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“Once there was a rocking horse named Sir Peter Teazle,” he began.
“That’s a silly name,” Adele said.
“He was a silly horse, because he had an impossible dream. He wanted to win the Derby.”
“A rocking horse can’t win the Derby.” Michel yawned.
“As I said, it was an impossible dream until one day, P.L. Rabbit appeared in his nursery. ‘Why so glum, Sir Peter Teazle?’ she asked, twitching her adorable little nose.”
“She’s not adorable, Father. She’s fearsome,” said Adele.
“She can be a pirate and still have an adorable nose,” he replied. “Now, are you going to keep interrupting me or can I tell the story?” he asked with mock sternness.
“Continue,” said Adele.
“‘Why so glum?’ P.L. asked. ‘I want to race in the Derby,’ said Sir Peter Teazle. ‘Well then why don’t you?’ asked P.L. Sir Peter gave her an incredulous look. ‘Because, can’t you see? I’m stuck on these wooden tracks and I can’t go anywhere at all.’ ‘Oh that’s easily solved,’ P.L. said in her confident, lilting voice. ‘All you have to do is believe, and anything is possible.’”
“Excuse me, Father,” interrupted Michel. “Is there going to be any bloodshed in this story?”
Edgar shook his head. “Afraid not. It’s a... romance, in a way.”
“Ew,” said Michel. “Romance.”
“Let him finish, children,” said Mari. Her heart had started racing at the wordromance, and was attempting to gallop out of her chest.
“‘Have you ever tried moving your hooves?’ P.L. asked Sir Peter.”
Edgar shifted his long legs on the bed, to accommodate the fact that Michel had collapsed against his shoulder and his eyelids were beginning to close.
“‘Of course I have,’ replied Sir Peter. ‘Try it again,’ commanded P.L. The rocking horse tried with all his might. ‘It’s no use,’ he said, dejectedly. ‘Oh for Heaven’s sake,’ said P.L. ‘Just move your legs, you stubborn plow horse.’ And she gave him a mighty push. And do you know what happened...?”
The sound of gentle snoring met his question.
Mari laughed quietly. “I think they’re asleep.”
Edgar caught her eye. “I don’t think they liked my story.”
“They’re exhausted,” she said. “I like your story. I’d like to know the ending.”
Holding her gaze, Edgar finished the story. “Sir Peter leapt off the tracks. ‘Well,’ he cried to P.L. ‘What are you waiting for? We’ve got a race to win!’ So P.L. hopped right onto his back.”
Adele lifted her head from Edgar’s shoulder. “And they won the race,” she mumbled. “Didn’t they.”
Edgar smiled. “They did, indeed. Though there were a great many perplexed gentlemen who had bet on proper horses, and studied all the odds, only to find that Sir Peter Teazle, a wooden rocking horse with a rabbit jockey on his back, went flying by everyone else and claimed the prize.”
Emotion welled in Mari’s chest.
She could be reading more into the story than Edgar wanted her to, but it seemed to be about an obdurate man who was stuck in his tracks, treading the same path, and someone urging him to break free, to forget about his rules, to believe in himself.
Seeing him with the children here at the beach was satisfying some deep need in her. To see them become a family. To know that even though he was gruff and huge and intimidating, he had a heart wider than his shoulders, big enough to love these children, and gentle enough to protect them from life’s disappointments.
She knew that when she left, he would always be there for them.
“They’re fast asleep,” he whispered. He eased his way off the bed, tucking the counterpane around the children.
They left the room on tiptoes. Harriet, the maid the hotel had provided, was sitting outside the door.
“They’re sleeping,” Mari told her. “I’ve no doubt they’ll slumber the night away. They’re stuffed full of oysters and sunshine.”
