PONY UP
By
Sandy Dengler
Others in the series
Cat and Mouse
Cat Killer
Mousetrap
Lethal Lizards
Gila Monster
The Last Dinosaur
Fish and Fowl
Cry Fowl
Fatal fishes
Dog and Wolf
Dogged
Wolves of Christmas
Horse of a Different Colour
Wild Horses
Copyright 2020
Sandy Dengler
Contents
Chapter 1 Bram Wilkie
Chapter 2 Maria Mercado
Chapter 3 Alicia Bowerman
Chapter 4 Johnny Paredes
Chapter 5 Wilson Cooper
Chapter 6 Barbara Marsh
Chapter 7 Karl Steiffel
Chapter 8 Seba
Chapter 9 Vernon Applegate
Chapter 10 Jimmy Stover
Chapter 11 Bridgid Flaherty Rodriguez
Chapter 12 John Bellamy
Chapter 13 Ellis Lane
Chapter 14 Charlie Stegener
Chapter 15 Hugh Bartoli
Chapter 16 Jerry Hocks
Chapter 17 Little Daniel Reese
Chapter 1 Bram Wilkie
Hiram Abraham Wilkie was in love. He stood staring agape at the most beautiful, alluring, enrapturing young woman he had ever seen. She was small and slight of build; dainty, in fact; and her brown hair glowed with a slight red tinge in full sunlight. She, an older fellow who might be her father, and a lad who could be a younger brother were talking to Mr. Applegate. All were nodding and smiling. Hiram glanced over at his coworker, Jimmy Stover. Jimmy was gazing upon her also, just as enthralled as he.
Mr. Applegate shook hands with the three, turned toward Hiram, and said wonderful, wonderful words: “Hey, Bram. C’mere. I want ye to help the Flahertys here pick out three ponies.”
Delighted beyond words, Hiram jogged over to them.
Mr. Applegate was beaming. “This be H. Abraham Wilkie. Bram.”
The ethereally beautiful lady was even more beautiful up close, with glorious green eyes. She extended a hand. “Mr. Wilkie, how do ye do.” Her voice was so pleasant.
Mr. Applegate laid a hand on Hiram’s shoulder. “Bram here knows every pony in me herd on a first name basis, the Connemaras and the Shetlands both. He trained them all. He knows what each of them likes and all their little quirks. Truth be told, he was midwife to a dozen of them. He can help ye pick out exactly the right ponies to best serve y’r needs. Bram, these folks are turning their farm into a resort for city folk and figure to need gentle ponies for the little ones. Oh, and that’s Jimmy Stover.”
What a dream assignment! What a stroke of marvelous luck! “Thank ye, Mr. Applegate.” Sure and Bram meant it! “Please come with me.”
He led them past the paddock near the barn, scooping up a handful of lead lines and draping them around his neck. “The ponies in there are quite young and need work yet. That is why I am keeping them close at hand. Y’ll want seasoned ponies, older, not so frisky.”
“Exactly,” the lady replied. “And we would like them to be photogenic. Picturesque, if you will. The parents will be taking pictures of their children on the ponies, and they should be beautiful ponies.”
“Beautiful ponies we have in abundance.” Bram noted that Jimmy was tagging along. He didn’t like that. Jimmy was all right for things like bucking hay bales and scooping up piles, but he did not even care about the ponies and knew nothing about them. Bram could not understand why Mr. Applegate kept Jimmy on.
Bram opened the pipe gate and ushered them out onto the lea where over four score ponies grazed peacefully. He looked at the lad. “Did ye happen to bring along a saddle?”
“Aye, sir, that I did.”
“An old favourite saddle?”
“Aye, i’ tis. We had a Connemara pony for many years, Rosie, and a fine pony she was. She died of old age three years ago.”
Good. They had taken good care of her if she lived into old age. “If ye would, bring it out here and we’ll choose at least one pony that fits the saddle well. Then ye need not sell it and buy another. Jimmy, would ye go with him, please.” It was not a request. “We’ll wait.”
Jimmy scowled at him, but the two went off together. Bram was standing very close to the lovely lady and it made his whole body tickle a bit. They chatted, small talk. Delighful!
