It was a slender ash tree with a deep gouge of white showing through where the bark had been torn off when it fell. Hollister was already hacking away at some of the branches with an axe.
I placed a hand on the neck of one of the horses. It was slick with rain and sweat. “That’s a good girl,” I said softly, even though I didn’t actually know the sex of our hired horses. “Just a little longer and we will be back on our way. We will find you shelter and rest.”
I continued to speak calmly to them of oats and other things I couldn’t actually promise while the men shouted and worked on removing some of the larger branches of the tree.
Papa took a turn with the ax, swinging into a large branch halfway sunk into the earth and supporting much of the ash’s weight. With a crack I heard even through the rain, the limb snapped, dropping the tree lower onto the road and flinging a smaller branch through the air directly toward me and the horses. I shortened my grip on the reins. “Easy ... ” I started to say in a slow, steady voice, but before I could finish, the branch whipped by me, grazing the nose of the other horse. With a loud, startled snort, the horse reared. His raised hooves dripped with mud and water and instantly the reins in my hand were yanked tight as my horse was wrenched to the side. I dropped the reins. A dislocated arm would do no one any good. I shifted completely to the side of the horse by me and prayed the rearing horse wouldn’t fall backwards onto the carriage or sideways onto its companion. Mama and Charlie were in the carriage and Papa had trusted me to keep them safe.
I swallowed my mounting panic and planted my feet firmly on the ground. Making no frantic movements despite how much I wanted to, I took hold of my horse’s bridle with a loose hand and pressed my other hand against its neck. “Steady,” I said, keeping my voice calm and my palm heavy.
No shouts came from behind me, but two calm voices joined mine. “Whoa there.”
“Easy, easy.”
I held my breath, imagining Papa and the groomsman walking up behind me, hushing the horses, and then as soon as it had started, it was over. The horse came down in the exact same spot it had reared. From the corner of my eye, I saw the groomsman take its bridle in the same manner I held mine.
No doubt he was whispering words of comfort to the horse. I closed my eyes and whispered a quick prayer of thanks, then turned, expecting to see Papa coming up behind me.
But he wasn’t.
Papa was on the ground with a hand on his knee, face pale through the pouring rain.
I let go of the bridle and dashed through the mud to Papa.
I dropped down in front of him, heedless of my gown. “What happened?”
“I’m a blasted fool, that’s what happened.” He groaned and once again cursed in front of me. “I turned too fast in this mud. Twisted my knee.”
“Can you walk?”
He gritted his teeth, as much from frustration as pain. “I don’t know.”
I wiped some of the rain off of his cheek with my palm. He was the strongest of men, but he flinched when he tried to put weight on his twisted knee. I’d seen Papa sick before, but never injured and never in pain. I’d always assumed he was too busy to be troubled by something so universally weakening.
“We need to get you back to the carriage.” I dipped lower to put my shoulder under his arm, but he reached out a hand and stopped me.
“Wait,” he said, with a slow, steadying breath. His eyes caught mine and held. “Well done with the horses, Evelyn. Very well.” He gave me an approving nod. “I hate to think what could have happened if you had screamed or tried to pull on the reins.”
“Yes, well.” I forced a smile. “I had a good teacher. Now, let’s get you out of this rain.”
Hollister went to Papa’s other side and together we lifted him to his feet. The groom stayed with the horses and we hobbled to the carriage, Papa putting no weight on his left leg.
Mama had the carriage door open, her eyes wide with concern. When she caught sight of us, she threw the door open even further. “What happened?”
“Horses reared,” Papa said gruffly. “I slipped and twisted my knee beneath some infernal tree branches.”
Mama pulled him up into the carriage with help from Hollister. I stayed just outside the carriage door. “Sit down, sit down,” Mama commanded, and Papa practically fell into the seat, his injured knee sticking out in front of him.
“I’m afraid I can’t bend it.”
“Here.” Mama patted the seat beside her. “Lay down and rest your foot here.”
Papa did exactly that, smearing mud all along the cushion. He never would have been so careless with the carriage if he weren’t in serious pain. This was a disaster. I wiped the rain from my brow. “I can take one of the horses and go for a doctor.”
“No,” Papa said. “I’ve seen injuries like this before. Nothing is broken. It would be too dangerous for you, the horses, and the doctor. We’ll have to wait it out. Give up on moving the tree and make our way to the next town once the storm dies and the road dries out.”
“Until the road dries?” I said through gritted teeth. “Who knows how long that will be?”
Mama reached for his hand and cupped it in hers. “You think you can sleep in a carriage with an injury like this?”
