Ben braced himself for the news.
“Billy Martin wasn’t a Christian.”
“Well, that’s no surprise,” Ben said. “So?”
“So Pastor Mitchell said he needs to be saved first.”
“There is no saving him,” Ben said. “What are you talking about? He’s dead.”
“A mere technicality, Pastor Mitchell says.”
“Meaning?” Tom asked.
“He says as a congregation, we need to forgive him and ask God for forgiveness on his behalf. He said it would only take a minute or two.”
Tom and Ben sat back. “A minute or two?” Ben said.
“He’s printing out the program now.”
Ben looked at him.
“He said you already agreed to say a few words at the service.”
Ben shook his head in utter disbelief. He feared where this was headed.
“He wants you to lead the forgiveness.”
Ben shook his head. “What’s wrong with Tom doing it?”
“Pastor Mitchell says it’s important for you to do it.”
“Pastor Mitchell can kiss my ass,” Ben said.
Dusty chuckled. “He said to tell you that you’re not just doing this for Billy Martin, but that you are doing this for mankind. He said to tell you it’s God’s way.”
Chapter Ten
Dawn was in the main barn at the farm, grooming All Together when Ben arrived home. She smiled at him. All Together was huge, as broodmares go, and her belly was ticklish. Ben sat down on the bench outside the feed room.
“Are you okay?” Dawn asked. She and Tom were always asking him that.
“Actually,” he said, “I’m not feeling so great.”
“You look okay. Why, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. I’m feeling….never mind, I don’t know.”
“What did you eat today?”
She and Tom were always asking him that too. “Well, I had a piece of pie and a burger and two pieces of chocolate cake. Not much else.”
“Well, that’s probably why. You can’t eat like that.”
“Did you make something for dinner?”
“No, Randy’s going to bring us Chinese.” As Dawn brushed All Together’s front legs, she recalled again the injury that ended the mare’s career and almost her life. She’d long forgiven Randy and Ben for keeping the details of the surgery and recovery from her, grateful the horse had survived. But she would never forget.
“Do you want some stir-fry?”
“Not unless it’s going to have some meat in it,” Ben said.
“What about Tom? Do you think he’ll want something?”
“I don’t know,” Ben said. “He and Dusty are working on the ‘final details’ of Billy Martin’s funeral tomorrow.”
Dawn looked at him. “Did you think of anything good to say about him?”
“No, but I guess I don’t have to anymore. Seems I’m supposed to read some kind of ‘forgiveness’ speech instead.”
Dawn brushed All Together’s mane. It was so pretty, all silvery and long. On the track, they’d always kept it short. “I love you,” she said softly, and the mare nodded as if she understood. She and Dawn had this bond. She loved Beau Born; he was her first horse love. But now that he was used for breeding, he wasn’t as loveable. He was still Beau, but with his mind on other things.
Dawn picked out All Together’s feet, all four from the left side, just like at the racetrack. Done. “You’re such a pretty girl.” She still favored her right front leg. Randy said she always would. But it didn’t hurt her; she showed no signs of pain. It was just old scar tissue and stiffness. She could still run and played just like a sound horse. The limp was pronounced only at a walk. Dawn put the mare back into her stall and walked over and sat down next to Ben.
“So, what kind of afternoon did you have?”
“Well.” Ben brought her up to date and gave her all the details, even the part about everyone needing to forgive Billy Martin.
“I don’t have anything to forgive him for, I didn’t even know him,” Dawn said. “Does this mean I don’t have to go?”
“No.” Ben smiled. “Actually, I’m more concerned about what to do about Linda Dillon.”
Dawn had to admit, that bothered her too.
“But she’s not my responsibility. My responsibility is to the horses.”
“Still….”
“Ah, you know me and little kids.”
Dawn smiled and wrapped her arm around his. “You’re the best grandpa in the world.”
Ben patted her hand. “I just wish I knew what to do.”
Dawn paused. “Well, for the moment, I say we call Randy and order you something good to eat.”
