Shadows in the Pleasure Gardens by Elaine Mary Griffin weaves together timeless themes, including the personal search for purpose and fulfillment, pressure to conform to societal expectations, corruption of the powerful, and how horses help us escape it all, if only for a bit. Below is an excerpt from the novel:

Chapter One

It was hot and muggy, and I was doing my darndest to keep to the shade as I meandered back from Mr. Willerson’s house with the signed document, probably a loan of some sort. Mr. Tate was gladsome to extend a loan to Mr. Willerson, because Mr. Tate was glad to collect interest, and Mr. Willerson could be relied upon to make his payments so long as someone would go to collect those payments. I was glad to be sent on house calls to collect signatures, deliver promissory notes, and convey large sums of paper tender or small golden coins. ‘Twas always a good day when my work allowed me to escape the dull roof of Tate’s Banking and Loans.

I was in no hurry to get back to the bank. Though ‘twas dim inside, the bank was stuffy and near as warm as the out-of-doors. All I ever did there was sort documents or other such dreary work. Much better to meander on back to the bank as slowly as I liked, mayhaps even avoiding showing up all sweaty. It was never any good to be sweaty there—too much in the way of paper and ink, and smudges can never be unmade.

Sheriff Hoogkirk rode towards me and dismounted in front of the general store, just across the street from Tate’s Banking and Loans. He halloed to me and threw his reins over the hitching post.

“Yon’ Chester. Out on business or a frolic this fine morn’?”

The Sheriff, I suppose, was an optimist, for ‘twas hardly a fine day, thick and hot as it was, and I reckon ‘twas after noon when we spoke, unless I am much mistaken.

“Business, Sheriff,” I said. “I was calling upon a client for a signature. And what brings you into town?”

“Looking around, as per usual. Pete! How’re ye doin’, ol’ man?”

Pete was just leaving the general store.

“Jus’ fine,” Pete said, sauntering over and looking pleased that someone asked. “The boys chopped up an old honey tree today.”

“Ye don’t say?”

“An’ only got stung once or twiced, moreover.”

“What luck!”

“Well hardly luck, really. The darned thing had fallen over the fence and the ol’ heifer was halfway to Congress Hall by the time they caught up with her.”

“Huh.”

“But Johnny’s missus got to jarrin’ that honey, not before I got a hunk o’ it fer meself, course. Reckon she’ll be baking som’in up soon, too.”

“I’ll have to stop by,” the Sheriff said. “Say, that’s odd.”

Sheriff Hoogkirk was looking across the street. A couple of men had dismounted in front of the bank and were walking inside, their horses standing dolefully with lowered heads, though they were tied to no post nor held by a groom. That’s what I found chiefly interesting, for it’s not every day you see a pair of horses with those kinds of manners, not in the city, anyhow.

But the Sheriff’s eyes were following the two men. They were wearing breeches and boots, but no waistcoat, jacket, nor tie. Atop their white shirts hung fringed leather vests. Instead of respectable top hats, they wore headbands tucked with hawk feathers, their faces painted in garish streaks of red, black, blue, and white. They were clearly no gentlemen. Nor could they be humble farmers. Yet least of all were they Indians.

“Traders from the mountains?” Pete asked. Frontiersmen were known to come back wild. Pa said they did it to demonstrate their bravery for the ladies, though I don’t reckon that would’ve given me any advantage in Alida’s eyes.

“Journey a day or two west and it’s lawless out there. Folk dressed like that, if at all.”

“Johnny thought of goin’ west, back ‘fore he found his missus. Lot’o land. But what’s all the land in the world worth without a civilization to cultivate it?” mused Pete.

The men had disappeared inside of the bank. I nearly wished I’d walked back from Mr. Willerson’s a tad more spritely-like so I could’ve seen those men face-to-face. Instead, I’d have to rely on Casey’s account. Casey wasn’t much for talk, unless he could tell me something I didn’t know. He’d be in high snuff to relay such an interesting event I had missed.

The men were back out only a moment later. It really must’ve been less than a minute, I reckon. The Sheriff, Pete, and I were still standing across the street, though I think we’d run out of chatting fodder.

