Girl in a Wheelchair
By
Sabrina
(This is set early in
“Follyfoot time”. Steve and Dora have only been at Follyfoot a matter of
months… and already Dora feels an attraction for Steve; but is it returned?)
Dora turned her face to the sun, feeling the spring bliss on her cheeks. How much better this was than being in Brazil with her parents, being shunted from party to party, forced to make pleasant conversation to expat chinless wonders who wore cravats and heavy gold rings on their pinky fingers.
She lay back in the grass, while Abelard, one of the Colonel’s hunters, grazed at her feet, his bit jingling, and counted her blessings. These were considerable, and included her Uncle Geoffrey, Follyfoot Farm itself, Slugger, Ron and even the taciturn Steve.
Steve intrigued her. He wouldn’t be drawn out on his earlier life, muttering that living in the present was far better than living in the past. What did he do each night when he went to his tiny loft over the stables after dinner, she wondered. Did he drink a bottle of beer, read books, or listen to a transistor radio? He rarely went out, apart from the occasional foray to the local on the back of Ron’s bike, and almost seemed to repel her from coming up his stairs unless it was urgent. With his slim build, thick, dark hair and large brown eyes, he was far and away one of the most physically attractive young men she had ever met, especially when that big, rare smile spread across his face. He was also, she knew, the most unsuitable boy in the world for her on her parents’ scale of appropriateness, and that of course, combined with his mysterious nature, made him even more attractive.
Steve had, however, made it clear that he thought she was a poor little rich girl, not to be pitied, but rather occasionally taken down a peg or two and reminded that not everyone was as privileged as she. He was, on occasion, scornful of her, telling her to live in the real world, not a dream one, and not listening to her pleas that she was, this was real, she was doing something that mattered and rescuing old horses. A hobby until she found Lord Right, was what he called it last week during one of their many spats.
“Men!” she said to Abelard, who twitched an ear. “Why can’t men be more like horses, and just accept you for you?”
Abelard didn’t have an answer – or at least not one that he cared to share with her. Sighing, Dora stood up and dusted off her jodhpurs. Time to head back to her uncle’s.
Uncle Geoffrey was a patron of a local charity group that gave disabled children opportunities they didn’t normally get, such as riding ponies. And today one of those kids was coming to Follyfoot, and Dora had been detailed to take the girl on a quiet ride around the fields.
Sighing, she mounted Abelard and headed home at a canter, enjoying the horse’s bold stride and soft mouth on the bit. At times like this she could forget Steve and his scathing comments, and simply take pleasure in being.
By the time she’d unsaddled Abelard at Colonel Maddox’s luxurious stable, and the Colonel had given her a lift to Follyfoot, the girl and her elder sister had arrived.
Dora learned the girl’s name was Sue, and she and her elder sister Julie had been in the car crash that had killed their mother and left Sue without the use of her legs.
“They say I might walk again one day, and exercise like riding will help me,” Sue said matter-of-factly. She was eleven, with a sweet, freckled face and even sweeter smile. Dora took to her straight away.
“Let’s get you onto a horse then, the sooner the better!” Dora had decided that Mickey, one of the more reliable and fit ponies, would be perfect for the task.
She gave Julie a sidelong glance as they all moved towards Mickey’s stable. Julie was about her own age, with a knowing face and an indefinable attitude that told Dora they’d never be good friends. Perhaps it was the miniskirt and high heeled boots – not exactly gear you’d wear to a riding stable – or the way she smiled at Ron and Steve, who had downed pitchforks and were openly ogling her as she tossed long blonde hair back over her shoulders.
“Do you ride, Julie?” Dora asked politely.
“Not likely! One end kicks and the other end bites. Still, it’ll be good for our kid, won’t it, Sue?”
Sue nodded eagerly, and patted Mickey’s pink nose. Dora bridled and saddled the grey pony and told Sue everything she was doing, including giving the pony time to blow himself out and then tightening the girth when he thought it was safe to deflate again.
“Let’s get you up on him. Steve, Ron! Can you give me a hand?”
She hadn’t seen them move so quickly since Ron dropped a fag end in the barn and set the hay bales alight.
