Page 89 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

She stood in the center of the road for a moment until that felt far too exposed. She’d rather be back in the cart, even tilted as it was. She sloshed down into the gulley and clambered up the side of the cart, sitting in Mr. Frederick’s place as she didn’t fancy wrestling her way over the tree branch again. Several scratches stung along her legs; her stockings were torn to shreds.

At least she’d have something interesting to say the next time she got together with Candace. If only Vera’s mother could see her now. The thought made her huff in amusement. Her mother would be horrified to know that her daughter was out in a rainstorm, muddied up to her knees, and soaked all the way through—and not out of concern for Vera. There was something satisfying about the thought, and Vera pulled that satisfaction around her like a warm blanket.

Her mother had inflicted the worst punishment the woman could imagine upon Vera, and despite the odds, she’d survived. One might even argue that she was doing more living now than she ever had before.

So yes, she would survive this too. What was it, anyway? Momentary discomfort? She was cold, but she knew a warm fire and a hot bath awaited her. And soup. And tea. And she was alone, for the moment, except not truly. She still had the horse for company⁠—

At the thought, she glanced down at the animal. She gasped and stood to get a better look over the branch. The cart—wedged as it was—was acting as a sort of dam in the gully. The water which had once flowed freely was backing up against the impediment. At the start, the horse had only been standing in water. Now, the water was up to its flanks, and rising fast.

If she didn’t take action, the horse would drown.

“Oh no,” Vera gasped, even as she climbed down the side of the cart.

The water was deeper, tugging and pulling at her skirts. How had she not noticed it before? She struggled over to the branch. There was only enough room for her to duck beneath it, but she’d have to if she was going to unhook the horse from the cart. Vera gripped several branches and twisted and snapped them off to give herself more room. Then she said a silent prayer and ducked.

Vera submerged herself to her shoulders. The swirling cold water shocked the air from her lungs, stole every bit of warmth left in her chest. But she emerged on the other side and trailed her hand up the side of the horse. Its skin jerked and shimmied in response, its ears flat against his head.

“Easy. Easy,” she said.

Vera tried to work the straps through the buckles, tugged off her gloves and tried again. All the while, she murmured words of comfort and consolation to an animal that she wasn’t even sure could hear her above the rain, the water slapping against the side of the cart. She made her way around the animal, feeling low on its body, unbuckling every strap she could find, working her way around the front while praying that the animal wouldn’t bite her.

Finally, the last of the tack came loose. The horse stamped in the water that was now up to Vera’s waist. But the horse was still trapped. The steep bank of the hill closed it in on one side; the tree branch hemmed it in from the other.

“All right,” she said. “I’m going to lift the branch. Then you should be able to get out. But you’ll need to hurry—I don’t know if I can hold it for long.”

Or even lift it at all, she thought darkly as she climbed back up the side of the cart. Her dress now felt as if it weighed more than she did. She’d lost one boot to the sucking mud and she barked her toes against the step.

The end of the branch still lay on the high point of the small hill. If she could use that point as a lever, if she lifted the branch high enough, the horse might be able to get out.

The animal certainly seemed eager. The water was rising. He stamped and flailed, water frothing around him. Every now and then, he gave a panicked whinny. His eyes were wide and rolling. She was glad he hadn’t been so frightened when she was near him—she wasn’t sure she’d have the courage to approach him as he was now.

“All right.” Vera said the word to bolster herself more than the horse.

She leaned down and gripped the rough bark of the tree branch. She suddenly wished she had her gloves back, but those had been lost to the swirling water as soon as she tugged them from her fingers.

She hefted the branch, doing her best to ignore the scraping snag of the twigs as they clutched at her skirts on the way up, as they bit and bent against her skin. She grunted—the branch was at her chest now, but it still wasn’t high enough for the horse. She braced the branch upon her chest and adjusted her grip. The rough bark tore at her skin; she gritted her teeth and hefted once more.

High, higher. Up above her head.

“Go,” she grunted. “Go.”

It was nearly a silent plea—she had no energy for much else. Worse, she couldn’t see if the horse was able to or already had made its escape. She held the branch as high overhead as she was able until it wobbled, her arms nearly giving out. With her last dregs of strength, she pushed it away from her as it fell.

But the last of her strength wasn’t enough—the branch landed with a thunk against her ankle. Vera cried out and doubled over, yanking her foot from beneath the weight in desperation. Thank goodness it had hit her booted foot, and not the bare one. Even so, the pain blinded her for a moment; she gripped her ankle and groaned.

Vera glanced to the side—the horse was free! It charged through the water and up the side of the ditch…

And cantered down the road into the darkness.

“You traitor!” she called to its retreating backside.

Not that she could be mad at the horse, not really. It was headed in the direction of home, and while she’d hoped they had come to an accord—one in which she’d release the horse and it would then take her with it when it left—Vera knew that it was wishful thinking. She’d never spoken a horsey language, and the animal was just acting prudently, according to its nature.

Still, that left Vera soaked to the bone, one boot lost to the quagmire of the gulley, the other ankle sprained at best. She was cold, frustrated, and quite wrung out by the fear she’d felt for the horse only minutes prior. It would have drowned if she hadn’t taken action, so she couldn’t be sorry for freeing it, even though the act had left her utterly marooned and alone. And in pain.

Vera hissed as she tested the weight against her ankle. She nearly buckled under the searing agony, but it held.

Funny how the presence of an animal felt like company. Without the horse, she was all too aware of her chilled state, of how dark it was, of how much her ankle hurt… But no—she shouldn’t think like that.