She thought about a pony she had as a child. A real pony, not a horse called a pony because it was used for “ponying” horses at the racetrack. It was a Shetland pony and ornery as could be. She loved that pony and cried for days when it died of old age. “Apparently I never did handle death well,” she said to herself, recalling the day her father and mother died in a plane crash.
She remembered holding her breath, holding it until she couldn’t hold it any longer, wanting it all to go away, wanting to die herself. But then she had to breathe. There were things to do, the funerals. She wondered if she hadn’t had to bury them, if she had nothing to live for, could she have just held her breath until….
Glenda entered the barn. “Oh, thank God it’s you, Dawn,” she said. “I saw the stall door open, and….” Glenda and her husband George used to train at the racetrack, but never had any luck at it. They had a fairly good claimer now and then, but that was it. They were both good horsemen, just couldn’t make any money at it. When Ben offered them the job here, they both agreed in an instant. George was a mountain of a man and Glenda big boned and lean. They made the perfect couple. “If it was Linda Dillon, I was going to pitch the bitch.”
Dawn smiled. “No, but I was just standing here wondering, among other things, how she could do this and sleep nights?”
“Well, she used to have a drug problem. I don’t think anymore, but….”
“I don’t get it. What happens to people on the racetrack? Drugs, booze, infidelity.”
“Dawn!” Glenda laughed. “It’s everywhere! You just haven’t been to enough places.”
“Good point,” Dawn said. She’d lived a privileged life, but a sheltered life.
“How’d it go this morning?”
“Amazingly,” Dawn said, scratching the Palomino behind its ears. “There wasn’t a dry eye in the place.”
Glenda shook her head. She knew Billy Martin fairly well. She’d had no desire to attend.
“It’s going to be on Channel 8 at six o’clock.”
“You’re kidding,” Glenda said. “Sorry.”
Dawn smiled. Glenda and George lived in a small house two farms up that Ben bought several years back. If and when the middle farm went on the market, it would give them an additional seventy-five acres and they’d be able to grow their own hay. As it was now, they leased the land, and the old man that lived there, T-Bone they called him, rode roughshod over the haying process. Randy’s father came in last year to help them hay, and he and T-Bone went round and round about “proper rowing.” On more than one occasion that week, Glenda had to play go-between.
Ben had to admit during one rather heated discussion that he personally had never grown his own hay. He always bought it in. He was a horse trainer, not a farmer. “Then stay out of this,” they both told him. And Glenda agreed with them. Glenda loved hay season, loved falling into bed at night, exhausted. She loved foaling season, she loved putting in a vegetable garden, a big one, with harvest enough for all of them.
Dawn liked Glenda. They had twenty some years difference between them, but their love of horses bridged the gap. “We’re going to have pizza at Ben’s. I’m going to make a salad.”
“I’ll bake a cake.”
“Chocolate- chocolate,” Dawn asked, imitating D.R.’s voice.
Glenda smiled. “With real whipped cream on the side.”
Ben’s farmhouse was big yet practical: hardwood floors, solid furniture, few frills. His wife Meg had been a no-muss, no-fuss kind of gal. Little had changed since she’d passed away. Ben liked things just the way they were. His only concession was a huge L-shaped recliner couch in the living room, a gift from Dawn and Randy. He said the “damned thing” always put him to sleep, but he liked the looks of it. It was brown leather and “didn’t stand out.”
It could seat a lot of people too, and kids. They all gathered for the six o’clock news. Randy brought the pizza; Dawn brought the salad, Glenda the cake, and Carol – the children. She had her own granddaughter for the evening, so that made three youngsters. She sat them at their little table and cut up their food. D.R. wanted cake.
“Eat your pizza and salad first,” Carol said.
The other adults had their eyes glued to the television. Tom sprinkled red-pepper flakes onto his pizza and for good measure, some on his salad too. “I invited Wendy to stop by,” he said.
