“Wow,” said Francesca, “are you travelling alone?”
“Oh absolutely,” said the lady, “it’s the only way to go.” Without pausing for breath she said, “Don’t suppose you’d like the counter and shelves? I’ve got a funny feeling they’re meant to go with you.”
Essie saw Aiden roll his eyes, she couldn’t blame him. It did sound like something a salesman would say.
“It’s beautiful, but I’ve got nowhere for it,” said Francesca, smiling sadly.
Essie was bending down examining an old camera tripod when she heard a familiar voice say, “Francesca, how are you?”
Essie couldn’t believe it. She knew that voice. Straightening up, she peered around a bookshelf to see that yes, sure enough, it was Cardboard Caroline. She whacked Aiden on the arm, pointing frantically.
“What?” he mouthed back, not understanding.
“Hello Caroline, what a surprise. What brings you back to our part of the world?” Francesca asked.
Essie saw Aiden’s eyes go wide as realisation again dawned. Peeking around the bookshelf, Essie tried to figure out what was different about Caroline, then she realised what it was. She looked scruffy. She was still Caroline, but her expensive jeans had dirt on them and she was wearing what looked like brand-new work boots.
“It’s on the way to a project I’m working on,” explained Caroline, flicking her straight blonde ponytail over her shoulder. “The job we were on the way to see about when we called in on you. I’ve been back up there today to get more of an idea of what needs doing.”
“Congratulations,” said Francesca. Catching sight of Essie and Aiden, she waved them over, saying, “Guys, look who I’ve found.”
Essie tried to look surprised. “Hey Caroline,” she said, trying to smile, but her top lip seemed stuck to her teeth. “Hello,” mumbled Aiden.
“Hello Aiden, hello Hope, how’s your pony going?” Caroline asked.
“Good,” replied Essie, shoving her hands in her pockets.
“You’ve decided to stick with her then?” asked Caroline, sounding surprised.
“Yes, for sure.” Essie smiled. She could have told her about the registration papers, about knowing her name, the tiny bit of history they knew, but Essie held back. She’d wait until they had more answers than questions. Panicking, Essie hoped Caroline wouldn’t mention the boarding school thing.
Changing the subject, Francesca asked, “What’s the new job exactly?”
“There’s an old property a couple of hours from here. Investors are turning it into a boutique hotel. I’m managing the renovations and hiring the staff. They know what they want, so I’m just trying to wrap my head around the idea. They want everything to reflect the history of the area. There’ll be a gourmet shop, a bar area, golf course, etc. I was driving back to Sydney and passed this place, so I thought I’d take a break, see what was here on the off chance there was something suitable.”
“Well,” said Francesca, “maybe you were meant to stop here.” She pointed to the counter and said, “What about the counter and cupboards, for the gourmet shop? They’d be fantastic.”
Caroline didn’t say anything, just ran her eye over them, lost in thought.
Finally, she said, “That could work. I wonder how long it is?”
“I’d guess it’s about six metres. I’m usually pretty good at measurements,” Francesca replied.
“Want me to go ask the size?” questioned Aiden. But there was nothing wrong with the old lady’s hearing. Without lifting her head from the box of books she was sorting, she said “It’s five metres, seventy-five centimetres,” then looked up at Essie and winked.
Francesca turned to Caroline, “Would that fit? You’d need somewhere to store it until you’re ready.”
“I’d definitely have space – the old place has a bunch of old barns and sheds where it could go.” She looked undecided for a moment, then seemed to reach a decision. “Do you think we can bargain her down?”
Essie smiled, knowing that would be music to Francesca’s ears. She loved nothing more than to haggle. “Let’s find out,” Francesca said.
The old lady looked up as they approached and smiled. “Find anything?”
“Well, we’re not sure.” Francesca smiled. “We’re wondering what the price is on the counter and cupboards.”
“Well,” said the old lady, getting stiffly down off her stool and reaching for an old exercise book, “Brian, that’s the owner, gave me a couple of different prices. Let’s have a look, he wrote them down.” Turning to the back cover she said, “If they go separately it’s six thousand for the counter and four and a half thousand for the cupboards.”
