Maple Dale (Maple Dale Series) Read online

  MAPLE DALE

  ~ * ~

  Maple Dale is dedicated to Cindy Joy, my sister in life and dear friend. And to our mom.

  Leah Oliver was never considered for adoption, nor was she ever temporarily fostered.

  Perhaps that was her fault. Apparently she was lost from the beginning.

  CHAPTER ONE

  It was early on a Saturday morning when Klaus Bukener told Leah he'd decided to sell Maple Dale. And oh, the look in her eyes. It would break your heart. Maple Dale was the only real home she'd ever had.

  "Intact? As a riding establishment?"

  Klaus belched. "I don't know. I'm not sure. It depends on how I can get the most money."

  "I can't believe this," Leah muttered. "Why?"

  "Why? Because this place's a headache and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of the whole damned thing."

  "But what about the kids? The students?"

  "They're not your kids, why do you care?" Klaus said, rather enjoying himself. "I doubt they care about you."

  Leah grew quiet for a moment, wondering. "But what about your father? How's he going to feel about this?"

  "Dad's senile. He doesn't even know what day it is. I should've known he was crazy when he built this place. What a dreamer."

  Leah tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat. "What are you going to do with the horses?"

  "I don't know. I haven't thought that far ahead. But it doesn't surprise me that you would."

  And that was the beginning, a seeded fate. Maple Dale was on the market for nine months. During that time, Leah watched a slew of prospective buyers come and go. But as time also allowed, her Monday and Wednesday students were now accomplishing two-foot fences, and her Tuesday group had brought home three high-point trophies.

  Klaus had become a regular now too and was constantly underfoot. Today when he showed up, Leah was listing horses to be shod on the blackboard in the barn. As usual, he started complaining.

  "Damn, this place stinks! How can you stand it? It smells like horse shit!"

  Leah gave him barely a glance. "That's because there seems to be a lot of it around lately."

  Klaus made a face. He loved her sarcasm. "Well, I finally unloaded the place."

  The chalk dropped from Leah's hand, shattering into tiny white fragments of dust at her feet. "Did you get what you wanted?"

  "Not quite. But then again, I may get more. And you're not going to like this." He stepped closer, wanting to relish her torment. "I'm going with a developer."

  "What?" Leah gasped, looking at him.

  "A developer. I'm tired of waiting around. I've got to unload now while the old man's still alive."

  Leah stared. "Is this final?"

  "No, not yet." Perhaps if she appealed to him. Just perhaps."I made a counter offer and should hear later today." But Leah made no such appeal. She just turned away. "Leah!" He'd expected at the very least some sort of argument. She disappointed him. "You'll find something else. Who knows, maybe you'll get on with a real life now."

  His feeble attempt at compassion was wasted. Leah was already at the far end of the barn and could hear nothing now but the loud roar between her ears.

  Later that evening, as she sat in her favorite chair with her cat, Phoenix, curled up on her lap, and Shad, her black Labrador, at her feet, she made a promise. A vow. If Maple Dale was going to be sold to a developer, it would be over her dead body.

  The next morning the proposed deal became final. After that, the weeks passed as quickly as the days. Whenever Leah would glance at the clock on the arena wall, it seemed as if the hands on the dial were mocking the swiftness of time. Several of the horses had already been shipped and the remaining would soon follow.

  She shuddered at the thought, then reminded herself, "But this is Tuesday," her favorite day of the week, and smiled. She propped her feet on her tack trunk and tilted her chair back so she could look out the observation window into the arena.

  On any other day, passive students were bussed in as part of their school curriculum. Maple Dale became a horseback day-care then, and Leah, the head baby-sitter. But on Tuesdays, only the kids who wanted to be there came, and they were full of enthusiasm. They had a goal. They wanted to be equestrians.

  Don't get me wrong. It wasn't that Leah didn't like the other students, she did, even the rotten ones, because after all somebody had to. But these past few weeks, the students on Tuesdays, the eager ones, had become her focus. They were her joy, and they were her escape. And it was through them, through their enthusiasm, that she was able to forget, albeit for only one day a week, the eventual demise of Maple Dale.

