Chris Karlsen - Knights in Time (16 page)

down his narrow nose from bridge to tip.

“’Tis quite long,” he said, light-heartedly. “You won’t be the first to say so.”

“True, but it suits your face just fine.”

She took the remote from him, turned the CD player off, tapped him on the arm and said,

“We should get started on your lessons. We won’t have much time this afternoon. The Braille

instructor is also the rehabilitation teacher for your mobility training.”

“We’re going riding in the afternoon or did you forget?”

“No. That’s still on the schedule. The teacher is coming midday. Once he’s done, we’ll

go.”

“Good. As we are on the topic of my blindness orientation, does this shirt look

acceptable?”

“Yes. Most anything goes with jeans.”

“What am I wearing?”

“A white tee shirt, the jeans of course, and Nikes, you look fine. I brought a catalogue of

products to help the blind. We can order you a color teller, which assists with clothing

identification. In the meantime, let’s organize your closet.” She took his hand in a light hold and led him to the bedroom.

She separated everything by use. Dress pants were on the far left, then came casual

slacks, mostly jeans. On the right, she did the same. Dress shirts on the far right, then casual shirts with Miranda’s padded hangers to divide the groups.

“Are the rest of the shirts like this the same color?”

“All your tee shirts are white,” she told him after checking the dresser. “What else? I think

a lot of problems for you will go away with organization and aids you can buy.”

“I’d like to be able to judge the time.”

“I saw a talking watch in the catalogue. Let’s buy one of those too.”

“Talking watch?”

“I’ll explain while we go through the catalogue. We’ll also get you a talking compass. I’d

feel better about you riding in the woods alone if you had a compass.”

He liked the suggestion too. With a compass, he’d learn which direction danger lay,

measure its distance and adjust. Esme didn’t need to know his relief. “If it eases you, then we’ll get one.”

#

Andrew Utley, the rehabilitation teacher arrived at noon. Esme introduced herself and

Stephen.

“Today, I’d like to work on orientation and mobility. Tomorrow we will start on Braille

basics. Are you all right with that Stephen?” Utley asked.

Stephen shrugged. “It matters naught to me where you wish to start. You should know

that before being blinded I could not read. Your Braille is of little importance to me.”

“Reading ability is essential in this day and age. Braille is especially important for you to

learn. It’s the primary means to help you function in strange places, to locate a room you need for example or the floor you want in a lift.”

“I don’t understand.” Stephen turned to Esme. “Is lift a type of transport to another level

in a building?”

“How do you not know what a lift is?” Utley asked.

“I’ll explain later,” Esme told Stephen and then told Utley, “He has no memory of riding in

one.”

“Trust me, down the road you’ll be happy you learned Braille,” Utley said.

“I’ve gone twenty-six years without the skill and been fine. A slight frown turned to a

scowl. “Why should I suffer to learn something I never needed?”

Utley opened his mouth to respond, but Esme interrupted him before Stephen became

more resistant.

“Stephen, you want to be independent don’t you? Then give the Braille lessons a chance.”

He stiffened as she laid a hand on his arm. “Please.”

“I’ll do the mobility lessons. They will serve me well. But I don’t wish lessons in this

Braille reading falderol.”

She raised her hands and shook them in frustration lost on Stephen. “Why are you being so

stubborn?”

“You call it stubborn. I call it reasonable. Shall I arrange for a cooper to come and teach

you how to make barrels?”

“You’re being ridiculous now.”

“I take it you’ve no interest or use in barrel making, thus I do not foist such on you.

Likewise, I’ve no need of learning my letters, Braille or otherwise.”

Esme ran through a mental circuit board of enticements connected to reading that she

could use to sway him. She glanced over at Utley, who watched the exchange as he would a

tennis match, eyes shifting from Stephen, to her, back to Stephen. Then she glanced around the

trailer, searching for the slightest inducement. Her gaze landed on the CD player.

“How did you learn the words to
Music of the Night
?”

“I awoke hours before dawn. I memorized the Phantom’s songs while I waited for you.”