Caroline and Francesca deflated, stepping back from the counter as if it was suddenly too expensive to touch. “But,” the lady continued, “if they go together it’s one thousand.”
Francesca and Caroline looked at each other, astounded. “Sorry,” said Francesca, “don’t you mean ten thousand dollars?”
“No, dear,” said the lady, showing them the handwriting in the book. “You can see here plain as day, Brian wrote it down – that’s his handwriting. If they go together it’s one thousand dollars.” Looking at them over her glasses, the lady smiled. “I’m just a little old lady, you see, so he said he knew he’d need to write it down for me or I’d get confused. Just as well, don’t you think?” She winked at them.
Catching on, Francesca said, “Yes, very considerate of him. In that case, we’ll take them together and they’ll stay together too.”
“See? Didn’t I say when you came in that I knew these were for you?” The lady smiled, looking as crafty as a fox.
“Yes, you did,” said Francesca. “And I suppose we should arrange to get them out of here as quickly as possible?”
Taking her glasses off and cleaning them on her scarf, the old lady smiled and said, “I think that would be for the best, dear.”
“Okay, I’ll get something organised,” Francesca said, pulling her phone from her pocket.
“My boy Rory and his mates are builders,” said the old lady. “They can pull it all out for you tonight and you just organise a removalist to collect it tomorrow.”
“Done,” said Francesca. “What time should we arrange pick-up tomorrow?”
“Let’s say 12.30,” said the lady. “That’ll give me time to get here after church, and the boys can be here to help load it up.”
Francesca was already dialling. “Hi Nugget, sorry to call on a Saturday. Any chance you can do a job for me tomorrow?” Francesca wandered away from them, then swung back to Caroline. “Where are they delivering it to?”
“To a property called Victoria, just outside Boondaloo,” she said. “I’ll send them the map.”
Essie saw Francesca start at the name, just as she had. Turning to Caroline, she asked, “Do you mean the massive two-storey sandstone house with the white sheds in a quadrangle?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” said Caroline. “How do you know it? Oh, of course – the sale?” She suddenly twigged.
“Where?” Aiden asked, confused.
“Where Moxie came from,” replied Essie, feeling like Caroline had invaded her space again.
Hanging up, Francesca said, “What a coincidence. That’s an enormous job, Caroline.” Francesca looked excited, and Essie knew her brain would be whirring with creative ideas. Caroline, on the other hand, looked like it was no big deal.
“The shop will be in the barn where the carriage is, do you remember it?” Caroline asked.
“Yes, it’ll be perfect there,” Francesca replied in her best talking-to-a-client voice.
“I don’t have my credit cards on me,” said Caroline. “I don’t suppose you’d let me do a bank transfer?” she asked the lady behind the counter.
“No, dear, I’m sorry, it’s card or cash,” replied the old lady, taking up her perch behind the counter again, as if reclaiming it.
There was an awkward pause until Francesca said, “I can put it on m
y business credit card and invoice you if you like?”
Essie wished there was a way to stop Francesca. Something about this didn’t feel right, but it was too late now. Hopefully Caroline would say no, and then things couldn’t get complicated.
“That would be great, thanks,” said Caroline without any hesitation as Francesca handed over her card.
“Well, I need to get on the road,” said Caroline once the transaction was complete, making her way to the door. “Thanks, Francesca. I’ll be in touch if anything changes.”
Essie frowned. Why would anything change?
“It was easy,” replied Francesca. “It’s what I do. Speaking of which, I’d better not forget why I came.” Francesca retied her hair up high on her head. “We’ll browse a bit longer.”
Watching Caroline walk away, Essie thought she looked like a kid in dress-up in her work gear. Essie heard the old lady say in a delighted voice, “See, I knew they were to go with you.” Not wanting to burst her bubble, Francesca simply said, “Yes, you did,” then called Aiden to have a look at a box of old photographic postcards.
