by J A Whiting
The Legacy
A Tipperary Carriage Company Mystery Book 5
J. A. Whiting
Nell McCarthy
Copyright 2021 J. A. Whiting and Whitemark Publishing
Cover copyright 2020 Susan Coils: www.coverkicks.com
Formatting by Signifer Book Design
Proofreading by Donna Rich: [email protected]
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, or incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to locales, actual events, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Thank you for reading!
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1
Early March, Columbus, Ohio
"Well, I've heard that you can send anything through the mail as long as it's not hazardous," said Mae Monahan. "Now I know it's true. You can even mail a horse carriage."
"I guess you can," agreed Ross Goodnight. "As long as there's a big enough mail truck to bring it."
A large delivery truck was pulling up in front of the barn at Goodnight Farm. The first to greet it were the two beautiful black-and-white border collies named Mick and Mack.
The dogs belonged to Mae, but lived at Goodnight Farm where they served as excellent sentries and companions for Ross and loved having free run of the twenty-acre farm. Nothing got past them and, as usual, they were barking at the newcomer and trying to encircle the truck.
"Dogs! Here!" ordered Ross. Immediately they ran to him and sat down. Mick, the female, took one side and Mack, the male, took the other.
Mae patted each of them. "You’re such good dogs," she told them, straightening their emerald green collars. "But sometimes you've got to stay out of the way."
The driver got out, opened the back of the truck and slid out a ramp, then Mae and Ross quickly stepped over to catch the large four-wheeled Landau carriage as it rolled down the ramp to the gravel driveway and came to a stop.
"Careful there, lady," warned the driver. "That thing is heavier than it looks."
"Yes, I know," said Mae, laughing. "I might be half-past forty, but that just means I've had a little experience wrangling carriages. And boy, is this one a beauty."
"Well, I got a decade on that, but he's right," muttered Ross, brushing back the grey hair beneath his ever-present Stetson hat. "Those things are stronger than they look."
Mae only had eyes for her brand-new carriage. It was covered in canvas and the shafts had been detached for the journey, but its metal-spoked wheels shone in the early morning sunlight, as did the gleaming midnight-black finish when Mae lifted up one corner of the canvas cover and threw it back.
The Landau had a driver's box high up on the front end and bench seats in the back, one facing forward and one facing backwards. "That's why it's sometimes called a vis-à-vis carriage," she said, glancing up at the driver. "Because the passengers sit face to face."
"Uh-huh. Just sign here, please," said the driver, handing Mae his touchscreen tablet. "Shafts are back there on the seats, wrapped in canvas. Harness is in those boxes on the floor."
Ross stepped up and opened the carriage door. Using the hunting knife he removed from a small scabbard at his belt, he quickly cut the packing tape on the large cardboard boxes and looked over the contents.
"All of it seems to be here," he said. "Here's the collar. Bridle with side-check. Crupper. Girth. Breeching. All in black patent leather with brass fittings. That what you ordered?"
"It sure is," said Mae, signing the tablet with her finger and then handing it back to the delivery man. "Thanks so much."
"Yes, ma'am." In a moment, the driver was back in his truck and pulling out onto the quiet country road.
Mae lifted one of the two roll-up doors on the carriage house. At least, it was a carriage house now that Ross had converted it. In a former life, it had been a freestanding two-car garage. Now, sitting between the back of the house and the front of the barn, the buildings formed a courtyard that left plenty of room for parking and for loading up her stock trailers with horses and carriages.
"Okay, I've got a spot all ready for it," Mae said, walking back to where the new carriage stood.
"I hoped you’d be able to fit it in there with all the other carriages."
"It’s tight, but they fit," she said. "Now just one more horse, and I’ll be all set."
"Better get this one inside and really make sure there’s room," said Ross, and together they pushed the big black carriage into its designated spot.
"Oh, it's gorgeous," breathed Mae, stepping back. "Now I just need one more black horse to go with it."
"I've got some spray paint, if that would help," said Ross. He walked to a shelf and got a set of large triangular wooden blocks, fastened together by a couple of feet of rope, and placed them in front of and behind the right rear wheel.
"I appreciate the offer, but I don't think Steel or Copper would like being painted a different color."
"Oh, I guess not," he kidded.
The two of them walked outside and Mae pulled the door down once again. "Most of the time, we don't care what color a horse is. As the saying goes, a good horse is never a bad color. But for this, it's a little different."
"For a funeral, people expect a black horse and a black carriage."
"They sure do. I get calls for that all the time, just like everyone usually wants a white carriage and a white horse for a wedding. So now that I've got my second black carriage, I just need one more black horse."