  Her mind wandered. "Be careful, Bethann, Persian Son is especially ornery today. Yes, yes, George, you tack Plisky One. Of course, who else? Sue, you get Lady. Jennifer, you have Barney." She was thinking ahead, anticipating. Jennifer's going to smile a smile full of braces and bands. George will be making fun. Sue's going to be chewing gum and snapping bubbles until told to spit it out. She'd complain and complain. And Bethann, shy, shy, Bethann, will walk silently into the tack room, keeping everything to herself. She knew them all so well, their habits, particularly Bethann. So honest. So sweet. And to catch a glimpse inside her quiet world on occasion, seemed almost like a wish granted without the asking.

  One such moment came as Leah was passing Persian Son's stall and overheard her talking to him. She had him tacked and ready for class and was telling him the highlights of her day. What she was saying was of no particular importance, nonsense actually, yet Leah couldn't help but stop and just stand there in awe. Bethann was stroking his forehead ever so gently and she was whispering. A motion as delicate as a breeze, a sound barely heard.

  As soon as she realized she was being watched though, the magic ended and her self-consciousness returned. But Leah would never forget that moment, ever. Because in the three years she'd known Bethann, that was the first time she'd ever heard her speak without stuttering.

  Bethann was what most people would call a born rider. And while Leah scoffed at the possibility of anyone being born a rider, knowing it took years and years of schooling and hard work to become accomplished, even she had to marvel at Bethann. The fundamentals, yes, they were learned, and she'd taught them to her. But the way she could command a horse to bend, and almost bow with obedience, came from somewhere else. A gift perhaps.

  Leah glanced at the clock on the arena wall, and since there was time, decided to go home for a moment. This would be Leah's seventeenth year at Maple Dale. She'd come there straight from the orphanage upon answering an ad in the paper for a live-in groom, and was now the respected headmistress. She'd moved twice, going from a small apartment on the second floor of the Century Home that graced the hill just beyond the arena, to a not-so-small one on the first floor. And with her promotion, given to her proudly by the senior Klaus Bukener five years ago, she now lived in the main apartment at the front of the house. She loved it there. She could see everything coming and going, and at night when there was no activity, she could hear the horses. That's how close they were.

  Phoenix greeted her with an arched back and a full stretch. Shad, barely lifting his head, simply sighed, though his tail was thumping. Leah smiled, remembering the day she found him. Wet, much too young, and looking like a skinny fur ball with Sasquatch feet, he was thirteen now, his zest having long since given way to arthritis, soft food, and these heavy, heavy sighs.

  "I have to check the stove," she told them, as if they could understand. "I was worried I might've left it on. I thought I checked it, but I want to make sure." She could see it was off, but still bent down and sniffed, and satisfied then, started back across the room.

  Shad thumped his t
ail again. "We'll go for a walk later," she assured him. "And don't worry, I'll get you back up the stairs." There were only four, but they were steep, and he'd been having trouble with them of late.

  As she walked to the arena and glanced down the road, a chill came over her. As if it had happened just yesterday, she remembered the morning Handsome Sam and Whitchit broke the pasture fence and ended up on the road. The worst time of day. All those cars. She could even hear the screeching of the tires. He struggled so to stand afterwards.

  She shivered, forced the painful memory from her mind, and walked faster, refusing to look back. Do something. Do something. She decided to double check the blacksmith's list, where for a second, standing there, she thought she heard Klaus's voice. But when she turned, a wretched pain shot through her side, and he was gone. A strangeness of thought came over her then. And a feeling, a feeling of being smothered. Then darkness, as if someone had covered her with a heavy blanket. A blanket as fragrant as a flower bed, forcing her to the ground.

  She lay motionless now with her face against the cold cement, unnerved by her shortness of breath, and wished she could get out from under the weight of the flowers. She could see into the tack room, but it seemed strange. It was dark and empty. Everything gone.

