O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,188

Then, he said, “That has been the illusion all along, Joe. You actually have everything to lose.”

Josiah didn’t remember the walk back to his apartment. He didn’t remember climbing the four flights of stairs. He didn’t remember anything till he saw his reflection in his mirror. A scarred reflection, due solely to the pockmarks and faults on the glass.

“What now?” he asked, without looking at the man who stood beside him. A man who didn’t have any reflection at all.

But he did have a voice. “Watch,” he said.

Josiah blinked and gazed up at the façade of Highfield Hall, its ancient walls unchanged by time, the slate roof lit by watery sunshine. The air smelled of damp earth and the breeze, though gentle, had a chill to it. The gardens looked bare, though the trees and shrubs were heavy with buds. Spring, then.

“I don’t know how you’re doing this,” Josiah murmured. “But I know it isn’t real.”

“Ah, but it was,” his companion replied. “The date is the second of March, 1828. Your fifth birthday. Do you remember it?”

Josiah clenched his fists. “How are you doing this?”

“Do you remember it?”

“Yes. Well, at least partly. It was the day I got Alfred. But I don’t think I want to—”

“Watch.”

Of Lessons Learned

“Happy birthday, Josiah.” Aldous plopped Josiah into the saddle. “Do you like him?”

“I like him very much, Papa.” Josiah gathered up the pony’s reins. “I’ve decided to call him Alfred.”

“An excellent choice.” Aldous adjusted the stirrups and then stood back to regard his son. “Hands and heels down. And sit back a little. Spine in line, remember?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s it. Chin up and lead with your eyes. Perfect. Are you ready?”

“Uh huh.”

“Off you go, then. A couple of times around the paddock. Walk and trot only.”

Josiah pressed his knees to the pony’s ribs and the animal responded instantly, moving forward at a jaunty walk. Josiah grinned in sheer delight. He’d previously been riding Sammy, Julian’s old pony, but now, at last, he had his own. A Welsh pony, dapple-gray. The best color for a horse, according to his mother.

“Trot on,” he said, clucking his tongue and squeezing his knees again. The pony responded without hesitation, and Josiah posted as he’d been taught. Seeking acclaim, he glanced over at his father, who was standing in the middle of the paddock, hands on hips.

“Good form, young man,” his father called. “Well done.”

Encouraged by the praise, Josiah decided to try the canter. He gripped the reins a little tighter and pressed his heels to Alfred’s stomach. The pony snorted, took a little leap, and surged ahead. The sudden movement took Josiah by surprise, throwing him backwards, out of the saddle, over Alfred’s rump, and onto the ground. He landed hard on his back and felt the air rush from his lungs.

“Josiah!” his father shouted.

But Josiah couldn’t answer. He couldn’t even breathe.

“Josiah.” His father dropped to his knees beside him. “Oh, dear God! Are you all right, son? Can you move?”

He gaped up at his father in panic. I can’t breathe. I can’t…

“Speak to me,” his father said. “Try to move your legs.”

He managed to lift his knees, arms flailing he at last pulled in a great gulp of air. “Papa!”

“Oh, thank God.”

“I… I couldn’t breathe.”

“I know, I know. It’s all right.” His father gathered him up and held him close. “You were winded, that’s all.”

Josiah wondered why his father was shaking. Was it because he was angry?

“I’m truly sorry, Papa,” he said, wrapping his arms around his father’s neck. “Please don’t be cross.”

“I’m not cross, Josiah.” He smiled and brushed the hair back from Josiah’s face. “Though I certainly should be. Look at the dent you put in the ground!”

Josiah chuckled and wiped a tear from his father’s cheek. “Why are you crying, Papa?”

“I’m not,” his father replied, sniffing. “I have something in my eye.”

“Oh.” He glanced about. “Where’s Alfred?”

“He’s over there, looking rather sorry for himself.”

“I don’t want to ride him anymore, Papa.”

“Why not?”

“I might fall off again.”

“Why did you fall off this time, Josiah?”

“Because…” He pondered. “Because Alfred went too fast for me.”

“And was that Alfred’s fault?”

“Um, no.”

“No. You asked him to do something and he did it. But you weren’t ready, were you? That’s why I told you only to walk and trot. You mustn’t do anything you’re not ready to do, in case you get hurt. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, I want you to get back into the saddle and show me again how you make Alfred walk and trot.”

“Must I?”

“Yes, you must, and