“Wendy?” Randy said, all looking at Tom.
“Wendy from the office.”
“You mean like a date?”
“No, just to watch the news. What do you mean, a date? What the fuck?”
“Tom!” Dawn motioned to the children’s table.
“Sorry. But you know what, I can have a woman friend. It doesn’t have to be a date.”
“Since when?” Randy said.
“Besides, she’s not even my type.”
“Oh, what type’s that?” Glenda asked. “Wait a minute, didn’t we date once?”
Tom laughed. “No.”
“Oh thank God,” she said.
There was a knock on the door.
Tom looked around the room. “Does somebody else want to get that?”
“Holy crap,” Randy said, getting up. “And you’re shy now too?”
Wendy had come straight from the office, obviously still dressed for work. Perhaps she thought she’d still be working. She seemed a little out of her comfort zone as well. She looked for a place to sit.
Glenda moved over. “Hurry, get your food. It’s about to come on.”
“And now we go to Nottingham Downs where one of their own was laid to rest today.”
Glenda sighed.
George nudged her in the ribs. “Shhhh….”
Those that were in attendance at the funeral procession relived the moment; the sight of the horse drawn carriage, the slow and methodical sound of the horse’s hooves, the tenor softly singing Danny boy, the horsemen and women walking behind the carriage, the gathering at Billy Martin’s barn, his shedrow. The camera zoomed in on an empty stall. They showed Mim bending down, using her cane for support as she picked up a handful of dirt, placing it on the coffin….
Glenda, George, Carol, and Wendy, seeing it for the first time, sat in awe. The camera zoomed in on the bugler playing TAPS, that beautiful, mournful, haunting sound. Heads were bowed, tears flowing. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” The story ended with a still-life close-up of the horse-drawn carriage looking out over the racetrack.
“Stay tuned for your local weather.”
Everyone sat back.
“It always comes down to weather,” Randy said, wiping his eyes.
“Daddy cry! Daddy cry!” D.R. said, running across the room. “Don’t cry, Daddy!”
Randy picked him up. “These are happy tears, D.R. I’m just happy this is all over now.”
Everyone laughed, wiping their eyes as well.
Wendy looked around the room. “I thought no one liked this man.”
“I know,” Glenda said, blowing her nose. “I know.”
Dawn introduced herself to Wendy and then introduced her to Randy, Glenda, George, and Carol. “And this here is Louisa, Carol’s granddaughter, and these two are mine and Randy’s. This is D.R. and this is Maeve. D.R., don’t cross your eyes.”
Tom laughed. “I taught him that.”
Wendy shook her head along with everyone else. Dessert was next. “Ooh,” she said, when Glenda placed a big dollop of homemade whipped cream on top of her serving. She was about to refuse, since she’d already blown her diet once this week.
“You’ll never eat chocolate cake any one way after this,” Randy said.
Tom handed the plate to Wendy. “It’ll be ‘perpetual’ from this day forth.”
Wendy smiled. “Thank you.”
A little socializing seemed in order, so that’s what they did. They sat and talked about the weather, they talked about the kids, they talked about horses, and eventually they talked about the racetrack.
“I’ve been wonder
ing,” Tom said.
“Oh no.” Randy laughed.
“No, now listen, hear me out. The bugler, by the way, he’ll be there Saturday for the first race.”
“What’s he going to get paid?” Ben asked, recalling their conversation with Spears.
“I don’t know. Dusty’s working on it. He said the guy’s willing to work cheap if we promote him in some way. He said he’s trying to get ‘gigs’ for his band.”
“Maybe we can put a little blurb about him in the program,” Dawn suggested. “They’re really good.”
“I wonder how much that would cost?” Ben said.
“Very little,” Wendy said. “We design our own programs.”
“See,” Tom said, hand out and smiling. “Done.”
Wendy leaned forward. “That’s if they can submit something camera-ready.”
“Okay,” Tom said. “We’ll make it happen.”
