by J A Whiting
"Ladies! Gentlemen!"
Fireball threw his head up as Ross's deep voice cut through the chatter. Still holding the horse's bridle, he addressed the crowd in a take-charge tone that left no room for argument.
"Leave the man right where he is. We'll have him at the clubhouse before you could even get him into a golf cart, much less all the way back in one of those little things."
Then he pointed into the carriage. "You, sir– yes, the groom– you sit on the floor with him and keep him steady." Immediately the groom did as Ross asked.
Next he pointed at one of the younger men in the crowd– the best man from the wedding party, Mae recalled.
"You call 9-1-1. Tell them we'll be at the clubhouse in five minutes. We need an ambulance waiting for a possible heart attack. Got it?"
"Yes, sir," said the best man, already dialing his phone.
"Okay. Everyone step back, please. Step back. We'll have him up at the clubhouse right away. We'll meet you up there."
Ross let go of the horse and stepped up on the wheel hub to sit beside Mae on the box. "Uh– five minutes?" she whispered, feeling very worried.
"Mae, you can do this. You said these Dutch horses can trot?"
She sat up straighter. "Yes, I did, and yes, they can." With that, Mae turned Fireball and started him moving towards the cart path.
Come on, Fireball. Show us what you're made of.
Mae guided the big black horse back onto the asphalt cart path and started him into a trot. As they rounded the curve and headed back towards the clubhouse at the front of the course, she knew they would have to go as fast as possible. There was no time to be cautious with a new horse now.
The bride's father lay unconscious on the floor of the carriage, very likely suffering a heart attack. The man's wife, along with his daughter and her new husband, were all back there with him, but he was going to need far more than whatever they could do for him in the back of a moving carriage and he was going to need it fast.
At the same time, Mae was acutely aware that this was no small racing sulky she was driving. This was no two-wheeled little nothing built for speed and maneuverability while carrying just one person.
This was a very large, very heavy, and very unwieldy four-wheeled vehicle drawn by a horse literally twice the size of the harness racers. Once Fireball got moving, it would be very difficult to stop or turn the carriage without a whole lot of room to do so.
But she had to get this man back to the clubhouse without delay. He had to be waiting in the parking lot when the ambulance arrived, which Mae fervently hoped was very soon.
Mae concentrated only on keeping her horse trotting right down the center of the cart path and tried not to listen to the desperate voices from the back of the carriage. It was obvious that the man was unconscious, and the rest of the family was doing what they could to keep him safe on the carriage floor while pleading with him to wake up.
Everything depended on Fireball now.
Mae quickly found that while it had not been too difficult to keep the carriage wheels on the cart path with the horse walking, it was far different at a fast trot. Now the wheels on one side or the other tended to drop off of the narrow asphalt path and onto the dirt. This jolted the carriage rather severely and jerked the harness, which was clearly upsetting the horse.
The path had been made for little golf carts with soft tires and simply could not accommodate a big, wide, fast-moving carriage.
"Get on the fairway," said Ross. "Go right down the middle. No time to do anything else."
Mae nodded and immediately steered her horse over to the long, wide stretch of inviting green grass. Fireball seemed to find this much more sensible, and he flicked his ears up and stretched out with a nice long stride.
It was true that this was an emergency. She never would have taken a horse trotting down a golf course fairway otherwise, but Mae could only imagine how shocked the country club and the golfers would be at seeing a huge horse and carriage tearing up big divots of earth and grass as he flew along the course with steel shoes on his feet.
I always did want to do this.
One fairway down. She went around the green, the very smooth manicured space where the hole was located, and started down the next fairway feeling very hopeful that Fireball would get them there in time.
Suddenly there was a hissing, spitting sound from in front and beside the carriage. Mae was as startled as the horse and looked all around to see what that awful noise was from. It sounded like they were surrounded by huge snakes and from the way Fireball instantly raised his head, he thought so, too.
"Don't let him stop," said Ross, from beside her. "You've got to keep him moving forward. They've turned the sprinklers on. All of them."
11
Ross was right. The golf course's sprinkler system had just come on, and they were no little lawn sprinklers, but huge industrial-strength watering systems that threw big circular gouts of water all over the fairways.
At the sound of the hissing sprays, and from being slapped on the side of the neck with a heavy jet of water, Fireball flung his head up and tried to slide to a stop. But the weight of the big carriage with two drivers and a five-member bridal party inside it continued to push him forward until he was sliding on all four feet over the slick wet grass.
"Turn him a little," said Ross, his voice calming and steady. "Just a little. Keep him going forward any way you can."
Mae worked to steer the big black horse back towards the cart path. Hoping to break him out of his sudden refusal to move, Ross reached down to the floor of the driver's box and picked up the five-foot-long carriage whip with its additional four-foot-long lash.
Then Mae got a spray of water right in the face, and so did Ross, and then so did Fireball, who objected even more by half-rearing and trying to back up.
"What's going on?" shouted the groom, from back in the carriage. "Why are we stopping?”