The dogs rushed in and jumped all over them. “Quit, quit,” Ben kept saying. “Enough.”
“Watch,” Dawn said. “Let me show you what I taught them.” She clapped her hands to get their attention. “Rotty, Rotty listen.” She clapped her hands again. “Okay, everyone sit.”
They all sat; that was nothing new. “Okay, everyone wave bye-bye.” She waved her hand up and down. “Bye-bye.”
All six dogs raised their paws.
“Wave bye-bye.”
When they all flapped their paws up and down, Ben laughed.
“D.R and I worked with them this afternoon. Rotty was the first to get it.” She imitated D.R. picking up the dog’s foot up and waving it. “Good boy, good boy.” Then, at the sound of a truck pulling up the driveway, all the dogs took off running out to greet Tom. He fussed over them and walked to the barn.
“Things just keep getter better,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Dawn and Ben both asked.
“Billy’s truck.”
“Yes?”
“It wasn’t his.”
“Who’s was it?”
Tom shook his head. “We’ll never know.”
Chapter Eleven
It was a glorious morning; the sun was shining, the sky was blue. The birds were chirping. It couldn’t have been prettier, couldn’t have been nicer. Radios were playing happy music in the barns. Horses were coming and going to the racetrack. The aroma of Absorbine mingled with the smell of manure, alfalfa hay and wheat straw. Coffee….
And then just like that, the air changed. A truck and trailer arrived at the front gate. The horse aboard, whinnied. A van hauling a carriage followed, and a moment later a hearse pulled in off the main road. Billy Martin had arrived.
Tom and Dusty walked down to greet the drivers. Pastor Mitchell joined them. Dusty had informed just about every person on the backside about the service and also walked through each barn this morning to remind everyone. As planned, the horse-drawn carriage procession was to start precisely at 10:00. The camera crew from the local news station took their places.
“Do we walk in front of the carriage or behind it?” Tom asked.
“Behind it,” the coachman said. He was dressed in black. The carriage was black. The horse was black. The horse’s tack was black. When they had the carriage in place, the two men accompanying the hearse placed Billy Martin’s coffin onto the back of the open carriage. The bugler arrived with two other musicians; a saxophone player, a drummer, and a singer. They also were dressed in black, complete with black fedoras.
“We figured since you guys have gone to all this trouble this man must be someone special. You get the four of us for the price of one. We’re digging this!”
Tom nodded and glanced down the road between the barns. Not a soul in sight. At five minutes to ten, Dawn, Randy, and Ben walked down to join them. Ben heaved a sigh at the sight of the carriage. The musicians were warming up.
“Oh Danny Boy…?” Pastor Mitchell said.
“It’s got to be a song I know all the words to,” the singer replied.
“Do you know any hymns?”
“I’m Buddhist,” the man said.
Pastor Mitchell nodded.
“Do we really want to do this?” Ben asked.
“Yes,” Pastor Mitchell said. He handed Ben his script.
“It’s ten o’clock,” Dusty said.
The driver of the horse-drawn carriage clicked to the horse and the procession began. Pastor Mitchell, Dusty, and Tom fell in behind the band. Randy, Dawn, and Ben followed them. When the bugler, saxophone player and drummer started playing Danny Boy and the young man began to sing the words of the song in a most beautiful tenor voice, what seemed ridiculous just moments before…turned into somber awareness.
~ ~ “Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling” ~ ~ “From glen to glen, and down the mountainside” ~ ~
Tears welled up in Dawn’s eyes. This was Billy Martin’s last ride. As they passed down between the first two barns, one person stepped out from under the shedrow.
~ ~ “The summer’s gone, and all the flowers are dying” ~
Two grooms from the second barn started walking behind Ben. He nodded to them. “Thank you.”
Three more people from the next barn joined them.
Ben gazed ahead, where Mim stood at the end of her shedrow supporting her weight with her cane. He reached out his hand, and she gripped it tightly.
~ ~ “Tis you, ‘tis you must go and I must bide.” ~ ~
More and more people joined in, the camera crew flashing photos and rolling video.