"Not just any black horse."
"Oh, that's for sure. Even though I haven’t had the driving business that long, we've seen how crazy it can get taking horses out to work in public at all sorts of events." Mae had a black horse that was used for many of the events she was contracted for, but so many clients wanted a black horse, that there was too much work for Star. She needed to find one more black horse for her business.
Ross nodded and walked towards the long, wide aisle of the twenty-stall barn. "Might be able to do some checking. Let me show you something."
Most of the stalls were occupied, and except for Mae's two big working carriage horses, the grey Percheron named Steel, the red-gold, white-maned Belgian named Copper, a pony named Goldie, a Friesian named Falling Star, and a Saddlebred named Silver, all of the other horses at the barn were "retirees," as Ross called them.
Those were aged animals who rarely worked any longer, outside of occasionally giving a lead-lin
e ride to their owners' grandchildren. They had already spent their lives working as show and trail horses, and now all they had to do was enjoy a warm barn in winter and plenty of grazing in Ross's fields in spring and summer.
Mae stood beside Ross as he opened one of the sliding stall doors. Inside was a strongly built black horse with slim legs, four white feet, and a big spot of white on his forehead. The horse raised his head high on a long arching neck to look at them.
"That's Sugarfoot. He belongs to Ellie, right?" said Mae. "He's beautiful, especially for an old guy. I always thought he looked like a small Friesian horse."
"He is a Friesian. An old Dutch breed. At least, that's what Ellie told me when they brought him out here."
"Oh, she's right. They've been bred for centuries to be very strong driving horses and are great trotters." She smiled, glancing up at Ross. "A while back, they started turning up all over the place in movies and TV shows because they're so photogenic. If you see a big black horse in a movie since about the mid-1980s, it's most likely a Friesian."
"Huh."
Mae looked back at Sugarfoot again. "Did they ever show him?"
"Don't think so. Sounded like he'd just been kind of a backyard horse for Ellie and the kids to ride. Though I thought Ellie said he was foaled on some breeding farm and broke to drive before they sold him."
"Wow. Too bad I can't use him," said Mae.
"Ten or fifteen years ago, maybe," said Ross. "But he's twenty-five and retired. His only job now is to let Ellie's grandkids brush him and sit on him while she leads him around."
"Yes, he's a sweetheart, too," said Mae, and then frowned a little. "I used to think all Friesians were solid black, but they’re not. Sugarfoot didn't get that name for nothing, not with four white feet."
"Ellie said something about buying him at a bargain price because of all the white on him. Never really understood that."
"Oh, that's right. That's what it is," said Mae, thinking back. "You can't register them if they've got white markings. The early Dutch breeders guarded the bloodlines very closely and every registered horse had to be solid black. That helped to make sure it really was one of theirs."
She stepped back as Ross slid the stall door shut, leaving the horse to finish his morning hay in peace. "It sounds like Sugarfoot came from a breeder. Was it around here? Do you happen to know which one?"
"I can ask her, next time she's out. She's usually here about every other weekend."
"Yes, please do. I'll bet that a Friesian breeder ends up with at least one white-marked horse every year. Maybe they've got another for sale. We don't mind a little chrome on a carriage horse. Or even a lot of chrome."
"Chrome?"
"White markings, as they say in the show barns. We won't mind at all."
"I see. So, I guess you have a full schedule for this weekend?"
Mae rolled her eyes. "You bet I do. We're coming up on St. Patrick's Day. I've got a few smaller events, but the big one is the downtown parade on Sunday morning, on the seventeenth."
He nodded. "St. Patrick's Day would suit you."
"Oh, you bet. The Tipperary Carriage Company was made for it. Steel is going to be the main attraction for that one. He'll look gorgeous pulling the white Landau. I always wanted to drive a grey horse with emerald green ribbons in his mane and tail."
"You just driving to show off the horse and the ribbons? Like a float?"
Mae laughed. "Listen to me, going on and on about the horse. No, I was asked to drive right behind the lead group, a drum-and-bagpipe corps from one of the local police departments, and carry the parade's grand marshal. I'm really looking forward to it."
"Guess the publicity won't hurt."
"No, it sure won't, not when we've got 'Tipperary Carriage Company' painted on the back and both sides in bright green on that white Landau."
"Grand Marshal?"
"Yes. The man who literally leads the parade. He seems to be well known here in Columbus, though I'm not sure I've heard of him. Let me see here…"
Mae took her phone from her coat pocket and searched through it. "He's an older gentleman named Miles Greene," she read. "A military hero from the Gulf War era. Retired colonel. Lives up in Delaware County, near Powell, it looks like. Anyway, he seems to be something of an Irishman and is well liked, so he gets to be the official Grand Marshal and ride in the parade with me and Steel."
