The Purpose of Miss Shepley

Chapter Ten (part I)

In pine wood, be wary
Near wolfstones, don't tarry
lest Ravens come down from the mountains

(Northerns saying)

.:.

We all slept late the next morning. Mrs. Burke was still in her cap when she opened the curtains, letting fat yellow sunbeams spill in.

I took breakfast in my room, lazily watching Oakhurst working below. Even from the third storey, I could see the servants marching back and forth, preparing for the bonfire feast. A kitchen maid brought in berries, herbs, and lettuces from the garden, another carried pails of milk from the dairy, and yet another brought in eggs and three cockerels. Two butchers parted out a yearling bull, and several men chopped logs for the fire.

Once fed, I was dressed in riding habit, and I made my way to the stables. The mare was saddled and waiting for me already -- Oakhurst was efficient, I would grant it that. A stablehand boosted me up and watched as I took her through a few turns round the paddock, then he gave me a nod and returned to his work.

We put each other through our paces, the pony and I. She was as sweet as Earnest had promised, and eager, too, as if she enjoyed the ride as much as I did. But she soon grew restive, as I did, running in the same circle over and over.

I looked round for the stablehand -- or anyone -- but there was no one about. And so I patted the horse's neck and asked, "Well, how about some adventure, then?"

I set her at a trot northwest, to a wide path worn into the earth between the oaks and alders, willows and walnuts. The sounds of Oakhurst faded away, farther and farther behind, leaving only birdsong, the dull plod of the pony's hooves, her huffs and snorts...

The path skirted the Grassbeck, sometimes taking us down through thick brush to the water's edge, where the air was cool and moist; other times it brought us up, out of the wood onto bright, windswept grasslands. The sun baked us, and I undid my top two buttons.

The hills grew steeper, bit by bit, and the ground grew rough with root and rock. The gentle creek I'd known all my life ran fast, frothing white round smooth green stones. I was amazed by it all.

At length, the path narrowed and turned patchy, but I pushed on -- I was sure I could not lose my way. If I followed the creek, I should only have to follow it back again. The pony, however, soon tired, turning slow and stubborn and eager to graze.

I sighed. All my life, I had lived on flat land under a flat sky, like a fly caught between two plates, looking across the miles to these hills on the horizon and wondering...

I slid out of the saddle and tethered the mare to a slim alder, leaving her to nibble at weeds and wildflowers while I wrung out a few more drops from our adventure.

A hill rose from the creek, steep and dotted with clumps of weathered grasses. I climbed up it, using my hands as much as my feet. Bare rock split the soil in places, sharp and striped in oddly diagonal layers of gray and rust. It made for fine toeholds.

I pulled myself to the top and stood, looking out to see what I could see. Not far off, to my astonishment, I saw Earnest.

He stood on a stone bridge arcing over the Grassbeck. A saddled horse grazed nearby, and two strange and wild-looking men approached him.

They were slight and sinewy, with skin like milk and black hair they wore bound up in braids. They had little on but boots and breeches, and black lines ran all over their bodies, even up their necks to their chins. I noted they had also long knives, short bows, and quivers full of arrows.