When the two returned, Bram led them all downslope to the rill, where most of the stock were congregating.
The older gentleman looked about. “Sure and we’ve come to the right place. Tis no wonder Mr. Applegate brings a paddock full of ponies to the shows.”
“We’ve ninety-seven, all told. Ah, now this be Lulu. Pure Connemara, coming nine years old, four times a mother, gentle with children.” Lulu, a pretty dappled grey mare, walked up to Bram and pressed her face against his chest. “So ye think I’ve a treat for ye, aye?” Grinning, Bram slipped her a chunk of carrot.
“She is utterly charming!” The lady cooed. She frowned. “But Da, why am I here? In a fortnight I will be moving with Joe to America. I will not be on the farm at all. Tis y’rselves should be choosing, not I.”
Bram’s heart went thunk! America! No!
“Because ye’ve a way with animals just as Declan has, and we value what ye offer. F’rinstance I’d not have thought of the photographs. Tis an excellent idea, especially since we cannot yet afford a lot of advertising. Happy children on lovely ponies will be most attractive to potential visitors.”
Bram laid the saddle on Lulu’s back. He pushed his fingers in between the withers and the pommel. “Now this is a good fit, y’see? Nothing rubs or rides on her withers, and the saddle is neither too narrow nor too wide.”
“So docile,” the lady purred. “Not even a halter or bridle.”
The lady, and the lad as well, asked excellent questions and heeded whatever Bram had to say. Jimmy hung close and sometimes made inane comments, but the Flahertys pretty much dismissed his counsel. Indeed, they seemed to dismiss Jimmy himself. That pleased Bram immensely, for he could tell that Jimmy was very much taken by the lady. Who would not be?
They chose Lulu and Sweetypie, a little Shetland skewbald with an especially thick and charming mane. For the third pony they were undecided between Jewel, a dun Connemara, and Polly, a particularly shaggy Shetland. Bram suggested taking both back to the house and deciding there. They did so. And thus went the most glorious afternoon of Bram’s life. Could it be any more wonderful?
Yes it could!
The Flahertys left and Mr. Applegate came down to the paddock as Bram and Jimmy were finishing tidying up. “Bram, y’re quite the salesman, ye are.”
“Which did they take, sir? Polly or Jewel?”
“Them both. Though they intended to buy three when they came, they bought the four, and twas y’rself what sold ‘em for me.” He leaned on the gate. “Does it bother ye to spend so much time on the ponies only to see them get sold off?”
“Not atall, sir, when they’re going to a good home. Tis why I’m here, to prepare ponies for good homes, and that will be a very good home.”
Mr. Applegate watched them a few moments, then said, “I got a call from me friend in America. He says the pony market is very good there, and he wants me to bring over three dozen Connemaras, a place called New Holland in County Pennsylvania. Bram, y’rself is to come with me, for ye know the ponies. With y’rself talking ‘em up, they’ll sell much better.”
America! And Miss Flaherty was going to America! “I would love to, sir, very much. I Thank ye!”
Jimmy commenced a long, whining conversation, begging to be allowed to go along. Mr. Applegate said no, but Bra
m wasn’t paying attention. His mind swirled with America! Where the heavenly Miss Flaherty was going!
Mr. Applegate left and Bram’s dreams spilled out in a gush of words to Jimmy as they worked. He knew that Jimmy, of course, did not give a damn, but Bram just had to tell someone. Folks claimed that America was large, but surely the country was not so big that he could not look her up while he was there. Perhaps take the train. He would bring flowers when he came calling, of course, and they would talk of ponies and things. America!
That night as the moon was entering first quarter, Bram walked up to the side paddock where the sold ponies were kept until the trailers came. As was his wont, he always said goodbye to the ponies that were sold. He entered the paddock, gave them each a chunk of carrot, and scratched them thoroughly behind their ears. Fare well at the Flaherty farm. I know ye will.
He closed their gate behind him and walked to the barn. He heard rustling of some sort as he entered. Time to set the rat traps again.
From behind him a hand suddenly seized his face, his nose, and yanked his head back; something rasped across his throat. He struggled, but not effectively. What…? Hot slippery blood ran all down the front of him. But then all those sensations faded, faded, faded with the night.
