by Leigh Hearon
Apparently, Annie’s rank on Nicole’s social register was similarly low. The diva swiftly rose and swept out of the room without a glance at where Annie was standing by the buffet.
“Best of luck today,” Annie lamely called after her.
“Luck’s got nothing to do with it,” was the reply, then Annie heard the front door slam.
She quickly ate her solitary breakfast and took her dishes out to the kitchen. Chef Gustav seemed to be six places at once, observing a rolled pastry crust here, tasting the sauce on the gas stovetop there, and all the while issuing orders to his waitstaff who were patiently lined up, waiting to do his bidding. Annie saw a row of thermoses on the counter, each with a Darby Farms logo on it. She wondered if they were filled with coffee and, if so, she could snag one for herself.
As if he’d read her mind, the chef gestured with his arm as he bustled by. “Take! Take!” he said genially, then shouted to the other end of the kitchen, “Non! That is not the knife to filet the fish! Give it to me before you butcher it!” Annie watched him snatch the offending cutlery out of the hand of an astonished young man, who then meekly looked over the chef’s shoulder as the small Frenchman deftly separated fish from bone with the correct blade.
Chef Gustav next raced back to the stove, grabbed a mitt, and peered inside the oven.
“Who is supposed to be watching the tarts?” he bellowed to no one and everyone at once. “One more second, and they would have been ruined!” He carefully removed a sheet of perfectly bronzed tart shells and placed them on the counter. Then he turned to her and spoke in his normal, pleasant voice.
“Mademoiselle Annie, are you well? You are late for the petit déjeuner. Everyone else has eaten and gone many hours before.”
“I’m fine,” Annie stammered back. “I just overslept. And I can see you’re busy. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Non, mon amie. I am merely upset because my best sous chef has not shown up, and now I find I am a waiter short. In a few hours, I must serve luncheon to fifteen guests and also prepare for an afternoon tea. But do not worry. Chef Gustav does not fail! Not once has a guest not been served an exceptional meal. Today it will be no different.”
“I’m confident of that. And if I truly can’t help, I’ll leave you to it.”
“Take your carafe of coffee. And please, tell your friends they are welcome to help themselves to their own if they desire.”
“Thank you, Chef Gustav. I hope your morning improves.”
The chef sighed. “It can only be so. Adieu, Mademoiselle. Now you must go and watch all the pretty horses.”
That was one way of putting it, Annie thought as she set off for the stables a few minutes later. If she’d been in Chef Gustav’s predicament, she would have phoned the nearest pizzeria for takeout.
The transformation that had begun the day before was now complete, and Annie took a moment to take in the view before she wended her way to the stables. “Wend” was the operative word today. The population had increased tenfold from yesterday, and now hummed with riders dressed in white breeches, dark cutaway coats, and cream-colored vests. The entire west side of the barn was filled with horse trailers parked back-to-back. She saw several riders on their horses in the warm-up ring, all deeply concentrating on their walk, trot, or canter. The spectator tier was already full, and dozens more observers milled around the front of the stable. Annie noticed a new table set up at the far end of the show ring, a large sign on top touting the services of a videographer. For a fee that was far from modest, riders could have their test recorded for posterity. The cameraman was fiddling with a large camera mounted on a tripod.
Annie looked at where he was aiming the camera and saw the judge’s booth. She could just make out Judge Bennett seated inside. She tried to see if the scribe was beside her, but the angle was too sharp to know for sure. For the scribe’s sake, she hoped the judge’s right-hand assistant was ensconced in the booth and sharpening her pencil.
Annie wondered where Liz and Patricia were in the midst of this teeming activity. According to the day sheet Annie had quickly scanned, Liz was the second rider to test this morning. She must be in the warm-up ring, Annie thought, and headed in that direction.