"The carriage is jolting! My husband is still lying on the floor!" cried the bride's mother.
"We're getting soaked!" yelled the bride. "Get out of the water! What are you doing?"
"Just drive," said Ross, ignoring the passengers in the back. "Towards the cart path. Go alongside it. Just drive."
Mae got the horse out of the middle of the fairway and moving forward once again, though his head was up and he was ready to stop again at any time. She finally got him onto the muddy strip of grass and earth between the smooth fairway and the cart path, but the big metal arms of the sprinklers were still whirling and snapping as they continued to throw big circles of water over the grass.
And the last thing the horse wanted to do was head in their direction.
"Get up, Fireball!" she cried, slapping him with the reins.
Why the heck are these things turning on now? It's too late in the evening for anyone to be playing golf, but don't they know there's a wedding out here tonight?
The horse started trying to get back on the cart path again, since at least there were no big whirling jets of water there. Mae fought to get him back on the rough strip again.
"Fireball! Get up–"
"Hold on," said Ross, and gave the horse a firm swat on the rump with the carriage whip.
Immediately, the horse jumped forward and jerked the carriage after him.
"Keep those reins up short. Keep him right where you want him," ordered Ross. "As long as he's moving forward, you can do that."
He raised the whip again just in case, but this time all it took was another small slap with the reins to keep Fireball trotting along. The horse realized that the water sprays were on the fairways, not alongside, and was willing enough to keep going.
"Just drive," said Ross. "Get to the next fairway. I don't see any more sprinklers. It's just this one."
"Okay. I think he'll be all right if we don't hit any more water." Mae wanted to ask how her distressed passenger was doing, but didn't dare take her eyes off the horse.
"Just keep him where he's happy. We'll be
there in a few minutes."
We'll be there if nothing else crazy happens. Come on, Fireball. We have to do this. We have to get this man to the ambulance. We won't get a second chance.
They drove past the tee and another green. Then the next fairway opened up, this time with no watering system in sight. Mae carefully steered her horse into the fairway and sent him on again.
With a wide-open stretch in front of him and no more water hitting him, Fireball shot forward and really began hitting his stride as he flew down the grass.
This would actually be fun if someone's life wasn't at stake. I'm beginning to think it just might work. After all, this is just nice level grass and perfect for a big carriage and a fast trot. Much better than trying to race through city streets, as I've had to do once or twice before.
Ross kept the whip at the ready, but it wasn't needed. Mae kept the reins up short but did not have to pull on them, instead, she let her horse push into the bit and take the slack out of the reins all by himself, steadying himself against her hands.
Now I see what the trainers mean when they say to let the horse make the contact with the bit– that you don't make it yourself by pulling back on them.
But there was no time for the finer points of horse training right now.
They passed another tee, and another green, and started down another fairway even as the world fell deeper into twilight. Then this fairway took them around a curve that passed quite close to the woods.
Mae realized that this was near the spot where she'd thought she saw someone in the woods on the way out when she'd calmly taken the bride and her court down to the golf course lake for the wedding ceremony.
It was possible to go wider, but this spot had a few lone trees on the fairway side of the cart path. Apparently they were meant to serve as obstacles for the golfers, but right now they were obstacles for the horse and carriage. She did not want to swing out too far in case the sprinklers should come on again.
"Stay right here," said Ross, still right beside her with the driving whip in his hand. "You're fine. Just get him past these lone trees."
"Will do," said Mae, and steered the horse as close to the scattered fairway trees as she could. "I think he kind of likes this."
Maybe there had been nothing in the woods when she had driven past it a short time ago. She had been the only one to see something. The horse had not reacted and Ross had seen nothing. Maybe it had been just her imagination.
"Whoa! Whoa, now!"
Suddenly Mae had to work hard to pull Fireball down, for he was plunging and whipping his head off to one side as though he were trying to duck away from the woods and get back onto the wide open fairway of the country club golf course.
The heavy carriage rocked and jerked. The people in the back yelled out in protest again but Mae paid no attention to them. With five members of the bridal party in her carriage– one of them unconscious from what looked like a heart attack– Mae's only job was to keep her big black horse flying down the golf course fairway at a huge fast trot.
Keep going, Fireball. We'll get to the clubhouse before the ambulance does. It all depends on you now.
"Steer to the fairway. Right down the middle," said Ross, right beside her. "He probably thought he saw something in the trees. Just stay in the middle. Keep going."
And the horse did keep going. He was more than happy to get away from that frightening spot. Once again moving at a fast steady trot, he took the carriage down the center of two more fairways without any more mishaps, but the twilight was nearly gone and it would be completely dark in just moments.
Then, at last, Mae could see the lights of the clubhouse and parking lot coming into sight far ahead of them. Fireball trotted past the final green and Mae swung him onto that last long, long fairway. She realized that there was no sound from inside the carriage now except the crying of the two women, the bride and her mother.
Come on, buddy! We're almost there. You can do this! A man's life depends on it.
