“I have no more family,” Virginia said. “It’s just me now and all the lovely women in the program. They make jewelry out of recycled newspapers and magazines.”
Dawn looked at her. “Really?”
“Yes. See.” Virginia hiked up her sleeve and showed off a beaded bracelet of many bright colors. “My necklace too.”
“They’re beautiful! But I don’t understand. How do they make them out of newspapers and magazines?”
“Here.” Virginia fished into her tote bag for a brochure and headed for the restroom. “Excuse me. I need to use the privy. My old bladder isn’t what it used to be. Damn malaria. Read,” she said, glancing back. “Go ahead.”
The brochure was bright and cheerful; the women depicted on the cover all smiles. “BeadforLife began with a chance encounter between women. Our co-founders Torkin Wakefield, Ginny Jordan, and Devin Hibbard met Mille Grace Akena while walking through a crowded Ugandan slum. They were on their way to visit a sick woman when they saw Millie sitting on the ground outside of her mud home; she was rolling small strips of paper into colorful beads in the sweltering sun. Intrigued, they stopped to talk to her.”
Dawn turned the page. “They soon learned that Millie was originally from Northern Uganda, but had been driven from her home by Joseph Kony and the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA). To protect her family from being kidnapped as soldiers, Millie fled to the Kampala slum. To support her family, she worked in a rock quarry, crushing stones into pebbles with a hand mallet. In order to earn enough for one meal a day, her children often had to work alongside her in the hot, dusty quarry. For their efforts, the family earned less than a dollar a day.
“Millie told Torkin, Ginny and Devin how much she loved to roll beads out of recycled paper, and proudly showed them a bag full of her unique handmade necklaces. She also shared that she had almost no market for her jewelry. Our co-founders admired Millie and bought a few of her necklaces, wearing them around Kampala in support of her handiwork. Immediately, others began to notice the distinct jewelry and asked where they had been purchased. Believing there was a market for the paper jewelry, they returned to Millie's slum. With her help, they met with a hundred more women who knew how to make paper beads, purchasing a few necklaces from each. At this time, they had no way of knowing that their lives, and the lives of so many impoverished Ugandans, were about to change.”
Dawn looked up when one of the stewardesses approached her. “Can I get you anything?”
“No.” Dawn thanked her and continued reading.
“Once back in the US, our co-founders shared their experiences with others. Through word of mouth, women across North America began to purchase the beads and were captivated by the stories of resilient Ugandan women lifting their families out of extreme poverty. As suspected, there was a market for the hope-filled, hand-rolled beads and their inspirational creators after all! In September 2004, BeadforLife was officially born. At the time, our dream was to provide opportunities for a few dozen women from Millie's slum. Today, we provided opportunities for thousands. Women all over the world continue to make a difference by hosting Bead Parties in their homes or at community events. You too can make a difference by sharing beads with your friends, family and community.”
Dawn opened her laptop and brought up the BeadforLife website. As she was scanning the homepage categories, Virginia made her way up the aisle and sat back down next to her. “Well?”
Dawn glanced at her and smiled. “I’m wondering if my Aunt Maeve knew about this organization.”
“What did you say her last name was?”
Dawn glanced away. She hadn’t. “Fioritto.”
Virginia thought for a moment and shook her head. “It doesn’t ring a bell. But this is the first time I’ve been back in six months. Damn malaria,” she said again with a sigh. “So tell me about you, dear. What are you coming to Uganda for?”
Dawn hesitated. Very private by nature, with good reason considering her family name and the past, she contemplated not saying anything at all in reply, but decided that would be rude. The woman had already shared her entire life history. She’d married at eighteen, divorced at twenty-one after catching her husband in bed with another woman. No children, MS in Education, retired public school administrator, and lifelong volunteer. “I’m at my best when helping others. It’s when I am most at peace.”
Mild turbulence rocked the plane from side to side. “I’m here on family business.”
“I see you’re married,” Virginia said, glancing at Dawn’s wedding band.
