Read Online Promise the Night by Michaela MacColl - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michaela MacColl
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lifted the reins back over the stallion’s head and cupped his hands to lift her into the saddle.
“Don’t trust him for a minute,” the Captain warned.
When Beryl clucked, Camiscan moved off with a stride as smooth as silk, a perfect gentleman. As she led the stallion through his paces, she could feel the admiring eyes of the Captain, Emma, and the boys on her. She sat even straighter, careful not to wince, no matter how her shoulder ached.
“She’s got as good a seat on a horse as any man,” the Captain said to Emma. “Her mother was the same.”
Beryl glanced at Emma. Under the dirt and tears, Emma’s face was grim.
“Boys, watch Beryl and learn,” the Captain said. “She just showed you two important lessons. No matter what happens, don’t let go of the reins. And never let a horse think he has the upper hand.” He moved to the gate. “All right. Back to the stable.” As Beryl steered Camiscan through the narrow gate, her father touched her knee. “Well done.”
Beryl grinned all the way back to the stables, knowing that she would wear the bruises on her shoulder like a badge of honor.
LOCATION: Elstree, England
DATE: 3 September, 1936
I was a terrible student with my governess and then at school. I only paid attention to things that interested me, and those teachers didn’t know anything that interested me.
My real teachers taught me how to survive and thrive in Africa. My father taught me to ride and to trust my instincts to stay on a horse. Arap Maina taught me discipline and how to handle a spear. And Tom Black taught me to fly. None of them were ever easy on me. They knew the only way to teach survival was for me to experience danger firsthand. I remember best those lessons that nearly killed me.
Once I was flying with Tom Black over the Great Rift Valley toward the Ngong Hills. My altimeter said we were eight thousand feet above sea level. I opened the throttle to climb. But the plane was sluggish; she had no more to give. We were doing eighty miles an hour, fast enough that I didn’t want to discover what would happen if we didn’t clear the hills. More stick, more throttle. The weight on the wings grew heavier. I was just a beginner and I was beginning to get a bit rattled, but not Tom. He sat in the cockpit, motionless and silent, carefree.
The wall of rock was rushing toward us before Tom took the controls. He banked sharply, dusting the trees and hills with blue exhaust. He put the nose of the Gipsy down until we were skimming the flat valley floor. Then he spiraled up until we were high above the hills and headed home.
“Now you know what a downdraft is,” said Tom casually. “You get it near mountains, and in Africa it’s common as rain. I could have warned you—but you shouldn’t be robbed of your right to make mistakes.”
Is there a better way to learn?
CHAPTER EIGHT
CAMISCAN’S HIDE TWITCHED UNDER BERYL’S HAND. SHE PRESSED her palm against his withers and spoke sternly. “Boy, I’m going to keep grooming you every morning and night. You just have to get used to it.” Camiscan still preferred Beryl to anyone else, but she was careful not to turn her back on him.
“Beryl, I’m bored.” Arthur’s head popped up over the stall door. “Will you play with me?” Although his fair skin was peeling from the sun, his breathing problems had improved in the clear air of the highlands. Under Beryl’s tutelage, he was becoming an expert on the dangers of Africa. Emma would faint if she knew how expert.
“I’m working, Little A. Go away.”
His voice, already high-pitched, became a whine. “There’s nothing to do here! I’m bored.”
Camiscan was growing restless. She thought for a moment.
“Play with Simi,” she suggested.
“The monkey who scared Mama?” Arthur asked doubtfully.
“He’s a baboon!” Beryl corrected with scorn. “And he was just defending himself after she poked a broom in his face. His favorite
“Don’t trust him for a minute,” the Captain warned.
When Beryl clucked, Camiscan moved off with a stride as smooth as silk, a perfect gentleman. As she led the stallion through his paces, she could feel the admiring eyes of the Captain, Emma, and the boys on her. She sat even straighter, careful not to wince, no matter how her shoulder ached.
“She’s got as good a seat on a horse as any man,” the Captain said to Emma. “Her mother was the same.”
Beryl glanced at Emma. Under the dirt and tears, Emma’s face was grim.
“Boys, watch Beryl and learn,” the Captain said. “She just showed you two important lessons. No matter what happens, don’t let go of the reins. And never let a horse think he has the upper hand.” He moved to the gate. “All right. Back to the stable.” As Beryl steered Camiscan through the narrow gate, her father touched her knee. “Well done.”
Beryl grinned all the way back to the stables, knowing that she would wear the bruises on her shoulder like a badge of honor.
LOCATION: Elstree, England
DATE: 3 September, 1936
I was a terrible student with my governess and then at school. I only paid attention to things that interested me, and those teachers didn’t know anything that interested me.
My real teachers taught me how to survive and thrive in Africa. My father taught me to ride and to trust my instincts to stay on a horse. Arap Maina taught me discipline and how to handle a spear. And Tom Black taught me to fly. None of them were ever easy on me. They knew the only way to teach survival was for me to experience danger firsthand. I remember best those lessons that nearly killed me.
Once I was flying with Tom Black over the Great Rift Valley toward the Ngong Hills. My altimeter said we were eight thousand feet above sea level. I opened the throttle to climb. But the plane was sluggish; she had no more to give. We were doing eighty miles an hour, fast enough that I didn’t want to discover what would happen if we didn’t clear the hills. More stick, more throttle. The weight on the wings grew heavier. I was just a beginner and I was beginning to get a bit rattled, but not Tom. He sat in the cockpit, motionless and silent, carefree.
The wall of rock was rushing toward us before Tom took the controls. He banked sharply, dusting the trees and hills with blue exhaust. He put the nose of the Gipsy down until we were skimming the flat valley floor. Then he spiraled up until we were high above the hills and headed home.
“Now you know what a downdraft is,” said Tom casually. “You get it near mountains, and in Africa it’s common as rain. I could have warned you—but you shouldn’t be robbed of your right to make mistakes.”
Is there a better way to learn?
CHAPTER EIGHT
CAMISCAN’S HIDE TWITCHED UNDER BERYL’S HAND. SHE PRESSED her palm against his withers and spoke sternly. “Boy, I’m going to keep grooming you every morning and night. You just have to get used to it.” Camiscan still preferred Beryl to anyone else, but she was careful not to turn her back on him.
“Beryl, I’m bored.” Arthur’s head popped up over the stall door. “Will you play with me?” Although his fair skin was peeling from the sun, his breathing problems had improved in the clear air of the highlands. Under Beryl’s tutelage, he was becoming an expert on the dangers of Africa. Emma would faint if she knew how expert.
“I’m working, Little A. Go away.”
His voice, already high-pitched, became a whine. “There’s nothing to do here! I’m bored.”
Camiscan was growing restless. She thought for a moment.
“Play with Simi,” she suggested.
“The monkey who scared Mama?” Arthur asked doubtfully.
“He’s a baboon!” Beryl corrected with scorn. “And he was just defending himself after she poked a broom in his face. His favorite
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