Steve won by a nose, which left Ron to introduce himself to Julie and cleverly guide her away from Steve, who looked put out as he lifted Sue into the saddle.
“There, is that okay?” He smiled at Sue.
“Thank you, that’s great,” Sue replied, taking up the reins as a first timer always did, holding them wrongly and leaving them far too long. Dora adjusted the stirrups and clipped a lead rein to the bit. When she looked up, Steve had galloped across to Julie’s other side.
“My sister always gets the blokes,” Sue sighed. “I suppose she’s getting my share. I don’t stand a chance now I’m in a wheelchair.”
“Rubbish,” Dora said brightly, with a flush of anger towards
Julie, who was busy flirting for
Sue giggled, and they moved off towards the fields, Dora’s ears on stalks as the echo of laughter rattled around the yard.
After half an hour Sue was holding the reins properly, and confident enough to beg to trot. After an hour she was exhausted but still wanted more.
“You’ll be too tired,” Dora warned her. “Even people who can walk should stop now. It’s your first time, remember.”
“Can I come back next week?”
Her face was glowing, delighted; she hugged Mickey’s neck.
“I don’t see why not,” Dora said. She’d never considered working with children before, but her hour with Sue had been a joy as she’d explained all about the horse’s tack and the rudimentary elements of riding.
They came back to the yard to find Ron shovelling manure with a stony face and Steve and Julie deep in conversation.
“Does anyone want to help Sue dismount?” Dora called, and Ron reluctantly put down his shovel and wiped his hands on his already filthy jeans.
“D’ja have a good time then?”
“Fantastic,” Sue beamed. “Dora’s ever so nice and kind. I’m coming back next week.”
“Wiv your sister?” Ron lifted the girl into her wheelchair in one easy motion.
Sue giggled. “Boys always ask that. Yes, Julie drives me around now. She got her licence last year.”
“Licence to make trouble if you ask me.” Ron stomped back to his manure heap.
Dora privately agreed. Steve’s dark head and Julie’s fair one were close together – too close - exchanging confidences.
“Juuuliiiieee!” Sue called. “I’m finished now!”
Reluctantly Julie left Steve, but not before putting one long-nailed hand on her arm in a sensual gesture, and turned off the glowing smile as she faced Dora.
“Was it good then, sis?” She ignored Dora and spoke directly to Sue, crouching down so she was at her sister’s eye level.
“Great, I’m coming again next week.”
“If I bring you,” Julie teased.
“I think you will.”
“Oh, I think so too,” Julie purred with a sidelong glance at Steve.
Dora longed to make throwing-up noises but knew that it was childish. Instead she busied herself untacking Mickey after waving goodbye to Sue.
Steve whistled happily as he did evening stables, and hummed under his breath as he heaved biscuits of hay into each manger.
Ron noticed Dora’s glowering face as she watched Steve.
“So you DO fancy him then?”
She looked down, and absently drew a heart shape with one finger in the feed dust that lay on top of the bins in the feed room. “I guess so, Ron.” She looked up to see an unusual look on Ron’s face and realised it was sorrow. “Oh, Ron! I’m sorry! I didn’t know…”
“Yeah, well, we Strykers don’t wear our hearts on our sleeve, know wot I mean?” Ron cleared his throat and ran one hand through his hair, then smiled. “Anyway, we’re good mates, you an’ me, aren’t we, girl? You’re out o’ my league for starters.” The smile widened to a grin. “So, mate, fancy a jar at the boozer after we’ve fed this lot?”
A jar at the boozer sounded more fun than watching Steve daydreaming about Julie. Dora leaned over and kissed Ron on the cheek, feeling his outrageous sideburns tickle her face. “That would be lovely – mate.”
Neither of them saw Steve walk to the feed room door, see that kiss and turn away. And, an hour later when Dora jumped onto the back of Ron’s bike and put her arms tentatively around his fringed suede leather waist, Steve watched from the window of his loft, an unreadable expression on his face. He wasn’t whistling.
* * *
A few drinks at the pub with Ron, who roared with laughter and told jokes that turned the air blue, restored Dora’s good nature. She was still giggling when Ron dropped her back at Follyfoot for Slugger’s classic Saturday night bangers and mash.
“You’re just in time,” Slugger said proudly, splashing enormous quantities of mash onto three plates. “Another minute and it would have burnt.”