The men walked out of the bank and let the door bang behind them. Each was carrying a new satchel. They went straight for their horses.

“Hallu! Yous two Injuns! Pray stop and chat a moment,” Sheriff Hoogkirk yelled across the street. The men glanced over. One raised an arm in a salute, but they kept on towards the horses.

Casey burst out of the bank, his face ashen.

“Robbers! Robbers!”

Sheriff wasted no time. He turned to his horse, drew his rifle from the saddle, leveled it over the horse’s back, and yelled “stop” as he pulled the trigger.

The two men poorly dressed as Indians turned and froze. The Sheriff pulled the trigger again. The rifle clicked again. The robbers were in their saddles the next moment, wheeling their horses around and kicking them into a gallop down Main Street.

The Sheriff aimed again. He pulled the trigger again. The rifle remained unloaded and offered only a dull, harmless click.

“Robbers! Catch those robbers!”

Mr. Tate was in the street now, too, as red in the face as Casey was pale. Mr. Tate ran after the robbers, waving his arms above his head, yelling, “Thieves! Thieves!” Casey started after him. Sheriff Hoogkirk thrust his rifle into my chest before putting a foot into the stirrup and swinging heavily onto his horse, Champlain, who spun a circle in ill humor. The Sheriff dug his spurs into Champlain’s sides, and the horse jumped, more up than out, and was off running after the robbers.

“Load that d— thing!” Sheriff Hoogkirk yelled as he flew away.

I’d no more rifle balls about my person than were in the rifle barrel.

“Ye got ammunition?” I yelled at Pete. Pete shook his head.

Mr. Tate was a few hundred paces down the road, Casey right behind him. Pete took off after them, fast for being gimpy as he was ever since catching a tree limb in the leg. Everyone was running, everyone was yelling, and the robbers were nearly out of sight on their horses out front.

Even in the early afternoon on a hot day, Main Street is crawling with people. That day, Main Street was stampeding, all the buildings emptied and all the people running westward, moving like they move only when something big is burning.

A cart came hurling up the street, bumping over the ruts behind the jerky gallop of the mule pulling it. The runners on the road parted as it passed, the driver yelling bloody murder for people to get out of the way, out of the road!

The cart kicked up an incredible cloud of dust that became almost muddy mixed with the moisture in the air. People were out of their storefronts, running and waving their arms, everyone yelling at the robbers to stop, but, naturally, the robbers didn’t take heed. I was panting like an old dog on a hunt, but I still held Sheriff Hoogkirk’s unloaded gun, so I couldn’t give up chase. The robbers must’ve passed the schoolhouse, for our race ran by the schoolhouse, now empty, the poor school ma’am standing resignedly on the stoop, her hands on her hips, a few of the more dutiful girls peeking through the doorway.

That was the edge of town, and then the storefronts gave way to fence lines and cultivated fields. Boys from the field ran out to join the frantic parade, and their dogs came barking with them. Ladies stood in their doorways and waved handkerchiefs and old men trotted along in the rear.

I reckon the robbers were gone long before we quit running after them. I finally caught up with the Sheriff, who had pulled up his horse at the bridge over the Schuylkill. The road continues beyond, but it’s flanked by dense wood, and the Sheriff said he couldn’t see the robbers anymore. I couldn’t see them either, but I couldn’t see much, and I couldn’t hardly breathe, either.

I stumbled around and gasped for breath, and the crowd in front of the bridge kept growing as more of our procession reached the bridge and accumulated there. They were all grumbling about those darned boys. Then talk grew about Injuns, and ruffians, and the Revolutionary gold and jewels that the robbers had gotten away with.

I stumbled through the crowd to the Sheriff, easily visible above the rest on his big sorrel gelding. I finally reached him, without even any shoving, for they all seemed to give way on account of the rifle I carried at my side.

The Sheriff glanced my way.

“Lordie’s drawers! There ye are. With me rifle, moreover.”

“Yessir.”

“I had ‘em in me sights, but I ain’t had no gun.”

“Yessir, well, ye did gallop off, sir.”

The Sheriff grabbed the gun roughly.

“It’s still not loaded, though, sir.”

“By Jove, all this time an’ ye’ve not even loaded it?”

