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Alice walks with the thin maid to the stables, holding the thin hand with red knuckles, the mild limp crossing the narrow path like a wounded ship. Do you like the horses, then? the maid asks, bringing the eyes upon the child, holding tight the pale pink hand. Alice nods, yes, I like the black one, like its dark eyes and coat. The maid eyes the pinafore, the hair tidy and neat, the shiny shoes, the tiny hand in hers. Have you ridden any yet? the maid asks. No, not allowed as yet, Alice says, feeling the red thumb rub the back of her hand. Shame, the maid says, perhaps soon. Alice doesn't think so, neither her father nor the new nanny will permit that; her mother says she may, but that amounts to little, in the motions of things. She can smell the horses, hay and dung. The red hand lets her loose. The stable master stares at her, his thick brows bordering his dark brown eyes, conker like in their hardness and colour. Have you come to look at the horses? he says, holding a horse near to her. She nods, stares at the horse, brown, tall, sweating, loudly snorting. The maid stares at the horse, stands next to the child, hand on the arm. You're not to ride them yet, he says, but you can view, I'm told. Alice runs her small palm down the horse's leg and belly, warm, smooth, the horse indifferent, snorting, moving the groom master aside. The maid holds the child close to her. Be all right, he won't harm, he says, smiling. He leads the horse away, the horse swaying to a secret music, clip- clop-clip-clop. Alice watches the departing horse. Come on, the maid says, let's see the others and lifts the child up to view the other horse in the stable over the half open door, then along to see others in other half doors. Alice smiles at the sight and smells and sounds. She senses the red hands holding her up, strong yet thin, the fingers around her waist. Having seen them all, the maid puts her down gently. Ain't that good? the maid says. Alice smiles, yes, love them, she  says. She feels the thin hand, hold her pale pink one again, as they make their way back to the house, the slow trot of the limping gait, the maid's thumb rubbing her hand, smiling through eyes and lips, the morning sun blessing their heads through the trees and branches above. if only, Alice thinks, looking sidelong on at the thin maid's smile, her father did this, and showed such love.
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Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 11:54 AM UTC
ALICE AND THE HORSES.
Alice walks with the thin maid to the stables, holding the thin hand with red knuckles, the mild limp crossing the narrow path like a wounded ship. Do you like the horses, then? the maid asks, bringing the eyes upon the child, holding tight the pale pink hand. Alice nods, yes, I like the black one, like its dark eyes and coat. The maid eyes the pinafore, the hair tidy and neat, the shiny shoes, the tiny hand in hers. Have you ridden any yet? the maid asks. No, not allowed as yet, Alice says, feeling the red thumb rub the back of her hand. Shame, the maid says, perhaps soon. Alice doesn't think so, neither her father nor the new nanny will permit that; her mother says she may, but that amounts to little, in the motions of things. She can smell the horses, hay and dung. The red hand lets her loose. The stable master stares at her, his thick brows bordering his dark brown eyes, conker like in their hardness and colour. Have you come to look at the horses? he says, holding a horse near to her. She nods, stares at the horse, brown, tall, sweating, loudly snorting. The maid stares at the horse, stands next to the child, hand on the arm. You're not to ride them yet, he says, but you can view, I'm told. Alice runs her small palm down the horse's leg and belly, warm, smooth, the horse indifferent, snorting, moving the groom master aside. The maid holds the child close to her. Be all right, he won't harm, he says, smiling. He leads the horse away, the horse swaying to a secret music, clip- clop-clip-clop. Alice watches the departing horse. Come on, the maid says, let's see the others and lifts the child up to view the other horse in the stable over the half open door, then along to see others in other half doors. Alice smiles at the sight and smells and sounds. She senses the red hands holding her up, strong yet thin, the fingers around her waist. Having seen them all, the maid puts her down gently. Ain't that good? the maid says. Alice smiles, yes, love them, she  says. She feels the thin hand, hold her pale pink one again, as they make their way back to the house, the slow trot of the limping gait, the maid's thumb rubbing her hand, smiling through eyes and lips, the morning sun blessing their heads through the trees and branches above. if only, Alice thinks, looking sidelong on at the thin maid's smile, her father did this, and showed such love.
terry-collett
Written by
terry-collett
English
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 11:54 AM UTC
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