“I’d hate to see it if it did,” Steve muttered, pushing blackened sausages around with his fork. He looked at Dora. “Had fun with Ron, did you?”
“I did,” Dora said defiantly. “Did you have fun this afternoon with Julie?”
“Yeah, I did. I’m seeing her tonight after dinner.” Their eyes met; hot brown against black-rimmed hazel. Slugger told himself he could see a lightning flash between them.
Dora pushed her food around her plate, pretending to eat. Slugger held his tongue. It wasn’t his place. He had a lot of time for both Steve and Dora, and foresaw heartache ahead. Firstly if they did realise they cared for each other, and secondly if they didn’t.
“I must have had too much to drink at the pub,” Dora said finally. “Sorry, Slugs. I just can’t finish this.” She placed her knife and fork together on the plate with exquisite precision and stood up. “I think I’ll have an early night.”
But of course she didn’t. She watched from her room as Julie picked Steve up in her little blue car, and tossed restlessly until the car returned in the early hours of the morning. In the moonlight she clearly saw Steve kiss Julie on the lips once, then again, and, more lingeringly, again. It was only when she watched Julie get in her car and drive down the hill that she heaved a sigh of relief. Had Julie followed Steve up the stairs to his loft, she would, she thought, have screamed.
* * *
Somehow they managed to work together; Dora tried to be deliberately bright when Steve was around so he wouldn’t see that she was hurt and jealous. When she had spare time, Dora took Abelard or another of the hunters out for exercise, and it was only then that she let the smile fade from her face.
She debated cancelling Sue’s riding lesson, but knew it was unfair on the girl. It was Julie and Steve who were her problem, not Sue.
So on Saturday she tried her best to be pleasant to Julie, pretending not to notice Steve all over the blonde girl like a rash, and led Sue and Mickey out to the fields.
Sue said, “I’ve been reading books on riding all week. Am I holding the reins right, Dora? And GUESS WHAT!? I had sore muscles in my legs last week – I could FEEL them. Isn’t that fantastic? I could actually feel them!”
Dora hugged Sue. “That’s wonderful, Sue!” She felt a rush of genuine pleasure for the excited girl. “What did you doctor say? Did you tell him?”
“He was excited too. He stuck lots of pins in me and I could feel three of them.” Sue’s face was a vision of delight.
The hour passed quickly, with Mickey obligingly slowly trotting beside Dora. After half an hour she put him onto the lunge rein, and sent Sue and Mickey jogging in wide circles around her, Sue occasionally hanging onto the saddle for balance as well as the reins.
Dora noticed Julie watching by the gate, with Steve standing close beside her.
Finally she halted Mickey and they walked back to the gate. This time there was no leading rein and Sue yelled, “Look, Julie! I’m riding him all by myself!”
“Good girl!” Julie yelled back, and there was real pride on her face.
Sue chattered away to Dora while she unsaddled Mickey. “Steve’s rung up Julie three times this week, and did you know, they went out last Saturday night? Julie said Steve’s hot to trot, what does that mean?”
Mickey jumped as Dora undid the last girth buckle with an angry flick. “Just that he’s a good rider,” she said tightly.
“As if Julie’d know,” Sue scoffed. “She doesn’t like horses. I think he fancies her, don’t you?”
Dora risked a glance over her shoulder. Steve and Julie were leaning against Julie’s car, sharing a cigarette. She’d never seen Steve smoke before. It was like watching a stranger.
“I think so too,” she said shortly.
Sue looked keenly at Dora’s face. “But you fancy Steve!” she said slowly. “Does he know? Does he fancy you?” she whispered.
“Probably not.” Dora focussed her attention on unbuckling Mickey’s bridle.
“Why not? You’re as pretty as Julie.”
“Thanks. Prettiness, like walking, isn’t everything.”
“AND you’re a nice person. You’re nice to me.”
“You’re nice to be nice to,” Dora smiled. “Tell you what, Sue, would you like to go out on a real ride next week? Out around the pond onto the moors? You’d have to be on the leading rein though.”
“Oh, Dora! Fantastic!” She wheeled off across the bumpy cobbles with some difficulty. “Julie! I’m going hacking next weekend!”