“I didn’t have the munition, sir.”

“Well git some and load it fer me, will ye? An’ hold me horse.” He swung down from the saddle, nearly putting my eye out with his spur as I moved toward the horse to comply with his order. He stalked over the bridge and started peering into the thick undergrowth as I fiddled about with the saddlebags, looking for rifle balls.

‘Twasn’t hard to find, for the rifle balls were in the antiquated powder horn, affixed to the cantle with brass buckles. I took out a ball, unintentionally dampened it with my sweat, loaded it into the muzzle, and then carried that firearm with the caution due a poised rattler across the bridge to Sheriff Hoogkirk. I had to bring Champlain along with me—he followed sweetly as a dog.

The Sheriff took the rifle with such preoccupation that I’d’ve preferred to continue holding it myself.

“St—eh. I’ll take the horse.”

I abandoned the poor horse to the Sheriff and took a speedy retreat.

The Sheriff swung back upon his mount heavily. He is an imposing figure, and I wasn’t the only one pleased he’d take the time away from running his own farm to act as the Sheriff. Not all towns had one, which Mrs. Hoogkirk was quick to remind anybody not satisfactorily pleased with his work, or stingy when it came time to support the position.

Sheriff Hoogkirk rode his horse to the center of the bridge so he could address the crowd properly.

“We’ve got ourselves a couple of robbers. It’s lookin’ like they fled into the woods.”

“What’d they take?” an onlooker asked.

“Well—they robbed the bank.”

“Sure, but what from the bank?”

“Is Mr. Tate here?” the Sheriff asked.

“Aye,” Mr. Tate yelled. He was dripping, his cravat limp and sticking to his skin, his face red and shining from running and yelling.

“What’d they steal, Mr. Tate?”

“Ye’ll have to ask me lousy clerk fer that,” Mr. Tate yelled back, rounding on Casey, who’d been hovering at his elbow, still pale, but shining with a sickly sweat. He grabbed the lad by the cravat and pulled him forward. Yet Mr. Tate went on ahead and answered the question himself.

“But I can already tell ye ‘twas bank notes. Lousy thieves ran away with bank notes, and a lousy lot let ‘em!”

“Now, now, sir,” the Sheriff started. It seemed as if he wanted to continue in a conciliatory vein but could come up with naught more to say. “Well, Casey, do’ye’ve a thing to add ‘bout what was robbed?”

“They were armed, sir. ‘An they wanted paper notes.”

“And ye gave them the paper notes, did ye?” Mr. Tate yelled.

“They were armed, sir.”

Mr. Tate dropped Casey’s collar in disdain.

“What’re’ye do’in here, Sheriff? They’re gettin’ away.”

“As I was saying,” Sheriff Hoogkirk continued, “the robbers have fled into the woods. I will lead a party to pursue them.”

The crowd began to break up. Everyone had heard as much as anyone knew about what had happened, and there were no more robbers in sight nor flashy pursuits. It hardly even looked like a fight would break out. Farmers needed to get back to their fields, merchants to their shops, boys to their errands, and children to their schooling.

“Who will join the pursuit party?” the Sheriff asked. This begot no answers and only hastened the crowd’s breakup.

I made my way back to Mr. Tate and Casey. I was a bit fearful, for Mr. Tate was in a frightful temper, and I was not completely innocent, on account that I’d dawdled on my way back to the bank. Had I not stopped to talk to the Sheriff and Pete, I’d’ve been back at the bank by the time the robbers walked in. What I’d’ve done to protect the bank, I reckon was nothing, so upon full review, ‘twas lucky for my career that I’d been absent.

Mr. Tate glowered at me. “There ye are. Didn’ catch ‘em, I see.”

“No sir. I could go with the Sheriff, sir. Part of the pursuit party.”

“Good grief. Ye will capture the robbers, will ye?”

“We shan’t just let them get away.”

“Aye, go on, off wid’ ye. When ye get back, Casey must tell ye all ‘bout what must be done.”

There was an ominous ring to it, but I was too pleased at getting out of the rest of the day of insufferably dull paperwork and Mr. Tate’s ill humor to wonder at it then. Instead, I handed Casey the signed form from my house call to Mr. Willerson. Mr. Tate snatched it out of Casey’s hands.