See all the friends and strangers who had come to her wedding reception here. Bridgid looked around this outdoor event venue. She and Da had chosen an old demesne with a castle-like manor house and vast, manicured front lawn that held a dance floor and marquee. Still it was crowded. Mrs. Patel the wedding advisor had engaged wonderful serving girls; the moment Joe and Bridgid had cut the cake after singing a duet of “Let it be me” (that was Bridgid’s idea), the women had swiftly cut the rest and distributed it. Mum had complained that the cake was much too large, but it was not. Only a bit of the bottom tier was left.
She sat at a table off to the side of the dance floor with her wonderful bridegroom Joe Rodriguez, her cousin Tommy, and Tommy’s pretty blonde girlfriend Gretchen. “This is wonderful. The whole affair is absolutely wonderful. So many people here.”
“Of course, free booze.” And there was that twinkle in Tommy’s eye that Bridgid loved so well.
“I’ve been watching them, your friends especially.” Gretchen was smiling. “Joe is a major attraction. Here’s this handsome, foreign James Bond type who came over to sweep the local girl off her feet. They all want to size up that bastard. Incidentally, Tommy, great toast. You’re right; giving them a thumbnail biography of him was perfect. Not many people here know him, or about him.”
“I agree,” Joe added. “I was expecting embarrassing stories, because you have plenty. Thank you.”
“Y’re welcome. Refill?” Tommy asked Gretchen.
“Sure.”
And off he went with both their glasses.
Tommy’s vacant chair was filled almost instantly by Jimmy Stover. He grinned inanely at Bridgid and Joe. “I want to wish me best to ye both, and Mr. Applegate sends his regards as well.”
“Thank ye, Mr. Stover. Joe, this gentleman is one of Mr. Applegate’s employees at the pony farm.”
Joe smiled. “Mr. Stover, I remember you greeted us in the receiving line at the wedding. Bridgid says you care for a herd of ninety-three ponies.”
“That I do, sir.”
“Wait.” She frowned. “This is the last day of the big pony show. Why are ye not tending and transporting Mr. Applegate’s ponies? He always shows so many.”
Mr. Stover shrugged. “He hires on extra for the show; he can get along without me. I like to keep contact with ‘is customers, so here I be.”
Bridgid wagged her head. “Eh, Mr. Stover, ye must truly have y’r hands full since the shocking murder of y’r assistant, that Mr. Wilkie. I extend me condolences.”
“Aye, me hands be full indeed. Mr. Applegate is looking for another, but he’s not hired one yet. Thank ye, Miss.”
Tommy stopped beside him. “Tis Mrs. now. We must all get used to that.”
Mr. Stover mumbled some other things and took his leave. Tommy handed Gretchen’s drink across to her and plopped down in his chair.
Joe’s eleven-year-old son, Rico, still in his tuxedo, came over bringing his own chair. He sat down between Joe and Gretchen.
Gretchen smiled. “Rico, this whole day, you’ve been doing nothing but grin. I take it you’re glad that your dad is marrying.”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“When he…” He glanced at Bridgid and licked his lips. “Pop wasn’t much fun after Mom died. Oh, he loved us and took good care of us and all, but he was… well, sober. Somber.”
“Understandably.”
“Sure. He got a little happier as we got older, even when that driver ran over him and broke all his bones, and we figured, that’s just Pop. But then he met Bridgid, and he changed. Brightened up. Even Glo sees it. We have never ever seen him so happy, Gretchen. So yeah, this is the best thing in the world, for all of us.”
Bridgid had that much of an effect? She didn’t know what to say.
“Ah, here comes Uncle Seamus.” Tommy nodded toward Da as he approached.
Oh, I so hope I can remember those dance lessons I took! Bridgid stood and put her hand in Da’s. He led her out onto the floor. Da was not a dancer, but just now he did not have to be. They swayed more or less from foot to foot, in place. “Da, this whole wedding is beyond wonderful. Meself be in a daze. I thank ye ever so much.”
“Twas Tommy and Joe who footed the bill, ye know, but y’rself planned splendidly. I agree tis a lovely, lovely event.”