She saw Brianna talking to two women dressed in regular breeches by the warm-up ring. Annie noticed one of them had a name tag designating her as a volunteer. Today, Brianna had heightened the haute couture look with leggings, black boots that nearly reached her thighs, and a long, silk blouse that draped in front. Annie couldn’t hear what she was saying, but from the response of the women, Brianna was conveying information in a no-nonsense, take-charge kind of way. Annie walked by the small group and stopped by the fence line, resting her arms on the top rail as she searched for her friends inside the ring.
“Annie? Is that you?”
Brianna walked over to her, smiling. If Annie hadn’t been privy to her highly wrought encounter with the judge a few hours before, she would have never suspected one had occurred.
“How are you?”
“Fine. Just looking for my friend. I notice she’s the second to ride this morning.”
“Liz Faraday on Sammy?
“Yes, very good! Do you have all the riders’ and horses’ names memorized in order?”
Brianna laughed. “Almost. I certainly have the volunteers’ names memorized. I’m depending a lot on them today.”
“How are things going so far?”
“Pretty well. Aside from missing a scribe.”
Well, that wasn’t good news. Judge Bennett probably was doing a major slow burn in the booth as they spoke.
An ancient Honda Civic pulled into the stables and jerked to a halt, the driver looking for a place to park that wasn’t there.
“Oh, that must be Margaret now. Damn her hide! She’s very, very late. I must fly, Annie, and get her parked and in the booth. Judge Bennett already is fit to be tied.”
I’ll bet, Annie thought, and watched Brianna trot over to the car and point with her right arm where a small car still might fit in.
* * *
She saw Melissa in front of the barn, Amy and Lucy by her side and dressed in full dressage regalia. She waved over to them, receiving three enthusiastic waves in return. Glancing down at the day sheet, she saw that Lucy wasn’t scheduled to ride her test until close to eleven thirty, with Amy following her. That still gave them hours to sweat, or, Annie hoped, to take deep, calming breaths and try to relax. As tough as it was to be among the first riders, Liz might prefer her position. At least the anxiety would soon be over, and she could cheer on everyone else without worrying about her own time in the ring. Annie pointed to her chest, then to the warm-up ring. Three heads bobbed up and down. She had made her point, that she wanted to wish Liz good luck while there was still time. The day sheet stated she was on at precisely 9:08, now a mere seventeen minutes away.
She spotted Liz on Sammy’s back at the back of the ring. Liz was trotting very slowly, posting as she did so. Patricia was outside the ring, her lips moving, although Annie could not hear what she was saying.
She threaded her way through the crowd of other onlookers to where Patricia stood.
“That’s excellent, I think you’re good to go. Let’s give Sammy a rest. Walk him on a loose rein.”
She was speaking in her ordinary voice. Annie had no idea how Liz could have heard her. Then she saw Patricia remove a small earpiece. Of course, Annie thought. Liz and Patricia were speaking on Bluetooth headsets. How clever of them.
“How was girls’ night out?”
“Super. We stayed out two hours later than we’d promised ourselves. I hope there’s time for another one before we leave. How was dinner with the judge?”
“Interesting. She didn’t come across like a fiend in human form. Just very strict and by-the-book. I’m sure she’s got her list of pet peeves for riders, but I doubt Liz is going to trigger any.”
“I hope not. She’s worked so hard to be here. And we real
ly should be heading toward the front of the ring. I’ve got to remove Sammy’s brushing boots before we enter.”
“We? You get to go in, too?”
“I’m reading Liz’s test to her as she performs. It’s allowed, and I don’t want to put any more stress on Liz and Sammy right now than they already feel.”
“Sammy looks pretty relaxed.”
“I don’t think this is his first time in the ring. But it is for Liz.”
“Good point. I’ll let you two gather your thoughts and find you later.”
She waved both arms over her head, and yelled to Liz, “You both look beautiful! Good luck! Remember to have fun!”
It was what Annie’s 4-H mentor had always told her right before she entered a competition ring. She’d liked being reminded that fun was on the agenda, too.