Dora saw Steve and Julie jump apart. She brushed Mickey with such energy the pony twitched and jumped, and kept brushing until she heard the car pull away.
* * *
Dora didn’t know whether Steve saw Julie during the next week. She busied herself helping her uncle with the accounts in the evenings, learning how to enter invoices and payments, and work out whether Follyfoot was running at a profit or loss (mostly, she discovered, at a loss).
“I’m so glad you’re taking an interest, Dora.” The Colonel puffed happily at his pipe. “Follyfoot will be in good hands with you. Now, this bill here for food. See that query? He was supposed to give us a discount on the next bill. Can you find it?”
It was awful; arithmetic had never been her strong point,
and it was doubly hard to keep her mind on adding up the long column of numbers
when she was wondering what Steve was doing. The little office, the Colonel’s
domain, was cosy and homely, and smelt faintly of
“How’s that young girl in the wheelchair coming along?” he said conversationally as they battled with vet bills.
“Oh, very well, Uncle. She’s a natural. Or would be if she could use both legs. She thinks she has some feeling coming back in her legs, so maybe one day she’ll be able to ride properly. Good grief, did we really have fifteen horses drenched last month? Anyway, I’m taking her on a hack next week.”
“Take Steve with you,” the Colonel advised. “It’ll be safer than just by yourself in case she falls off or something.”
And take him away from darling Julie? Dora longed to say, but she just nodded. “Okay, Uncle.”
Saturday dawned bright and clear, perfect for a gentle hack around the woods and moors. Dora said to Steve as they forked down bacon and eggs (the only meal Slugger could cook reliably well), “Will you come with me today when I take Sue out? Uncle wants you to.”
Steve’s face dropped, but he simply nodded. “Sure.”
Dora noticed he’d put his best shirt on, the one with the unfrayed collar and cuffs. He’d shaved carefully and his jeans were clean. Set to impress.
Aware of her eyes on him, Steve looked up and met her gaze. Dora was, as usual, wearing the black eyeliner that made her hazel eyes huge and mysterious and beguiling, and her face pale in comparison with its tender dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. For all its brave warpaint, it was a sad face, he thought. And, without being vain, he thought he knew the reason why. She’d been avoiding him all week when she wasn’t being overly chirpy.
“Come on, girl, let’s go and get a couple of decent horses from your uncle, then.” Steve pushed back his chair.
“Oy,” said Slugger. “Who’s gonna help me wash up?”
“Ron’ll be here in a minute,” Dora said. “I’m sure he’d love to help in return for some breakfast.”
“There’s none left!” Slugger yelled behind her as she pulled the door shut and ran into the yard.
It was a couple of miles across farmland to the Colonel’s place, and Steve set a brisk pace, swinging his arms and enjoying the fresh air and the birdsong which swirled around every tree they passed. Dora hurried to keep up with him, finally grumbling, “Can you slow down a bit, please Steve?”
“Sorry. It’s just such a lovely day.”
Because you’re seeing Julie today, Dora thought darkly. Thank heavens she doesn’t ride too!
“What’s eating you, girl?”
“Nothing.”
Steve sighed. “It’s never nothing. Whatever it is, don’t worry about it.”
“I won’t.” Dora pushed her hands into the pockets of her favourite tweed jacket and strode alongside him, staring out to the moors, her hair blowing around her face.
Steve shrugged. Dora was unfathomable sometimes. Being sulky around a guy didn’t win hearts. Look at Julie, all fun and laughter… Lost in his own reverie, Steve gazed in the opposite direction, and they arrived at “the big house” with barely another word between them, but lots left unsaid.
Hacking back across the farm and moors was better; they let the horses canter, and exchanged glances of pure joy and whoops of delight as the horses splashed through the stream and jumped over the logs on the other side.
“Race you!” Dora dug her heels into Abelard. Hair flying behind her, she buried her face close to Abelard’s rough black mane and the horse surged forward.
Steve was on the chunkier Bayard, less fit, but bigger, with a massive stride. He felt the wind tug at his own hair as side by side they galloped around the pond and up the hill to the gate. It had been ages since he’d ridden a decent horse, and he savoured the moment. Very few of Follyfoot’s nags could raise more than a slow canter.
