Once Upon a Misty Bluegrass Hill

by Rebecca Bernadette Mance

  Bea stood and examined her repair job thoughtfully. "Yup. We used stencils but did a lot of it free hand."

  Patrick emerged from the barn. "Fine job the girls did didn't they?"

  Lacy dropped her can of food and the chickens attacked the scattered corn.

  Jolene smiled at Bea. "Indeed, I wish I had her at Aunt Paula's house, she probably could fix the screen better than I ever did."

  "Patrick!" The girls both shrieked and ran to Patrick nearly knocking him over in a competition for the biggest hug.

  A scene from her childhood flitted across Jolene's mind leaving behind a hollow hole in her heart. She used to run to her Daddy just the same way when she was really small when he came in from working all day with the horses. Then when she was older she got to go out with him, which was even better.

  Patrick swung Lacy up in his arms and held Bea's hand. "How is the schooling going?"

  Lacy's little mouth formed an exaggerated frown and her hazel green eyes affected as much sympathy as possible. "Boring."

  Patrick laughed. "Well it is a fine thing yer mother taking time to teach yer so you donna have to ride the bus so far ta school and you help with the gardens and my hens."

  Bea swung out Patrick's free arm and danced under his elbow in a ballroom step. "We are going to DC with Dad next week."

  "All of yer?" Patrick set Lacy down and walked with them toward the hen house.

  "Yes and we are going to lots of museums while dad is working."

  "Boring!" Lacy chimed in.

  Bea tapped her sister's head. "It is not boring!"

  Patrick laughed. "Okay girls now that is enough of that. Let us go see the handy work Bea has done to repair the house."

  Jolene watched them crouch in front of the hen door. "I ain't never been to DC, what is it like?" Jolene asked.

  Bea opened the hen door to wordlessly illustrate her repair job. "A lot of historical buildings. We toured the Capital building last time."

  "Bea's and Lacy's father is an Air Force lawyer."

  Jolene stepped forward. "Oh. Wow. Well my Daddy was in Vietnam a long time ago."

  Patrick stood up shaking his head. "Wasted war, that. War is a waste."

  Jolene felt a familiar burn in her stomach come to a rising anger that made her want to scream at Patrick even though he had saved her from Aunt Paula and brought her home again.

  Such talk always did that to her.

  Her father had a flag pole that he erected at the end of their driveway long before she was born. Every day he raised two flags. The American flag and the black POW flag. At night he took them down or put on the flood light.

  The flag pole and the flags were gone.

  They had been lost in the storm that took everything else.

  "My Daddy didn't think it was a waste. He said that we don't know what would have happened with the communists if we didn't take a stand." Jolene felt the heat rise across her face and neck under Patrick's close study. "Daddy said the Russians wasted resources on that war and so that helped win the cold war." Jolene hesitated, gathering strength under her words. "Daddy said maybe with no Vietnam, they'd have kept marching across everywhere."

  Patrick looked thoughtful. "Well that is an interesting notion."

  "My daddy had a flag pole with an American flag and a POW flag out there by the road."

  Bea started to lift the nesting box lids and pluck out the eggs. "We have a flag pole too!" Bea rolled the eggs in her shirt. "I am going up to the house to clean the eggs."

  "Go on then," Patrick said. "Pack some up for your mum."

  Patrick walked closer to Jolene, his morning glory eyes intense on her face. "What about now Jolene? Do you think America should have gone to Iraq and Afghanistan? Don't you think those were a waste?"

  Jolene looked off in the distance searching for words to match her feelings. She had thought about it a lot. She missed Flint more than anybody. That was her greatest loss. But then maybe Flint would have died no matter where he was when his girlfriend dumped him like she did.

  Timmy Johnson had gone too. He was a Marine. He was back already with a wife and a new baby. He had gotten an award for something he did there but didn't talk about.

  Tommy Parker helped her father on the farm. He was a few years older than Jolene. He died in Afghanistan when his vehicle was hit by a road bomb. His parents were so proud of him. They had his picture on a stone with a flag flying next to his image.