Ben and Dawn nodded. “I wonder….” Dawn said.
Wendy looked at her.
“Would there be a way to run that Dusty Martin clip on the grandstand monitors tomorrow. I’m sure I can get a copy of it.”
“I’ll find out and let you know. Advertising has fallen off, so there might be space.”
“Two or three times during the afternoon if we can,” Dawn said. “That way we catch everybody.”
“Which reminds me,” Tom said. “Have we given any more thought to two Daily Doubles?”
“I think it’s a good idea,” Ben said, everyone nodding.
“So how do we get work on that going?”
They all looked at Wendy. “I’ll uh…check into it. Can I have something to write on?” Ben handed her a note pad.
“And moving the post time to two instead of one.”
“Won’t you miss the lunch crowd that way?” Glenda asked.
“Lunch crowd?” Tom looked at her.
“You know, the people that rush in there on their lunch hour and bet the daily double.”
“Hmmm,” Tom said. He turned to Ben.
Ben paused. “Is there a way to know what times most people show up?”
Wendy nodded. “Yes.” She wrote that down too. “I’ll let you know.”
Tom sat looking at her. “Are you a horse person?”
She shook her head.
“Well then how’d you get the job?” he asked.
“I applied.”
“You mean, like through an employment agency or something?”
“Yes. Precisely. Five years ago.”
“And you didn’t have to know anything about horses? You didn’t have to even like horses?”
She shook her head. “No. Sorry. My degree is in business. I’m an administrative assistant.”
Tom sat back, shaking his head. “Now that’s just wrong.”
Wendy glanced at her purse and the door. “Uh….”
“Come on,” Tom said. “I’m going to introduce you to some of the finest Thoroughbreds you will ever lay eyes on.”
Randy stood. “I’ve got to go too. I’ve got one more call today.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” Dawn asked.
“Sure,” he said. They each picked up a child and followed Carol and Louisa out the door to their house.
“Come on,” Tom said. “I’m serious.” He glanced at Wendy’s high heels.
Glenda helped straighten up, rinsed the dishes, and she and George were soon gone as well. Ben was happy to have some peace and quiet. It had been a long day. “A long day for everyone,” he said out loud to himself. “But they’re all younger than me.” He sat down on the recliner end of the couch, leaned it back, and closed his eyes.
He could hear Meg’s voice far off in the distance. “Sleep tight, Mr. Miller.”
“I’m not going to bed, I’m just resting,” he said, and a moment later, “Good night, Meg.”
Chapter Thirteen
Tom and Wendy walked along the pasture fence in the warm night air. “This is a beautiful farm,” Wendy said. “I’m sorry I don’t know horses.”
Tom glanced at her. “Horses are all I know. I know little else, so I guess we’re even.” When he smiled at her, she looked away. “That one right there,” he said. “She’s in foal. It’ll be her first.”
“Does she mind being out here by herself?”
“No, actually she doesn’t like being in the barn. She prefers the great outdoors.”
Wendy looked at him. “How do you know that?”
“Well,” he said, resting his arm on the fence rail, watching the mare. “When you turn her out, she runs like the wind. She kicks up her heels, she bucks and she plays.”
“I’ve read where it’s said Thoroughbreds are bred to run. Is that true?”
“Yes,” Tom said. “More than any other breed, and I’ve seen ‘em all.”
“So she just says, leave me out here, I like it?”
Tom chuckled. “Just about. When it comes time to bring her in - I’ll be bringing her in shortly - you gotta bribe her. She’ll stand there, right where she’s at now, and just look at you. Now All Together, Dawn’s mare, she’s just the opposite. She’ll run and play, and graze, but after a while, you’ll look out and she’ll be standing at the gate wanting back in.”
“How do you explain that?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s the wonder of horses.” They walked on. “Actually she was raised outside. She didn’t even have a halter on her till she was three.”
“You’re kidding. Is that wise?”