"Sounds nice. I'll plan to go along for water bucket duty."
She smiled. "You're always welcome to go for any reason, but I'd sure like it if you'd ride with me on the box. It's the first time I've tried to do such a big parade and this is going to draw some huge crowds."
He paused. "I'm sure the horse will do fine for you."
"Oh, I'm sure he will, too. I mean, Steel worked for years as a New York City carriage horse and he thinks Columbus is boring. But I appreciate it. Besides, if you ride with me you can sit down while waiting for the parade to be over."
"I guess I could do that. Leave the water bucket in the back."
Mae nodded. "Good. I think it will be a terrific event, from what I'm hearing."
She walked a few more steps down the barn aisle and stopped in front of the two end stalls, where Steel and Copper each worked on their hay. "This business has been a lot of fun," she said. "But I'll admit that it's been a little more exciting than I thought it would be."
"Guess you could say that," agreed Ross.
"First there was that poor college boy who died in my carriage. Then crooks prowling around the barn looking for a fifty-thousand-dollar diamond ring they managed to lose in that same carriage. I'd be very glad if this next holiday was just nice and normal and fun."
"You said you had local events, too."
"Oh, yes, I’m booked up. The day before the big parade, there's an Irish festival in Dublin. The day after, there's one in Grove City. I planned to take Steel to Dublin and to downtown, and then Copper to the one in Grove City. That one doesn't involve driving in car traffic because they block off streets for the carriage rides. Star needs to rest for another two weeks since he had the foot injury." Her black horse hurt his foot when he stepped on a piece of rusted metal. “He’s doing well, but he’ll be back to perfect health soon.”
Ross nodded. "The smaller events are in the daytime, aren't they?"
"Yes, they are. Both are basically street fairs with some outdoor games and Irish competitions– dance, bagpipes, poetry, painting on the spot, all of that. The carriage rides shut down at five and then it's live rock music and partying after that, so we don't have to stay late."
"If you want to take two carriages to those little events, I'll drive one. Now that you have the two, might as well use them."
She paused. "Really? I'd love that. Hey, I'll split the tips with you."
"No need. It all goes for hay to feed your horses, anyway. Just let me know what time you want to leave both mornings."
"I sure will."
Ross walked away, leaving Mae feeling both surprised and pleased. He had gone with her to other driving engagements, but mainly as support crew, and he rarely offered to drive.
This is great. I'll have a little company, and twice the fares.
But it wasn't just the money. It seemed to her that Ross rarely left the small farm and filled his days with the same routine of caring for some fifteen to twenty horses every single day, most of them aging pensioners that did not need any riding or training.
Not only would it help her if Ross would come to a little fair and drive a carriage … it might help him, too.
2
Mae's next week was a busy one. When not driving either Copper, Steel, or Silver at a small courthouse wedding and then a couple of local workplace parties including a retirement ceremony for a much-loved boss, Mae spent time jogging her horses to the two-wheeled metal training cart to keep them exercised, polishing both her white carriage and her two black ones, and soaping down two full sets of very thick, very heavy, black patent leather harness.
I'm only five foot seven and that harness weighs far more than I do. Thank goodness it comes apart into smaller pieces.
She didn’t mind the hard physical work, it only made her stronger, not to mention filling her with a sense of accomplishment when it came to handling such large vehicles along with animals who weighed nearly one ton apiece.
The part of this that was purely fun, though, was putting together decorations for the carriages. Each holiday or event needed something different, and St. Patrick's Day called for boxes full of big paper-foil shamrocks and bells in emerald green and shiny gold. They would be woven in among white paper roses and then wired to the tops and wheels of both carriages.
All that green and gold will look great whether the carriage is black or white. I can't wait to see it.
Both horses would have bright green and snowy white ribbons braided through the tops of their manes. The ribbons, too, would be set off perfectly by Steel's light grey color as well as Copper's burnished red-gold coat and cream-white mane and tail.
If I don't have the two prettiest horses at any St. Patrick's Day parade, then I'm not Irish. And I most certainly am.
The Friday festival down in Grove City went well, especially since the carriage rides were conducted only on the blocked-off streets in an old, quaint neighborhood full of brick houses and big trees. It was always good when there was no car traffic to contend with, just lots of happy carriage riders and plenty of folks trying to get pictures of the beautiful horses with green ribbons flying from their manes.
