Dawn of the Golden Promise Read Online Free PDF Page A

to call him back, but walked slowly, thinking.
    Perhaps she should apply herself to behaving in a more mature manner. And to looking more grown-up, as well.
    Although the idea didn’t altogether appeal to her, it might have some merit. To begin with, she could ask Finola’s help in dressing her hair more stylishly. But it was so infernally stubborn! Like a horse’s tail, it was!
    She frowned. Although she didn’t much like getting all decked out in ribbons and laces, she supposed she could speak to the Seanchai about having new dresses made. Perhaps one of the more sophisticated French styles, something that would make her appear to have a bosom.
    If only she were less of a stick! She had no curves as yet, none at all. And sometimes she despaired of ever growing taller. She still scarcely reached Finola’s shoulder.
    Finola insisted that Annie was going to be a “glory of a girl” someday. But Finola often said such things—almost certainly, Annie suspected, to make her feel better about herself.
    What if she stayed just as she was now…forever? What if, ten years hence, she still looked like a chicken-breasted twelve-year-old, with the same awful horsetail braids and the despised gap between her front teeth? Not to mention the same ungainly legs as a new foal.
    After a moment, she gave an enormous sigh and stopped to watch Fergus dash across the field in pursuit of a hare. The small creature escaped into a stand of young oak trees, and the wolfhound, as if he hadn’t been serious about the chase from the start, reversed his direction and trotted back toward Annie.
    Again she sighed. Even the lumbering wolfhound, great lanky beast that he was, appeared more graceful than she.

    Louisa stood at her bedroom window, watching young Annie and the faithful wolfhound as they sauntered toward the house. As always, the dog appeared extraordinarily pleased with himself. Perhaps the great beast was as simpleminded as she frequently accused him of being, for he did seem to wear a continual smile.
    As for the girl, as always the braids were shaggy and askew, the hemline uneven, the gait that of a spindly legged colt. Louisa shook her head and smiled. She knew that it would not be long before a miracle of transformation would occur. The awkward foal would disappear, and the spirited thoroughbred would emerge. She had seen it time and time again, in countless classrooms over the years. Leggy girls with knobby elbows and too many teeth, girls who could not manage to enter a room without stumbling, would suddenly take on an unaccustomed grace, a new aura of loveliness. Freckles faded, hair tamed, angles became curves, and giggles turned into sighs.
    From girl to woman: an amazing and wondrous thing entirely, yet as painful and frightening a process as it was splendid.
    Already the first signs were apparent in the Seanchai ’s precocious daughter. Studying looks in the mirror, impatient frowns with her appearance, experimental posturing. Covert glances across the table at the handsome—but surely treacherous—American boy. Temper tantrums and daydreaming. And, most telling of all, unaccountable spasms of weeping.
    In young Annie’s case, Louisa knew, the weeping went on behind closed doors, where she thought no one could hear. This one would not be caught unawares in a moment of weakness. Aine Fitzgerald would allow no one, except possibly Finola, a glimpse of her secret fears, her silent longings, her heart’s whispered dreams.
    Louisa expelled a long breath. Soon their girl would change, that much was certain. And if she were not sorely mistaken, the change would be momentous. More than once she had discussed with Finola their Aine’s potential, and both agreed that she would one day be a beauty.
    Blessedly, Annie seemed as yet to have no indication of the grand metamorphosis awaiting her. Indeed, the girl’s conversation often contained veiled hints to the effect that she