever he felt melancholy. Hadn't she felt the same way for the past two decades? Hadn't she loved Bond Paterson first, before she introduced him to Rose? It was at the Springs when she swallowed her sadness and stood up for Rose at the most magnificent wedding the United States Hotel had ever held. Didn't she even help bring Sara into this world? Didn't she stand next to Bond at Rose's deathbed and promise Rose that she'd take care of him and Sara?

It was Rose's last request.

Rose knew all along that Beatrix had loved Bond from afar.

Bea could see it in her beloved sister's eyes before Rose closed them for the last time. Rose knew and silently gave her blessing.

 "Did you have a nice rest, my beautiful daughter?" Bond asked, getting up to offer Sara his rocker. He held it steady as she quickly sat down.

"Whew! I forgot that this walk was so long." Sara said.

"Would you like some fruit ice, honey? I'll get you some," Bond said.

"Yes, thank you, Daddy. Lemon, please."

"My pleasure. Bea, how about you?"

"Lemon sounds delightful."

"I'll be right back," Bond said.

Bea handed Sara her white lace fan. "So, tell me about what happened at the train station." She smiled at her niece.

Sara smiled back. "Aunt Trixie, it was so delicious! My leg gave way as Seawind reared, and I found myself gallantly rescued and swept into the arms of the most handsome man I have ever seen. He carried me to a bench so I could sit down and rest. Jack Summers is his name, and he works for Daddy. He's a groom, I believe."

Bea smiled. Sara's face was flushed and her eyes sparkled like diamonds. She had never seen her niece this animated when she spoke about her betrothed, Montague Fordice.

“This Jack Summers...you say he is handsome?"

"Oh, yes! His hair is as black as Midnight Moon, the stallion that was Seawind's sire. His eyes are so very blue and he's as tall and as strong as a redwood."

"Why Sara, how poetic." Bea chuckled. "Tell me more."

"And he punched Montague! Montague was lying on the train platform when our carriage drove away."

"You don't say!" Bea smiled. There was many a time when she would have given her life savings to punch Monty herself.

"Actually, Aunt Trixie, Montague deserved it. He pushed Jack from behind, and before that Montague was making an awful commotion and everyone was looking at us," Sara explained.

Bea nodded. "Speaking of Monty, what are you going to do about him?"

Sara looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"When are you going to tell your father that you do not want to marry the man?"

"Is it that obvious that I can't tolerate him?"

"My darling girl, it's very obvious. The only one who hasn’t noticed is your father. When are you going to tell him?"

Sara stopped fanning herself and the glow left her face. "I can't, Aunt Trixie. I just can't. He seems to have his mind up. He thinks it's the best situation for me. Daddy keeps saying that he isn't going to live forever, and he wants me situated before he leaves. But I don't love Montague. And I can tell that he doesn't love me."

"Dearest, your father is as healthy as an ox! But what do you want, Sara? What would make you truly happy?"

"I want to be in love before I marry. I know I'm twenty-two, and on the shelf, but isn't it better to be a spinster than to be with someone you don't love or who doesn't love you?"

Tears stung her eyes. How right you are, my dear Sara. You must have been reading my mind.

"Aunt Trixie?"

"Yes, Sara, I think it is better to be alone than to be with someone who doesn't love you."

Sara's fan moved in double time. "I want to raise horses. Have my own horse farm."

Bea grasped the lace at her neckline. "All alone? Why Sara, you couldn't."

"I know I'll have to hire a manager and other help, and I have a lot to learn, but I have been saving my own money to buy some land and that's what I want to do Aunt Trixie."

"Why don't you speak to your father? He'll give you the money, if you convince him that–-"

"No. This is something I want to do on my own. Besides, Daddy will never allow it. He thinks that ladies shouldn’t do such things. He thinks that I am totally helpless."

"But you know you're not."

"That's right, Aunt Trixie. I'm not. And a new century is upon us. Women are doing all kinds of things. Look at the woman who have gone out west. They are doing all kinds of things that men do, and–"

“Dearest Sara, you don’t have to convince me, but New York society is not ready for such ideas yet, nor is your father.”

“But it’s my life, Aunt Trixie.”

“I know, dear,” she said with a sigh.

# # #

Jack made his way to the dining room of the United States Hotel. A wave of nostalgia swept over him as he remembered the days he would come here with his parents when he was a child. They'd listen to the morning and afternoon concerts on the piazza and then partake of the evening meal.

Jack handed the card he had received earlier to the headwaiter who loftily bowed and motioned for him to follow. He knew that about one thousand guests could sit in the dining room at the same time while being served by two hundred and fifty waiters. He hoped that he would remain unrecognized despite the large number of people. Afterall, he grew up here and used to work at the Union.

Jack followed the headwaiter until he stopped and gestured to a table occupied by Bond Peterson, an older woman, and the woman who had filled his thoughts since the afternoon, the lovely Sara Peterson. He couldn't hide his pleasure.

The waiter bowed. "Madame Bishop, this gentleman is here for you." He handed the card to the older women.