by Brian Cain
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Bob Fields was tired long hours during the harvest at Loudbark wines under the Broken Back Range Broke road Pokolbin was taking its toll. He left as early as he could in the warm evening air the scent of Roses and fermenting grapes followed him down the long step access road and out onto the main road. He headed past home to Cessnock post office to pick up the mail, no one had been able to get there for a week. He bundled the letters under his arm and headed home, Flaxmead was thundering round the paddock as the sun began to set he had felt downhearted for days about the ownership wrangle over the horse. He was apprehensive of the day someone may come down the drive and take him away breaking his children's hearts. He sat at the kitchen table of his homestead opening the pile of mail and felt even worse with a pile of bills. He came to an envelope marked RISA, he looked at it for a while but knew it had to be opened. He studied the contents and his round face developed a broad smile.
He went straight to his daughter's room she was reading in bed. He sat beside her and presented the paperwork sliding it down in front of her book. She put her book down held up the forms in front of her face and studied them. She bit her bottom lip smiling threw back her long hair hugged her father and jumped out of bed running down the hall. "Dylan, Dylan!" she shouted. "Flaxy's our's." Dylan woke from a half sleep and they sat on Dylan's bed next to each other sharing the forms as Anna read the letter and studied the horses in Flaxmead's bloodline. They took the papers to their father and Anna pointed out that Flaxmead's parents were Australian horses. Bob Fields put on his reading glasses and noted nearly the entire bloodline listed on the form came from Australia. Marie helped settle the children down promising to see Graham Harper as soon as they could tomorrow. Bob Fields slept the best he had for weeks and Anna found slumber clutching the paperwork.
Harper confronted by a jubilant pair of children early next morning was pleasantly surprised at the sudden turn around by RISA. He phoned them but could get no information from them other than the ownership issue had been resolved and the registration official. Harper now had the fastest horse he had ever seen and the bloodline puzzled him, how did a horse born in Ireland have Australian parents from the very valley he lived in. This was an interesting point but other things became pressing such as Flaxmead's first race, he had the fastest horse he had ever witnessed registered at his stables about to race under his colours. More time trials at his track now the horse had settled broke every record and his horse Flushing Meadow a front runner from the area struggled to even stay with him. A semi professional trainer locally he knew he would be considered an amateur by the big guns, he now had someone else's horse with a real dream of the Melbourne Cup. He could have put Meadow to the task last year but always found he had to postpone things for a more pressing veterinary tasks. If Flaxmead ran everything down he was confronted with the real prospect of having a runner in the Melbourne Cup and all the media attention, flack and pressure applied by all the powers who wanted the same thing. He asked himself did he really need that in his life, what he saw in his mind was not all the negatives he had been weighing up but the faces of two young children with happy smiles. He found something he had been looking for, an incentive lacking in his own dream. He had never seen any value as a vet or trainer in fronting horses for the rich and powerful although he had been asked many times. He again saw two jubilant young children and asked himself a question, will I be the one to wipe the smiles off their faces. From within him an answer was immediate and he mumbled under his breath "No way."
He went straight to his office and began to log a plan for Flaxmead. He wanted to present the particulars to the Fields that evening, he had an immediate feeling of enjoyment going about the process. He was in his office but felt like he wasn't at work. He had no idea he was starting a process that would stop two nations dead at three pm on the first Tuesday in November and bring local waring business factions together in a colossal battle for the Melbourne Cup.