“Yes.” Dawn closed her laptop and leaned her head back, gazing out at the clouds through the window. “My husband’s name is Randy. He’s an equine veterinarian and we have two children. Our son is Randy Jr. but we call him D.R. Tom nicknamed him that for little doctor.”
“Tom?”
“He’s like my brother.”
Virginia smiled.
“My daughter is Maeve.”
“Named after your Aunt Maeve?”
“Yes.” Dawn nodded.
“And your mother and father?”
“They’re gone.” Dawn stared out at the vastness of the sky, the beauty, the emptiness. “They died in a plane crash.”
“How sad, I’m so sorry.” She squeezed Dawn’s hand gently and the two of them just sat there like that a moment, Dawn staring out at nothing and Virginia holding her hand, eyes closed and saying a silent prayer.
“Do you have other family?” Virginia asked eventually.
“Oh, yes.” Dawn looked at her and smiled. “I actually live on what could be called a commune. We all have separate houses, but we eat dinners together almost every night. I don’t recall how that all got started, but….”
“How many of you are there?”
“Well, in our house, there’s me and Randy, D.R. and Maeve and Carol.”
“Carol?”
“She’s our nanny. She lives with us. Then there’s Linda and Maria. They are currently living with Randy’s parents, Liz and Randy Senior, who we all call Señor. They sold their farm and moved to Meg’s Meadows after our children were born. Randy’s sister Cindy and her husband Marvin recently built a ranch on the north end of the farm, further back than our home. It’s between ours and Ben’s.”
“What do you farm?”
“We’re a Thoroughbred breeding farm. Then there’s Ben’s house. It’s the big farm house; first one as you pull into the farm. His wife passed away years ago.”
“Ben?”
“He’s like a father to me. Tom and Wendy live with him and they have two grown sons that come and go. Gordon is currently in Europe and Matthew lives with his girlfriend Hillary in Coventry, an artsy community in a nearby city.”
“Sounds like quite a family.”
Dawn smiled. “Yes. But I’m not done. There’s more.” Dawn chuckled, getting into this now. “Randy’s sister Cindy is also an equine veterinarian and she and Randy are building a new equestrian hospital on the property, the far southeast end behind the pastures. George and Glenda, the farm managers, live in a house on the far southwest end of Meg’s Meadows just the other side of T-Bone’s Place.”
“T-Bone’s? Is that where you all eat dinner?”
“No. T-Bone’s Place is where all the old-timers from the racetrack live. There are currently seven residents. Miguel, Bill, Jeannie, Steven, Jack, Clint, Frank…” Dawn had to think, had she named them all? “Oh, and Cracker Jack Henderson is coming soon from what I understand. Then there’s Vicky. She’s the live-in nurse, and Lucy and Junior and their little girl Julie.”
Virginia smiled. “Is that it?”
“No. There’s Dusty. He lives in the loft apartment in the foaling barn.”
Virginia paused. “I’m trying to picture all of this. You have Glenda and George’s as you pull into the drive?”
“No. That’s Ben’s farmhouse.” Dawn fished a notepad out of her purse and drew a diagram. “As you come down the road you pass Glenda and George’s, the
n T-Bone’s, then you come to the entrance of Meg’s Meadows. There’s a big sign. And when you turn in the drive, Ben and Tom and Wendy’s house is here to the left. There are pastures and barns to the right. The property runs all the way up to the end of where George and Glenda live. The pastures are literally in their backyard, T-Bone’s too. The old-timers love watching the horses graze. They are all retired horsemen.”
Virginia sat, taking it all in. “Okay. So where is your house?”
“Well, right past Ben’s here is where Cindy and Marvin built their house. It’s actually to the back of Ben’s. Our house is over here, and just up the drive from us is where Liz and Señor live.” Dawn turned the page sideways, running out of room. “Over here is where the vet hospital will be built. It won’t be much larger than the one they currently have. Oh, which reminds me, I forgot Mark and Susie. Mark is the other veterinarian in the practice with Randy and his sister. There’s a three-acre lot just beyond this entrance that may or not be going up for sale. That’s where they’ll build if we can acquire it. Right now, they don’t live on the property.”
