A Thousand Little Blessings Read Free Page A

wouldn’t feel it again for many, many years.
     
    ****
     
    Lantana shrubs brushed the hem of Etta’s brown cotton work skirt as she stepped into her mother’s flower garden the next morning. So much needed to be done. She retrieved hand pruners from her basket of tools and began to deadhead the yellow roses.
    From the nearby stable, horses sounded their morning greetings as her father led them from their stalls and turned them out to pasture. He allowed no one to care for his prize-winning Arabians except himself, a task which included mucking their stalls. Her father, who was seldom seen wearing anything other than a three-piece suit, donned work pants and a chambray shirt to work in the stable.
    Etta pulled on her mother’s gardening gloves and dropped to her knees. Nettles grew beneath the bright green foliage of Mexican heather, and she’d learned the hard way that pulling them with bare hands would lead to painful stinging. Growing flowers was yet another skill she’d neglected to learn. But then, she’d never had to work for her mother’s affection and approval. Her mother’s esteem had been given as freely as the air she breathed.
    If only her father’s approval could be so easy to attain. It was no secret he’d wanted a son to carry on his name and his business. But complications from Etta’s birth had sealed her mother’s womb. She was his only heir, and, although he’d provided for her care and education, it had been her mother who’d lavished love and affection.
    Etta rested on her heels and watched the antics of the half-feral cats that made the stable their home. As a child, Etta had begged for a kitten as a pet, but her father hadn’t allowed that indulgence. “No animals in the house,” he’d pronounced in his strictest voice.
    “Except for little monkeys,” her mother had said with a wink and a hug, soothing away the hurt of her father’s denial.
    A painful yearning rose from Etta’s heart to her throat, and she wiped away tears with the back of her gloved hand. “Am I still your little monkey, Momma?” she whispered.
    No answer came, but the horses neighed loudly as they cavorted around the large field. The bay stallion, Antares, made his way to the lead mare, Mira. He nuzzled her neck and huffed a loud breath. Mira shook her head and turned away from him, but the stallion was undaunted. He repeated the action with the three other mares.
    How easy it was for the horses, Etta mused as she moved to another part of the garden where chickweed had invaded. The Arabians knew their places in the world and managed the give-and-take of equine society. But as a dutiful daughter who worked alongside her father six days a week, Etta was on her way to spinsterhood.
    Things could be worse, she reminded herself. The world of finance intrigued her, and maintaining a healthy balance between fiscal risk and security was challenging. If she kept at it, perhaps her father would reward her with more responsibility.
    Etta pushed a strand of hair away from her face and watched her father stroke the stallion’s neck. She loved the horses almost as much as her father did and often ended the day grooming them by his side. In June, they would travel to the state capital for the annual horse show. It had always been her mother’s favorite trip, although Etta suspected her mother went for the many social gatherings rather than anything related to equine husbandry.
    Etta repositioned herself near the green shoots of the daffodils. How her mother had loved their cheerful announcements of spring. But as Etta worked in the dirt, a chorus of horse calls pulled her attention back to the pasture.
    Antares’s head pointed to the sky as he trumpeted one squeal after another and the mares formed a circle. Perhaps they smelled a predator, or one of the horses was hurt.
    Etta rose to her feet and scanned the field.
    The mares snorted in agitation and moved restlessly in their defensive circle.
    Etta dropped the gloves