* * *
Annie managed to squeeze into a corner seat on the top row of the spectator tiers without stepping on anyone’s foot or spilling their coffee. She put her own carafe underneath her and glanced at her watch. It was now five minutes to nine. She looked over at the warm-up arena, where the first rider, a young woman of about twenty-five, was sitting perfectly erect on her horse. She saw the rider hand her whip to a volunteer, while another volunteer removed the final wrap from the horse’s rear leg.
The bang of a door against its hinges brought her attention back to the ring in front of her. The scribe had emerged from the back of the booth and now was running quickly toward the main house. Was everything all right? It was so close to start time, and Annie knew the judge was a stickler for staying on schedule.
Two women seated below her quietly chuckled to each other.
“Looks like someone forgot the Lady Grey tea.”
“Not good. I’d hate to be in that scribe’s shoes right now.”
So that was it. The scribe not only was expected to take down every comment the judge uttered, she also was expected to fetch the judge’s morning beverage. The crowd settled down to wait, but Annie thought that Judge Bennett looked none too pleased—her arms were folded in front of her, and her expression was positively steely. Annie nervously glanced at her watch again. It was now two minutes to nine. She looked over at the first rider sitting patiently on her horse. It was too difficult to gauge what the woman was feeling, but she certainly looked calm and confident.
At one minute to nine, the scribe had still not returned, but Judge Bennett was not going to wait any longer. She lifted a small golden bell on the table in front of her and rang it for two long seconds, the high, tinkling sound resonating throughout the arena. Annie assumed it was the cue for the rider to enter the ring, and she was right. A trainer or perhaps a friend was walking away from the horse and the rider began to adjust her reins. Now Annie saw the scribe hurrying back behind the warm-up ring, a Darby Farms thermos clutched against her chest. Seconds later, the scribe entered the booth and Annie watched her shakily pour a cup of steaming liquid from the thermos into a mug. She noticed Judge Bennett failed to acknowledge the scribe’s presence, but she did take a deep swallow from her now-filled mug.
That crisis averted, Annie turned her attention to the horse and rider, who were entering the arena at a trot. The horse turned squarely into the arena and continued to trot toward the judge’s booth. Halfway down the arena on the centerline, the horse halted. Annie watched the rider put her right arm out at an angle, palm backward, and slightly lower her head. This, she knew, was the rider’s obligatory opening salute to the judge.
Judge Bennett stood up slowly and acknowledged the salute with a short nod. Something seemed a bit off. The judge appeared to have difficulty standing. Both of her hands were flat on the table, and Annie wondered if she was using them to push herself upright. Suddenly, the judge swayed. A few people in the audience murmured their concern and she abruptly righted herself. Annie noticed the judge still looked none too steady on her feet and continued to grasp the table for support. Now the rider brought her arm back to her side, which gave Annie a clear and unobstructed view of the far end of the ring. She watched in disbelief as the judge crumpled to the floor and disappeared from view. It was like looking at a marionette onstage whose wires had suddenly been cut. One moment, Jean Bennett had been standing. The next, she was not.
* * *
At first, no one moved. But the scribe was now standing, her hands near her face. For a few seconds, she seemed frozen to her spot, but then she bent toward the floor and gave a shrill scream. The sound galvanized the crowd. Everyone in the spectator section rose as if on cue, craning their heads for a better look, turning only to ask their neighbor if they’d seen what had just happened.
Annie had no desire to be in what would soon be a crush of people clambering to get down. She glanced to the right and gauged the distance. It was a good eight feet to the ground, slightly less if she could hook her feet on one of the extended slats. She decided to try. The worst would be a turned ankle, and Annie liked to think that at age forty-four, she was still agile enough to jump. She landed feet-first in the dirt, creating a puff of dust that slowly settled over her clothing. With all the attention elsewhere, no one had noticed her unorthodox exit.