  Then there was their own Bernie Cox who worked at the farm with Patrick who lost his leg. He had a new advanced prosthetic leg that even allowed him to run...they gave it to him at the veteran's hospital just down the road toward Lexington. He said was going to run a marathon as soon as he could work himself into being able to. Bernie didn't really ever seem to live with regret, in fact, he was mighty proud as far as she could see.

  There were so many from her class going, Doug Mason, Mitch Connelly and Yolanda Washington. All of them seemed proud and ready to go, even though some people talked down about the wars. Her daddy always said that it was the south’s sons and now even daughters that carried the largest burdens of the wars even though the people who talked about it the most and loudest didn’t send any of their children.

  For as long as she could remember there was a war in the middle east but everyone she knew who went there and all of their family were so proud of them. They all seemed to believe there was something important about it.

  "No, Patrick, I don't think it was a waste. I think my Daddy would say that Flint, Timmy and Bernie were the knights that would lead all them people to Freedom's Front Door. I think my daddy would say if we could walk the path twice we might be in more trouble to do noth'in after 9/11…at least that is what everyone believed when we had the war to start with…even some of those people who later decided not to support the war. That is what Tommy said before he left. He said we had to make a choice about doing it now, or waiting till it was much worse or even when it might be too late."

  Patrick was thoughtful. "What about those that died?"

  Jolene sighed, the grief that hit her when she thought of those lost…and their mother's who cried so much surfaced under her words. "Flint...my best friend ever... once said that the hour of the lamps gave him hope for a better future for them people in the Middle-East."

  "What would Flint say now?"

  "I don't know. He is dead so I can't ask him."

  "I am so sorry...so you see...was it worth the loss of your best friend?"

  "He killed himself. The Taliban didn't kill him, his girlfriend dumped him and he killed hisself."

  She paused over the lump that formed in her throat. "But Tommy was killed by the enemy. And Tommy's family doesn't think it was a waste. They know Tommy changed the world and I agree with them."

  "We don't know what the feel in their heart."

  "Fine, then ask Bernie what he thinks, under his jeans he has a fake leg."

  Patrick's jaw dropped. "I knew he was a vet from Iraq and I see him rubbing his thigh sometimes....but I had no idea about his leg...I'll be damned...."

  "He is going to run a marathon. He gets up and runs every day before coming to help out here."

  Patrick shook his head thoughtful. "That is truly unbelievable. But I already know he is very proud, so there is no need to talk to Bernie about this. Yet, it does give me something else to admire about him."

  "Bye Patrick!" Bea and Lacy called as they ran from the house toward the creek.

  Patrick turned his grave gaze from Jolene to wave to Lacy and Bea as they carried their eggs across the creek to their house next door.

  He returned his weighty gaze to her. "It is complicated to be sure...but maybe if you and Tommy and his family lived somewhere else you might not be thinking that way."

  Jolene felt her temper rise swift and hot. She heard her daddy talk a lot about those things with Tommy before he left. This foreigner had no right to talk about it like that. Like as if he knew more than her daddy and Tommy. "
Maybe if you were not a foreigner coming over here taking over my family farm you might know something. You lived in Ireland…you have no right coming over here and saying stuff like that. My daddy was in Vietnam and I know he was a hero and I don't care what you think about anything!"

  Saturated with pain and confusion, Jolene turned and ran back to her old home that was now her new home trying her best to hold back the burning sobs that threatened to embrace her tighter.

  She didn't need to stay here and listen to this crap from him. Her daddy would be rolling over in his grave.

  She slammed the door behind her and ran to her parent's bedroom that was now her own newly decorated room and flung herself across the daisy quilt bedcover and cried so hard she thought her ribs would pop out.

  A few minutes later she heard a heavy knock on her front door.

  "Jolene, I am sorry," Patrick called from the porch. "Come on out to the porch and talk with me."

  "You are a foreign jerk!" She yelled so he would be sure to hear.