“I’ll handle that,” he said. “Now there’s work to be done.” He was stricken, suddenly, and his eyes bulged from his ruddy face. “Who’s watchin’ the bank?”

There was no one back at the bank. I remembered Mr. Tate charging out of the bank after Casey, the door slamming shut. It wouldn’t be locked. Of course, the gold, jewels, and important documents would be locked up in the safes in the back of the building, but Tate’s Banking and Loans had already been robbed once that day.

Mr. Tate stuffed the paperwork back into Casey’s hand and sprinted off towards town. Casey looked at me with dismay and ran off after him. I found myself almost alone with the Sheriff as the few remaining in the crowd were drifting away.

“I’ll go,” I said.

“That’s a good lad,” the Sheriff said. “Who else?”

No one else volunteered.

“Mr. Moors?”

Mr. Moors’s wife was expecting him for supper.

“Mr. Butler?”

Mr. Butler was rather busy.

The crowd disappeared in earnest now, people hurrying away before Sheriff Hoogkirk could call on them by name.

“Right, lad, it appears ‘twill be just us,” Sheriff Hoogkirk said. “But ye don’t have a horse?”

I agreed I did not.

“Ye’ll have to borrow a horse, then,” the Sheriff said. “Ask of the Dunlaps.”

The Dunlaps’ farm bordered the road where we stood, and I caught sight of Mr. Dunlap hurrying away. I ran after him.

“Mr. Dunlap. Mr. Dunlap, sir.”

“Aye, lad?”

“Might I beg use of a horse, sir? I’m to join the pursuit party, ye see, and I need a horse.”

Mr. Dunlap scowled, but I reckon he thought the next request would be for him to join the party, so he nodded and jerked his head for me to follow him.

Sheriff Hoogkirk saw me wandering off with Mr. Dunlap and jogged his horse over to join us.

“Right good of ye, Ty.”

Mr. Dunlap brushed it off. “If I don’t be getting this horse back right as I send ‘er off, I’m a comin’ ta ye, Hoogkirk.”

“Why don’ ye come along with us?”

“Ye’ll git the horse an be ‘appy, or ye’ll git nothin’ at’all.”

The Sheriff was quiet, and Mr. Dunlap and I walked on to Mr. Dunlap’s farm, Sheriff Hoogkirk riding big Champlain lazily beside us.

The Dunlap barn is a weathered old structure, and so covered in dust ye can’t see the gray of the aged timber. The horse was tied up to a post just outside the barn, a motley bay roan that blended against the beams behind her, her sagging back and drooping lower lip giving her a doleful appearance. A single twitch of the ear was her only acknowledgement of our approach.

“Saddle’s here, bridle there,” Mr. Dunlap said, ducking inside the barn and returning with the saddle, which he swung on the horse’s back without ceremony. He had the horse bridled in another few seconds.

“All yours,” Mr. Dunlap said, handing me the reins.

“Thank ye, sir,” I responded. I swung up easily, though I found the stirrups far too long once I was astride the mare.

“What’s her name?” I asked.

“Name?”

“The horse’s name.”

“Oh, that’s just the little mare.”

Sheriff Hoogkirk was already loping back towards the bridge. I thanked Mr. Dunlap again and loped off after him.

Little Mare had more sprite in her step than you’d’ve known by looking at her. She caught up with Champlain in a moment and would’ve raced on ahead had I not held her back. She shortened her stride and trotted along, taking three or four steps for every one of Champlain’s. I bounced up and down on her back, not enjoying my trip down jumble-gut lane.

The Sheriff and I pulled our horses up at the bridge. Poor Little Mare was already breathing heavily, and her coat was spiked with sweat. We clopped across the bridge.

“Now here’s where they went into the woods,” the Sheriff said, pointing down a deer path.

“How do ye figure?” I asked.

“Them there’s the prints.”

There were some hoof prints leading into the woods, but the path wasn’t nearly big enough for horse and rider, anyhow. But Sheriff Hoogkirk steered Champlain into the trail, ducked close to the horse’s neck, and they made it into the woods.

