The Quilter's Legacy Read Online Free PDF

she would be happy wherever life took her.
    Eleanor agreed with her in principle, but everyone knew she would never be strong enough to go anywhere, except to the summer house for three months every year. It was a fact, just as her bad heart was a fact.
    If Miss Langley had not been occupied unpacking her own belongings, Eleanor could not have slipped away. She regretted deceiving her nanny, since Miss Langley was her only ally in a household that expected her to collapse at any moment. If not for her, Eleanor's life would have been even more limited, since Mother had not even wanted her to attend school. Mother had feared exposing Eleanor to the elements and the jostling of her more robust classmates, even when Miss Langley reminded her that Eleanor's fellow pupils would be from the same respectable families as the young ladies in Abigail's class, well-bred girls unlikely to jostle anyone. When Mother would not budge, Miss Langley ignored the sanctity of Father's study and emerged twenty minutes later with his promise that Eleanor would be permitted to attend school. Eleanor doubted Mother ever learned about that clandestine visit; if she had known Miss Langley had persuaded Father, Mother would have yanked Eleanor from school just to spite her.
    The cramp in Eleanor's side eased as she walked. She had fled the house not caring where she went as long as it was away from Mother and Abigail, and now she did not know where to go. They had chattered about the upcoming social season all the way home from the summer house, and Eleanor couldn't endure another word. She was not jealous, not exactly, but she was tired of pretending to be happy for her sister.
    She saw the gardener and quickly veered away before he spotted her. Ahead, the stable seemed deserted; by now the horses would have been curried, watered, and fed, and the stable hands would have left for their dinner. No one would think to look for her there, since she could not ride and was not even allowed to touch the horses' glossy coats. Only when no one else could see did Miss Langley let her brush Wildrose, the bay mare Father had given her for Christmas. Mother had called the gift an extravagance unbefitting Miss Langley's position, but her friend Mrs. Newcombe had said Mother could not get rid of the horse without raising uncomfortable questions.
    Eleanor slipped inside the stable, took two apples from the barrel near the door, and tucked one into her pocket. “Hello, Wild-rose,” she called softly, polishing the second apple on her sleeve. She heard an answering whinny from a nearby stall—but no stern questions from a lingering stable hand, no alarmed shouts for her mother. Emboldened, Eleanor approached the mare, who poked her head over the stall door, sniffing the air. Eleanor held out the apple, and when Wildrose bent her neck to take a bite, Eleanor stroked the horse's mane. “I'm sorry we had to come back to the city. You and I like the summer house better, don't we?”
    Wildrose snorted, and Eleanor blinked to fight off tears. She would not cry. She might be fragile, as everyone said, but she wasn't a baby, crying over rumors. “Father would never sell the summer house,” she said, feeding Wildrose the rest of the apple. “We'll go back every year until we're old, old ladies. You'll see.”
    Wildrose whickered as if she agreed—and suddenly Eleanor felt a prickling on the back of her neck. She glanced over her shoulder to find Jupiter watching her.
    She quickly looked away, then slowly turned again to find the stallion's deep, black eyes still upon her. No one but Father rode Jupiter, and only the most trusted stable hand was allowed to groom him. “That's what the Lord can create when He's had a good night's sleep,” Father had proclaimed last spring as he admired his latest purchase. Only Eleanor saw the disapproving frown Mother gave him. She disliked blasphemy.
    Father said Jupiter had gained a taste for blood in the Spanish-American War and would