Margaret Fletcher Gallop Girl: A Fall From Grace at Forty Miles an Hour

by Genevieve Dutil

  Just as I’m plotting exactly when and how to slink out of the estate in shame, Dr. Swanson puts her hand on my shoulder and draws me closer, “You, Margaret Fletcher, on the other hand, are fantastic.”

  A smile spreads across Mother’s lips and I can see her take pride in the compliment. “That’s right, Doctor. I may be a nut. But my daughter is fantastic!”

  Two more gulps of scotch and Dr. Swanson is sounding more and more like family. I’m beginning to think that the flask of whiskey hidden in the breast pocket of her hunting jacket might have more to do with her love of chasing foxes than the hounds or the horses or anything else for that matter.

  “Margaret, I’ve always had money and I’ve always had horses. I’ve been incredibly lucky. I enjoy spreading that luck to young women who haven’t been as fortunate as I have. Deserving young women. Not spoiled little brats who can’t be bothered to actually work for what they have.”

  Mother nods her head in agreement, as if she shares the same aversion to spoiled brats, “I’m sick of spoiled brats. They’re always giving you a hard time when you commit some kind of social faux pas and things get messy.”

  There’s no hiding it: Mother’s drunk. Fortunately, Dr. Swanson isn’t as steady on her feet as one of the medical profession should be at twelve o’clock in the afternoon, either. “Oh, darling,” she says to Mother, “I’ve never taken you for someone who gives a rat’s ass what anyone thinks of her. It’s what I’ve always like about you. I just give you a hard time because how else am I going to entertain myself at those crappy luncheons?”

  I don’t think I’ve seen Mother beam so proudly since the year The New York Times featured one of her possum fur coats in the Style section. As Dr. Swanson and Mother share a laugh at the expense of every socialite on the Eastern seaboard, I feel my chances of selling Chocolates slipping away.

  Twenty minutes later, I’m still dreading having to carry Mother on that long walk back to the car when Dr. Swanson suddenly says, “Margaret, I think I will buy that horse of yours. Does forty grand sound good? What am I saying? Of course it sounds good. You’re broke! I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to find someone who can ride him, either. He looks pretty feral. So plan on showing him for me this winter.”

  Before I have a chance to answer, Dr. Swanson returns to her gossiping with Mother, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Showing in Florida with the likes of Dr. Swanson would put me right back where I was just before Daddy bet the farm away. And I can’t think of a horse I would rather return to that lifestyle with more than Chocolates.

  But signing up for this deal would mean giving up my new Gallop Girl lifestyle. And I AM a Gallop Girl, remember? Not being a Gallop Girl would mean that I’d give up wearing through at least one pair of jeans in a week and waking up a five AM to teach a young colt just how fast he can go.

  “Dr. Swanson, I can’t believe I’m saying this. But I don’t think I can accept your generous offer. For the longest time, I didn’t think I could ever be complete again until I found a way to get back on the show circuit. But I think I’ve found something I love even more. I’m a Gallop Girl now. It’s my identity and I’m just not ready to give that up.”

  Mother looks me with a mouth full of sandwich wide open in shock. But Dr. Swanson just smiles knowingly and with a loving expression, she says, “Margaret, darling, don’t make the mistake of reducing yourself to some two word catchphrase. You can gallop horses and show Hunters. You’ll still be Margaret Fletcher regardless of how you choose to wear your hair. They have tracks in Florida. I’m sure someone will let you race around one of them for the winter.”

  I don’t know what to say. Mother steps in for me. “We’re wintering in Florida! I can hardly wait to break out my cruisewear!” Her enthusiasm is surprisingly infectious. I tell Dr. Swanson to make room for my tack trunk on her trailer.

  It’s all settled. Margaret Fletcher’s transformation is complete. I’m not exactly sure what I’ve become. No Hunter Princess worth her salt would be caught dead taping maxi pads to her shins to prevent chafing. And I’ve never met a Gallop Girl willing to coordinate her jacket with the color of her horse’s coat.

  But like Dr. Swanson said, I am more than just some snappy catchphrase. Who knows what rules now apply to my wardrobe now? More importantly, who cares?

  I making up my own rules as I go along.

  I FEEL GOOD ABOUT the major life choices I’ve made the past twenty four hours. But that doesn’t mean I’ll take pleasure in giving notice to the Boss. Sure, things got a little weird at the end. But he’s been an excellent mentor and I will forever appreciate the patience with which he introduced me to my new trade.

  I arrive at Winning Edge Farms Monday morning with a resignation letter in my hand and heavy heart in my chest. I gallop ten horses for the Boss, giving each animal one hundred and ten percent. At the end of the day, as I officially hand the Boss my resignation, part of me hopes that he will refuse to accept.

  The Boss gives my letter a quick glance and says, “If this is because of my inappropriate behavior the other morning, I can promise you that it will never happen again.”

  I assure him that it’s not and I tell him all about the amazing opportunity that just fell into my lap. The Boss gives me a big congratulatory hug and doesn’t let go. I’ve never been comfortable with being hugged for too long. I tactfully wiggle out of the Boss’s embrace and finish the gesture with a hearty pat on the back. He looks surprised by my rebuff and honestly, so am I. Erica is out of the picture. The Boss is no longer my boss. So what’s stopping me from dragging him into an empty stall and having my way with him? Come on, Fletcher, you’re finally getting what you want. So go ahead and grab him.