“Well, no, not really. But that’s a whole other story. And then when she broke down.”
“Oh no.”
“No, it’s all right, she’s fine. In fact, there she is.” She was in the first stall in the main barn. “She’s had two foals already and working on her third.”
“I can see that,” Wendy said.
All Together was huge.
“They seem to get bigger, quicker, with each foal,” Tom said.
“Like women,” Wendy said.
Tom looked at her and shook his head. “You’re really hung up on this weight thing, aren’t you?”
“All my life,” she said, looking in at All Together. “I’ll bet she doesn’t care.”
“No,” Tom said. “They don’t have those kinds of issues.” He walked on. “And this here is Back in Time. She’s Wee Born’s dam.”
“Pretty.” Wendy followed along.
“This one is Raging Wand. She’s Winning Beau’s dam.”
“They’re all so pretty.”
“And this is Native Fire, she’s Native Born Beau’s dam. She was in foal to Beau Born and at an estate auction. The two-year olds are all out back. Hop on,” he said, of the four wheeler parked there.
Wendy climbed up, not an easy task in heels, and sat back.
“You ready?”
She nodded, holding onto the bar on the side.
Tom drove slowly down through the barn and out toward the back pastures. “We have three two-year olds. Beau Together’s at the track. The other two need to do a little more growing first.”
“They look pretty big to me.”
“Their knees are still open.”
Wendy stared.
“Inside,” Tom said. “Their bones.”
Wendy nodded.
“And the babies are just up this way.”
“Are they out all night?”
“Oh yeah. It’s the best thing for them.”
There were five of them of assorted colors, two bays, two chestnuts, one gray. “How old are they?”
“They’re yearlings.” Tom said, driving on. “The weanlings, weaned and not yet a year old,” he explained, “there just up here a ways.”
It was dark out, but with a full moon. “Are they out all night too?”
“Yes. They have two old broodmares with them to keep them in line.”
“Are they safe out here at night? They’re so young.”
Tom pointed to one of the old broodmares. “I wouldn’t
mess with her if my life depended on it. She screams like a fucking pig. Sorry.” He tipped his hat back and they watched the weanlings, little replicas of racehorses, grazing lazily under the watchful eye of the broodmares. “It’s a perfect world,” Tom said.
“What if they never had to run?” Wendy asked.
Tom looked at her. “Then they would never know what it was like to be a racehorse. I think given the chance, they want to run.”
Wendy nodded. The little gray one laid down, stretched out, and heaved a big sigh. “I think I’d like to be a racehorse,” Wendy said. “Some place like here at least.”
Tom smiled. “Me too. But wait, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” He drove on to the stallion barn, stopped the four-wheeler, and opened the six-foot gate. “Come on,” he said, offering her his hand.
Wendy climbed down, and then jumped mile-high when Beau Born let out a stud-horse whinny that echoed off the barn walls!
Tom laughed. “I should have warned you about that. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said, following him into the barn. He latched the gate behind him. Beau was in a stall that had a small paddock off the back. “It’s safer at night for him this way, not to mention any unsuspecting mare within smelling distance.”
Wendy looked in at Beau Born and shook her head, breathless as she said, “Oh my God, he’s beautiful.”
Beau let out another whinny, eyes on the barn gate, looking, watching, waiting, hoping. “Not today, big guy,” Tom said, and nudged her along. The sight of a stallion in anticipation wasn’t one to everyone’s liking. “Now this here is Hurry Sandy. She’s still of foaling age, but sterile.”
“Aw.”
“No, she’s all right. Don’t be sad for her. She’s got it made. No responsibilities, no worries. Her job’s just to keep Beau company. We tried a goat, but….”
“So that’s all she gets to do? Keep him company?”
Tom looked at her. “No, she gets turned out. They get turned out together. Beau loves her. He follows her around like a puppy and she tolerates him. It’s a perfect arrangement.”
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