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 Chapter 4: Meeting RachelSTORY SO FAR:On Ben’s first morning at Wind Rider Farms, a savage rider taunts Ben and does everything possible to make him feel the weight of his father’s guilt.
Editor's note: This is the fourth chapter in an 18-part series of stories that appear on Fridays through Jan.18 in the Daily. Mr. Brennan materialized as Ben jogged up the steps, mist swirling away behind him. His host, or foster father, or guardian—Ben wasn’t sure how to think of the man—took one look and grabbed his arm. “You’re cold as the grave,” Mr. Brennan said in a horrified voice. “Come on inside, where it’s warm.”  Ben’s heart had begun a guilty hammering even though he’d done nothing wrong, but now he realized the angry look on Brennan’s face was just concern. He was freezing, too, and he stood in the hall with his teeth chattering as Mr. Brennan rummaged in the coat closet. “Gotta be something in here you can put on,” the man said, his voice muffled by coats and old horse blankets. Ben nodded, his gaze roaming over the hodgepodge of photos that covered the wall: Brennan, Mrs. Brennan, Leo, one or two other people Ben recognized from last night, in fact all kinds of people sitting on, looking at, patting, walking, grooming, or otherwise admiring racehorses. He turned as Mr. Brennan cried out, “Aha!” and emerged from the closet with a saggy fisherman’s sweater. Little bits of hay clung to the hem, and one elbow looked as if a horse had been nibbling on it, but Ben was happy to pull it on over his head. And just as he did, his eyes registered another face on the wall. The turtleneck smothered him for a moment, and Ben freed his head. There, facing him, was a photo he’d noticed yesterday. It was a picture of Brennan as a teenager with another kid—a sneering kid who looked so much like the rider in the fog, it had to be his father. “Hey, who—“ “Morning, Uncle Teddy.” “Rachel!” The girl who was coming down the stairs was the kind of girl that always made Ben feel like he had food on his chin. She wore riding britches and glossy boots, and a red sweatshirt that looked ridiculously glamorous on her, and had shiny blond hair in short curls like somebody out of a 1930s fashion magazine. This Rachel was so pretty it made Ben’s stomach hurt. He realized his mouth was open, and shut it with an audible snap. “Rache, this is Ben, who’s staying with us for a while; Ben, this is my niece, Rachel Brennan. She got home very late last night,” Brennan added with a scowl that was a half-smile. “I told you I’d be getting in late,” the girl said. She turned her attention to Ben and smiled with a mouthful of white teeth. “Hi.” “Hi,” Ben said, mentally calculating her age as maybe sixteen, maybe twenty-three, it was hard to say. “Rachel’s spending her last two weeks of summer break with us before going back to school,” Mr. Brennan explained. Ben was about to ask what grade, when he noticed that her sweatshirt said Cornell University. Maybe nineteen or twenty. “Did you have a good time?” Brennan asked her. “We went to Siro’s after the track, and then Jolly Langerhans took a bunch of us to the backstretch for dinner. You know,” she added, “that cafeteria where they cook that really cool Mexican food? Or Nicaraguan? Whatever, it’s delicious. And then they started playing music and we danced.” As she spoke, Rachel did a little cha-cha step on the stairs. “A lot of the people who work at the track are from Central and South America,” Mr. Brennan told Ben. “There’s a whole world in the backstretch that most people never know about.” Ben smiled and wished he could think of something intelligent to say. “Do you ride?” Rachel asked, her heels clicking on bare wood as she trod the last few steps down. “No, I—” “Maybe you can give him some lessons,” Mr. Brennan suggested. He waggled his eyebrows up and down. Unfazed, Rachel said, “Sure, Uncle Teddy. Anytime.” “Well, I don’t know about you, but I smell bacon cooking,” Brennan said. “Come have some breakfast, Ben.” Ben made to follow, but Rachel stopped him with a look. His heart skipped a beat, and he struggled to control the happy-puppy smile that threatened to take over his face. “I, um,” Rachel began, making sure that Mr. Brennan was out of earshot. She turned back to Ben. “Listen, my Uncle Teddy is a really great guy.” “Sure,” Ben said, wondering where this was going. “He’s incredibly generous. To a fault,” Rachel went on. “He’ll bend over backwards to help people. He’ll give his last dollar.” Ben’s shoulders sagged. He knew where this was going, now. “He looks for the good in everyone, says things like ‘Nobody should have to pay for their parents’ mistakes,’ you know? Aunt Leelee, too. That’s just who they are and what they believe. So mostly,” Rachel said with a guarded smile, “people try not to disappoint them.” “Sure.” Ben swallowed hard. “I understand.” She smiled wider. “Good. I hope you don’t think I’m a horrible person for saying that, I just—I just really love them.” He watched silently as she turned and walked out the front door. Who could blame her for giving him a warning? He was just a foster kid in a horse-gnawed sweater, with a father in prison for arson and a cloud of dark suspicion following him like smoke. (PDF: Chapter 4) | (Read Chapter 5) Text © 2003 by Jennifer Armstrong Illustrations © 2003 by C.B. Mordan Reprinted by permission of Breakfast Serials Inc. www.breakfastserials.com |
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