Late afternoon and on the horizon violent storm clouds again were approaching, the main route was closed, a bridge collapse, the only option now, a three hour detour on a hardly used overgrown, now almost track.

 

The master crafted carriage with its gleaming brass and highly polished timber panels pulled along by two magnificently equipped white horses, rocked and swayed along the uneven surface, the noble lady inside, Lady Emerton was calm despite the rougher than normal ride, she had been visiting her baby sister who had just given birth to her first, a girl named after herself, “Sarah”.

 

She looked out the window at the seemingly endless abandoned wheat fields, then, rounding a small curve Sarah could see the ruins of a house, an elegant house in its hay day, but now left to the elements to gradually succumb to mother nature, as they advanced closer Sarah open the small communications panel and asked the driver to enter the abandoned property, to which he complied and proceeded along the grand drive still lined with lush green overgrown weeping willows smothering the unkempt grass, guiding the team of horsed half way around the large circle at the end of the drive, the driver stopped at the entrance to house.

 

The driver climbed down and assisted Sarah from the carriage. With the horses restless, hoofs stomping the ground, ears pricked skyward, swivelling at the distant rumbling of the storm, the puzzled driver remarked “we should keep moving your Lady, the storm is closing”, “yes” Sarah replied “I shan`t be very long” as she moved towards the house, lifting her long beautiful dress, climbed the four steps onto the porch, “still sturdy after all these years” she thought, continuing to the entrance where two ornate doors once greeted the many visitors, now inside and into what appeared to be a living room which was once filled with the laughter of children, but now strewn with debris and broken furniture the remnants of hobo’s and scavengers.

 

Entering the main hallway one tentative step slowly followed by another, there is now this urge to continue, as if she is being drawn to a room at the end of the house, for a moment she is startled by what were roosting pigeons that suddenly fly past her shoulder, upon reaching this room she momentarily stands at the entrance, then stepping past the doorway a shiver of emotion runs through her body, surveying the room she notices lengths of now rotting timber, unfinished pieces of furniture a work bench with broken vice a shadow board where tools once hung, tools since stolen by thieves, she picks up a stool laying near the work bench, something catches her eye on the dirty sawdust covered floor.

 

She reaches down and retrieves a figurine fitting neatly into the palm of her hand, then gently blowing and brushing the dust away she recognises a small carved horse rearing on its hind legs, she looks again at the stool and then back to the horse, her eyes well and a single tear starts to slowly roll down her cheek.

 

 

 

 

 

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Sarah now drifts back in time, back into the depths of her memory, memories she thought were long forgotten, she remembers his big calloused hands, his strong arms, his curly hair that would catch the sawdust and if she was near he would vigorously brush with his fingers, she thought it looked like snow falling from his hair, she also remembers his soft voice, and, that day he lifted her onto the stool and there on the work bench was that horse, the horse her Father had made just for her, this seven year old girl, she remembers him saying “you will have your own black stallion when I paint him day after next” – but that day did not come.

 

The pit of her stomach churns and anger within builds as she fathoms to understand why was god so cruel to take her Mother when her little sister was born and then why war took her beloved Father and brother, “war”, she thinks, why do we have to have wars, now with tears rolling down both her cheeks, she remembers being awoken in the dark of night, her sister and herself rushed to their Grandparents house many days away, she remembers the hugs and kisses from her father and brother then waving to them from the carriage not knowing they both would never see them again, why were these people she loved so much, taken from her, “the war” yes – she remembers it well, the bodies, the blood, the men crying in pain until they died, and, the smell of death.

 

Their Grandparents, Uncles and Aunts, she remembers, did a fine job of raising these two cheeky girls, there was love abound, but still not the same as your own mother and father, a distant clap of thunder startles her back to reality, how long was she standing there entranced by her memories, it seemed so long, but was only but a few short minutes, her tears now subsiding she heard the driver call “ my Lady we must go now” he was holding both horses by their bridles, they were very jittery and anxious at the approaching storm, “coming” she responded, with the figurine clasped in her hand and close to her heart she bid farewell to this house of memories for the last time.

 

Sarah reaches the carriage and instructs the driver to proceed to an inn about twenty minutes along this road, it is here she will spend the night and can dispatch a rider to inform her dear husband that she is safe, intrigued by this statement the driver wonders how such a noble Lady knows of this inn, but  dutifully responds with “yes your Lady” and assists her back into the carriage, and drives away, Still clutching the carved stallion close to her heart, she knows now every time she looks at it she will remember the happy times she had with her family, memories now released from the once dark corners of her mind.

 

 

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To be continued…………..