The Enchanted Life of Adam Hope - By Rhonda Riley Page 0,40

made a difference between us, more of a difference because I feared what she might already know about Addie. Maybe she had seen something, more than just the resemblance between me and Addie. I wanted to know what she knew, but we kept our silence—both of us.

After Addie and I returned from walking Momma down to Mildred’s that evening, she returned Cole’s mare to the Starneses. She rode her bareback—the high-strung, mean horse that none of the Starnes men could handle. To hear Cole tell about it at church the next Sunday, Mr. Starnes had been more than impressed. Addie continued visiting the mare at the fence, and the horse galloped to Addie whenever she saw her.

A couple of weeks after the mare’s first visit, we were out in the field hoeing the corn. The mare spotted Addie when we were a good ways from the Starneses’ pasture. The work was hot and tiresome. We pushed ourselves. Every time Addie glanced up, that mare paced the fence and called to her.

By the time we got within thirty feet of the fence, the mare was farther off in the pasture. “Looks like she’s finally tired of you,” I said.

“I don’t think so.” Addie peered across the field, shading her eyes.

Then I heard the mare coming, a full, hard run.

She cleared the fence in a leap that seemed to stop for a second in midair, all grace. It was a beautiful thing to see, the kind of thing that stays with you. The mare, which she renamed Darling on the spot, followed Addie up and down the rows of corn, docile as a dog, oblivious to the four-foot corn tight against her flanks. I’d never seen anything like it.

Dark had fallen by the time we finished our work, so we stabled the mare overnight.

A few days later, Cole came by. From the garden, I saw him stroll confidently up to the back porch where Addie was bent over the washtub, singing. Her hair, now as long as mine, hung down her shoulders. He reached out to touch it. But when she glanced up and smiled that smile at him, he jumped back awkwardly.

As I joined them, Addie was telling him when she could be at his house to meet with him and his daddy. Cole jumped again when he realized I stood next to him. His eyes darted toward me, then quickly away.

I understood his confusion, the strangeness of seeing her face, so similar to mine. It was still a small shock to me if I saw us in a mirror. I longed to smooth things for him, put him at ease, but I didn’t want to lead him on. My offer of tea sounded lame, almost formal, and I felt a twinge of relief when he refused. His eyes flitted awkwardly back and forth between me and Addie as if he couldn’t decide where to look. With a tight, cordial smile, he muttered something about needing to get back home, then he left.

Addie studied his back as he limped away. “He’ll be okay, Evelyn.”

After supper, she saddled our Becky and left for the Starneses, an extra bridle in hand.

When she returned, Darling belonged to her, and Mr. Starnes was entitled to a quarter of our hay plus the hay for his livestock that he’d been promised in exchange for the use of his tractor. Addie had her first horse.

Her ease around animals, especially large animals, amazed me. I managed Becky and the cows well enough. But I could never shake my awareness of their size and power or my assumption that they longed for the herd, the open plain, and an undomesticated sky above them. A part of me always braced for their revolt.

Now there were two things—ordinary things—that we did not share: the fiddle and Darling. It felt right to have our vast, less obvious difference reflected in such public talents.

After several months with Addie, I calmed down a bit. I had no choice. I forced myself to eat more and eventually I put some weight back on. I was able to sleep a full night. My monthly cycle returned. Gradually, the world lost some of its bright hues and became more ordinary. But I often felt as if I lived in dual worlds. One eye saw everything and everyone as they had always been and the other eye perceived a world in which anything might suddenly, impossibly give forth, transforming itself as Addie had. Some days, I felt crazy