“There was no need. They had professional photographers for the horses.”
She made a face. “Don’t you think that’s odd? They never had a family portrait done or took pictures of their daughter, but they paid someone to take pictures of their horses?”
Claude shrugged and turned away. “To each their own.”
She watched him for a moment, unsure if she should press him further. Then she decided to go for it. What did she have to lose? He already disliked her. “What about Lilly?” she said. “Did my father ever mention anyone by that name?”
For a fraction of a second, Claude froze. A casual observer might not have noticed, but Julia did. Then he bent over, impaled another bale of hay, and shoved it into place. “Nope.”
“Was that my sister’s name?”
“Don’t know.”
“What about The Barlow Brothers’ Circus? Ever heard of it?”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
She opened her mouth to ask him another question, then changed her mind. She wasn’t going to get anywhere with him. Not like this, anyway. Maybe after she had the film developed and figured out if the pictures would help solve the mystery, she’d bring the newspaper clippings and other things she found over to the barn. Maybe then he’d understand she was serious about learning the truth. “Will you let me know if you remember anything? Please?”
“Yup.”
She sighed and went back to the new filly’s stall. Fletcher was coming out, an empty milk bottle in his hand, and the filly was asleep in the hay.
“She’ll need to eat again in two hours,” he said. “When we come back from town I’ll show you how much water to put in the milk.”
Julia nodded, briefly entertaining the idea of telling him everything. She felt so alone with all of it and could have used someone to talk to. Maybe Mother had let something slip while he was working here. Then, in the next instant, she changed her mind. She had no concrete evidence to support her harebrained theories, just her own gut feelings, cryptic messages in a journal, hidden ticket stubs and articles about a circus and an albino woman, a brush full of white hair, and a locked drawer with a camera inside. It all sounded so absurd. And the last thing she needed was for Fletcher, the one person willing to help her right now, to think she was foolish or crazy.
In Fletcher’s truck on the way to town, “Love Me Tender” played on the radio while Julia stared out the window trying to figure out how everything tied together. If everything tied together. What had her parents done that needed God’s forgiveness? How did her sister die? Was she stillborn? Sick? Or was it something else? Who was the albino, and what did she have to do with her father? Who was Lilly? Her sister? Her father’s mistress? How had her father’s secrets—whatever they were—affected his relationship with her and Mother? And how had her sister’s death affected her parents’ relationship with her? Were they afraid to get too close, afraid to love her in case they lost her too? No, that wasn’t it.
For the thousandth time, she pulled herself apart piece by piece, trying to figure out why she felt so unloved. Then she pictured the long-legged filly asleep in the straw back at the barn, rejected for unknown reasons by its mother. She and the filly were kindred spirits. Maybe that was why she had to take the newborn in, and why it made her eyes water knowing they already loved each other unconditionally.
Fletcher turned down the radio. “A penny for your thoughts,” he said, pulling her out of her trance.
She blinked and tried to smile. “Just daydreaming, that’s all.”
“Well, we’re getting close to town. Where do you want to stop?”
“I need to get a roll of film developed.”
“Okay, we can drop it off at the drugstore. Anything else?”
“I’d like to grab a few things at the supermarket if we have time.”
“All right.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, keeping time with the song on the radio.
“Do you know how long it takes to get film developed at the drugstore?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I’m not sure. What have you been taking pictures of?”
She was caught off guard by the question. “Nothing.”
He laughed. “Well, that doesn’t sound very interesting. Remind me to have something else to do if you ever want to bore me with your photographs.”
“That’s not what I mean.” She picked at her thumbnail, unsure if she should tell him the truth, at the same time knowing she would. “I found an old camera in the house.”
He grinned and widened his eyes. “Ooh, a mystery!”
“It is a mystery,” she said. Her tone was harsher than she intended.
His smile disappeared, and he directed his attention back to the road. “Okay. Got it.”
“Sorry. It’s just . . . my parents were a little . . . strange . . . and difficult. Now I’m trying to find answers to questions I’ve been asking my entire life.”
“No, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make light of it. I can tell you’ve been struggling with something, but I don’t want to pry. Just let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
She bit her lip and turned toward the window again. He was being so nice, but she didn’t feel like explaining. Not yet anyway. And she wouldn’t even know where to begin. Besides, he was still a stranger. A very kind, very handsome stranger, but still a stranger. Thankfully, he didn’t press any further.
After they dropped the film off at the drugstore, Fletcher ran into the hardware store while she picked up a few supplies at the supermarket. When they returned to the barn two hours later, the new filly was awake and hungry, and Claude was in a stall with Bonnie Blue and Samantha. Julia and Fletcher stopped at Blue’s stall to see what was going on.
“Everything okay?” Fletcher asked Claude.
“Right as rain,” Claude said. “Just checking her bag. Samantha’s nursing a lot. Probably going to be seventeen hands.”
“Better give Blue extra grain then,” Fletcher said.
“Already doing it.”
Fletcher glanced at Julia and shrugged, and they made their way down to the new filly’s stall.
“Has he always been that grumpy?” she said. “Or just since I got here?”
Fletcher threw his hands in the air. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately. I mean, he’s always been focused on work, but he’s never been that temperamental toward me.”
“It’s my fault.”
“No, it’s not. I told you he doesn’t like change.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“What then?”
“He knows something. Something he doesn’t want to tell me.”
“About what?”
“My parents.”
“What about them?”
“I’m not sure. But I’m going to find out.”