The Horseman (13 page)

Certainly, there was the fact that Constance,
the youngest of Mrs. Fletcher’s children and only two years younger
than Briney herself, had eventually changed her inward attitude
toward Briney. Eventually, over the past few years, Constance had
gotten to where she was almost kind to Briney—but only in private.
And though she had ceased in saying hurtful, hateful things to
Briney whenever her elder brother and sister were doing so, she did
nothing in Briney’s defense. Thus, Briney had no fond memories of
the Fletcher children—only a desire to never have to see them
again. And yet there they were—sitting in a wealthy carriage in
what was Briney’s haven from them and everything they
represented.

“Ah, Briney,” Mr. Christensen sternly
greeted, “we’ve been waiting for you near to an hour now.”

Briney opened her mouth to apologize, but it
was Bethanne who answered, “We’ve been out ridin’ today.”

Briney found that Bethanne’s defense of her
spurred her own courage, and she added, “Yes. I’ve been riding. And
being that you did not send any sort of notification that you were
traveling to see me, your wait was no one’s fault but yours, Mr.
Christensen. I’m no longer subject to your whims.” Glancing into
the carriage to see the startled expressions on the faces of Mrs.
Fletcher’s children, Briney’s independence strengthened her even
more, and she added, “As you should well remember, being that you
were the one who drew up the terms of my leaving the orphanage for
Mrs. Fletcher’s sake.”

Mr. Christensen’s beady eyes narrowed. His
thin lips pursed, and he tugged at his coat lapel. Running
cold-looking, boney fingers through his sparse gray hair, he said,
“I’ve come with documents you must sign.”

“Documents?” Briney asked, frowning.

“Yes. Documents pertaining to Mrs. Enola
Fletcher’s will…specifically her estate,” he informed her.

“I’m not mentioned in her will, Mr.
Christensen,” Briney said, “another fact you are well aware
of.”

Mr. Christensen’s lips pursed more
tightly—though Briney would have thought it impossible for them to
do so.

“Mrs. Fletcher’s surviving family—her
children, Nimrod, Mary, and Constance—retained me to draw up
documents for your signature, stating that you will in no way and
never contest any part of Mrs. Fletcher’s will, that you will not
attempt to lay any legal claim to any part of her estate, which she
divided evenly between her three children.”

Briney burst into laughter. She couldn’t keep
from it.

“Are you telling me that those three idiots
truly think I would want anything at all to do with any part of
Mrs. Fletcher’s estate?” she asked him through her astonished
amusement. Again she laughed. “You might as well assume I’d want
someone to hand me over a souvenir of purgatory!” Again Briney
laughed, this time at the sudden and complete feeling of freedom
she was experiencing in that moment.

“Oh, do please present your documents to me,
Mr. Christensen,” she began, “that I may read them, sign them, and
send you and Mrs. Fletcher’s selfish progeny on your way!”

“Really, Briney,” Mr. Christensen said as be
began to leaf through the papers in his satchel, “I would’ve
expected more gratitude from you. After all, Mrs. Fletcher did
provide you with a lifestyle that most orphan girls would
have—”

“Stop! Cease in speaking!” Briney demanded.
“Present your papers to me, and do not speak again until I’ve read
them.”

“Damn right,” Mr. Kelley mumbled, frowning
with disgust as he studied Mr. Christensen.

Mr. Christensen did indeed hand a paper to
Briney. And as she read it over, she found herself giggling at the
nonsense of it all. It was nothing but a bunch of legal jargon
stipulating that Briney promised never to contest any part of Mrs.
Fletcher’s will—never to attempt to gain any property, money, or
any other items from Mrs. Fletcher’s surviving family.

In truth, as Briney read the document, her
heart softened a bit toward Mrs. Fletcher, for the old woman had
apparently known her children well—known that they would not feel
any obligation to assist Briney financially in carving her own
life. It was why Mrs. Fletcher had given Briney all the money in
her possession before she’d passed. Briney knew then that as Mrs.
Fletcher prepared to meet her Maker, she’d thought of Briney and
known she would have no way to live—and that her own children
certainly wouldn’t help the orphan she’d adopted as her companion.
Whether Mrs. Fletcher’s intentions had been to face her Maker
without any guilt where Briney was concerned or her heart had
sincerely been softened toward the girl who had been at her side
for ten years, in that moment, Briney was even more thankful that
the old woman had secretly gifted her the large sum of money she
had before giving up the ghost.