Little Mare didn’t need me to tell her she was to follow. I pressed myself as close to her neck as I could, gripped the reins loosely with one hand, and beat away the scraggly tree limbs and brambles with the other.

Branches and thorny vines clawed at me, and I kept my head down. The sun was drooping, and under the thick foliage, ‘twas already dusk. I trusted the Sheriff was looking out for tracks, for I was not, only allowing Little Mare to follow blindly. It occurred to me that I was as useful to the Sheriff’s pursuit party as I was in the bank, which is to say, not at’all useful. But ‘twas too late to turn back, and my presence, if only for being another body, had at least been requested.

We continued on for another hour or so, my shirt taking a terrible beating and my hair collecting pounds of twigs and leaves. It became dim and cool in the woods.

The Sheriff stopped his horse and Little Mare had her nose resting on Champlain’s rump before she, too, stopped.

“I’ve lost the trail. Can’t hardly see a thing. Ye’ve got young eyes. What can ye see?”

I responded truthfully that I could see no tracks.

“I reckon we lost it way back by the hill. We’d need to double back and find it again, but ‘tis too dark to see a thing.”

“Aye, sir.”

“They’re good and ahead of us by now. Pursuit is useless. We’ll have to keep our eyes and ears open, and we’ll find ‘em some other way.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Right, well let’s get out of these confounded woods. I’m gut foundered an’ workin’ on fiddler’s pay.”

Turning the horses round was no small task in the thick undergrowth, but the horses were willing enough to fight the elements and get the job done. I let Little Mare find our way out of the woods, which she did with such grace that we emerged from the trees in the side yard of the Dunlaps’ property.

Sheriff Hoogkirk raised his arm in parting, silhouetted against the dim fog of the early evening. “Eyes and ears open. Remember this. Eyes and ears.”

“Aye, sir,” I said. Sheriff set his spurs to Champlain’s sides, and the horse bounded away. Little Mare was now more than happy to let him go. She trotted up to the old barn. I stripped off the saddle and bridle and set it back in the barn, and then I thought of brushing the old horse. I couldn’t find a brush in the barn, so I wandered out to the well. I drew some water and gave myself a good drink, for I was parched as could be. Then I drew another pale full and offered it to Little Mare. She slurped up the entire pale and then let a good bit of slobbery, green-tinged water dribble to the ground when she started clapping her lips as if she were trying to talk.

I drew another pale, and Little Mare bumped me with her nose, as if to say she’d like some more. But she was getting no more water, on account that she’d already wasted a good bit in washing out her mouth. Instead, I dumped the water over her back. It slicked the coat on the top of her back to her skin and dribbled down her sides, leaving most of her dry. But you might think I’d doused her with flaming whale oil from her response! She pinned her ears back and sidled around like a yearling who’d never been touched.

“Who goes there?” A voice boomed from the house. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Chester. Chester Carter. Just returning your horse, sir,” I said.

A light bobbed toward me, and then Mr. Dunlap appeared, carrying a lantern.

“Didn’t catch ‘em, then?”

“Nay.”

“Done gone and gave up, did ye?”

“Well on the pursuit, I suppose. But we’re to keep our eyes and ears open.”

Mr. Dunlap grunted. “Hah. That right? An’ what’re’ye doin’ to me ol’ ‘orse, now?”

“Cleaning her up a bit.”

“Ye sure did work ‘er good.”

“‘Twas mostly walking, really,” I said. I hoped it was too dark to see any of the nicks and scratches Little Mare had sustained from walking through the dense woods. “I reckon I’ll get some more water to wash her off.”

“Nay, don’ waste any more of me water. Ye done gone an’ dumped it all on the ground, it seems.”

I refrained from fetching more water, and Mr. Dunlap tied his horse back to the post and dumped a healthy serving of oats in the trough within her reach. Little Mare ate with relish.

“Are ye staying fer supper?” Mr. Dunlap asked me. It caught me off guard, for I’d never received more than a greeting, much less a supper invitation, from Mr. Dunlap before that day.

“Nay, thank ye,” I said. “I’ve got to appear back at the bank.”

Mr. Dunlap tipped his cap at me and sauntered back to his house without another word. I started back to the road, on the way back into the town center, feeling suddenly very hungry.

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