“And you all eat suppers together?”
“Yes,” Dawn said. “It’s wonderful. Everyone’s a great cook. Well, all but me that is, though I do make a really good macaroni and cheese.”
Virginia smiled. “I can’t imagine. I mean, I can imagine, but then again I can’t. And you all get along?”
Dawn nodded. “Señor and George disagree every once in a while, but no one’s thrown a punch yet.”
Virginia laughed.
“We also have six dogs, big dogs. Five Labs and a Standard Poodle and a bunch of barn cats. It’s home for us all. It’s a wonderful place to raise children.”
“Do you plan to have more?”
“No,” Dawn shook her head. “It was risky enough me having the two. We’re blessed.”
Virginia gently squeezed her hand again. “I’m so happy I met you.”
“Me too,” Dawn said.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the pilot said over the intercom. “We will be landing at Entebbe Airport in Kampala in approximately thirty minutes. We hope you have enjoyed your flight and will fly with KLM again. It is currently five-thirty-two in the evening, seventy-eight degrees, and sunny. Rain is forecast for tonight. Thank you for flying with KLM Royal Dutch Airlines.”
Chapter Five
Linda Dillon glanced at the video camera fixed on her. “Could you have come at a busier time? Seriously?” As the Assistant Racing Secretary at Nottingham Downs & Casino, Linda’s job included helping to take entries and do scratches and post positions in addition to all the other clerical duties associated with the job. With Racing Secretary Joe Feigler on medical leave because of a back injury, she was on her own.
“All the work and no glory,” she said, taking an entry and glancing at the camera again. “How did I get this job? That’s a good one? I guess I kinda grew into it.” She nudged director Leon aside and leaned down to listen to Betty Greer. Since Mim had died last year, Betty was the oldest woman trainer on the racetrack now and shrinking more and more in size with each passing minute.
“Rest Alone in the third race,” Betty said, pointing to the pencil mark in her condition book.
Linda typed the horse’s name into the computer. “That’s non-winners of three since November, Betty. She’s win four.”
“Well shit,” Betty said.
Linda noticed she’d also marked a second condition. “He fits here. You want to enter him there?” She held her finger to the condition and waited as Betty studied the specifics.
“All right.”
The condition fit. “Jockey?”
“Ricardo.”
“Got it.”
As Betty shuffled off, Leon motioned for Linda to start talking. She took a sip of her coffee first. Wendy had already warned her not to start out by saying, “Hi.” They’d both gotten a good laugh over that.
“My name is Linda Dillon and I’m the Assistant Racing Secretary here at Nottingham Downs.”
Trainer Guy Freeman walked up to the booth to place an entry. “We’re closed,” Linda told him.
“Bullshit.” Guy laughed. “Army Deal in the fifth race. $4500. Ramirez.”
Linda took the entry and called to the man as he started out the door. “I hear tell we’re going to have a computer glitch and it’s going to eat this entry.”
The man waved over his shoulder.
“So, where was I?” she said. “I started out hotwalking and grooming and was galloping horses at the age of fifteen. I ponied and galloped for years. I’ve been a clocker at Erie and well, here I am. I know just about everybody on this racetrack and sad to say, they all know me.” When she paused, Leon motioned for her to continue.
“I can’t imagine anywhere I’d rather be than on a racetrack, this one in particular. Though there was a time, I couldn’t get far enough away. When you’re part of this racetrack family, everyone knows your business. When you try to change your ways, they’re the toughest to forgive.”
“Cut! Phe-nom-e-nal!! Now if you’ll point me to the Stewards’ office.”
Linda led the film crew down the hall and tapped on the Stewards’ door. “It’s Johnny Cammareri,” she sang.
All three looked up from their desks. Fitzgerald laughed. He and Linda were cinema buffs and were always quoting lines from one movie or another. “Gentlemen,” she said, as she stepped back out of the way with a bow. “I leave you in good hands.”
~ * ~
Pastor Mitchell made his way through the barn area of Nottingham Downs flanked by the documentary film crew. “I’m here seven days a week, just like all the other horsemen. It’s a full-time job. Hey, Gary! How are you?”