Now Joe was here. He laid a hand on Da’s shoulder. Da kissed her forehead. “God’s blessings on ye both, m’ luv.” He stepped back and Joe stepped in, the new husband symbolically taking over the welfare of the lady from her father. Bridgid had a special fondness for symbolism, and a wedding is rife with it.
Across the floor, Mum leapt up. “Seamus, no! She doesn’t know how to dance! She’ll make a fool of herself! Don’t let her!” as Gilbert dragged her back down to sitting.
The music shifted from a fox trot of sorts to The Anniversary Waltz. And they were dancing. Joe’s hand on her back was just right, firm but not rigid. She knew that when he was going to college, he and his sister had earned a part of their living as instructors in a dance studio, and she was concerned that she would not be good enough as a partner. Apparently those concerns were unfounded. They swept gracefully around the perimeter of the floor, floating joyously. His smile was quite as broad as hers.
He murmured “side” and they did six bars side by side. When he muttered “turn” he sent her out into a pirouette and drew her back in, so smoothly. Not only was this beyond her wildest dreams, she realized that the feeling she had when taking the lessons was absolutely valid; she loved dancing, just loved it. Perhaps they could go dancing in America.
And there was the policemen’s ball, of course. Fel claimed that Joe never missed the policemen’s ball. Indeed, not long after his wife died, he attended anyway, with Fel as his escort. Joe and Bridgid ended with a dramatic dip that set the guests applauding. They could just barely hear Mum complaining that Bridgid could not really dance, she was just faking the dancing in order to embarrass Mum. Apparently, Mum’s venom was never going to end.
Bridgid danced with Peter Waite, the children’s grandfather. Joe danced with Margaret, the grandmother. No matter that she got about on a walker. They put the walker aside and, holding her closely, he danced her around the floor. A bit worried-looking at first, she relaxed and ended the dance with a broad, happy, beautiful smile. They even did a dip. Mrs. Waite must have been quite the belle in her day.
And Bridgid did not want for dances. Tommy “took her for a spin.” Gilbert danced with her. Even Joe’s son Rico danced with her. He wasn’t bad, either.
An hour later, with warm goodbyes all around, the Waites left the reception, taking Rico and Glo with them. Joe and Bridgid would join them in Bedford two days before flying home. What a whirlwi
nd. Tour around Ireland for a few days, visit the farm briefly to say goodbye, then to England for the children, then home. A new home. In a foreign country. Flying six thousand miles away. How unimaginable for this humble farm girl.
Joe took her hand and led her to their table. “I’m exhausted and I don’t know why. The difficult police action before I came, the long flight over, the time difference, the hassle getting here, the ceremony; but I doubt that can be it.”
“Surely not. Obviously, y’re just lazy, as am I. I too am wearied.” The chairs for the bride and groom were broad and padded, with comfortable arms, almost thrones. Hoping she would not fall to the ground, she sat down not in her chair but beside Joe in his, so he scooted over for her. She lay back against him totally knackered, her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her, drawing her in still closer. She felt so good. “I’ve a confession to make.”
“Now you tell me.”
She giggled. “Not that sort of confession. Joe, I was so muckle flustered. Mum was being quite the pill as we knew she would. Ye were late and for a time it appeared the wedding might fall through completely, then ye told of hiring a whole airplane just to get here…”
“A charter. A small plane.”
“Aye, but ye hired it. And finally the wedding itself…. I was all churned and scrambled. I’ve no idea a’tall exactly what I vowed.”
He laughed loud and long. “Alright, I guess I should confess too. I was sleepwalking through the whole ceremony, like I am right now. Jet lag, plain weariness, numb from too much happening too fast, and some of it really ugly. I have no idea what I promised you, either. I hope it was good.”
A Guinness magically appeared in her hand and another in Joe’s.
He smiled. “Thank you, Seamus.”
“The lot of ye look bedraggled.” Da swung another chair around to join them, his own Guinness almost half gone.
“The American saying from our Old West is, ‘Rode hard and put up wet’.”
Da laughed heartily. So much laughter here today; you could hear it all over. And that pleased Bridgid immeasurably.
Pony Up Page 1