  “You know, Princess, I’ve been thinking of making a move myself. Maybe it’s time to start my own business, now that I’ve got all this money burning a hole in my pocket. I hear they have a lot of nice thoroughbreds in Florida.”

  Staying at Winning Edge just to be around the Boss feels like the kind of compromise my newly-re-imagined self would never make. But I don’t see anything wrong with encouraging the Boss to follow me South for the winter. I could gallop his thoroughbreds in the morning and he could polish my boots in the afternoon. Sounds perfect, right? Then why do I suddenly feel more suffocated than I did the last time I put on the awful German straightjacket?

  I look at the Boss’s handsome angular face and know that I’m still attracted to him. What’s the problem, Fletcher? Is it because Daddy called him a gambler? Or am I really that offended by the thought of sampling Erica’s sloppy seconds?

  I can’t put a finger on exactly what gives me pause. All I know is my life has changed a lot in the past few months and I’m not sure that I should throw a new relationship into the mix.

  “You know, Boss, I would love to gallop for you if you end up in Florida. Just make sure you fly South for the right reasons.” Off the Boss’s quizzical look, I remind him that Wellington, Florida has the highest concentration of Hunter Princesses on the entire Eastern seaboard. “Are you sure your libido can handle it?”

  My heart skips a beat as he cracks a knowing smile and says, “OK Princess, I’ll try to control myself. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try to convince you to go for a ride on the beach late some night.”

  I suddenly feel an unexpected tingle. And despite all my reservations, I know in my heart that this story isn’t over yet.

  CHAPTER 28

  ~ Emily is on her way ~

  Margaret Fletcher shows up at my front door with a check in her hands and a big Mylar balloon that reads: “You’re going to England!”

  That’s right. I’m going to England.

  I booked my ticket five minutes after Margaret told me about Dr. Swanson’s offer. Turtle has a bed waiting for me in her working student quarters and long list of chores for me to tackle the moment I get off the plane. By this time next week, poor little Emily Morris is going to start receiving the best riding instruction that her money could n
ever afford to buy. And I have one person to thank: Margaret Fletcher.

  I look down at the check in my hand and realize… it’s made out for forty thousand dollars. Margaret just shrugs, “I got more out of this deal than I could ever imagine. So take the money to England and find out how the other half lives.”

  Tears immediately well up in my eyes and I wrap my arms around her in a good old-fashioned bear hug. I don’t know what to say. I’ve never been so grateful to a single person all at once.

  Margaret is taken aback by my sudden display of affection. She wiggles out of my embrace and says, “Emily, forty thousand dollars might seem like a lot of money to someone like you, but it’s really not. So don’t do anything crazy like blowing it all at once on something silly.” Like a German elastic hunt coat?

  Of course, I don’t actually say that out loud. I wouldn’t even be going to England if it weren’t for Margaret Fletcher. And it’s not just because of the money. If that puffed-up Princess with her custom hairnet and tack oiling addiction hadn’t been around to show me what real courage looks like, I’m not sure I’d have ever summoned the guts to finally display some myself.

  It’s funny how life works out. I always thought courage was about jumping high and galloping fast. But it’s not the willingness to do things that might break your bones that separates the strong from the weak. It’s about not being afraid to make mistakes in front of a crowd. And it’s those who try — even when they know that they might come up short — who have the real guts.

  I look at the woman standing before me in a salmon-pink and lime-green nightmare of a dress. She doesn’t look like the same girl who showed up at Winning Edge Farms a few months ago and punched me for touching her hairnet. Sure, she still dresses like she’s late for lunch at the county club. But beneath all that sherbet-flavored linen is a body strong enough to gallop the toughest horse in the barn.

  Margaret takes a long look at the trailer where her amazing transformation began and says, “I change my mind. I want my share of the sale. But I want to use it to buy this trailer of yours and that awful truck you use to haul it around. I’ll be traveling the circuit with Dr. Swanson and I’ll need a place to live.”

  Of course my, first instinct is to point out that Margaret has never driven a truck and trailer before. Does she have any idea how to back it into a tight spot? Or even hook it up?

  But then I remember who I’m dealing with.

  So I hand her the keys, knowing that it’s in very good hands.

  I hope you enjoyed reading Margaret Fletcher: Gallop Girl, A Fall From Grace at Forty Miles an Hour.

  I love to get feedback from my readers. I would be grateful if you would take the time to leave a review.

  If you would like to be among the first to hear about the next installment in Margaret and Emily’s adventure, please sign up for my mailing list here (I only send out notices for new releases).

  http://about.me/genevieve.dutil

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to: Jen Boulden, Shane Eichacker, Hilary Galanoy, Dan Greenberger, Elizabeth Hackett, Michelle Meghrouni, Andrew Paley, Box of Chocolates, and, of course, KK Matty K.

  About the Author

  Genevieve Dutil learned to ride as an adult and has been picking up the pieces of her shattered ego ever since. Horses have made her laugh, cry, drain her bank account and question her priorities. Like the characters in her book, she would be lost without them. Margaret Fletcher: Gallop Girl is her first novel.

  MARGARET FLETCHER: GALLOP GIRL

  A Fall From Grace at Forty Miles an Hour

  Genevieve Dutil

  Editor: Elizabeth Hackett

  Cover Design: Shane Eichacker

  Cover Illustration: Libby Reed

  First Edition Published January 2015

  Copyright 2015 Genevieve Dutil

  Kindle Edition

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. All rights reserved. Except for the use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any for by an electronic, mechanical or other means is forbidden without express permission of the author.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  MARGARET FLETCHER: GALLOP GIRL