The document was simple and straightforward.
In signing it, Briney was legally cutting any and all ties to the
Fletchers and their fortune. Thus, Briney plopped down on the front
porch of the boardinghouse, intentionally snapping her fingers at
Mr. Christensen the way she’d seen Mrs. Fletcher do when she was
demanding something of the man—flexing her wealth and position over
him. It was not kind, of course, but Briney wanted to see Mr.
Christensen and the Fletcher heirs on their way as quickly as
possible.

“I assume you have ink and pen,” she said to
him. “I mean to sign this document here and now and see you on your
way.”

She glanced up to the carriage as Mr.
Christensen began rummaging in his satchel once more in search of
ink and pen.

“I suppose you three made this long trip
simply to see for yourselves that you had no further fears of ever
having to lay eyes on me again, hmmm?” Briney asked—though not in
anger. For she truly was feeling free of it all—of wealth, of
resentment.

“Yes,” Nimrod answered.

“Well, rest assured, Nimrod Fletcher, that
I’m as happy to sign this as you are to see me sign it,” Briney
said—again, not with malice, just a euphoric sense of freedom.

Briney dipped the pen tip into the ink Mr.
Christensen had provided. And as she signed her name, she was
joyous she was able to sign “Briney Thress” instead of “Briney
Fletcher.” She’d always been glad Mrs. Fletcher hadn’t insisted
Briney take her name—for it was all she had left of the parents
she’d never known.

“There,” she said, blowing breath on the ink
to hurry its drying. “For you, Mr. Christensen, with my thanks for
bringing it to me.”

“Briney?”

Constance’s voice startled Briney, as she
looked up to see that Constance had left the carriage and was
standing over her.

“I…I found this among Mother’s things and
wanted to give it to you,” Constance explained. As she offered a
weathered wooden box about the size of a loaf of bread to Briney,
she continued, “There’s a note inside. It says that these are the
things that were brought with you when you entered the orphanage as
a baby. They’re yours. I’m sorry Mother never gave them to
you.”

“Constance!” Nimrod growled. “If Mother kept
them from her, she had her reasons,” he scolded his sister.

Mary placed an arm on Nimrod’s shoulder,
however, saying, “The box belongs to Briney, brother. You have what
you came for. Now leave her be.”

“Thank you, Constance,” Briney said as she
accepted the box. Her heart was hammering with excitement. Yet her
joy at knowing there was something from her beginning—perhaps even
something of her mother’s or father’s—was mingled with sadness at
the stark realization she would never know them in her earthly
life.

Looking up to Constance, Briney reached out
and took one of Constance’s hands in her own. “Thank you,
Constance. Truly. This means so much.”

To her astonishment, Constance reached down,
throwing her arms around Briney’s neck. “We treated you so
terribly, Briney! I’m so very sorry!”

Returning Constance’s embrace, Briney said,
“I wish you only happiness, Constance. And thank you for the box. I
will treasure it always and always be thankful that you thought of
me enough to see that I received it. Thank you.”

Constance brushed tears from her cheeks and
hurried back to the carriage.

Mr. Christensen had his pen, ink, and legal
document secured in his satchel once more. “That concludes our
business then, Briney,” he said, offering Briney his hand as she
stood.

“Miss Thress,” Briney corrected him as she
shook his hand politely. To Briney’s way of thinking, Mr.
Christensen had no right to call her by her first given name. He
was no friend or intimate acquaintance.

With pursed lips of aggravation and offense,
Mr. Christensen stepped up into the carriage.

“Our business is finished here, Mr.
Fletcher,” Mr. Christensen pouted.

“Driver!” Nimrod growled.

As the carriage carrying the Fletcher heirs
and their solicitor drove away, Briney’s heart felt lightened and
free of resentment and fear.