“Oh, that was great!” His smile was huge, pure joy as he turned to Dora and saw the same look on her face. They halted their horses as Julie’s car drew up to the gate.
Julie’s face was like thunder as she saw Steve and Dora grinning at each other, their knees touching as their horses stood together. Steve’s face fell slightly as he dismounted to open the gate, and Julie drove through without even a thank you.
“Steve,” Dora said, “Can you hold both these horses while I tack Mickey up?”
“Er…sure.” His face was turned towards the little blue car, where Julie was busying herself getting the wheelchair out of the boot. “I should help Julie, though, with the chair.”
“Too late,” Dora pointed out. Ron was cheerfully striding across the yard, smoothing the spotted scarf around his neck and calling a cheery “Wotcha!”.
Dora tacked Mickey in record time, remembering to check his girth twice, and by then Sue was excited and desperate to be off on her ride. Steve barely had time to say hi to Julie before Dora was chivvying him out the gate.
“Bye,” she called over her shoulder. “Back in an hour or so!”
Sue’s face was brighter than the sun as they walked sedately around the lake and then through the woods. “This is my best day ever! Well, since the car accident,” she amended. “We had some great times when Mum was alive.” The words ‘and when I could walk’ went unsaid.
“What about a trot?” Dora suggested, and they jogged along the edge of the stream, Bayard snorting and longing to be off again, Abelard placid, but with his ears happily pricked.
Sue bounced along on Mickey, her curly brown hair springing out under her velvet hard hat. She had one hand holding the reins and one holding the pommel of the saddle, and looked happy and secure. She enthused about the fresh young heather, the green leaves shyly uncurling from the oak trees, the lushness of the grass and wildflowers that lined the path through the woods. They passed through the woods, almost deafened by birds shouting about the joys of spring, and into the clearing beside the stream.
“We’ll cross the stream here,” Dora told her. “It’s not the shallowest bit, but that’s a little bit further up and you have to jump a log to get down into it.”
“Can you go that way and I can watch you jump?” begged Sue. “You’re such a good rider.”
“Go on, show off, girl,” grinned Steve. “I’ll hold onto Mickey.”
Abelard needed no urging, and moved into a slow, smooth canter. Dora had done this a hundred times, and so had he. Perfectly balanced, they headed towards the log.
An experienced hunter, Abelard was almost unflappable. But the vole that darted from the side of the log, rustling and moving the undergrowth as they approached, took him by surprise. Instead of jumping, he faltered, slid to a stop and lifted his front legs off the ground, shaking his head in alarm.
Dora wavered in the saddle, and instinctively leaned forward to keep her balance.
Abelard’s flinging head met Dora’s nose with a crunch, and she let out a cry of pain, which startled Abelard even more. The horse leaped sideways and Dora, her hands on her face, fell with a thump to the ground.
She was vaguely aware of Sue’s scream and Steve jumping off Bayard, but all she could really see were stars for a minute or two as she caught her breath and tried hard to stop tears springing to her eyes.
Then warm arms curled around her shoulders and Steve was kneeling beside her. “Dora? You okay, girl?” His work-roughened hands were tender as he gently pulled her own fingers away from her nose. It felt so good, so right, that his arms were around her, that Dora leaned wearily against his chest and let the tears go. Her face was on fire; she wondered if her nose was broken. It was certainly bleeding. So were her lips. She could taste blood in her mouth.
Steve nestled her against him and stroked her hair and then, with one thumb and a wry smile on his face, softly wiped the streaky black eyeliner from her cheeks.
Hesitantly, she nestled back. They were neither of them ‘touchers’, showing physical affection to horses rather than people for the most part; Dora because of her lonely, unwanted upbringing and Steve because he simply didn’t trust. To feel his arms around her was a delight she’d only dreamed about.
“Never cry with warpaint on,” he whispered, and she hiccupped and smiled.
Steve felt in his pocket for a handkerchief and, miracle of miracles, found he had one that was clean if crumpled. Carefully he tilted Dora’s face to his and wiped the blood around her nose and mouth with a feather touch, his eyes not leaving hers.