  She raised her head as high as she could to look down the aisle, where horses would nicker and nod at the slightest urging, thinking if she could get them stirred, help would come. But the stalls were empty too.

  "Oh my God!" she gasped. "The horses!" She had to find them, and forced herself to her knees. There was a pounding in her ears, a pounding and a fluttering. She tried to stand, but another pain gripped her, doubling her over. Such pain. As gurgling sounds bubbled deep in her throat, her jaw stiffened.

  She closed her eyes, but only for a moment, and had to struggle with her moist lashes to open them. Her arms were rigid at her sides. She had to force them to bend so she could brace herself. Outside, and getting louder as they approached, were geared-down machines vibrating the earth. The sounds were familiar, that of the busses.

  "Finally." No longer concerned about anything now but welcoming the students, she went out to greet them, and felt like she was floating, suspended only inches above the ground as she forced her legs to move, one in front of the other.

  It wasn't the busses though. It was construction and excavating equipment, large bus-yellow tractors, clang-clanging their way up the incline with the engines straining. The drivers didn't see her. They passed right over where she stood. And when she turned, with her fists raised to brandish them, she saw the charred ruins of her home, still smoldering.

  Somewhere deep in the woods a frightened tabby cat was in hiding, and miles away, an aged Labrador was being helped back into his kennel bed.

  You see, there were no busses due to arrive. No students. No equestrians. Yes, it was Tuesday. August 21st,1988 to be exact. But Leah Oliver was dead. She'd died a week ago, today.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Growing up in an orphanage wasn't all that bad, Leah would always reply when asked. It just wasn't that good. She kept that part to herself. In fact, she had pat answers for everything concerning her motherless life, and her expression never betrayed otherwise.

  Leah had settled on a plain, simple life, and was frugal to say the least. She never squandered money on useless cosmetics or trendy clothing, never once paid to have her hair cut, let alone styled, and could assemble all her toiletries in half a shoe box. She wore the same style clothing every day of her adult life, beige rat-catcher shirt, tan breeches and field boots. Her only accessory was a woven belt. At night, regardless of the season, you'd find her in a flannel nightgown and knitted slippers, and only at night, would you ever see her long hair unbraided. She was impeccably groomed at all times and always appeared to have just stepped from the shower, smelling fresh, and with hands as soft as seasoned leather.

  Her apartment was furnished simply, though certainly not lacking in taste. Two wingback chairs, an oak table, a plaid muslin Queen Anne loveseat, and a brass bed. She was methodical in the care of her possessions, used a vegetable oil soap for her furnishings, a pine cleaner for her bathroom, and trusted her clothing only to the gentleness of Ivory Snow.

  The weeks leading up to Leah's death would link her eternally to the finality of the Maple Dale equestrian program. But the real depth of her suffering couldn't have been imagined as she followed her daily routine, because she never once planned for the day that it would end.

  The advanced class was in progress and four aspiring equestrians were schooling their horses through the cavalletti; poles strategically arranged to pace a horse's stride. They'd been instructed to trot through then break into a canter, proceed to the in-and-out set of jumps, on to the artificial brick wall, and after that, to trot and come back through the cavalletti.

  Bethann had her head in the clouds and her hands full, but managed under a tight rein to hold Persian Son until the final cavalletti, which he took sloppily, scattering poles in all directions.

  "Bethann! Bethann!" Leah scolded. "What the hell was that? Come on! Had those been fences, do you know where you'd be right now? I'll tell you! On the ground! Now collect him and do it again!"

  Bethann rarely made an error or misjudgment. Her instincts were uncanny. Had she not been so preoccupied with the sale of Maple Dale, the cavalletti would've still been in place and, Persian Son, on the muscle and all, would have proved no match for her skillful hands. But she was the one student most affected, and her mother's role as real estate agent for the developer, only caused additional anguish. Maple Dale had been a haven for her, and Leah, her best friend.

