The Yonahlossee Riding Camp for Girls by Anton DiSclafani Page B

I’d always done well.
    Sam would have to cling to me, fiercely, in order to stay on; Sasi, excited by the new weight upon his back, would sidestep and arch his neck, trot elaborately. He knew what was coming, how I would let him go, give him his head and let him gallop until he tired; could he hear Sam as he whispered, frightened, into my hair, begging me to stop? Could he feel me shake my head and turn a deaf ear to my brother? And finally, could he feel Sam relax against me, and, as we swerved to the right to avoid a branch, feel him gasp with fear but also with pleasure?
    Fear makes a horse go faster, so I liked having Sam’s fear up there with me, goading Sasi on. And this was good for Sam, I thought, I knew—he needed to let himself be scared sometimes, in order to experience the pleasure that risk brought.
    Father was usually gone until nighttime, and Mother gardened and tended to the house for most of the day.
    Sam and I eagerly anticipated our cousin’s family’s visits, when Mother and Father would act lighthearted, when Sam and I would spend countless hours with Georgie. But I liked it when they left, too, at the end of the weekend; I liked having my family back to myself again, I liked spending uninterrupted hours in the barn, where I went less when Georgie was here, because he was afraid of horses.
    Father saw his patients every day, but even so, he never seemed to particularly care about people. Besides, of course, keeping them in good health, which he cared about deeply. The Atwells on their thousand acres were
almost an island
, my joke with Sam. But it wasn’t entirely a joke, for an ocean might as well have surrounded us.
    —
    T hea?”
    I opened my eyes, slowly. Georgie stood over me. He had arrived yesterday with his parents.
    “Wake up, Thea,” he whispered.
    Sam was snoring softly. My stomach ached, fiercely, and I wanted to sleep. We slept in my room, Georgie in my other twin bed and Sam on the floor, though I noticed how Mother had hesitated over the sleeping arrangements this time.
    “Thea,” he said again, “it’s almost morning.”
    “Yes,” I agreed, “now go back to sleep.”
    “If I’m not tired?”
    I closed my eyes against Georgie’s voice.
    “Come downstairs with me,” he whispered, tugging my hand. “Please.”
    “I’m tired.”
    “Come anyway.” His features were softer in the dim light. He looked at me hopefully, and put his hand on my cheek. It felt strangely tender, but good; I could feel my heart quicken. I threw off the covers. I wanted to wake Sam, but Georgie shook his head. Sam and I did what Georgie wanted, mainly. He was older and stronger than either of us.
    “Follow me,” he said, and we made our way through the sleeping house that felt dead it was so quiet.
    “I should have put on more clothes,” I said, once we were outside in the chilly air. It was fall, almost Thanksgiving, though the leaves didn’t change here, instead died suddenly and quickly. Fall was a mixed blessing: I could ride during the day, because of the cool temperature, but I couldn’t stay out as late because dark came earlier.
    “Aren’t you tired?”
    Georgie shook his head. “I can’t sleep. Here,” he said, and patted the damp ground. “Sit.”
    I lingered. “I might go say hi to Sasi.”
    “Don’t. He’s probably sleeping.”
    I laughed and sat down next to him, folded my nightgown over my legs. “Horses only sleep an hour a day.”
    “Maybe I’m like a horse.”
    “They sleep standing up,” I continued. “So that they’re ready to run, at a moment’s notice.”
    “Do horses say things like that? A moment’s notice?”
    “To me. Sasi says all sorts of things to me.”
    Georgie nodded, but he didn’t smile. I could tell his mind was elsewhere. He seemed pensive, which I took note of because it was so unusual. Usually he moved through the world so easily, was himself such easy company, always in good humor.
    “Do you think you’ll live here forever?”