He tapped the side of his head. “Always been a quick study.”

She figured he’d done this the way she’d learned lyrics when a preteen. “Did you play a

verse, stop, sing the verse again and again, until the words stuck and then play another verse?”

“What of it?”

“Learn the bloody Braille and you’ll have your lyrics on paper. You can read as the music

plays and have a greater sense of the flow of the song. When you’re away from the music, you’re able to read the paper and practice in your head, no matter where you go. Please, tell me you

realize the advantage.”

Stephen was silent for a long moment, his eyes focused on a place somewhere over her

shoulder. Then, he turned his gaze toward where she stood, although his eyes didn’t fix on her.

“I shall give this one week. That is all. If I don’t care to continue, I’ll stand no protest from you. Agreed?”

“Agreed, you bloody stubborn ox of a man.”

He grinned.

She took a deep calming breath and turned to the teacher. “What’s first Mr. Utley?”

“I shall show you how to walk with a sighted guide,” he said to Stephen. “Esme mentioned

you’re adverse to receiving aid but it’s necessary and practical. There will be times you need

assistance. Afterward, we’ll work on you developing your listening skills as you walk.”

“What about what I told you this morning...you know, the dangerous thing.” She wanted

Stephen to hear from an expert that riding was too dangerous, especially this early in his

adjustment to the disability.

Utley gave her a fatherly smile. “I’m afraid you’re not going to like my answer.” He

turned back to Stephen. “Esme fears your determination to go horseback riding.”

“Yes, she gave me an earful about it already. I’m going and that’s that.”

“Good for you. Two of the most important words in a blind person’s vocabulary are: I can.

You may not be able to do all you could with your horse in the past, but you can do a lot. Good for you for believing in yourself. Now, on to the lessons.”

They rode in Utley’s car and relocated to a small school near the village. Classes were out

for the weekend. Utley had the keys and unlocked the main door.

“How do you have keys to the school,” Esme asked.

“My wife is the Head Mistress.”

Inside, he led them to the auditorium, which had a stage and rows of uncomfortable

looking wooden chairs. In addition to the main aisle, two aisles bisected the seats into three groups of ten rows.

“Ready Stephen?”

“Ready.”

“Good. We’ll start with me acting as your sighted guide. When I feel you’ve practiced

enough, I’ll step away and we’ll see how you do independently.”

Utley placed Stephen’s hand on his shoulder and instructed him to try and keep a distance

of about two steps back. They started walking at a normal speed. To Esme’s surprise, Stephen

kept up.

“I’m going to slow the pace. As we walk the main aisle, I want you to listen. If you hear

something different tell me,” Utley told him.

On the third trip, Stephen said, “Wait, there’s a difference here.” He pointed to one of the

broad aisles bisecting two groups of rows.

“Yes. What do you hear that captured your attention?”

“I sense openness here. There’s a faint echo. Is it a wide passageway of some kind?”

“Yes, exactly right. We call that a sound shadow.”

Stephen’s face lit. “Walk faster.”

When they reached the next wide passageway, Stephen stopped again. “There’s another

here.”

“Yes. I’m going to step away and let you work solo. Only instead of the aisle we’ve been

using, work the passageways and stop when you hear a change.”

Stephen slowed his walk and when he reached the door to the upstairs gallery, he stopped,

cocked his head a fraction, and then continued. The next door led to the backstage area. Once

more, Stephen stopped and listened. Then, turning to where Utley and Esme stood, he asked. “Are there doorways to my left?”

“Yes.”

“I can hear a difference when I pass them too.”

“Wait there while we join you,” Utley said. “You’re indeed a fast learner. I’d like to try

and get a bit of staircase practice done.”

Utley took them to a short set of a half dozen stairs that led to the landing between floors.

Esme scrutinized the stairs as Utley talked. The hospital probably had him use an elevator.

The trailer had the ramp. She worried his experience with stairs was limited to those on the

private jet.

“Mr. Utley, a word.” She waved him over several steps away from Stephen and

whispered. “Is it wise to push him with so much mobility training in one session? He’s done well.

