In June, with the welcome arrival of warmer temperatures, Emma covered more distance during her morning rides on the beaches with Willow. These were the special moments when she took time to think about her future and reflect upon the present. Since her father’s accident, the house had become a place of dark moods and occasional bursts of temper, followed by tears and apologies. But he was slowly recovering and becoming more accustomed to his mobility challenges. Emma did her best to boost his spirits and only wished she knew more about applied psychological therapies.
Earlier in the spring, she’d felt as if she were sitting on a blank page between two chapters in her life: the happy times before the accident and whatever might come next. Maybe another dramatic event from out of the blue would carry her away, somewhere unexpected. The wreck of theBelvederehad swept her into a whirlwind of emotions and, more recently, onto a path of new wisdom regarding her feelings and desires for the future.
This became apparent to her one morning mid-June, when she felt hopeful for the first time in a long while. She and Willow galloped all the way to Station Number Two, working up a sweat until Emma finally leaned back in the saddle and said, “Whoa!”
Willow slowed, and Emma patted her neck. “Good girl. What a run!”
She wheeled Willow around to walk home at a more leisurely pace.
Before long, Emma spotted another rider in the distance, probably one of the staff men on beach patrol. When he drew near, he removed his cap and waved it in the air. “Good morning!”
It was Logan, the new man. Emma pulled Willow to a gentle halt as they came together in the shade of an eroded dune.
“I see they’ve put you on the early-morning shift,” Emma said.
Logan’s cheeks were red from exertion, his body full of restrained energy in the saddle. Even his bay horse was restless, stomping about.
“I wouldn’t call it a graveyard shift,” he said, “but none of the others seemed eager to take it.”
“I hope they’re not giving you last choice foreverychore,” Emma replied.
He shrugged cheerfully. “It wouldn’t matter. I’m grateful to be here, and I enjoy everything. Even cleaning the toilets. Well, maybe not that. But I’m a morning person by nature, so this early patrol on horseback sets me up for a first-rate day. I mean ... What could be better than this?” He waved his arm about and gestured toward the sea and sky.
Emma laughed. “You’re a jolly person, aren’t you.”
His eyebrows flew up in mock surprise. “Are you making fun of me, Miss Clarkson?”
She laughed again. “Not at all. It’s refreshing, actually. And I agree, what could be better than this?”
They fell into step beside each other as he turned his horse around to walk back to Main Station.
As they trotted past a herd of gray seals sunning themselves on the beach, Logan asked, “Are you afraid of the seals after what happened to your father?”
“I’ve always been cautious around them,” she told him.
“But you must feel some animosity.”
Emma considered that carefully. “How could I? As far as I’m concerned, Sable belongs to the wild. We’re just guests here.”
“Or intruders,” he suggested, studying her profile.
Surprised, she turned in the saddle to meet his gaze. “That’s probably the most accurate term I’ve heard. Although it depends on how we behave while we’re here. We don’t always do the right thing.”
“How do you mean?”
Sometimes Emma felt like a broken record, going on about the situation with the wild horses, but it was an important cause that mattered to her. “Sometimes we capture horses and ship them to the mainland for sale. I’ve been trying to put a stop to that for years.”
Logan took a moment to digest this. “How does your father feel about it? He’s superintendent here. He must have some say in the matter.”
“Yes,” Emma replied. “Deep down, he doesn’t like it, but he’s hesitant to ruffle feathers because of how much we depend on the government for our survival.” She steered Willow around a large section of driftwood and returned to Logan on the other side. “So, he doesn’t stop me from protesting with regular letters, and I live in hope that eventually we’ll have the right sort of politician in charge who understands the cruelty of it. Until then, I’ll keep writing and protesting.”
They paused to let their horses nibble on some salty peat. Emma and Logan gazed out at the ocean and listened to the waves breaking on the shore.
After a moment, Logan crossed his wrists over the saddle horn. “Do you remember our first conversation in your father’s den, the day I arrived?”
“Yes.”
“He mentioned you had notebooks.”