“Welcome home for good, my girl!” Mr. Kelley
exclaimed, drawing Briney into a tight, loving embrace. He
chuckled, adding, “You sure gave that lawyer fella a dose, didn’t
you?”

“I was too harsh, I’m sure,” Briney admitted,
feeling somewhat guilty for her terse manner.

“Ah, hell! They deserved it,” Mr. Kelley
assured her.

Bethanne smiled at Briney, offered an
affectionate embrace, and then asked, “What do you suppose is in
the box?”

Briney shrugged. “I don’t know.” Smiling, she
added, “How about we find a table in the restaurant, ask your mama
if she has any pie left, and see? What do you say?”

“I say, let’s!” Bethanne giggled.

*

That evening, after Briney had finished
having supper with the Kelley family, she retired to her room.
Although she hoped to hear Gunner’s voice outside her window, Mrs.
Kelley had mentioned that Gunner had not come to have supper at the
restaurant that night.

Although Briney was disappointed that tonight
she would have to imagine his voice as she went to sleep instead of
actually hearing it, she was glad to have the box Constance had
given her. She knew it was something she would cherish, love, and
look through for all the days of her life. And with Gunner
apparently supping at his own house that night, Briney decided to
savor the tender feelings the box’s contents evoked in her for the
fourth time that same day.

The box was simply made and old. Inside it
held very little, but the few items it cached were priceless to
Briney.

Sitting on her bed with the box on her lap,
Briney opened it, removing what had instantly been her favorite
treasure—a silver locket. Carefully she opened the locket, gazing
at the two tintype images placed inside it, one on each half of the
locket. These were her parents. A note had been left wrapped around
the locket, with the words,
Sean and Bindy Thress. Parents of
Briney Thress, lost to typhoid fever when Briney was aged 1
year
.

Her mother had been beautiful and her father
so very handsome! Upon seeing the images in the locket, Bethanne
had remarked that Briney was the very image of her mother—and that
knowledge warmed Briney’s heart to the core. Now when she looked in
the mirror, she knew it was a refection akin to her mother’s.

There was a small quilt in the box as well,
and Briney could not help but wonder whether her own mother had
stitched it for her. It was likely she had. Also in the box was a
small toy horse carved from a piece of wood. She wondered whether
her father had carved it, and her heart felt that he did.

Other than a note written by an unnamed
person—stating that the box and its contents had accompanied the
admittance to the orphan asylum of Briney Thress and that the box
and its contents should be presented to her upon her dismissal from
the institution—that was all the box contained: a locket, a small
quilt, and a whittled toy horse.

But to Briney it was more than enough, more
than she’d ever had before—a connection to her parents and her true
self.

Briney closed the box, placing it carefully
in her trunk at the foot of her bed. And though she slipped beneath
her blankets disappointed that Gunner’s voice wouldn’t be lulling
her to sleep that night, she was so soothed by a sense of knowing
who she was—who her parents had been—that her mind felt at peace in
a way it never had before.

She determined that in the morning she would
walk out to the Horseman’s ranch. She would take the tin of coins
with her and bury it deep in one corner of Sassafras’s stall. Then
she would ride out on her own horse to wherever she and Sassy
decided to ride. And if she were lucky—if the fates were being
kind—perhaps Gunner would ride out with her again.

Briney smiled as she laid back in her bed and
thought of Gunner. Perhaps Bethanne was right. Perhaps Briney could
win the heart of the handsome horseman for her own. After all, this
one day had gifted things to Briney she never would have dreamed it
could have—the longed-for knowledge of her past and her parents, a
horse of her own, and a rather shocking measure of affectionate
flirtation from the man she had already fallen in love with.

Closing her eyes, she imagined the kind of
home she would make for Gunner if she did win him—the kind of home
she’d forever longed for herself but never thought she would be
blessed to enjoy. A small, cozy home with a warm hearth fire on
cool nights, before which she and Gunner would settle to rest after
a day of hard work. A home that ever smelled of fresh-baked bread,
pies, and warm stew, where the prevailing sounds were the kind and
loving words exchanged between parents and children, and the
moments of happy laughter the family would share. Beds would be
clean and comfortable, with white sheets and quilts Briney herself
would stitch. And above all else there would be love.