  A muffled chuckle penetrated the door and danced into the room to her ears. "Jolene, listen, if yer come outside and talk I will put up a flag pole and we will get a flag."

  Jolene shot up from the bed and went to the door lifting away the lace curtain that graced the window. She looked out to find Patrick regarding her with his big violet eyes that made her heart flutter and her breathing quicken.

  He blinked earnest. "I am really sorry Jolene."

  Jolene moved closer to the glass. "You promise you will get a flag pole?"

  "We will go order it tomorrow along with a flag."

  Jolene shook her head. "No Irish flags now."

  Patrick laughed and tilted his head. "What der ya mean girl, I canno ever have an Irish flag…"

  Jolene suddenly felt ashamed. "Well…maybe somewhere we can put one…."

  Patrick laughed hard. "We'll put yer American flag on the flagpole then."

  Jolene put her hand on the doorknob and negotiated one last concession before opening it. "How about a POW flag, can we put one of those too?"

  Patrick grinned. "Arah girl! Now next you'll be a'wantin to put every state flag down the pole too."

  Jolene didn't laugh. She just stared through the glass at Patrick's laughing blue-purple eyes.

  "Oh alright Little Red, if yer come on out we'll be getting you a POW flag as well…I hope you know how to put them up with all those rules and such."

  Jolene grinned and swung the door open. "I sure do…my daddy taught me a long time ago. I can show you how!"

  Patrick shook his head and laughed. "How am I going to explain that to me mam and pap? I am the Earl of Meath, I should have me own coat of arms on a flag pole."

  Jolene hesitated choosing her words carefully in the face of his concessions. "Maybe we can put your flag on a pole out in back."

  He tilted his head. "How nice of you Jolene, I am sure my parents will feel very happy about that part."

  Jolene grinned. "You worry about your parents and your Earl flag…I am going to go look on the internet for the biggest flags I can find….so you better get a great big flagpole Patrick." She threw her arms wide. "I mean, really, really big."

  "Aaarah girl, you donno have to get the biggest flag pole."

  "Well, you can get a big pole for your Earl flag…so long as it is not next to my flag pole…Earl of Meath flag? Really Patrick? That is just weird. What are you doing here in the first place? "

  He sighed. "You let me worry about that and you worry about find'in yur flagpole."

  Chapter 6

  His groom called him "de mostest hoss that ever was" and that about sums it up for Man o'War in the eyes of most American racing fans. Man o'War was not just a great racehorse -- he became the standard by which all runners have been compared then and ever since. Everything he did was bigger than life, his accomplishments on the track, his dominance as a stallion, and his tremendous charisma that drew visitors from around the world to see him in life and in death. Man o'War, a horse of mythic proportions, was probably the greatest American racehorse ever, and the masterpiece created by the great breeder August Belmont.

  It was a fine spring day on the first of March. The rain had passed through that morning leaving the pasture and trees shimmering in the morning sunshine. The yellow daffodils that ran along the fence-line smiled up at the warm sun that took the chill off the air and stole the drops of rain.

  Her mother would have said, "Tears from heaven, sometimes joy, sometimes sorrow, but always leaving things growing behind them."

  Storm leaned down and sniffed a tiny blue butterfly that sat on a dandelion. He sneezed then blew out an annoyed snort. Jolene giggled and hugged his head. He neighed softly and nudged her pocket for another piece of apple. She stood up and accommodated him. That is what one did with Storm. He simply demanded his due and you gave it to him.

  Ollie and Finn sat under a nearby tree watching over everything with their arrogant noses in the air.

  The French Guinea, a large feathered gray army of fowl advancing against the ticks and pesky flies in the horse poop in the field, moved in unison pecking and clucking their funny little honk…or their vigorous "chi-chi-chi" sound if they saw something that was deserving of a warning. If the raccoons or coyote didn't get the Guinea they would eat all the flies out of the poop and the horses would not have to wear fly masks that made them look like Zorro in the summer.