Essie stifled a yawn and walked out the front door, needing fresh air. The sun was warm on her face. Across the road, flyers on a huge public noticeboard turned their corners up in the gentle breeze. One had horses on it. Curious, Essie crossed the street to have a look.
The poster showed a group of riders in all types of gear – stock, dressage and western saddles. One lady was even riding bareback. All their horses stood happy and relaxed on a loose rein in an arena, and in the front, arms folded, cowboy hat on, stood a man Essie guessed was a bit younger than her dad, smiling kindly and confidently at the camera. The headline read: “Four-day Nick Laurie Horsemanship Clinic, Lessons 30 July – 2 August. Location: Indoor Arena, Lithgow.” At the bottom of the page it said, “Nick specialises in working with young horses, restarting horses, horses with behavioural issues and riders who have lost their confidence.”
Essie felt her eyes go wide. It was like it was written for her. Nick Laurie, Nick Laurie, Nick Laurie. She said the name out loud to herself three times, trying to burn it into her memory, and then wished she hadn’t when, reading on, she saw how much it cost.
She shouldn’t have been surprised. That was how much clinics and lessons cost, but she’d forgotten – or maybe because there used to be money for that stuff, she just hadn’t paid it any mind. She immediately let the idea of going with Moxie fade away. She was on her own.
“What have you found?” Francesca asked as she and Aiden came up behind her.
“Nothing, just looking,” said Essie. “What about you?”
“No furniture, but I did get these rather fantastic sixties sunglasses.” Francesca smiled, putting on a pair of round oversized glasses, instantly transforming into an old-fashioned movie star. “What do you think?” she asked Essie and Aiden.
“Perfect.” Essie smiled, because they were.
“They’re certainly dark – I couldn’t see a thing inside!” Francesca laughed. “What do you two want to do next? Some brunch somewhere? Maybe we can work on your Moxie questions. Are you feeling okay, not too tired?”
“That clinic is on your birthday,” said Aiden, pointing at the flyer. Pretending she wasn’t interested, Essie glanced at it and then turned to him and said, “How do you remember my birthday? I don’t know yours.”
“August one.” Aiden laughed. “Horse’s birthday, easy.”
Eager to change the subject, Essie looked at her watch and agreed, “Let’s have something to eat.”
“Yeah I’m starving,” said Aiden, at which Essie and Francesca laughed and said in unison, “What’s new?” As they walked away, Essie took one last sneaky glance at the flyer and sighed.
Putting two cups of tea on the kitchen table, Francesca asked, “Have you got your list of questions?”
“Yep,” said Essie, throwing wood onto the fire. She was so nervous about calling J S O’Brien. What if they didn’t remember Moxie? Or worse, what if there was a problem with her?
Putting the phone on speaker and setting it on the table in between them, Francesca dialled the number. “Breathe, Ess,” she said kindly. “They may not even answer.”
Essie didn’t know if that would be better or worse. Suddenly a bright, friendly female voice said, “Hello, this is Sarah.”
Essie and Francesca looked at each other, each waiting for the other to speak. The silence stretched on long enough that Sarah said, “Hello?” and Francesca jumped in.
“Hi Sarah, this is Francesca, I’m not sure if you can help us but we recently bought a pony named Moxie. We think she might have spent some time at your stables a few years back, we found some records saying that she was ridden by a J S O’Brien?”
“Oh, that’s my sister Jo,” said Sarah. “Hang on, she’s just finishing up a lesson, I’ll see if she can talk.”
They heard a murmur of voices and then finally, “Hello, this is Jo.”
Francesca went through the same introduction, and when she paused Jo said, “Yeah, we had Moxie here for about three years. We broke her in and then I competed her for her owner, Mr French.”
“Oh great, we’re sorry to bother you,” Francesca said, “but my daughter and I bought her half-starved at a farm auction straight out of the paddock. She was in a pretty poor way and we’re trying to find out anything we can about her.”
“Oh gosh, poor Moxie! Okay, right.” Jo sounded taken aback. “Look, I’m just about to start another riding lesson; it’s my last one for the day. Can I call you back on this number in an hour or so? Would that be all right?”