Dora hardly dared breathe; for starters, it hurt; but Steve’s eyes – so warm, almost, dare she think, loving? – burned deep into her soul. For a second or two she couldn’t even feel the pain in her nose.
“Dora.” It was more a breath than a whisper.
She watched his face come closer, and then his lips touched on her forehead. Was this happening? Did she have concussion and she was dreaming this? But no, it was real. Steve was holding her and had kissed her so gently she thought she’d melt. She was aware of a faint tang of aftershave mixed with the horsy smell that was so familiar to both of them.
He drew back. “If I kiss your lips I’ll hurt them. God, girl, you worry me sometimes.”
“Steve – I - I didn’t think you felt anything for me.”
“Oh, I feel too much, I think. Considering it could never work between us. You being rich and me being poor. You being a dreamer and me being a realist.” He stroked her hair and dropped a kiss on it; she felt thin and fragile in his arms. He had never held her before, had never dared, wasn’t sure until this week and her obvious jealousy with Julie whether she had any interest in him as a man and not a workmate.
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It will, one day. Sshh.” Steve put a finger on her swollen, bruised lips. “Not here. Not now. Can you stand up?”
“Yes.” She let him pull her to her feet. Her nose felt five times its usual size and throbbed in time with her heart. “Oh, Steve! Your best shirt! I’ve bled all over it!”
Steve shrugged. “What’s a shirt? Come on, girl, before I do something stupid and kiss you again.”
Dora smiled as best she could, her face protesting painfully. Then reality took a hold. “Oh, Steve! Sue! I forgot Sue! Sue!” she called.
“I’m here,” carolled a voice from the next clearing. “I made Mickey walk in a circle, all by myself!”
Dora pulled at Steve’s sleeve. “What about Julie? Aren’t you going out with her?”
“That certainly could never work. Rich and poor could, maybe, perhaps, but she doesn’t like horses and nothing I can say will ever change that. Now that’s a real turnoff. I’ll have to break the news to her gently.” He grinned, and led her back to where Sue was walking Mickey in circles and the two hunters cropped sweet spring grass.
* * *
While Dora bathed her face and put an ice pack on her aching nose, experimentally wiggling it with gentle fingers and discovering that despite the pain it wasn’t broken, Ron unsaddled the horses and Steve and Julie had an urgent and stormy conversation that wound up with Julie sulking in her car while Sue gave Mickey a last carrot.
Dora came out of the cottage, ice pack covering half her face, to hear the last of it.
“So you prefer that plain girl with the horsy clothes and bashed up face to me?”
“She’s the most beautiful girl I know,” Steve said honestly. “Sorry, Julie, it could never work with you and me.”
Dora felt a turbulent mix of emotions. Joy at Steve’s words, and worry for Sue, who so enjoyed her rides. If Julie didn’t bring her, who would? Her father worked on Saturdays but perhaps there were other relatives…
She stood with Sue, one hand on the girl’s shoulder.
“Will you be okay, Dora?”
“I think I’ll have a black eye or two for a week, but yes, I’ll be fine.”
Ron grinned from over Mickey’s back. “So you and His Nibs have decided you fancy each other after all, have you, girl?”
“Er,” Dora said. “Yes.” The memory of that featherlight kiss on her forehead made her blush, and Ron’s grin was even wider.
“Thank Gawd for that. Leaves me free to ask Julie out, eh, Sue?” He winked. “Getting on like a house on fire, we was, while you lot were out. Didn’t know she likes motorbikes.”
“So, Sue, seems like we’ll see you next week, then?” Dora smiled.
“I can’t wait,” she replied, patting Mickey’s neck and planting a smacking kiss on the surprised pony’s nose.
“Nor can I,” said Ron. “What’s your sister’s phone number?”
Dora laughed out loud.
She waved as Julie and Sue drove away, and wondered where Steve was. She tracked him down by the happy sound of whistling. There was so much to say, particularly about that ridiculous rich and poor problem he had, not to mention dreamer versus realist, but right now probably wasn’t the best time to say it. Unseen, she leaned against the door of the hayshed and watched him expertly pitch bales of hay, the sinews in his arms standing out and hayseeds caught in his long hair. The sun was warm on her back; her nose throbbed, and it was a perfect day.
The end
© 2005 Sabrina Davis