  Leah rearranged the poles, and this time Bethann, with Persian Son on the bit, maneuvered it fluidly. "Yes! Yes! Yes! Much better! Good! Now walk!" Leah swept her hand to include the entire class. Instantly, simultaneously, stirrups were dropped and reins relaxed. A chorus of soothing words echoed sighs of relief as riders let down with their horses.

  It had been an especially grueling session with at least half of it spent at a trot, posting without stirrups, a schooling practice every student dreaded, with thigh muscles burning in agony. But a necessary one nonetheless.

  "How else," Leah had said more times than one would care to count, "can you expect your muscles to develop, with control that will become instinctive, second nature, and respond naturally in one with the horse, in perfect balance, but to practice over and over." Her students knew it by heart, word for word, and often were mouthing it along with her. "Over and over."

  Klaus was sitting at her desk when she walked into her office. "Nice class," he said, folding his arms across his midriff.

  "They're good students," Leah replied, a matter-of-fact statement sounding more like one given on a deathbed.

  Klaus made a face. "Now don't start that again. Those kids'll do just fine without Maple Dale."

  "I'm sure they will." Leah sat down on the cot across from him and raised her hand when he started to say something else. "I know, don't tell me. And so will I."

  Klaus puffed out his chest and leaned back in the chair to look directly at her. He always liked looking at her when she used this tone. He leaned back too far though, lost his balance, and nearly tipped over before he caught himself. His face turned beet red. "Did you get any offers?"

  Leah sighed. "Two."

  Klaus turned, furious with himself for almost falling, and tried to look preoccupied with some papers on her desk. "Did you decide on one?"

  "No." She didn't want either.

  "Hmph." Klaus drew a breath, paused deliberately, and faced her again to unload the blow. "Well, you'd better decide soon. Because in less than two weeks, not only will you be jobless, you'll be homeless as well."

  "What? Why so soon? I just talked to Bethann's mother this morning, she says they haven't sold one lot yet."

  "I know." Klaus shrugged. "But the developer thinks, and I agree, they might sell quicker with the old house torn down and a model put up in its place.
"

  Leah's eyes widened. "Torn down? That house is in excellent shape. Why tear it down? It's almost completely restored. My God, Klaus, it's a Century Home. They don't make houses like that anymore."

  Her tone irritated him, always the authority. "No, you're right there. And that's why it's got to go. It clashes with the style of homes they plan to build here."

  Leah stared off, feeling helpless, helpless and tired. Tired of the arguing and tired of the pain. "Whatever."

  Whatever...? Klaus pouted. They'd had many long discussions, bordering on knock-down-drag-out fights the past couple of weeks, and he looked forward to them. Giving up was so unlike her. He wanted that old spark. He wanted fire. He wanted attention.

  But Leah was miles away, reliving her visit earlier that day with his father at the nursing home.

  "You have a visitor, Mr. Bukener," the nurse said cheerfully, as she showed her into the solarium.

  He was sitting in a wheelchair facing the window. When he turned, Leah almost didn't recognize him. His silver hair was white now and unruly, as if he'd just gotten out of bed. His ever-tanned, southern-gentlemanly face and engaging smile, now pale and expressionless.

  "If we knew we were getting visitors, we would have put our teeth in, wouldn't we, Mr. Bukener?" the nurse said in an exaggerated and syrupy tone.

  He nodded, but remained expressionless, and Leah wondered why it took a visitor to be allowed one's false teeth.

  "Now you be nice to your visitor or I'll have to take you back to your room. And we wouldn't want that, now would we?"

  Mr. Bukener shook his head and grinned, looking like an obedient child with his hands clasped in his lap, and the nurse left them alone. For a moment, a very awkward moment, Leah found herself focusing on the room around her, the pale green walls, the tables full of potted plants and empty ashtrays, a television set that was turned off. Two women were seated in wheelchairs on the opposite side, one at a table, the tap-tapping of her tremored hand sounded like a pecking bird. The other stared blankly out the window.