She ran toward the dressage arena and saw Brianna running from the opposite side, closest to the barn office. They reached the booth at the same time. The scribe was screaming hysterically, and Brianna abruptly pushed her out the rear door.
“Call the show medic! And get a blanket and water! Now!”
Judge Bennett was sprawled on the floor in a tangled mess of arms and legs. Her face was bright red, and her eyes were wide open and staring, although Annie didn’t think she was still conscious.
“We have to move her,” she told Brianna, looking her full in the face. She was aware that she was speaking to the judge’s lover, or ex-lover, and possibly the person who had caused Jean Bennett’s suffering now. Brianna nodded, and they each grasped a set of the judge’s limbs, Annie taking her arms, and Brianna her feet and legs. Annie was struck by how cold and clammy Judge Bennett’s arms felt on her own skin. As the two women began gently maneuvering her out of the booth and onto the grass, the judge’s head lolled back, and Annie quickly tucked her elbows in to lend support. Annie wished she could feel for a pulse but knew this would only be possible after the woman was stretched out.
Margaret ran up, her arms full of saddle pads.
“It’s all I could find,” she panted. “The medic is right behind me. But people are starting to come inside the arena. What should I do?”
Brianna looked at the scribe, her exasperation evident. “Stay here with Annie,” she told her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Annie already had packed several of the pads under the judge’s head and was now taking her pulse. It was weak and erratic. This was not good. She heard Margaret whimpering beside her. This was unacceptable.
“Margaret, I want you to round up all the volunteers. They’ve got name tags, so it shouldn’t be hard. Ask them to come into the ring and make sure no one else gets in. Can you do that?”
The scribe numbly nodded, one hand over her mouth. She stumbled off, and Annie turned back to the judge. She was not moving, and her breath seemed as sporadic as her pulse. She wished an EMT would arrive and whisk the judge off to the nearest hospital. She knew that without immediate medical assistance, Judge Bennett’s survival was very much in question.
The show medic, Liz, and Patricia all suddenly appeared at the same time. Liz spoke first.
“We had to fight our way to get here, but when I told them I was an ER RN, they finally let us through.”
Annie nodded gratefully and spoke to the young medic beside Liz.
“Thank God you’re here. This doesn’t look good. She’s cold, clammy, low pulse, shallow breaths, sporadic heartbeat, and you can see her face for yourself.”
The medic immediately crouched down and pulled down the lower lid of one of the judge’s wide, unseeing eyes. The pupil was enlarged and a deep black.
“I’m calling a paramedic. In the meantime, we need the respiratory emergency kit. Can you get it from the office?”
“I’m on my way.”
“And someone’s going to have to do something to quell the crowds, Patricia added. “Someone needs to tell them the event’s been canceled and to stay calm.”
Annie had already started to jog toward the office. She stopped and yelled back, “You do it. Everyone pays attention to an English accent.”
Patricia gave her a patronizing gaze but obediently got up and jogged over to join Annie.
“Where’s the sound system?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they’ll know at the office.”
Just as earlier this morning, people milled about everywhere, but now they did so with no particular purpose. Yet no one was panicking or was making a fuss, and Annie concluded that was one saving grace about a dressage crowd—they were calm in a crisis. It was just that there were so many of them, and at the moment, they were maddeningly in the way. At least the riders knew what to do. Most of them were leading their horses into the barn as if nothing unusual had happened.
She found Brianna inside the office, talking on a landline. Patricia had already gone off on her own path in search of the sound system and a mike.
“I don’t know,” Brianna said into the mouthpiece. “She was fine this morning. She just suddenly collapsed. How far away is the ambulance now?” The confident voice Annie had heard a few minutes ago was now tremulous and shaky. She grabbed Brianna’s arm. Brianna whirled around, then relaxed when she realized who wanted her attention.
“Just one moment,” she said to the entity on the other line, and then put her hand over the phone, mouthing “9-1-1” to Annie, who was fully aware of that fact.
“Where’s the respiratory emergency kit?”
