She trailed Fletcher along the side of horse trailer and followed him around to the back, wishing they could get this over with so she could go into town and find a place to get the film in the camera developed. Maybe the pictures would help answer some of her questions. Fletcher unlocked the ramp and let it down, then gestured for her to follow him up it. He was still smiling, but there was a strange tightness in his eyes, a rare glint of unease she had never seen before. Normally he seemed to swagger around the barn like the jocks who used to make fun of her in school, sure of the world around him and his place in it. Seeing him like this made her nervous. She didn’t think she could handle any more surprises. Steeling herself, she went up the ramp, peered inside the trailer, and gasped.
Lying in a bed of yellow straw, a newborn foal the color of coal lifted its head and blinked up at her. When it saw her and Fletcher, it struggled to its feet on wobbly legs and pushed its tiny muzzle over the door.
Julia smiled and rubbed its fuzzy forehead, forgetting about Claude, her late sister, and the film in the camera. “Is this the nurse mare’s foal?” she said. “I thought Claude brought it back last night.”
“He did,” Fletcher said. “This one was born over at the Thompson Farm early this morning. The mare rejected it.”
She frowned. “How come?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes it just happens. No one knows why. It was the mare’s first.”
She looked at the orphaned foal’s sweet face and felt an instant kinship with it, immediately berating herself for being so caught up in her own problems she almost refused to listen to Fletcher. “But how will it survive without its mother?”
He leaned over the door and scratched the foal’s neck. “I was hoping you’d take care of it.”
Her eyes went wide. “Me? I don’t know anything about—”
“I’ll help you.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I might do something wrong. Then it will get sick, and I’ve got so much to do in the house and—”
“After what you did yesterday, telling Claude not to take any more foals from their mares, I figured you wouldn’t mind me bringing this little one here. It was either that or the auction. And its chances of survival after that wouldn’t be good.”
She took a deep breath and gazed at the newborn. She had no idea what was involved in taking care of a foal, but she couldn’t turn away this beautiful baby and send it to auction. She looked at Fletcher. “What about you? Why can’t you take care of it?”
“I’m on the road every day. A newborn needs to be fed about every two hours for the first week, then every four to six hours after that.”
She gaped at him. “For how long?”
“After a few weeks she’ll show interest in solid food, but you’ll still have to bottle-feed her for a while.”
“She?”
“Yes, it’s a filly.”
She studied the filly’s innocent, trusting eyes. There was no other choice. She had to take the poor thing in. “Okay,” she said.
“Okay what?”
“I’ll take care of her.”
Fletcher grinned and unhitched the trailer door. “Great, let’s get her in the barn. I picked up some fresh cow’s milk on the way here, but it has to be watered down a bit.”
She feigned surprise. “You already picked up milk? What if I had said no?”
He winked at her. “I knew you wouldn’t.”
The filly backed away from the opening doorway, frightened by the strange sights and sounds. Julia stepped off the ramp to get out of the way while Fletcher went into the trailer and rubbed the filly’s neck and ears and sides. At first, the filly wasn’t sure what was going on. But the more Fletcher rubbed, the more she leaned into him like a dog enjoying a scratch. Eventually, Fletcher straightened, clicked his tongue, and exited the trailer. The filly followed him down the ramp on spindly, wobbling legs, then bounded behind him toward the barn, her short, fuzzy tail held high.
Julia followed and Claude turned to watch them go by, a scowl on his face. She forced a smile and waved at him. He nodded once, then went back to work. Halfway to the barn, the filly stopped, looked back at Julia, and waited for her to catch up. When she did, the filly jumped and kicked a hind leg in the air, as if happy she was there. She stayed beside Julia as they followed Fletcher into the barn, and Julia’s eyes grew moist. Maybe she was imagining things, but it seemed like the little horse already loved her.
Julia left her purse in the barn office and went to help Fletcher put the filly in an empty stall. He filled a bottle with watered-down milk and showed Julia how to hold it, then watched her feed the newborn, his hands on his hips, a satisfied look on his face. Julia grinned like a fool as the filly slurped and licked and tugged on the nipple.
“You’re a natural,” Fletcher said.
“You think so?”
“Sure, she took right to you.”
Claude came over to the stall and peered over the door. “What’s this all about?”
“I brought this filly over from the Thompson Farm,” Fletcher said. “The mare rejected it.”
“So now we’re taking in culls?” Claude said, his voice hard.
“She took a liking to Julia,” Fletcher said.
Claude shook his head and walked away, mumbling under his breath. Julia looked up at Fletcher, her eyebrows raised.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “He’ll get over it.”
“I don’t know. First I said I don’t want foals taken from mares, and now this. I’m afraid we might never get along.”
“He just doesn’t like change,” he said. “Your mother . . . sorry, I mean Mrs. Blackwood . . . even said it took a while for him to listen to her after your father died. And now you’re in charge after he’s been running the show on his own for a while. He’s a little hard around the edges and set in his ways, but he’ll come around.”
She studied Fletcher’s face, trying to imagine him having a heart-to-heart with Mother. Maybe he knew more about Blackwood Manor and her parents than she thought. “Did my mother confide in you often?”
He laughed. “Ah, no. It was more like her yelling and swearing at Claude for not listening.”
“That sounds more like the Mrs. Blackwood I remember.” She grinned. “Do you think it will help if I swear at Claude?”
He laughed again. “No, you’re doing a good job at keeping a balance between respecting his expertise and letting him know you’re the new boss.”
“Thanks,” she said. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”
“Anytime.”
Fletcher’s words bolstered her confidence, but she knew it was fleeting. Maybe she should ask Claude about the camera now, before she lost her nerve.
“Take the bottle for a minute, will you?” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
Fletcher took the bottle and she left the stall, went into the office, and got the camera and case out of her purse. She found Claude working near the hayloft ladder, spearing hay bales with a handheld hook and stacking them in a pile. She stood in the aisle and cleared her throat to get his attention. He glanced over his shoulder to see who was there, but said nothing.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
He lifted a bale of hay and kneed it into place among the others. “You’re the boss.”
She took the camera out of the case and held it up. “Have you seen this before?”
He stopped working, took off his cap, wiped a sleeve across his sweaty brow, and squinted at the camera. Then he put his cap back on and said, “Nope.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” He impaled another bale and put it on top of the stack.
“So you have no idea who it belongs to?”
Claude shook his head.
“Well, I found it inside a locked drawer in my father’s desk. I’ve never seen it before and I don’t remember my parents ever owning a camera.”