Mae eased her hands forward just a little and the huge black horse stretched his neck out to keep the reassuring guidance with the bit. Lengthening his neck also meant lengthening his stride, and now he was fairly flying over the grass.
Almost there!
And then something moved up ahead and off to one side. Mae spotted a golf cart with one man driving and he seemed to be flooring it. The small vehicle bounced and rattled as it zoomed up the cart path, heading for the clubhouse just like she was.
I didn't know those things could go that fast.
"Maybe he's watching for us," said Mae, breathless from keeping the pressure on the reins as the powerful horse pushed on with his big steady trot. "Maybe he's here to show us where the ambulance is."
"Sure hope so," said Ross. "Just keep the horse right where he is. We're almost there."
She let Fireball out another notch, stretching him out as far as she could get him to go and making a clicking sound with her tongue. The big black horse's ears flicked back and he seemed to almost flatten out low to the ground as he gave Mae the last bit of speed that he had.
Almost there!
Then the golf cart swerved sharply onto the fairway. Still moving as fast as the little vehicle could go, it made a hard turn and was heading right across Fireball's path just a few yards ahead of the wildly racing horse.
Mae knew she'd never get him stopped in time.
12
"Heads up! Heads up! Look out!" Mae yelled to the driver of the golf cart.
But there was no reaction. He just kept driving and in a moment would cut right across the horse's path.
Maybe the man at the wheel was old and hard of hearing. Maybe he never expected to have to look for a horse pulling a carriage at a full-speed trot down a golf course fairway at night. But that wasn't going to save any of them if the man didn't get out of the way.
With the blinkers firmly in place on the sides of his eyes, the horse would never see the golf cart coming at him, not until it was far too late.
Mae tried her best to get Fireball to turn away, but the horse was on a direct path to the parking lot, and out in the lot was his trailer with its promise of hay and home. Nothing was going to take him away from that now, and the more she tried to stop him, the more he raised his head and braced against the bit and went on pushing forward at full speed.
After the long and frightening trip through a deserted golf course at twilight, complete with huge sprinklers suddenly coming on and spraying him along with something spooking him in the woods, the horse was more than done with this place.
Normally, he was never allowed to head for home at high speed, but that's what he was doing now. Stopping him before he got to the trailer would be like a jockey trying to stop Secretariat halfway through the Kentucky Derby.
There was no way to suddenly stop or turn three thousand pounds of horse, carriage and passengers flying at full speed down the fairway, not without almost certainly overturning it and causing a huge wreck.
"Get out of the way!" Mae yelled again, but it was no use, the golf cart just kept coming.
Then Ross half-stood in the driver's box and raised up the long drop lash carriage whip. As though he'd been practicing all his life– and maybe he had– he cracked the long lash of the whip right in between Fireball and the golf cart that was angling across his path.
He did it once, and again, and then a third time.
The whip cracks rang out like gunshots. It had the desired effect of making Fireball throw his head and spook to one side, while the driver of the golf cart was startled enough to veer off the other way.
With hardly a backward glance, the driver kept going back towards the cart path.
Mae had no chance to look for him for she had more problems of her own. Fireball had been spooked into angling away from the cart, but now he was also heading away from the clubhouse. He was going in the wrong direction to get back to the parking lot and to the ambulance their passenger desperately needed.
<
br /> Mae tried to turn the horse back in the direction of the clubhouse, where he had been going, but Ross stopped her. "Keep him on this big circle. Get him turned around that way. Slow down as you go."
She realized it was the best course of action. That would keep the horse from fighting the bit again as she tried to suddenly force him back, and turning in a circle was the way to slow or stop any runaway horse … as long as you didn't force them around too fast.
Especially when they're pulling a very large, very heavy, fully loaded carriage that very much needs to stay upright.
"Stay with him. Help him out. Don't let him down," said Ross. "It wasn't his idea to come out here. Show him what to do and take care of him."
As Fireball swung around on the large circle, Mae could feel that he was coming back to her and once again behaving like a trained horse. His hoof beats began to slow and just as he turned in the direction of the parking lot, Mae pulled him down insistently with the reins. In a moment he was just jogging, though he did keep his ears up in the direction of the trailer.
The horse also began to lower his head and stretch out his neck, and Mae eased out the reins a little as he did. At that, much to her relief, he dropped back into a walk.
"He's tired," Mae said. "I guess he's finally had enough of trotting like a racehorse all the way in from the lake."
"Don't think he's worked that hard in a while," said Ross, and then he sat up a little taller. "Ambulance is here. Stop near the edge of the grass. I'll hold the horse so they can get to the carriage."
Mae glanced away from her horse long enough to see the red-and-blue strobe lights moving through the parking lot towards the clubhouse.
"I'll get as close as I can," she said, and carefully steered the black horse over the shadowy green grass until he was back in the glare of the lights behind the clubhouse.
"Right here," said Ross, and jumped down to hold the horse as he finally halted.
Mae closed her eyes, thinking she'd never been so glad in her life to have a carriage roll to a stop. Then she turned around to see how her passengers were doing, almost afraid to ask.
