I grabbed it. This time, more embarrassed than ever. “I couldn’t find a real hair band.”
He lifted a section of hair and gave it a light tug. “Despite your dress, I’m glad you haven’t forgotten who you are. Though I must say . . . Something is different about you.”
“What?”
“I can’t put my finger on it yet, but give me time.”
I nodded and led the way to the stairs.
Give me time . . . Time. Our timing was off. How many times had I read that line? Or heard it in movies? Time was never neutral and often felt dangerous. Either we think we have all the time in the world, or time moves too fast or too slow; a shock can stop time; fear or impending pain can slow it. Time never simply is . . . And no matter how much you want to hang on to it, time runs out. I glanced back to Nathan. Our timing was off or it had run out. I had none to give him—so I let him go.
“Time to get you to Isabel.” I wondered if he could wake her. Was she Sleeping Beauty waiting for her Prince Charming? The thought drove me faster. “She’s probably at the stables. It’s becoming her favorite place.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from adding, And Grant her favorite guy.
“Hey . . . You’re doing it again. Slow down.”
I felt my shawl lift as I raced down the last few stairs. I halted when I reached the hall’s white-and-black marble. Nathan stood right behind me.
He had pulled my shawl off and was fanning it out. He then moved close, flipped it over my head, and settled it on my shoulders. “This was falling off too.” He looked down at me without stepping back.
“Thank you.” I stepped away first and led the way to the front door, down the front steps, and across the gravel drive. I darted my eyes everywhere but at him.
“It’s really beautiful here, don’t you think? I love these trees, and the air has this tactile damp feeling, but not today, or yesterday, which I think is unusual. I thought we were going to get more rain, but Gertrude, she’s the manager, says it’s been dry and is expected to generally remain so, which must be unusual with all this green. But we know dry back home and this really doesn’t feel dry.” I heard myself prattling and stopped.
I tilted my head toward the path. Shadow met us at the copse of trees covering the hillside down to the stream and stables.
“It reminds me of the Pacific Northwest.” Nathan caught up and walked next to me. “Does everyone always dress up here?”
“Sonia—she’s the maid—explained that the other night. Costumed parties dominate the summer months, the high season. But there are only two costumed stays offered in the fall, the last week in September and this two-week stretch to Halloween. Then the Stanleys, the owners, keep the house for themselves all through the holidays. And . . .” I took a breath; it rattled on the exhale. “The house doesn’t fill in the fall. It’s kind of the time for the staff to wrap up all the details of the busy summer before the Stanleys come. That’s why the Lottes—they’re the family from Geneva—chose this week. They didn’t want Clara, their eight-year-old, to feel uncomfortable. She already speaks three or four languages, and she adores Isabel. The other couple, the Muellers, chose it because I guess it’s a little cheaper now than in the high season. They’re from Salzburg. They’re about eighty, and don’t mention the Von Trapps. Well . . . Do. Herman likes to talk about them.”
I risked a peek. My head reached right above Nathan’s shoulders. It would probably tuck beneath his chin. I dropped my eyes—our hands were at the same level.
He glanced over. I glanced away.
We rounded the last bend to find an empty stable. The door to the dark-green building was shut, and the silence held a hard, empty quality. I peeked inside. Three horses. No humans.
“I didn’t tell her you were coming . . . I’m sorry.”
“Mary, I didn’t come to—”
“Good morning, Miss Davies.”
I spun as Duncan came from around the corner dressed in khakis, work boots, and a plaid shirt. He carried small needle-nose clippers.
“Duncan.” I practically shouted his name. “Good to see you . . . Has our resident Emma gone riding?”
“She and Grant left about an hour ago. He took a picnic, so I expect they’ll be gone awhile.” Duncan’s face split into a slow smile. “She didn’t balk about no chaperone today, and he looked very pleased to—”
“Duncan, this is Isabel’s boyfriend from the States. Nathan Hillam. Nathan, this is Duncan. He’s interning here this summer while getting his veterinarian degree.”
Duncan blanched. “I—”
“All good.” Nathan cut him off. He narrowed his eyes my direction, then pumped Duncan’s hand in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you, Duncan. Those look like they’re for fishing?” He gestured to the clippers.
“I was tying flies. Do you want to see—”
Nathan had already passed him.
Duncan followed Nathan. I followed Duncan. We rounded the stables and found a door on the other side. I stepped through.
Fishing rods lined the walls, and small bins of feathery flies lined the counter. There was a desk covered in brightly colored foam sheets, fluff, and more feathers. It looked like a kindergarten craft table. Rubber pants hung from hooks, boots stacked in rows beneath them.
“This is amazing. My grandfather tied all his own flies.” Nathan pointed to the table. “Can we fish?” He directed his question to me.
Duncan answered. “Let me get you set up. You won’t need waders; you can stay on the bank. There’s a spot just downstream that has a good caddisfly hatch this time of the morning.”
I leaned against the wall and watched while the two of them chatted like old friends and grabbed everything a fisherman needed. Nathan acted like a kid on Christmas Eve—all excitement and questions. Christmas Eve as most people think of it, that is—the holiday as it should be.
Nathan sent me a warm smile. It felt as if he’d read my thoughts and liked their direction. Then he turned back to Duncan like a puppy yapping at Duncan’s heels. What kind of fish? . . . What’s running? . . . Any rainbow? . . . What’s hatching? . . . Dry fly? . . . Wet? . . . What do you tie? . . . Do you tie all your own flies? . . .
Once Duncan had everything sorted, Nathan stopped in front of me. “I’m sorry, Mary. Is there something you or we need to do? I didn’t even think about Isabel.”
“Don’t you want to find her?”
“She’s happy with Grant, right?” His gaze swept Duncan into the conversation too.
The younger man’s face clouded in confusion. “She looked very happy this morning. She seemed pleased to see Grant and she loved the idea of a picnic. Not that anything would be amiss. Grant would never be—”
Nathan stepped to him and clapped a hand on his back. “I’m not worried about any of that. If she is safe and happy, I am too.” His last sentence he directed to me. It felt like smoke—substantive enough to carry a message, but able to drift up and away before I caught it.
He wagged a finger at my dress. “It’s not as if she can go too far.”