The Phantom's Daughter

Chapter Six

Part of me almost doubted that it was my Sweet Demon from Monsieur Meshaw’s, but not many wealthy aristocrats owned Friesian stables horses here, and from what I had heard from the stable hands (who saw right through my outfit, despite me wearing a hat; but they were giving me a chance to prove myself by seeing how well I could clean a stable) that this one was wild and captured to see if he could be used in the Opera plays.

And I remember that night when I’d decided to run away, and I freed all of them with me. If only I was there to see the look on M. Meshaw’s face when his maid and all his horses were gone!

Of course, there was nothing really special about Sweet Demon and I, other than sharing a home with a devil-of-master. I had named many of them; Darky, Eclipse, Moon Dust, Shadow Ghost, etc as I fed them stolen treats at the risk of getting caught and beat for. I’d hang out by the fence and watch them socialize in the pasture, momentarily forgetting about the cruel hand of our master. If I was honest, despite being the only one who didn’t taunt them, the only one who didn’t throw rocks at them, the only one who didn’t yell and whip them to abide, it hurt to see them go without so much of an acknowledgment. They all knew me well. M. Meshaw would sometimes have me bring them into their stalls in the evening because they would come when I called and be as gentle as rowdy two and three-year old colts could be.

That was all a year ago. I thought those beautiful fairy-tale horses would fade into a dream-like memory tucked away forever.

But here was one at least. And I could not contain the excitement to call out to him.

And he remembered my name, and turned his head to me.

I could have dramatically swooned…this horse knew his name! He remembered it after all this time being wild and free.

Just barely auditable, I heard him nicker. He turned more towards me, but he picked his feet up hesitantly. The poor thing needed a farrier badly. Perhaps I could help him. I made kissing noises to him and held out my hand, with a handful of oats I’d taken to the stables to treat the inhabitants with.

Sweet Demon nickered again, and picked up a hoof, as if unsure, and then set it down. He looked around him, seemingly calm for the first time—the stable hands said they hadn’t gotten him to settle yet and were thinking about starving him to break him.

But I knew what it was like to be starved into obedience, and it doesn’t create obedience, just temporary compliance. Food should be a basic right for all creatures.

Sweet Demon started to walk towards me as I talked low and sweet to him. His ropes were still hanging off his neck, creating burns.

Up close he was not quite a beauty as everyone probably saw running wild in the countryside. He wasn’t exactly starving, but also much too skinny for a light draft, part of his ribs showing through, with bony hips jutting out. He was dirty and scabbed with a matted mane and tail and scraggly looking hairs at the bottom of his legs. Certainly no beauty but he could become one if treated right. I had seen this breed once, healthy, and well-groomed and they were like a dream. They moved smoothly and looked like they floated when they trot, stepping high with a proudly arched neck and a gentle wise expression on their face.

Sweet Demon was at the fence now, head level to me, as I was standing on the boards for height and accepting the snack I had given. My own stomach growled in protest but my dinner could wait. He was to be first.

Quickly, but carefully, I grabbed the robes from around his neck. As I moved them, Sweet Demon made a noise of protest and bolted back, but I had gotten the ropes off, though I lost my balance and stumped off the boards as he kicked and raged on in the paddock, offended by almost being grabbed.

“Hey girl! Careful with that stallion! He’ll kill you!” one of the stable hands came running towards me.

I tsked. “No he won’t, he’s my friend!” I got up and handed him the ropes. He looked surprised at this, but smirked and took them.

“You think you can tame him, don’t you? Every little girl does.” He taunted.

“Maybe I could!” I smirked back. He laughed.

“You're crazy Rita! Let the men handle that horse. You earn your keep by keeping these stalls clean.” he turned away and was met by the elegant and severe Mademoiselle Madeleine Giry. She gave him one hard look, which he nervously tipped his hat to her and was a little too quick in walking back in the stables.

We looked at each other a moment, sizing each other up, her calculating as if trying to figure me out, or trying to remember how she handled her other angry children, and me, anxious that I was about to be on the streets again.

Finally she nodded at me. “You will be a scullery maid with Castella. You need to earn your keep. No more dancing for you.” She declared, but not like an offense. I took none, and breathed a sigh of relief, happy to still be having a warm bed tonight.