“That would be great,” said Francesca.
“Righto, I’ll call you then.” They could hear her calling out riding instructions even as she hung up.
Essie was disappointed. She spread her list of questions flat on the table.
“Don’t look so low,” said Francesca. “She remembers her and she’s calling us back. That gives you time to feed Moxie, and for me to get dinner sorted for our Scrabblers tonight.”
It was exactly one hour and seven minutes later when the phone finally rang.
“Sorry I couldn’t talk before,” said Jo. “Right, so you’ve got Moxie? Are you sure it’s her?”
“Yes,” said Francesca. “We’ve got her papers and it all matches up with the photo on your website.”
“Right, okay, where to start?” Essie heard her draw in a breath. “Moxie belonged to an elderly man named James French. He brought her to us for breaking in and training – he was too frail to ride any more, but had bought her so he could stay involved with the horses. He needed someone to compete her. I rode her for her first two seasons, but then just after her elementary level start, she damaged her tendon sheath in a front leg, near side maybe, I can’t remember. It was recommended she be spelled for at least six, preferably twelve months. That would have been okay, but sadly James passed away, and his widow wasn’t interested in keeping her. She couldn’t be sold at that time for riding, so his widow tried to sell her as a broodmare, but that didn’t work. She didn’t want to pay to have her on agistment, so she took her and put her on a farm, thinking that after the twelve months we’d see if she was sound. That was the last we knew and after that we lost track of Moxie. Sounds like she’s just been out on the farm for all that time, poor little poppet. Hopefully she’s going to be all right.”
Essie had been listening so intently it took her a moment to realise Jo had stopped talking.
“What was she like to ride?” Essie asked.
“I’d say pretty easy,” said Jo. “Young horses are always a bit tricky, but she loved the work right from the beginning, and by the time she hit elementary she was becoming really consistent and reliable. She was forward moving, and she could occasionally get a little hot if she got confused – nothing bad, just a little strong, but definitely no buck or rear or anything nasty like that in her. She was really lots of fun. We really liked James and we were sorry to see her go. W
e offered to agist her for free, but to be honest I think Mrs French just wanted her far enough away to forget about. Too many memories.”
“Did she float okay?” Essie asked. “And aside from her leg did she have any other issues?”
“Truck and float were both fine,” said Jo, “and no, aside from her leg there was nothing, and we travelled her a lot in that second season, all over New South Wales and Victoria. I wish they were all that hassle free. Mind you, if she’s just been in the paddock it’s hard to know where she’s at now, poor girl. Sorry, but I’ve got to get going,” said Jo. “Is there anything else? Our email address is on the website if you have any other questions.”
“Just one last thing,” said Essie. “Do you think a twelve-year-old rider would manage her?”
“That,” said Jo, “would completely depend on the rider. Like I said, there was no dirt in her back then, but she’s an unknown now, she’ll need to be restarted. Give her a pat from us, will you? Good luck with her.” And with that, she hung up.
Essie sat, feeling strangely deflated. What had she hoped for? Not an injury that could make Moxie unsound, that’s for sure.
“Well, that’s a lot to take in,” said Francesca, standing and taking the cups to the sink. “But it was mainly all good, don’t you think?”
Essie shrugged, folding up her list of questions. “I guess. At least she didn’t say she was crazy or could buck like a horse from the rodeo.”
“Exactly,” said Francesca. “She sounded lovely, really. We’ll get Selena back out to check her legs and we’ll go from there.”
“Yep,” said Essie slowly, struggling with the idea that this supposedly uncomplicated, talented pony, was the same one she could barely get from the stable to the yard without being pushed around. She was, she thought again, a hollow feeling settling in her tummy, way out of her depth and, as far as other horse people went, all on her own.
***
“We stopped for lunch at a new cafe today,” said Francesca as she cleared the table of cups and Connie began packing up the Scrabble. “I don’t know how many times we drove past the entrance though before we finally found it.”
The Pony Question Page 10