~ ~ “But come ye back when summer’s in the meadow ~ ~ ~ Or when the valley’s hushed and white with snow.” ~ ~ ~
Tom bit at his trembling bottom lip as they approached Billy Martin’s barn, the horse-drawn carriage slowing to a stop. ~ ~ “Tis I’ll be here in sunshine or in shadow” ~ ~
Over a hundred horsemen and women stood outside Barn 14, hats off and heads bowed.
~ ~ ~ “Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so” ~ ~ ~
After a long pause, where sniffling sounded and tears flowed, Pastor Mitchell stepped forward and opened his bible. “From the eighth chapter of Romans, verses thirty-eight and thirty-nine. ‘For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.’”
Billy Martin’s barren shedrow and twelve empty stalls loomed behind him, the straps on the walking machine swaying back and forth in the breeze. The carriage horse pawed the ground. One, two, three, four times.
“God giveth and God taketh,” said Pastor Mitchell. “We are on earth but for a short time, for Jesus said, ‘I go and prepare a place before you.’ He is with you now and forever. Shall we pray. Father, we come to you today with a heavy heart. We know you are a just God. We know you are a caring God. We ask for you to hear our prayers. Amen.”
Pastor Mitchell stepped aside. “Ben,” he said.
Ben turned to face the people and found himself shaking his head, humbled. So many people, so many tears. “Thank you,” he said, nodding, his eyes blurry as he looked at his script. “We all knew Billy Martin. We saw him every day. We saw him here in the barns. We saw him up at the racetrack, in the track kitchen, in the secretary’s office.” Ben paused, reading ahead to himself. “But we never saw him at home. We really don’t even know if he had a home.” He hesitated and had to clear his throat.
Tom smiled at him through his tears.
“But God willing, Billy Martin’s going home today.”
Several people said, “Amen.”
“If it’s possible to ask for forgiveness for a fellow man, we ask you to forgive Billy Martin for any transgressions. He loved his horses….”
Just about everyone there nodded.
“And he loved this racetrack. Please take him home.”
“Praise the Lord,” Tom said.
Ben stepped back in place and heaved a big sigh. Tom gripped his shoulder.
Pastor Mitchell smiled. “And now we’d like to make an announcement. Dusty.”
Dusty stepped forward. “A foundation has been formed in Billy Martin’s name and the first order of business will be to erect a monument of sorts on the backside here at Nottingham Downs in his honor.” He smiled at some of the expressions and held up his hand. “Starting tomorrow, a Ginny stand will be constructed just beyond the track kitchen.”
Everyone clapped.
“A state of the art Ginny stand, complete with bleachers, monitors, heat, and glass front.” When everyone clapped even louder, Dusty stepped back, clapping right along with them.
“Tom,” Pastor Mitchell said.
Tom stared down at the ground for a moment and then stepped forward. “I think the last few days here at Nottingham Downs may very well have been the most challenging we have ever faced. But I’m hopeful. I’m hoping with God’s grace, we’ll be here next year this time, and that we’ll all still be a family. We don’t always have to like the person down the shedrow or in the next barn, but we do have to stick together.” He looked at the coffin in the horse-drawn carriage. He looked at it long and hard. “Good-bye, Billy Martin. May we meet again someday…and may there be racehorses in heaven.”
Pastor Mitchell nodded and paused, collective tears appearing everywhere in the crowd. “We think Billy would like to go to the racetrack one more time. I think we should all walk up with him. ‘Going to heaven’s gate could be frightening for some. Who really knows what happens when the latch is sprung. Let’s all walk with Billy so he’s not alone, for as we stand here today, his future is unknown.’”
The carriage turned and the procession started the long walk to the racetrack. Horses from some of the barns whinnied to the carriage horse leading the way. He called back to each one of them. When they approached the far turn at the racetrack, the bugler, standing well behind the crowd, began to play TAPS.