Maybe more practice in that same vein is better. End on a high note.”

“Esme, let me try this,” Stephen said.

“You weren’t supposed to hear me.”

“I can hear doorways and passageways, hearing people is a small effort by comparison.”

Utley joined Stephen at the top of the stairs. “Find the wall with your left hand.”

Stephen did.

“The handrail is six inches further and two feet down.”

When Stephen found the handrail, Utley instructed him “Your cane should be in front of

your abdomen.”

“My what?”

“Your belly.” Utley went to him and repositioned Stephen’s hand and index finger. “You

were gripping your cane like a sword hilt.”

“Was I now?” Stephen said with a crooked smile.

He did as Utley told him, testing with his cane for the edge of the step first and then the

depth. One successful trip down and one up and he threw a cocky, overconfident smile her way.

Next trip he went faster and stumbled going down. His right foot landed too close to the next steps edge and he lost his balance. He held tight to the handrail and with some fancy footwork, kept

himself from falling or losing his cane.

“Stephen—” Esme started down the stairs but he recovered before she could reach him.

“A cry of worry for me milady?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s quit for today. We’ll work on stairs again tomorrow and touch technique for

surface and foot placement,” Utley said.

“Did you bring riding boots?” Stephen asked her on the way home from the school.

“I’m wearing jeans, not proper jodhpurs and short boots under my jeans. Tomorrow, I’ll

bring jods and field boots.”

“I’m afraid I only have jeans too and my Nikes, which are tight. With no funds to purchase

better gear, I’ll make do.”

“I’ll speak to Alex about buying you what you need.”

“Don’t. I’ve no wish for additional charity that isn’t intended for my basic needs.”

Esme doubted either of the Lancasters considered Stephen a charity case. If she had the

money, she’d gift him a pair of riding breeches and proper field boots but quality boots were

expensive.

“Your everyday shoes should fit. We can go shopping tomorrow for new Nikes.” She

could afford a pair of trainers.

“If I won’t take Alex’s charity, why would I take yours?”

“It’s not charity but a gift.” How to convince him it’s not a big deal? What could he give

her in trade?

She smiled.

“How about a trade then? Your singing is brilliant. After you’ve learned all the Phantom’s

songs, we’ll go to Alex’s cottage and you can make me a CD of your version.”

“At this point, it’s all I’ve got to give. So yes, milady, I’ll be your Phantom.”

Chapter Fifteen

Owen greeted Stephen and Esme as they arrived at the stable. “Good morning, Mr.

Palmer, Miss Crippen. I’ve had two of the Percherons tacked up. Follow me, please.”

They entered a breezeway barn with hard pavement aisle down the middle.

“Here we are. The first horse is yours, Miss Crippen.”

“He’s a handsome one. What’s his name?” she asked.

“Monty.”

“Funny name.”

“My son, who’s a stable boy here, wanted to call him Kilimanjaro because of his bright

white mane on top of the dark bay body. It reminded him of the mountain’s snowcapped peak.

Mr. Lancaster compromised with my boy. Monty is for the Mount part of Kilimanjaro.”

Leather creaked as Esme mounted and adjusted in the saddle.

Stephen listened for any nervous shift of his horse’s feet or the tiniest of snorts as he

approached with the cane. Alex’s horses would be well trained and not easily spooked, but even

the steadiest animal can surprise you.

“I’ve provided Miss Crippen with a mounting block. Do you require one also?” Owen

asked.

“No.”

A fly buzzed near Stephen’s face, a big one by the sound. When he was a squire, he

swallowed a fat horsefly that flew into his mouth. He didn’t find it nearly as funny as the other squires. The hateful things had a nasty bite and served no useful purpose other than to annoy. He beat at the air around his head with his free hand. To his relief, his horse’s tail swished and the bug flew off.

Stephen switched his cane to his left hand and with his right found the horse’s muscled

haunches within reach. “You’re a sturdy lad,” he said, stroking the flank so the animal knew