  But often times it was the Guinea that ganged up on the raccoons and foxes. They circled and pecked their victim. Foxes and raccoons might get away…snakes and mice rarely ever did.

  On the arbor her father built behind the garden her mother's wisteria draped in purple splendor. The morning glory with flowers just the color of Patrick's eyes, waived its branches over the garden fence.

  She had lived there just ten months but it seemed like a lifetime now.

  It was spring again. She saw Patrick nearly every day. He invited her up to the big house for meals. She went most times and had started looking at the cooking channel so she could cook his funny meals for him when Mata his housekeeper was gone on weekends. She loved to cook and bake but her mother had mostly taught her southern cooking and Patrick liked a lot of food she had never heard of before. It was pretty good sometimes.

  He made her laugh with his tales of Ireland and his family growing up. It was clear he loved his younger sisters Mora and Geri. And there was his younger brother Shannon who had been his partner in mischief.

  Patrick was super-busy because he had started a special organic feed business for animals and it was growing worldwide. He was also inventing all sorts of things for organic farming…and even had his own beer. Bourbon Trail Beer. Jolene remembered that Aunt Paula liked that beer a lot but it was too expensive for her to buy all the time.

  All was right in Jolene's world. Or at least as right as it could be without her mamma and daddy.

  So, today was the perfect day to ask Patrick.

  She'd been practicing with Storm. She knew exactly what to do….except for the gate part. Her father had taught her everything but that and he had been a trainer most of his life.

  Jolene now raced and timed Storm nearly every day. Patrick didn't think there was any purpose in her racing as fast as she could with Storm on his track…but she did have a very important purpose.

  Storm was three years old now and he was ready to run the Derby. If he didn't run it this year, he would never be able to run it because the horses had to be three years old.

  Patrick road up on the outside of the fence on the big black stallion called Coal Minor perched in a perfect English saddle just the way he had learned in Ireland…but he if you asked him would argue that the English learned to ride from the Irish.

  "What are you and Storm doing out here Red…just enjoying the spring day?"

  Jolene's heart beat as fast as hummingbird wings, just like it always did when she saw Patrick. Only today her heart beat even faster because it was time to talk to him about ru
nning Storm in the Derby. She only had two months to get everything ready. He had to qualify in other races and only if he did very well in those would he qualify. She knew he could win.

  She walked over to the fence on shaking jello-legs. She picked up a lock of hair and started twisting it around her finger.

  Patrick got off the horse and tied him to the fence post. "Now I know that look, with those brows all drawn up and your eyes filling up yer face with worry. What is it Jolene that has you twisting up yer hair?"

  She held his gaze. "I want to enter Storm in the Derby."

  Patrick blinked a few times as if he had not heard her correctly. "Surely yur joking! Here it is March already…you know he has to win at big races to even be considered, as if even entertaining the idea can be discussed."

  Jolene got up on the fence and sat down next to where Patrick stood leaning on the post. "We can qualify him at Keeneland first."

  He shook his head, his eyes cornering her in blue glory. "Jolene, it is a ridiculous idea in the first place."

  "No, no it's not Patrick. You know he is fast enough."

  "Timing isn't everything. He is not a race horse Little Red, no matter how much you plead and coerce me."

  Jolene grabbed Patrick's arm feeling her dreams slip away before they ever had a chance to bud. "Please Patrick, what would it hurt to try?"

  "Well, let us consider first off that you are the only one he'll carry on his back."

  "I will ride him of course. But he will take others."

  Patrick laughed hard. "Now that is really something to call absurd little lady. You canno' ride that horse in a race, you are not a jockey."

  Jolene scowled. "I can learn and I already race him and well you know it."

  "You have no experience as a jockey."

  "Yes I do. My daddy taught me and you know it 'cause you see me riding every day."

  "Riding here by yurself is one thing, but riding in a race like that, especially in the big race is quite another."

  She went stubborn. "What I don't know I'll learn from a jockey."

  "Jolene, you have already talked me into too many schemes, like letting yer ride him at all in the first place. Could o'broken your neck, by the by, a hundred times."