As they stood at the gap leading onto the racetrack, the very threshold where thousands upon thousands of Thoroughbreds had crossed, Mim bent down gingerly and picked up a handful of dirt. With tears in her eyes, she walked over and placed it on Billy Martin’s coffin. “Rest in peace, Billy,” she said. “You can go home now.”
Chapter Twelve
Ben sat in the tack room studying the racing form and couldn’t remember ever being this tired in the middle of the day. If Tom weren’t stretched out on the cot, sound asleep and snoring, he’d take a nap himself.
“I’m sure there’s something I should be doing,” Ben said to himself.
“Like what?” Tom asked.
Ben chuckled. He’d forgotten how much of a light sleeper Tom could be. Equally amazing was how he would start snoring even before he dozed off and would snore non-stop until he woke up. “Shouldn’t I be running a racetrack?”
“No,” Tom said, turning onto his other side and burrowing down. “That’s what you have ‘people’ for.”
Ben laughed. “Who’d have ever thought I’d have people.”
“What time is it?” Tom asked.
“Three-thirty.”
“Wake me up in ten minutes.” He had a horse to pony in the eighth race.
“I told you I would,” Ben said.
“I’m just making sure.”
From all accounts the Billy Martin funeral procession send-off was a success. Ben was happy to see Joe Feigler in attendance, not to mention Spears. Dusty did a good job. “You too, Tom.”
“Okay,” he said, to whatever Ben mentioned.
Randy pulled up next to the barn and came into the tack room with a syringe in his hand. “Who gets the B-12?”
“Wee Born,” Tom said, still half-asleep. “Who’s asking?”
Ben shook his head.
“Did Dawn leave?”
“Can you shut the fuck up,” Tom said. “I’m trying to sleep here.”
Randy laughed.
“She left a little while ago. She said she was going home to write up the article about Billy Martin.”
Randy looked at Ben. “I have to tell you, that was quite a tribute.”
“Thank you,” Tom sai
d.
Ben and Randy laughed.
Dawn hit “Send” on the article file and sat back. She’d had to shorten it since she was over the word limit and sat wondering about the film crew that showed up this morning with the newspaper photographer. She wondered if this was common practice now. She’d been away too long. And since when did I get so wordy? She’d always been such a succinct writer. Now she couldn’t seem to say enough. “That’s what writing that novel did to me. I’m ruined.” She chuckled.
She’d phoned her Uncle Matt earlier and was surprised she hadn’t heard back from him yet. If he couldn’t come up with anything on Billy Martin’s truck, nobody could. Maybe, as Tom said, they’d never know. She went to check on D.R. and Maeve. Their nanny, Carol, had just put them down for a nap. Dawn tiptoed out of the room, motioned to Carol that she’d be outside, and walked down to the foaling barn to check on Linda Dillon’s ponies.
Randy had said they were in no danger; they were thin, but not quite emaciated. Still, she worried about them. They were both standing in their stalls, eating hay. The Palomino raised his head to look at her. The bay just darted his eyes at the stall door. She wondered which horse was used the most, and why the different reactions to people.
She smiled. “Yes, I hear you,” Ben, she said in her mind. “There are no two horses alike.” She opened the stall door of the Palomino and went in and petted his neck. She ran her hands over his thinly covered ribs. “Poor thing.”
How was this treatment of these ponies allowed to go on? With a big western saddle and numerous saddle blankets, she supposed the horse might appear okay to the majority of people. Not horsemen though. We’re all guilty for not stepping in.
She thought of what Ben said about Linda Dillon’s little girl, “As cute as a button and so smart.” How could a woman who obviously took such good care of her child, treat her horses like this? Her bread and butter, their livelihood. Tom said Linda Dillon was skinny too.
She thought about Tom and Ben’s pony Red; how tough he was, how strong, how solid. He was kind, but he was also a horse who wouldn’t stand for being pushed around. Was that by nature? Or was it because he’d always been so well cared for? She looked in at the bay pony. He was watching her every move as if he expected her to explode at any second. He looked ready to duck for cover. She wondered how old the ponies were.
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