“I’m feeling better! Thanks!”
Pastor Mitchell glanced at the camera. “A day of rest? Not in God’s house. You go where you’re needed. Anytime, anywhere. Watch your step.”
The videographer dodged a fresh pile of manure.
“There isn’t much goes on here on the backside that I don’t know about. I work closely with Dusty, the Nottingham Downs Liaison Official, about financial matters and squabbles, things like that. He’s a good man. A good horseman. I think every racetrack should have a liaison person. They’re the go-between for the horses, the horsemen, and management.”
“Are they getting your best side, Pastor?” Loretta Guciano, Lucy’s mother, asked, in passing.
Pastor Mitchell laughed. “They’d better be.” He and the crew walked along. “This is a tough business, racetracking. It can wear you down. But it can also lift you up, and that’s where I come in. We have a prayer meeting Wednesday evenings and a Sunday service. Timing is everything. On Sunday mornings after breakfast, before icing the horses, I get anywhere from thirty to forty grooms and trainers. No, very few owners. They probably have churches of their own to go to. I get mostly the backside residents.” He looked into the camera and smiled. “I can swear in Spanish with the best of them.”
A tiny little woman approached him and gave him a hug. “Thank you,” she said.
Pastor Mitchell patted her back gently. “If you need anything, just let me know.”
The woman nodded and started to walk away. “He’s a rock star! You haven’t lived till you hear one of his sermons! Ain’t no finger pointing, just the gospel.”
“Bless you, sister.”
The woman laughed. “You ain’t going to hear any of that there either.”
Pastor Mitchell held out his hands. “Come on! I was hamming it up!”
“Don’t,” she said, laughing again.
“You win some, you lose some.” He waved to a man sitting outside a shedrow shelling peanuts. “Hey, Ricky. You doing okay?”
“Great, Rev!”
“They’re doing a documentary about the racetrack,” Pastor Mitchell said.
Ricky nodded. “Did you tell them about Billy Martin’s funeral?”
“Thanks for reminding me.” Pastor Mitchell helped himse
lf to some peanuts and gazed off into the distance. “That was a beautiful funeral. Horse-drawn hearse, bagpipes, a trip past Billy’s barn.” He looked at the camera. “Very few people liked Billy, but we gave him a proper sendoff anyway.”
“He was one of us.” Ricky nodded. “It was the least we could do.”
“I’ve done seven or eight funerals and lots of weddings, lots of baptisms. Wish I could do divorces,” he said, glancing down between the barns at a couple having a not-so-quiet argument. “I’d have declared them divorced years ago.”
Ricky laughed.
Pastor Mitchell helped himself to a couple more peanuts and walked on, shelling them along the way. “God, I love this place.”
Leon motioned for a close-up, wanting to capture the look in the pastor’s eyes. Closer. Closer. Closer. “That’s a wrap.”
Chapter Six
Randy sat in his truck outside the track kitchen writing notations on a clipboard. Another vet truck pulled in behind him. “Well, that was a blast,” Mark said, getting out of his truck. The front of his shirt was splattered with blood.
“We do have fun, don’t we?” Randy had a fair share of blood on his clothing as well.
Dusty came out of the track kitchen, saw their trucks, and hobbled over to talk to them. “Wow, I’d hate to see the other guy. Looks like it was one helluva fight.”
“He was bigger than us.” Mark peeled off his shirt and reached into the back of Randy’s truck for one of the extras kept there for just such occasions. Castration was messy business.
“Did you hear anything from Dawn?” Dusty asked.
“No.” Randy looked up. “Jesus, Mark, put some clothes on.”
Mark laughed. “I’m heading to Wilson’s. I’ll see you all later.” He pulled the clean shirt over his head and while tucking in one arm and then the other, opened up one of the side compartments on Randy’s truck. “How is it I always run out these before you? Could it be I do more work than you?”
Randy laughed. They each put in long hours.
Book Four of the Winning Odds Series: Soon to be a Movie Page 4
